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It poured down rain last weekend, in fact I think we got more rain from that storm than we did when Hurricane Isaac lumbered over us. All the drenching rain got me naively optimistic that some waterfalls would be running again. So on Saturday morning I headed up to Petit Jean Mountain and hoped that the drive would be worth it...
It was heavily raining when I drove along the freeway, so hard that traffic was only going about 40 miles per hour. But the rain slacked off as I left the interstate at Morrilton. There was just a slight drizzle coming down as I approached Petit Jean, which was mostly hidden by a cloud of fog. After the twisty drive up to the top, I stopped at the overlook at Petit Jean's grave. Which of course, was slightly pointless since you couldn't see anything except fog. It was eerily quiet in the woods, since there wasn't anyone else out there.
And another foggy road shot, taken while driving through the park:
Soon I passed over the old stone bridge that usually provides a decent view of the waterfall tumbling over the dam that creates Lake Bailey. I slowed down and looked to see if there was a decent waterfall and saw.....nothing. The lake was still several feet low. It'll take a lot more rain to get that going again. My plans of waterfall hunting were sorely crushed.
So I instead I visited a few other areas of the park. I headed down Red Bluff Drive, which has a couple of nice overlooks on it. The fog was breaking up some, so that you could actually overlook things.
I continued to putter around the park, and decided to drive over to the Cedar Falls Overlook. Even though the creek looked sadly low at the bridge, I was curious to see what the falls were like. Surprisingly, there was a small but decent amount of water flowing through. So there might be some waterfalls after all, perhaps?
I made the quick drive over to the Cedar Creek trail, which is a nice short (only about a mile and a half) and easy hike. Plus it passes by some neat little spots along Cedar Creek. The trail heads out into the woods, and then runs downhill along a small creek. It was surprising, but pleasing, to see a good amount of water flowing through the creek. The rains had pumped a lot of water into these side creeks, while Cedar Creek has been dry for so long that it must need a lot more water to get going again...
Cedar Creek was low, with just a scarce amount of water in the creek. I finished the hike without taking the camera out again. But when I got back in the car I drove through the park some more, and found a few other things to get pictures of. This was a fence along a field that was cloaked in more fog.
I drove by the overlook at Petit Jean's grave again and made another stop, since the fog seemed to have gotten thicker during the day. This was taken while looking through the shell of the old CCC lodge, towards the foggy forest.
And finally, one last shot from Petit Jean, of a field filled with fog:
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Petit Jean
Posted by Cormackphotos at 8:54 PM
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Most everyone knows that I'm a Mary Kay business owner. It is hard, hard work because it requires your unconditional presence. Most people see photos of professionally dressed women, with meticulously applied makeup, driving beautiful pink Cadillacs or those gorgeous black BMWs, but there's a part of Mary Kay that few know about. That part of this amazing company is such a huge part of the reason I will always be a part of what can only be called a movement
My calling is to help other women who find themselves trapped in abusive relationships. I didn't realize this was my purpose in life until I suffered and lived through a brain hemorrhage due to domestic abuse that should have taken my life. On that day in 2009, it became apparent to me that I had been spared in order to help others. People don't usually survive aneurysms. They don't. That day, I vowed to God that I would tell my story whenever possible and that I would focus on reaching women who would otherwise not know they aren't alone. I asked Him to show me how to do that and that is when the shift of my blog posts began. Up until that time, most of my posts only alluded to my abusive situation but was primarily focused on my son and his adventures in sports.
I had already "tried" selling Mary Kay before, but I had never really put in the effort. I had not taken the time to think about the impact that I could have on women through selling lipstick and teaching about skin care. I will never forget the day that I had been fasting in an effort to hear God more clearly as I had been asking him for a job. It was early evening and the woman who was my Mary Kay director at the time called and gave me a scripture to read. She didn't carry on a long conversation; she just gave me the scripture to read and hung up. I went back to praying after I hung up with her and I said to God, aloud, "I need a job, Lord. You know I need a job. Please show me what You want me to do." Just as clearly as I hear my fingers tapping on this keyboard right now, I heard him say, "You have a job, Trease. Work your business." Most of you know I'm full of the foolishness most of the time, so when I heard that, I looked around to see who was in the room with me. There was no visible being there, but His spirit covered the room.
Mary Kay is not just about making a woman pretty on the outside. Oh, don't get me wrong, that is one of the most amazing parts of my job — making a woman so beautiful, she's startled when she looks in that mirror, but mine is to bring out her greatest potential. That means showing her that she can do and be anything she wants whether that's accomplished by looking like a million bucks because of a new lipstick or through starting her own business. Mary Kay is on of the staunchest allies you will find in the fight against domestic violence. It is also one of the greatest advocates in the fight against breast cancer.
This month, I will be using every option at my disposal to shine an additional light on these two causes and to bring in donations. In that light, in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness and Domestic Violence Awareness, please consider hosting a virtual Kiss for a Cause party or place an order at my website. I will donate $1 for every lipstick or lip gloss sold to the Mary Kay Foundation or the organization of your choice. Just place your order at http://www.marykay.com/thinton2145 and I will handle the rest. If you're lead to host a party, email me at firstname.lastname@example.com. Blessings are yours to receive.

subset: commoncrawl


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Weekends Are For Movies: June 4-6
First, an apology for my inconsistency. Probably no one went to see Iron Man 2, because I failed to write about it. (You love me because I'm funny.)
This weekend, you have no excuse not to go see a movie in theaters. I'm not saying all of them are winners, but… anyway, just read.
Killers (PG-13) — Katherine Heigl falls for Ashton Kutcher, who turns out to be a spy (or whatever), a fact she discovers after their hookup and move to suburbia. I've seen the previews, and I'll be honest, it looks like entertainment. I like both of the leads, and one of the primary writers was responsible for Matchstick Men, which is a truly wonderful film. The director's last effort was The Ugly Truth, which I didn't see, but was a financial and critical flop last year. However, the same man also helmed such films as Legally Blonde and 21 – both very popcorn and very generic, but also honestly enjoyable.
The only hesitancy I have in recommending this film (aside from not having seen it myself) is that no one has seen it. Lionsgate decided to withhold it from critics until opening day. This means the studio is either afraid it's not any good or that they're smug idiots who don't understand the role of critics (like me). Either way, it's a stupid choice.
Get Him to the Greek (R) – I really hate Russell Brand. Here's my impression of him: "If I say outrageously filthy things with wide eyes, you'll think I'm a riot because I'm from England and have an accent." Pretty good, huh? Yeah. Been workin' on it. Anyway, the concept is that one of Judd Apatow's favorite actors, Jonah Hill, is tasked with getting a famous, wild rock star to a certain place at a certain time. Hysterical antics ensue. It's an R-rated comedy — you're either into that kind of thing or you are not. You can probably tell which side of the line I'm standing on. And anyway, the best thing critics have been able to say so far is that it's like a knock-off Judd Apatow film. Well I guess that's kind of funny.
Marmaduke (PG) — It's a movie about a giant dog that talks, which makes me want to cry. While vomiting. And will it surprise you to find out that this is another one the studio won't release to the critics until opening day? What were you thinking Owen Wilson? I realize this isn't the first time (or second, or third, or…) you've signed your soul away to a trashbag full of clichés, but, well, please stop.
Splice (R) – This was a Sundance darling. Don't ask me why. I have a few friends (and fellow Rhombus writers) who went to see it when it was up in Park City and wrote about it here. I should note that after it got picked up, I'm pretty sure it got a total overhaul re-cut, which means that it might be a very different film from what it was at Sundance. Regardless, I'll leave you to it if you have any interest. I'll go ahead and pass.
Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (PG-13) — People say it's entertaining. They also say it's silly and forgettable. I don't think I need to say a lot more; with Disney holding the keys to the empire of advertising, there's a greater likelihood that you missed how the last presidential election panned out than there is that you haven't heard about this movie.
Sex and the City 2 (R) — I would tell you about this movie, except that I don't want to. Just watch this instead. (Start at 2:27, or watch the whole thing.) Also, I have to acknowledge that this piece of carmelized toxic slime actually inspired Richard Roeper to finally say something almost clever: "Bad puns, fashion porn, domestic hand-wringing, contrived plot points, idiotic dialogue and offensive stereotypes. What's not to loathe?" So that's good.
Shrek… Again, and in 3D (PG) — I think this is number… what? Eight? Kidding, it's just the fourth. But doesn't it seem like there have been more? Anyway, I liked the second one, I think. I remember laughing. It's hard to care a lot about these films though. The first installment was extremely clever, but can anyone honestly digest four volumes of this stuff? I guess so - the franchise has pulled in almost $2.5 billion from ticket sales alone. However, according to the numbers, not too many people seem enthused about the "last chapter." My guess is they all thought the third film would be the last. Stuff happens in trilogies, doesn't it? Maybe it's a joke: "Shrek, the Four-Part Trilogy."
MacGruber (R) — Saturday Night Live has this thing where, every few years, they forget how stupid it is to turn a sketch into a 90-minute (or longer) movie. Hopefully, after spending $10 million and only making $8 million of it back in its first three weekends, they'll finally get the point and stop.
Iron Man 2 and Robin Hood are also still in theaters, and after having seen them, I can tell you that they're both worth the ticket price. And my full reviews are forthcoming. No, really, I mean it.
Tags: Film, Weekend Movie Preview
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Indian discus thrower Seema Punia has qualified for the Rio Olympic Games with a throw of 62.62 metres.
The Haryana athlete outdid 2008 women's Olympic champion Stephanie Brown-Trafton to win a gold medal at the Pat Young Thrower's Classic in Salinas, California on Sunday.
Seema's effort saw her surpass the Olympic mark of 61.00 mts.
The 32-year-old Seema crossed the Rio Games qualification standard of 61.00m at the Hartnell College Throwers Complex with her season's best effort of 62.62m.
This will be Seema's third Olympic Games appearance having taken part in 2004 and 2012 where she failed to get past the qualification round on both the occasions. She is the 19th Indian track and field athlete to have qualified for Rio Olympics.
An elated Seema, said, "There is a sea-change from 2004 to now. Discus throwing is my passion. This time I didn't have much time to prepare, but I already have a gut feeling that Rio will be my best Olympic Games."
Meanwhile, the 2010 CWG women's discus champion Krishna Poonia won the silver medal at a qualification competition held at Chula-Vista Olympic Training Centre, San Diego, with a throw of 57.97 metres.
Seema, now training in the United States with funds provided by the Sports Ministry under the Target Olympic Podium Scheme, had won gold in the 2014 Asian Games in Guangzhou, China with a throw of 61.03m. She had also won a silver medal at the 2014 Glasgow CWG Commonwealth Games with an effort of 61.61m.


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Triage centers for short
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News archives
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We are looking for an enthusiastic and well-motivated Heritage Consultant who shares our passion for the historic environment and can flourish as part of a supportive, friendly and hard-working team.
The role will be to support the heritage team in the preparation of Heritage Statements, Design and Access Statements, Conservation Area Appraisals, and other such planning documents through undertaking desk based and archival research along with site visits. Depending on experience, you will also input to the reports, provide expert advice to clients and the design team, and liaise with local planning authorities and other bodies throughout the planning process.
Experience of planning is desirable but not essential. Applicants should be working towards gaining full membership of the IHBC.
For more details please download the full job description.
A competitive salary is offered with a further benefits package after successful completion of a six months probationary period, including professional annual membership fee, contributory pension scheme, 25 days annual leave, private medical insurance and eligibility for performance related bonus.
To apply for this post, please send in a CV plus a supporting statement of no more than two sides of A4 to firstname.lastname@example.com.
Closing date: 24 January 2016
For further details please contact Joanna Burton or Jon Burgess on 01223 810990.
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Title: All Things Considered
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: SS/HP
Author: Claggart
Summary: Harry thought going to war would be better than staying with the Dursleys. Too young to enlist, he sneaks on board a ship departing for war. When he is discovered, Severus Snape, an officer, is told to take care of him until he can be sent back home. One-shot/AU/non-magic
All Things Considered
I never saw fireworks as a kid. I wonder if what I'm seeing right now counts?
"For fuck's sake, keep your head down, Potter!"
It really is beautiful. Bright oranges and reds all whizzing and spiraling through the icy air - I'm mesmerized. I push a bit closer against his warm body, and I ignore the blood that's filling my trousers, and I just watch all the lights flashing above my head. It's one of those moments where everything just seems to fade away, and all you're left with is fuzzy impressions of things.
I never thought I'd see fireworks.
"God DAMN it, Potter! Move!"
It's a bit harder to ignore the pain now. I don't think he realizes that I've been hit.
"Cooperate! Raise your goddamn gun and pull the fucking trigger before I do the enemy a favor and just shoot both our asses right here and now!"
Finally, his face turns to me, his features twisted in anger.
And then he realizes.
His fist slams down beside my head like a gavel against wood, and he's shouting something, and the fireworks keep going, and the icy air keeps slipping away from my mouth...
Not like this. I don't want to die like this.
I'm not sure if my arms are moving, but I beg them to do as I say. Trembling, caked in dirt and blood, they raise into my blurred vision. His pale, shadowy face pushes down closer to mine, and I lock my fingers into his sweaty hair. He's still saying something, and I think I start to scream from the pain, but then his lips are on mine to muffle my sound. I can't give away our position. Besides, his kiss takes me away from the pain.
He pulls away when he realizes I'm not screaming anymore. I close my eyes to rest, but I still hear the fireworks and his heavy breathing.
I hear him unsheathe his blade and start cutting at the material of my pants. It jostles my hips, and I have to bite my lips to keep from screaming again.
"Dear God..." I hear him exclaim weakly as he sees the full extent of the wound. Bullets shoot over our heads in a fresh barrage and he drops on top of me. One of his hands is pressed against my bare chest, and I feel it shaking. I force my eyes open and meet his inky black ones. All sound fades away, and it is just the two of us staring.
He breaks the contact, and raises his head and his gun. Six shots. A scream several feet away answers the third one. The sixth one hits another faceless enemy. Furiously, he's searching for where I dropped my gun. He's out of bullets, but whoever was shooting at us has gone still.
I take a moment to marvel that I'm still alive and coherent. My senses keep falling away and returning – one moment I can only see, the next I can only hear.
My entire bottom half is unresponsive. My hands still work. I wiggle my fingers in a futile attempt to prove there is still life in me. I tilt my head to the side, and a lone bullet whizzes right by where my head had just been. Severus spins wildly to see if I'm hit. He seems relieved that I moved. I'm relieved too.
Another wave of bullets wash over us, as if from a machine gun, and Severus drops heavily on top of me once again. I scream, but whoever it is knows damn well where we are already.
Severus has found my gun. He pulls my ammo off my belt and loads the weapon efficiently despite his shaking hands. Then he raises above the rock that is protecting us and fires the gun methodically.
Each bullet is met with a scream. Not one missed its mark. A miracle.
Lying as I am, I see the jungle we have already fought through. Severus continues to shoot at the enemy ahead of us, but doesn't know that one has worked around. I try to speak, but my mouth is full of blood. I should be dying, I know I should, but somehow I'm still moving, still thinking clearly. I keep a gun in my boot that only holds three bullets. I reach for it.
That's when I realize.
I don't have boots anymore. Or legs.
Severus glances backwards and sees that I have sat up. He sees that I'm looking at my own mutilated body and pushes me down roughly.
"Don't look at it! You're going to live!"
I'm hyperventilating. Severus sees the man I noticed earlier and shoots him at the same time the man fires at us. The other man falls dead. The bullet slices through Severus's shoulder, though he only lets out a single hiss of pain before he stands and lets out a loud whistle.
I close my eyes just as I hear the other British soldiers swarming around us. We have captured the enemy base. We were successful.
When I awake again, I'm am being gently swayed from side to side. I see white and gray and sky. I turn my head and see Severus's profile against the gray. He's not looking at me. His chest is bare, and his shoulder is wrapped tightly in white. I roll my head back and close my eyes again. They put me on the injured helicopter after all.
"Are you awake, Potter?" That is a voice I recognize. A surly voice that is rough with concern and smooth with apathy all at the same time.
I blink a few times and the off-white ceiling swims into view. My senses return slowly. Severus is sitting beside me on a metal chair. My cot is snowy white. I'm not bleeding anywhere. I can't feel any pain other than a dull throbbing in my hips.
My cot is not alone. For miles on either side of me there are other cots. Some of them are as red with blood as my cot is white. Nurses bustle from cot to cot, prodding and poking with shiny metal gizmos and gadgets. I am alive, and Severus is alive, and we're out of that cursed jungle. For a moment, I'm the happiest man alive.
And then I remember.
I let out a sound that is part wail and part scream. I pitch my torso forward violently, and my hands shoot out in front of me. Please let it have all been a bad dream!
But I just fall forward, and my hands touch cottony mattress where my legs should have been. Two nurses are suddenly around my cot and they none too gently haul me back against the pillow.
"Your legs are gone, but you're alive. And you've been discharged from this awful war. Calm down and breathe. It's all over. You're alive. You made it through alive."
The nurse's mantra calms me, but does nothing to stopper the tears that are falling over my gaunt cheeks like twin rivers.
The nurses leave. Good. I didn't want them looking at me with pity in their eyes.
Rough hands caress my cheeks, scraping the tears away. I am so afraid that I will see pity and disgust when I look at Severus. But I don't. His eyes are clear and tranquil. His hands are strong on my face.
"Potter, do you have anyone you can contact? Any family?"
I shake my head no.
Severus nods as if he expected that to be my answer and seems to get lost in his own thoughts.
Of course, Severus doesn't know anything about my family, or lack thereof. None of the other soldiers knew anything about me really. When we invaded the beach, and everyone was dropping like dead weights around me, I panicked. I dropped my gun and just started shaking. Young men were being blown up all around me and I just kept feeling their blood spray on my face and I couldn't move. I didn't know it was him at the time, but Severus came up behind me and threw me over his shoulder. He carried me to the first of many rocky holes we would be seeking shelter in over the next few days. Later, he and the other officers started asking me questions. How old was I? Why wasn't I properly equipped? Why didn't I have dog tags? Surely I was too small to have passed the physical.
Scared, I confessed. I was only fifteen. I'd run away from home and snuck onto the ship. My mismatched equipment was stolen from other soldiers that seemed to have extra. When we had invaded the beach, it was the first time I'd ever held a gun. I didn't even know how to shoot it.
They had all sighed heavily and a few had become extremely angry. The one that seemed to be in charge of everyone else pointed a meaty finger at Severus and told him I was his responsibility until they could get me out of there and back to my mother.
I didn't tell them I didn't have a mother to go back to.
Severus hadn't said anything positive or negative. He just took his jacket off and wrapped it around my soldiers because it was cold and I was shaking. He sat down beside me in the makeshift bunker and pulled his gun off his back. He proceeded to show me how to load and shoot it.
Our squads were supposed to reach an enemy base that was deep in the jungle. If we moved swiftly and didn't have too many casualties, we could make it there in three days. Once we reached the base, we would secure the area and have a few days of rest before we would continue on, hopefully with air protection and reinforcements. They decided I would be sent back on the first plane carrying the injured.
I wasn't put on that plane, or the one after that, or the one after that. I wasn't put on the injured plane until both my legs were blown off.
My first night sleeping in the jungle had been better than all the nights I'd spent with my abusive relatives. The rest of the men didn't have any blankets or tents, but the officers did. Severus and another officer shared a tent. I never figured out what Severus's exact rank was, but I knew he was sort of like a second in command, and that he was very important. That night it got even colder, and I felt bad for the men outside. I felt even guiltier when Severus let me share his cot with him. I was warm, and I felt safe with the older man pressed against me. I slept better than I ever had before. When he brusquely awoke me the next morning, he had found me proper fitting clothes (though they were still loose) and weapons he thought I could handle without as much trouble.
I became a real soldier after that. I crawled and swam and ducked just like all the others. I shot when Severus told me to shoot, and I moved when Severus told me to move. I became his shadow, and some of the men jokingly called me Severus's lost puppy. Still, they were told of my age and most of them went out of their way to keep me from making fatal blunders.
We didn't make it to the base in a few days. We made it there in three weeks. After the first couple of nights, only the top officer kept his tent. Severus and I slept hunkered down in the dugouts and the rocky alcoves. I didn't mind. Even when I was wakened by the sound of bullets firing around me, I felt safe as long as Severus was there.
And he was always there. Always protecting me. Always watching my back.
Until I got hit just a few feet away from the enemy base we were trying so hard to capture.
And that brought me here, to a hospital in an unknown location, probably miles away from anything I knew or recognized, with no legs and a wounded officer as my only companion and friend.
I looked to the other side of my cot and smiled despite my situation. There, draped over a shiny wheel chair, was the camouflaged jacket that Severus had wrapped around my shoulders that first night. It was torn, ripped, and freshly washed, but it was there. Just like me.
Severus's POV
He's the saddest thing I've ever seen. I hope to god he doesn't have a loving mother somewhere back home, because not long after he was brought to the hospital, photographers came and took pictures of his tiny torso, his stubs clearly visible under the thin sheet. The headlines a few days later called him a child of the war. Since I refused to comment, or give them any information about who we were, they merely pasted his picture over all the papers and ranted about all the innocents that were being dragged into this mess. I agree with their anger. Despite the fact that the army has been my life, and this is the second war I have fought in, I am glad to be discharged. I have already resigned. I have made my fortune blowing up faceless men, and in an ironic twist, the wound I took to the shoulder will prevent me from ever shooting a rifle again.
I could have left the hospital two weeks ago. It's certainly not a pleasant place to stay. Each day I fear seeing another one of my men brought in with wounds that will leave him forever crippled. Each day I fear for the men I don't see brought in, because it makes me wonder if they are dead in the jungle rotting with malaria.
But I stayed, because I didn't want the boy to wake up in a strange place with only my jacket for company. No one would have been able to give him any information about my whereabouts or what was to be done with him. Since he was never officially signed with the army, his medical bills would need to be covered by someone, or else he would be put onto the street so that his cot could be cleared for yet another suffering soldier.
I refused to let that be his fate. He was my responsibility in the jungle. He is my responsibility now. I paid for his medical costs. He needed surgery from a physician that had to be flown in. Then there was the expense of a wheelchair. The bill for his medications alone would have surely bankrupted a less well off man, but money has never been in short supply for me.
Now the nurses say he is free to go, and he says he has no one expecting him and no way to get there even if there was someone that wanted him.
"Potter," I say, drawing his attention back to me. "I am taking you with me to my home in London. Unless, of course, you wish me to take you elsewhere."
For the first time since he's been in the hospital, he opens his mouth to speak.
And closes it quietly. He shakes his head once in the affirmative. I have heard about soldiers that suffer through severe trauma becoming mute. I hope that is not the case. He has suffered enough. Especially for one who is only fifteen.
"Well then, the nurses say you are ready to go, and I have been healed for quite some time. We will take an overnight train to my home." I trail off, thinking of all that needs to be done. "We will need certain necessities for the trip that I will need to purchase. I'm quite sick of wearing this uniform, and you can't get on the train wearing an open backed gown."
He flushes prettily, his green eyes light up, and I wonder what I have said that has made him blush so heatedly.
Dismissing it, I tell him I will leave to purchase what we need. I start to go, but then I see how his eyes cloud with worry, and I realize it is the first time I have left him since the beach invasion. Sighing at my own sentimentality, I pull my wallet from my uniform pocket and extract my dog tags. I put them in his hand. He looks down at the dull chain, his face uncomprehending.
"My dog tags. Hold on to them until I get back." I don't know how I knew that would help, but he visibly relaxes and clutches the battered chain like a life line. I suppose he just needed some kind of proof that I was coming back for him, and that he wouldn't be left in this hospital forever.
The general store across the street from the hospital has everything we'll need. I buy several button down shirts for myself and a few pairs of black and khaki pants. After living most of my life in uniform, I can't bring myself to purchase the soft jeans and cotton t-shirts. I do get several t- shirts for Potter though. I don't buy him any pants, because even the soft jeans will be too abrasive on what's left of his legs. Instead, I get him a full stock of pajama bottoms and a pair of pajamas for myself as well. I buy the other necessities and luxury items, and finally two sturdy leather backpacks, one in black and one in brown. Thinking of the long train ride, I also stock up on my favorite candy bar. I get an assortment of the others because I don't know what Potter will want. I am almost ready to check out when a small collection of journals and novels catches my eye. I purchase a book that interests me, and one I think will appeal to Potter, and also a small green journal. Satisfied with my purchases, I check out and head to the restroom to change.
Potter seems surprised to see me dressed in semi-casual clothing. He looks me up and down and gives me a small smile. He loosens the death grip on my dog tags.
"I've brought you a bag that should have everything you'll need." I proceed to place all his various medications in the large pocket of his backpack. After that, I pull out a pair of soft, solid green pajama pants and a white long sleeved t-shirt. With out giving him time to prepare or think too much about it, I pull the sheet back and help him sit up. He stares resolutely at the wall across from him, refusing to look at the heavily bandaged stumps that end about mid-thigh. He doesn't have any underpants on, so that's the first thing I tug on him. A soldier that doesn't look very wounded leers at him as I pull the underpants up awkwardly. While I do so, Potter wraps his arms around my shoulders so that he can pull himself up off the bed. The soldier snickers. I shoot him a glare and he hastily looks away. Potter blushes again.
After I have put the pajama pants on him in the same manner, I leave him to finish dressing himself. When I turn back around after rummaging in the bag, his blush has died down and he's pulled the snug t-shirt on. His green eyes search mine imploringly, as if questioning what happens next.
"It's in the middle of winter, Potter. If it was chilly in the jungle at night, it's freezing outside here." I hand him a pair of fleece lined gloves, a red scarf, and a thick green jumper that I didn't bother to pack into the bags. I bought a black one for myself. When I am satisfied that he won't die of a cold, I help him tug on my jacket and lift him into the chair. I was cautious about lifting him, but he made no indication that it caused any pain. A nurse that walked by informed me that he didn't have any feeling in his legs, and that they were mostly healed anyway, so I didn't have to be so careful.
I wheel him out of the hospital, into the yellowed elevator, and out through the front doors. We catch a taxi to take us to the train station. I load Harry in the back and place the chair in the trunk.
At the train station, Harry lowers his gaze and refuses to look at all the people that stare at him. I remind myself that I need to tell him about the newspaper article. I speak briefly with the conductor about what will be done with the chair. It is decided after a few moments of planning that I will carry Harry onto the train, and his chair will be folded up and placed in the luggage car. We're given a compartment near the restroom, and I'm glad they thought of it because I probably wouldn't have.
The compartment is nice – heaven compared to a dugout and that metal chair I've been sleeping in for the past few weeks. Again, we'll have to share a bed but I don't think Harry will mind overly much. There is a window and a storage unit to place our bags overhead. There's a bench, a large window, and the fluffy looking bed. We also have a built in trash bin and a tiny bit of closet space to hang up a few outfits. I realize I don't want to put Harry down. I can't explain why, but I like to hold him. Maybe it's just because I feel like when I'm holding him, he's not going to get hurt again.
I eventually set him onto the bed, and prop him up with pillows. He takes off the jacket and the jumper because the compartment is warm, and lets me tuck him in. Wordlessly, I offer him the book and journal I purchased for him, and one of the candy bars. I get comfortable on the padded bench and pull out my own novel. Finally, he speaks.
"Thank you. This...this is the first present I've ever gotten."
I'm surprised by that, but I don't let it show.
"I was happy to get it for you. A journal will help you work out what you're feeling." He gives me a smile, bigger than the one he gave me in the hospital, and idly runs his fingers over the small journal.
"Do you keep a journal?" He asks after a moment. I put my book down. It's obvious he wants to talk after being silent for so long.
"I did long ago. When I was in my first war, I was not much older than you. I had...trouble coping with what I saw every day. I didn't have a journal per say, but we were given paper to write letters home on, and I used that." I know what question that will inevitably spark.
"You didn't have anyone to write home to?"
How did I know he'd ask that?
"Only my father, and he did not wish to hear from me. He died before I came home from the first war."
He's silent, his eyebrows forked downwards in intense thought.
"May I ask another question?"
"You just did."
"Well, another one then."
"I can't guarantee I'll answer, but you may ask."
"Why didn't your father want to hear from you?"
What a loaded question. For the first real conversation the two of us have had, he certainly chose a hell of a topic.
"For a number of reasons, I suppose. He always favored my older brother who was eager to run for office. My father made his fortune in politics, and it was all the man ever talked about. I never had a passion for politics as they both did, so I entered the service without my father knowing. It wouldn't have been so bad, but my father didn't agree with the war and the leaders of the country at the time. He saw it as a rebellion, when I merely wanted to find my calling. I came home from that war a hero. I'd proved my mettle on the battlefield, and was given several promotions. When I finally made it back home, my father had died of leukemia, and my brother had moved out of the country. I was left with our old home in London and a large inheritance. I had no need or desire for either."
"Where is your brother now?"
"The last I heard, he had started a family and was doing quite well for himself. He did contact me before this war started to find out if I would be serving again. He wished me well, and we certainly didn't part on bad terms." I pause, wondering if I want to try and gain information from him. "But what about you? You said you ran away from home. Why?"
He looks out the window at the scenery lurching by and suddenly seems to be very small and vulnerable.
"Let's just say that if they knew I'd gone and blown off both my legs, they would have told me to have a nice walk to nearest street corner, because they never would have supported me as a cripple."
After that, he rearranges his pillows and turns away from me. It's not long before I hear his breathing even out and the soft snores I've come to recognize as his unique sleeping sound. I can't decide if our conversation went well or not.
But at least it was a start. I pick up the novel and continue to read. It's not as good as I'd hoped, but it will pass the time.
Harry's POV
The train compartment is like a whole other world. It's wonderful, and I wish we never had to get off. I lie in the bed and watch the forests and cities slip by through the window. Severus reads his book, and sometimes he reads out loud because I told him his voice was nice.
We eat hot meals off little trays that are brought to us when we ask. We talk when we both feel like talking, though never about the war. Our first day is nearly over, and I realize that Severus will be sleeping with me again. I know I should feel disgusted that I like it, but I'm too tired to care about what I should be feeling. Right now I just want to thank whatever God is out there that there's someone who will still get in a bed with me, even though I'm so mutilated. I assume he's going to share the bed with me. He might sleep on the bench. I don't know what I'd do if he slept on the bench. Probably cry.
I've already written four pages in the journal. Mostly about what Severus and I have talked about on the train. I wrote a little about the Dursleys, and just a few lines about how thankful I am that Severus cares about me enough to take me to his home. I'm excited to see it, but I'm loathe to leave the train. The compartment is like a shell around us, cocooning us safely away from the world.
But I've gone most of the day putting off something that can't be put off much longer. This is going to be beyond embarrassing.
He glances up from his book, and I notice a bit of chocolate is smudged on the corner of his mouth. He ate another candy bar while I was napping. He must really miss chocolate when he's away at war. He's eaten it nearly none stop since we got on the train.
"I kind of...err...need to go."
"Go where?" He asks obliviously, putting his book down. I heave a mighty sigh of frustration.
"To the bathroom."
For the first time ever I see him blush faintly.
"Yes, oh." I reply a bit cheekily. I can't help it. It's funny to see him embarrassed for a change.
"Alright, well, I'll just have to..." He trails off, seems to think for a moment, and then comes to lift me. Happily, I wrap my arms around his neck and press my face into his broad shoulders. He's so much stronger than I am. This time he lifts me as if I were a child, holding me pressed against his chest, one strong arm under my rump and the other on the small of my back. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but we eventually make it into the bathroom. Thankfully, it's not overly cramped.
"I don't know how we're going to do this exactly. I suppose you'll just have to sit." Jesus this is going to be awkward. I'm blushing already at the thought of him seeing me without my pants on.
"You kissed me. When I was screaming because of my legs."
I can't believe I just said that. There we both are, standing awkwardly in a bathroom, and he's trying to figure out how to let me pee without making the experience too degrading, and I just bust out with that. Sometimes my mouth moves without me. I hope he pretends to not understand me, even though that would crush me. I hope he says that I was just imagining things because I'd lost so much blood. I hope he says he was just muffling my scream so we wouldn't be found out.
I don't really want him to say any of that. I can't bear to look at him.
He sits me onto the sink, but he doesn't move away. I still have my arms wrapped around his shoulders, and my face is still pressed into his neck. A few moments pass in unbearable silence before he finally says something.
"Yes, I did."
Well, I could have told him that much. And I did, in fact. I was hoping he'd elaborate a bit more. Nervously, I peek up at him.
"And?" I prompt, suddenly flushed with courage. A small smile slowly comes to his face, and then he makes a sound of amusement – not quite a laugh and not a snort. Slowly, ever so slowly, he brings our foreheads together until our lips are so close that we're breathing each other's air.
"And you were a good kisser, all things considered."
I tip my head back and our lips meet. I close my eyes and wrap my arms more tightly around him. When the kiss ends, he embraces me, his cheek pressed roughly against mine, his obsidian eyes closed tightly.
I want to kiss him again, so I start with little kisses up and down his jaw. He lets me map his face with tiny touches from my lips until he remembers where we are.
"Didn't you need to use the restroom?"
"Just lift me up a bit, will you?" He does as I ask, and I manage to get my pants down. He looks over my shoulder, giving me what little privacy can be found in such a situation. "Okay, to the toilet."
When I'm done with my business, we somehow manage to make it back to the cabin. It's dark outside, and I suddenly want to feel his warmth very much. He places me in the bed, and then goes about changing into his pajamas. I know I should avert my eyes, but I can't help but look. I got a few glimpses of him when we were in the jungle, but now I can see all of him without something in the way. His legs are long, and lightly tanned. I can clearly see the muscle lacing the bone. His waist is lean, and I absently think that it won't stay that way if he keeps eating so much chocolate. His stomach is like a washboard, and his chest is a man's chest. There is a thin scar on his muscular shoulder. I feel very puny in comparison. He pulls on his pajama pants, but leaves his shirt off.
"Do you mind if we go to sleep now?" he asks quietly, as if afraid to break the spell that has fallen over us.
"No, of course not." I scoot over as best I can, and he eventually leans over and lifts me to the far side of the bed. Once we're both under the covers, I nearly cry with delight when his strong arms wrap around me and pull me against his chest.
"Don't cry. Everything will work out in the end." I guess I really had started to cry. But for once in my admittedly pitiful life, I'm crying because I'm happy. I don't tell him though. I merely wrap my warms around him more tightly and revel in being held by someone that cares about me. The battered chain is wrapped around my neck, and his cool metallic dog tags are trapped between our chests. I am not so afraid of going to London anymore. I am not so horrified about what has happened to me.
As long as I continue to be Severus's responsibility, I think I will be very happy.
I hear his breathing even out, and I feel my own lids close. I don't know if he's awake or not, but I feel like I should tell him anyway.
"You were a good kisser too...all things considered."
I think he smiled, but I can't be sure.
A/N: Any feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading my story, and I hope you enjoyed it. I intended this to be a one-shot, but I might later do an epilogue about the couple's life in London if people seem interested.


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Bull or bear, the trend is your friend. Next, use the Average Directional Index to determine a trend's strength.
Bull or Bear, the trend is your friend, say traders. So when it comes to determining your opinion of a trend's strength, the Average Directional Index can help you screen for BFFs.
A compass can be a great tool for unfamiliar territory, but it has limitations. It can tell you direction, yet it doesn't necessarily lead you to the right trail. Sometimes you need help with the topography—a friendly trail guide who's been there. Likewise, when trading, it may benefit you to decide the strength of a trend, not just the direction.
The Average Directional Index, or ADX, is just such an indicator. It can potentially help you determine if a trend is what you are looking for.
The ADX doesn't bother with direction, but rather the strength of the trend. The ADX is the moving average used with the Directional Movement Index; both use a scale of 0 to 100 (See Figure 1). Actually, ADX can be used with any trending technical indicator. You can use it on weekly, daily, or intra-day charts. The typical time setting is 14 periods.
The ADX calculation can be complicated. But in a nutshell, the stronger the trend—bull or bear—the higher ADX goes. The degree of directional movement is determined by the difference between the current and previous highs and lows.
FIGURE 1: AVERAGE DIRECTIONAL INDEX (ADX) ON PAPERMONEY® As the ADX (red line) oscillates between 0-100, it tells you how strong the trend is—whether bull or bear (0 is weakest, 100 is strongest). The DI+ and DI- (yellow and blue lines) provide you with confirmation signals of the trend where they cross. For illustrative purposes only. Past performance does not guarantee future results.
When you're using the ADX, relevant levels can be determined based on past price action, but it's common for some traders to use 20 and 40 as key levels. Figure 2 below provides a few key points for you to remember about the direction and position of the ADX line relative to these levels.
Look at the correction that began last July on the Dow Jones Industrial Average (DJI) (Figure 1), when it lost nearly 16%. In the area highlighted, you'll notice the DI- (blue) crossed above the DI+ (yellow), indicating according to this approach, the beginning of a bearish trend. Now fold in the ADX, you'll notice that it is above the 20 line (red), an indication of strength in the trend. The chart offers what this study considers a trend reversal confirmation from the DI- and DI+, as well as an indication that the signal may have sufficient strength.
The next time you decide you see an indication that the trend is changing and you need to decide whether to stick to the path or take another, consider incorporating the ADX. It can confirm the strength of a signal. It beats greeting every chart signal you come across with something reminiscent of Sir Henry Morton Stanley's famous question to his soon-to-be pal: "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" And be not quite sure of the answer you'll get.
Putting real dollars into a trade before you know what you're doing can be costly. Consider "paper trading" with paperMoney® and get (almost) the real deal to see how you might react in a real situation.
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Footpath resurfacing work has begun in Moorlands village
THE village of Cheddleton in the Staffordshire Moorlands is set to benefit from a £160,000 investment to improve footpaths in the locality.
Staffordshire County Council's highways crews have already begun carrying out resurfacing work on footpaths on Hillside Road and St Edwards Road.
The work started on Tuesday, January 2 and is expected to take around 13 weeks to complete.
Helen Fisher, Cabinet Support Member for Highways and Transport at Staffordshire County Council, pictured, said: "The investment and improvement work here is great news for people in the area and I am sure residents will notice a real difference in the condition of the footpaths once the work is complete.
"We have around 6,000km of roads and 2,400km of footways so maintaining and improving the network is an ongoing challenge and we always thank people for their co-operation during schemes like this."
Access to properties and businesses will be maintained as far as possible but may be restricted at times depending on works progress. Residents will be informed about this as necessary.


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Associate Professor Anne O'Brien has had a new book published titled Philanthropy and Settler Colonialis.
This is the first sustained long-range history of the voluntary sector in Australia and the first internationally to compare philanthropy for Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples in a settler society. It explores how the race and gender ideologies embedded in philanthropy contributed to the construction of Australia's distinctively 'white male wage-earner's welfare state' and traces the intertwining trajectories of late 18th century philanthropy's three main elements - moral reform, social reform and relief. While they changed in form and spawned a new lexicon in the 20th century, the direction of their gaze remained largely unaltered.
Contradictions in voluntary organisations have surfaced in the last few years. They have been at the forefront of struggles against neo-liberalism, but adult survivors have also told chilling stories of institutional care. These contradictions reflect the tensions at the core of philanthropy which this book explores – tensions between the aspiration to justice and the pull of discipline, the desire to help and the limits of imagination.


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St. Vincent + Saturday night + sold-out show = Amazing!
Tag Archives: Kessler
Junior Brown – Catch him if you can!
Junior Brown (above), tears it up at The Kessler Theatre in Oak Cliff, Dallas in June, playing his guit-steel, a custom six-string and steel guitar combo. Having never heard his music, I took a chance and went to see him, … Continue reading
Kelly Willis at The Kessler
In May, I had an opportunity to see Kelly Willis play at The Kessler Theatre. Never having heard her music, I took a chance going, and she played an intimate set, allowing her to showcase her talent and voice.
Kristy Kruger at The Kessler
Dallas singer/songwriter Kristy Kruger performs with The Boxcar Bandits, of Denton, at The Kessler Theatre in Oak Cliff, Dallas.


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Looking to build cashflow?
Then add a granny flat…
With an ongoing demand for affordable housing in our major cities, for most people, the easiest way to build a new income stream through property is to add a granny flat right into their existing block.
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- Find out the 7 key points you must pass to be able to build a granny flat on your property
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Yesterday I was working on a whole bunch of clothing and household laundry so I was in and out of the room. But thankfully Ethan was completely self-amused. I didn't know what I owed the pleasure to, as I worked, but I certainly appreciated hearing sweet babble rather than ear-piercing screaming and crying:). When I got back into the living room Ethan had tipped the laundry basket and filled it with his stacking cups (basically his favorite toys-ever) and then swung the whole basket around, one-handed, like a pro:).
Tangential question alert. Are, palming a Fisher-Price train while propped up on the other arm, or swinging around a laundry basket when seated, normal developmental abilities? Or is my child gifted with superhuman strength?!?! Superhuman strength you say? I thought so.
So back to the laundry basket musician. Ethan continued to enjoy the laundry basket music after I reentered the living room and I was able to catch a bit of it on video.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
A very amusing laundry basket
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The fairer sex have been asked to help plug the massive trucker shortage that's affecting the UK industry.
Trucking firms will have to change their recruitment strategies after it was revealed that a shortfall of 60,000 drivers will be exarcabated next year when a further 40,000 plan to leave the industry for good.
The drain will have a massive affect on the UK's business, as almost eveyrthing we use in our day-to-day lives is transported by a large goods vehicle (LGV).
MPs are calling on trucking bigwigs to entice "under represented" groups after the shocking numbers were revealed in a Transport Select Committee report.
It stated that out of the 400,000 LGV drivers in England, 92% are male and 60% are aged 45 or over.
A measly 1% are under 25 and just 3% are from Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic (BAME) backgrounds, it added.
Louise Ellman, chair of the Transport Committee, said it was down to government to change the face of the "over 45, white and male" drivers familiar to our roads.
She said: "This is not a new challenge. The road haulage sector has been short of skilled drivers for the last ten years.
"The familiar profile of the professional driver – over 45, white and male – will need to adapt.
"Industry and Government need to get their heads together and come up with a plan which focuses on recruitment and retention.
"After years of under-investment in the sector, let's encourage skilled drivers back into their cabs by improving the image of the profession, revisiting pay and conditions and providing proper and secure facilities at depots and on the roadside.
"Who are the drivers of the future? Let's look to female drivers, young drivers and BAME drivers, currently under-represented in the sector.
"Government and industry should review apprenticeships, reduce training costs and insurance, and demonstrate clear career progression."
The main struggle is with encouraging people to step up to the plate, but Mrs Ellman said it was up to the government to make the professional appealing for all.
She said: "If people are unwilling to work in the sector, it is up to industry and Government to change perceptions.
"Almost everything we use in our daily lives has, at some point, been transported by a large goods vehicle. UK PLC relies on them."
One 24-year-old old told Daily Star of her dream to become the nation's top prettiest truck driver.


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Yesterday evening a group of us set off on a walk to a local village with the end point being one of our favourite pubs.
It was just what I needed. I had a very concentrated afternoon at work. I had been so focused on what I was doing for a couple of hours before I finished that I felt mentally exhausted.
Before we set off I could have simply flopped on the sofa and fallen asleep. Because we had organised the walk a few days ago I wasn't going to drop out and once the fresh air hit me and I felt the sun on my face I felt really revitalised.
Walking is a great way to be mindful…
1) It improves your relationships. If you are in company then really listening to your companions is great. Sometimes when we are walking alongside each other it is easier to talk about things that may feel difficult face to face. It can be a great chance to open up to each other. Your friends will appreciate your listening ear and when you listen to others your own worries slip away.
2) You can train your brain whilst you go. When things are quiet really focus on the rhythm of your feet. This can help you to train your brain to focus as you want it to. Each time your mind wanders then simply return your attention to the rhythm of your feet again. If you get into a habit of doing this you will be able to chose what you pay attention to.
3) Feel alive and grounded in the moment. Noticing the weather and the smells and sights is a great way to be present. Rather than worrying about what time you will get home, or thinking about the day you have just had at work, you can enjoy the experience to the full.
4) Getting a period of exercise in your day makes you feel great. When you exercise endorphins are released and will leave you with a post workout glow. Fitting in a regular walk will help you to be a healthy weight and it is great for your fitness. If you spend your days sitting at a desk this really is a good move at the end of your day.
So get out walking whenever you can and enjoy the benefits that it brings. A calm mind, clarity, a bit of exercise and maybe even a treat at the end. A drink in a pub at the end of the walk always keeps me going!


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Dardanus (2 DVD)
Price: $23.00 Members: $20.70
Dardanus (2 DVD)
Directors: Raphaël Pichon
Format: Classical, Color, NTSC
Language: French
Subtitles: English
Region: All Regions
Aspect Ratio: 1.78:1
Number of discs: 2
Rated: G General Audience
Studio: HARMONIA MUNDI
DVD Release Date: September 30, 2016
Run Time: 194 minutes
Dardanus is typical of Jean-Philippe Rameau`s operas. It contains impressive, innovative music that is rich with dramatic complexity. His works combined clever harmonic devices, colorful orchestrations and a wide range of emotional expression that often caused controversy among those who favored the music of his rival, Jean-Baptiste Lully.
Although Rameau`s more forward-looking style would eventually win out, the conflict between these two great composers made for one of opera`s more colorful chapters. Dardanus was a less-than-spectacular success at its premiére and underwent at least two extensive revisions.
These subsequent versions simplified the plot, but also involved the removal of excellent music. Modern revivals of Dardanus, such at the one staged here by Ensemble Pygmalion, have restored some of the lost music while maintaining dramatic coherence.
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Wednesday Open Thread: Problem Solving in Real Time (with free example)
It's Day 339 of the Year 2018 CE
So, December 5, 2018 - for my reference if nothing else.
By some quirk of fate it is Repeal Day celebrating the solution of a host of self-inflicted problems and troubles caused by the misguided puritanical banning of alcoholic beverages. It is also World Soil Day, raising awareness of a small host of interrelated problems still needing to be solved and International Volunteer Day for Economic and Social Development hinting at one approach to working on those and other problems. This makes it an auspicious time to follow up my essay on the need to not actively be part of "the problem", to eschew doing harm, or wrong, or bad stuff. In that essay, entitled "First do no Harm", I concluded that
Thus, all of us should be dedicated to "first do no harm", even indirectly, as an action maxim. Long before trying to ascertain how to maximize the total good, we need to stop abetting the bad. "Don't fuck it up!" is, after all, an instinctive motto.
I then linked to a little ditty by Katie Goodman in which, in response to a world that is fucked up, she elicits the idea that we should become "unfuckers" of that same world.
Just as it may be argued that those not part of the solution are part of the problem, so too could one contend that those not part of the problem are, at least in many cases, part of the solution. Thus, "do no harm" can become a real part of addressing problems of certain types and classes. It is also primo ethical behavior, I mean, really, doing harm is not good behavior and it is not a good thing. In addition, abstention from wrongdoing can merge into some affirmative problem solving as well, because the boundary isn't at all always clear. I thought today I might illustrate a potentially workable method for working toward unfucking things in a half ways organized manner. The first step is to pick a problem. I hope everybody realizes that most of the world's problems are really collections of related and sometimes mutually reinforcing problems, problem trees that, though distinct, often are cross-linked as well. Worse, or maybe better yet, each problem will generally have many parts, and this is a good thing. Our task is to find a problem that has a part that can be cured or at least ameliorated by some personal behavior modification and then work on making that modification.
It needs to be noted that this process is iterative. If you have picked something that you manage to solve in one fell swoop, and do so, then clearly you need to find yet another problem to work on. More likely is that you will make some changes and take some actions that will mean that you are no longer helping to cause the problem, and which you will continue to take, and still move on to yet another problem as those behavioral changes become routine and habitual. By way of analogy, we aren't so often simply changing a tire, one and done, as we are resolving to keep all the tires at the proper pressure, requiring regular periodic pressure checks and adjustments. In either case, once we have it nailed, it is time to look for something else we can work on. So, by way of example I decided to focus on plastic pollution. This is an enormous problem ranging from the Pacific Gyre (https://www.theoceancleanup.com/great-pacific-garbage-patch/ ) to the still unfinished problem of microbeads (https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/obama-microbead-ban-fail_us_57432a7... ) to a host of other problems such as described in a recent 3 part series in Scientific American. ( https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/earth-has-a-hidden-plastic-pr... , https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/from-fish-to-humans-a-micropl... , https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/solving-microplastic-pollutio... ) So what can each of us as individuals do about that. For one thing, we can decide not to be part of the problem. Leading off, we can read those articles to get a better of the magnitude and nature of the problem and some of the causes of some of the parts of the problem. We can review those causes for things where we are a factor, things that we do that exacerbate some parts of the problem, and then try to stop doing whatever it is that we are doing to worsen things or contribute to the status quo.
So let's cheat for a little. Lets go directly to the issue of single use plastics, use once and then pollute and kill forever. Bad things in a myriad of shapes, types and forms that damn near all of us use and probably use to excess. By that use, even if we try to recycle them, we contribute to the problem. Attempting to do no harm means we should attempt to quit using them, or to minimize such use. The more you think about doing so, the more you realize all of the vast number of types of single use plastic out there and how much of it you can do without. The classic Reduce, Re-use, Recycle needs to be expanded to include replace and avoid as adjuncts to reduce and there must be a major refocus on re-use rather than recycle until we get the technology and processing plants to make it a reality. That will probably require government action, which, means that it will never get done in the US. There is no clear, direct, near term market based solution to the recycling problem, and in the US, that means that there is no solution at all.
Cola, soda and pop bottles can sometimes be replaced with metal cans or glass bottles, but, frankly, the stuff is toxic and the production is an environmental disaster, so why not wean yourself away from them. Should you wind up with some, there are instructable you-tubes demonstrating conversions of the tops into upside down hanging planters, and the bottoms into plastic string.
Bottled water can be replaced by refillable reusable hikers or backpackers water bottles which come in both metal and plastic. If your tap water sucks, there are tons of other options such as refilling from reusable gallon bottles which are in turn refilled at water dispensers, such as those outside and inside of many stores these days. We sometimes carry a gallon or two from home when on trips in the car to places where we aren't sure about the water and then refill them as need be,
Somewhere between sugar-pop and water is bottled tea or iced coffee, which can be made at home and carried in reusable water bottles or food storage bottles.
Replace single use bags with reusable ones. This is obvious and you probably already do, though you might forget to take them along now and then. Allow me to suggest Chico Bags (TM) - made of recycled plastic bottles and such, they are stuffable into built in pockets and easy to carry at all times. ( https://www.chicobag.com/ ) They come in a ton of shapes and sizes including reusable snack bags for carrying single servings of snack stuff bought in bulk. Take them everywhere and use them for everything, clothing stores, shoe stores, school supplies, medications, etc. Should you wind up with single use plastic bags, from veggie or grocery purchases, or loaves of bread, save them. They can be used for anything which you would ordinarily put into a bag, baggie or plastic wrap. We keep a stash on the kitchen counter. A lot of bread and other dough recipes tell you place the dough in a (lightly greased) bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Nope, stuff it in a plastic bag and tuck the loose ends under the bottom instead. Got some leftovers in a bowl or dish that you'd ordinarily cover with wrap? Stuff it in a plastic bag and tuck the ends under instead. Except for freezing, stuff that goes in baggies can go in bags which are then folded over a few times (or wrapped a few times) to seal/close. Even for freezing, some recycled bags, closed by twist ties and or blue tape will work.
Look for bread in paper bags, which can then be recycled, assuming that you don't already make your own bread. Otherwise, save the bags.
There are vast hordes of stuff sold in single serving plastic packages which can be bought in bulk and repackaged for single serving in bags you've saved from other purchases (re-use), or some of the various chico-bag options.
Buy cheese, sliced cheese, lunch meats and such from the deli counter and provide your own re-used and reusable bags.
Buy bulk instead of pre-packaged and bring your own bags to put it in wherever possible. This includes hardware items too.
So, that's some ways we can stop being part of that particular part of the problem, to the extent that we actually are. That's not remotely a complete list, but it's a start. There are more, and we can discover and share them, and that is part of the job of ceasing to be part of the problem aka being an unfucker. That in totality, however, is only a small part of the problem. Assuming we did all that and more, what else? Well, there's plastic wrap. A lot of stuff gets wrapped that could instead be put into re-useable plastic bags, including plastic bags that held bread or other purchased goods which are re-used as general purpose plastic bags. Often plastic wrap is used to cover bowls of stuff, some large enough that they could be covered repeatedly with a shower cap which could be washed for re-use. There are even companies that sell various sized washable covers made along the same pattern as shower caps, "covermate" (tm) is one such. Alternatively, most such things can be stuffed into a recycled single-use bag and sealed by tucking the ends under, using a twist tie, or the like.
A lot of what's out there isn't single use stuff, but stuff designed for many other longer term uses that finally wore out, got lost, or wasn't really all that durable to start with. often these are storage containers for which the lids broke. That is solvable as above under plastic wrap, and otherwise as well. Again, one needs to look for and find ways to do without some of that stuff. Glass jars (including re-used and recycled ones) can replace plastic storage solutions. So can glass or ceramic bowls in various shapes and sizes. If they need lids, some come with lids, unfortunately made of rubber or plastic, and there are other solutions such as plastic bags and the "covermate" type lids mentioned above. A lot of plastic stuff that cracks or breaks can be repaired using products like "Bondic" (tm) and "Sugru" (tm), though one needs to consider cost-benefit trade-offs in a lot of those types of cases.
In short, there are many actions we can take, or behavioral changes that we can make to reduce the extent to which we are part of some parts of the plastic waste and trash pollution problem without even thinking too hard about it or unduly inconveniencing ourselves. In similar fashion we can attack other parts of that same problem, or seek parts of other problems that may be amenable to the same sort of approach. The main thing is not to do harm to the extent that we may avoid so doing. There is a vast panoply of problems, sub-problems and parts thereof awaiting our examination in the search for changes we can make in order to eschew wrong-doing. All we have to do is to decide to minimize the harm we do, and to get to work on finding ways to do so. Then, as an additional good deed, we can share those solutions.
(Image: IMG_20170115_173921033 by Mike Linksvayer -- public domain)
OK, it's an open thread, so go for it ...
Thanks for the practical problem solving essay
I daresay this should be taught in the schools. Along with the reduce and repurpose themes, I am watching innovations. New thinking on old problems. You are right that govt. lacks the incentive to mitigate disaster pollution. I was excited to see some brainiac come up with the concept of using a log splitter to compress leaves into burnable logs in a tube. Co-genereation works. Thinking beyond established parameters. The floating plastic harvesters in Hawaii are encouraging. Perhaps compress the single use plastics into building materials. Stabilized to concrete strength with recycled resins. Better than choking the landfills. If the Gates and Bezos of the world were to fund competitions, and the schools challenged the students to become involved, new thinking can help save the earth from our consumptive patterns.
Listen to your higher mind.
And if you don't know of a problem that you can unfuck,
then, for pity's sake, get off your duff at long last and finally do your part as citizen of America and the world and create one in which all of us can share!
Wait. That doesn't seem quite right.
I have a better idea: Whether or not you know of a problem that you can unfuck, follow el's wonderful suggestions and and also, to the best of your ability, unfuck any other problem you can think of.
Speaking of pot, er, of prohibition, some numb nuts, dumb ass foreigner had the nerve to immigrate to America and bad mouth it, instead of recognizing how exceptional it was ("it" referring to either America or prohibition--your choice). *https://www.causes.com/causes/488636-i-support-the-legalization-of-marij...
In a film course I once took at night, I watched a montage of Nazi propaganda documentary films made by a then very young and physically lovely Leni Riefenstahl for Himmler. I have not since any film maker so meticulous and skillful. You know those hordes of people you see in films like her Triumph of the Will? Who would ever think that hundreds and thousands of marchers and members of a stadium audience, at least those whom the camera shows, were all cast, one by one, to ensure that they embodied both the Ayran ideal without looking authoritarian or otherwise unpleasant in any way? But, yes, she cast every one.
At one point in one of the documentaries the prof showed us that night, Hitler must have made a mistake in a speech he was giving, with all the furor we usually from die Fuhre her, when he was speaking to huge audiences. However, at some point, he must have made a mistake, perhaps an off color one. I don't know. I don't understand German. So, he immediately tried to suppress an embarrassed chuckle, raising his shoulders and putting his fingertips over his mouth, much as any coy silent film actress may have done appealingly. And, yes, it was for a nanosecond, almost enough to forget what we now know and find him --I almost cannot type this--endearing.
Most film makers striving so incredibly hard for perfection, as did Riefenstahl, would have cut the error. In her early twenties, however, Riefenstahl knew better.
All of which leads up to my telling you what I saw from Bush 43 and Trump this morning. Melania Trump, in a gesture that was both kind and smart, from a public relations standpoint, invited Laura and George Bush to the White House during their time back in D.C. for the wake. The Bushes approached The Trumps waited for the Bushes on the steps of the White House, until George was to the Donald's left and Laura was to Melania's right. As all four turned to enter the White House, Trump gestured to 43 to proceed to the door ahead of Trump. 43 then gestured back to the current POTUS (as protocol may dictate) to instead go ahead of him (43). Then then both walked in tandem.
And yes, for that nanosecond, I had respect for both of them, heaven help me and bless their little hearts and minds.
Thanks, as always, el, for an interesting time piece (See what I did there?) and have a great time on your trip. Until next time....
Very gracious review, el. Thank you. However, you gave
me far too much credit. I ain't got much of that finesse thing.
I posted a link with the furriner's name in it. It was the posting gods who shortened the link, as is often their wont, and created the mystery.
Robbery suspect ... apprehended, across the street
The guy robbed four banks before they caught him, his picture plastered everywhere. The paper did not mention proximity to the cop shop this time, skipping the Keystone aspect. Too busy posting NO Trespass signage for the move along crowd, probably. I'm pretty sure Travis never did have any kind of weapon, but keep on the lookout for those Black Mercedes though, ya never know about those people. heh
Robbery suspect attempts to hit second Cloverdale bank, apprehended
On Tuesday, Dec. 4, the Cloverdale Police Department responded to a bank alarm at the Exchange Bank on S. Cloverdale Boulevard. After the suspect left the bank, CPD officers located his car on the 200 block of S. Cloverdale Boulevard, and eventually apprehended Travis Strickland. Strickland, 37, is linked to the Nov. 16 robbery of the Cloverdale Chase Bank, as well as four other robberies.
According to a press release from the Cloverdale Police Department, Strickland "entered the bank and passed a note demanding money, disguising his appearance with a wig and a hat. After the suspect left the bank, Cloverdale officers located a black Mercedes driven by the suspect… and conducted a high-risk traffic stop."
Strickland, a resident of Ukiah, was transported to the Sonoma County Detention Facility and booked with attempted robbery, robbery, burglary and an outstanding warrant for a misdemeanor out of Mendocino County. According to the press release, more charges are pending.
good job
Thanks for writing about solving the problem of plastic. New law orders big businesses to sort their trash or hire someone to do it for them
Hundreds of San Francisco businesses will have to sort their trash properly for recycling or else hire janitors to do it for them under legislation approved Tuesday.
The Board of Supervisors unanimously approved legislation introduced by Supervisor Ahsha Safai that targets about 400 of San Francisco's biggest producers of trash — hotels, restaurants, office buildings and large apartment buildings.
Reduce and Reuse
Lovin' In The Valley Of The Moon
May I offer the suggestion many grandmoms offered as they
passed food to visitors? "Don't be shy."
If I were a waiter or waitress, I would not be put off in the slightest if my customer said something to the effect of, "To put a little less stress on Mother Nature, we always bring our own containers. But we appreciate your thoughtfulness very much."
I live near a Starbuck's. When I used to drink their coffee, I bought by the pound, not the cup. At that time, they were giving a free cup with every purchase of a pound. One day, I saw a very young barista whispering to an older one. Forgetting my paranoia for once, probably due to my need for intravenous morning caffeine, I thoght nothing of it. But, yes, she was whispering about me.
As she looked toward me, I gave her a big smile ('cause that's the kind of simpleton I am). She turned to her co-worker and said, "See? I told you." I then put my two bags of coffee atop the counter, along with the little Starbucks shopping bag I'd brought with me so that it could carry the bags of coffee while I carried the cup of coffee.
Next, she said, "You always bring your own bag with you, don't you?" As paranoia was finally beginning to kick in, I nodded, wondering if perhaps her family manufactured Starbucks' bags and I was taking food off their table. However, she next flashed me a huge smile and exclaimed, "I LOVE that!" While this was going on her older co-worker had apparently been busy behind the counter for she plopped atop the counter a bag of the "and" part of coffee and.
Like a mook (but not like a Mook), I told her that I had not ordered anything. She quietly said, I know. It's because you bought two pound of coffee and you only wanted one cup. But Starbucks had no such offer; At most, my purchase had earned two cups of coffee.
Finally, as Massachusetts folk sometimes say, "Light dawned on marble head." The (unearned goodie was compensation for my always smiling and bringing my own bag. (I'd add perhaps for always tipping well, too, but I am far too modest to do that).
So, what I am trying to say, I guess, is that at least some wait staff will appreciate your kindness to Mother Earth. And it is a relatively short-winded, unoffensive way to evangelize.
I like the idea
of bringing your own containers for leftovers. I really hate to use styrofoam for that and it is what is often offered.
No fewer than 3 German TV channels have the GHWB memorial live
with simultaneous translation of all the jovial and sentimental speeches into German.
Once again, an occasion to reflect on the "banality of evil" . . . blecch.
George Bush was President during a very historic time
For Germany and the World. He was skilled at diplomacy and he did preside over the endgame of George Kennan's containment policy, and avoidance of hot war, that was put in place during the Truman administration. Trump would have blown that all up and Germany would still be split or a Russian colony.
Beware the bullshit factories.
Yeah but it wasn't World War III wtih nukes
provoked one and started one and is responsible for a ton of war crimes and mass murdes of civilians in the process.
Call it Deep State call it career public service but there were some pretty smart people who adopted George Kennan's very smart policy which H.W. was important in bringing to a successful conclusion.
Beware the bullshit factories.
Might it seem out of place at Poppy's funeral to cut some of
the syrupy sweetness of all that praise for Bush family service to the country by mentioning 41's father's World War II activities and Poppy's very own Desert Storm on behalf of Kuwait, after giving Hussein the go ahead?
(First time breaking my rule never to post anything at all after someone dies, unless I can say something positive. Not sure why. Some people who did horrendous have died since I've been posting.)
Praising all office holders for their service is a relatively new thing and often misplaced, IMO. Being President, in particular, is eight years of living expense-free at a standard higher than that of the Sultan of Brunei while "earning" "comfortable" salary plus lots of other perks, during and after your Presidency, including Secret Service protection until you and your spouse are both dead. And your risk is that the Secret Service might not take a bullet for you or catch your wannabe assassin. It's not a small risk. However, no one's life is risk-free. Heck, cars drive right into stores and restaurants and hit people. On balance, I'd leap at the job if someone offered it, though I would never seek it.
Poppy served in WWII, which is one of very few wars that, IMO, needed to be fought. Now, that was service. Being pampered and praised for being President of the US or Governor of Florida? Not so much. And it's not as though they were drafted. They were desperate to win those elections. JMO
good afternoon el
et al. Thanks for the ot.
Great thread. I got so pissed off that I could not find what I wanted in a glass bottle at the health food store (locally owned, only one left) that I almost made quarter pagers to pass out to folks in front of the store. (Mary, one of the mainstays of the sc4b campaign made quarter pagers for all kinds of things. NPP - no party preference - was one of the most important ones. Housing, gotv on campus, you name it. They really worked. We explained the message to the canvassers and they to the voters.)
Plastic is lighter and does not break. No wonder businesses adopted it. Plastic containers and throw aways need to go away. far. away.
When I was in Berlin, I quickly discovered that they just don't use plastic. At the airport they give you ceramic plates for food. At one of the outdoor symphonies you had to pay a 2 euro deposit on your hard-plastic returnable glass, which they reused. They do not have plastic bags in the stores that I went into. Kids were required to learn to ride bikes. They closed down the center district on the weekend (maybe just one day) to cars. That was a while back. Impressive. It is so possible to do this. And interestingly the organic food was the cheapest because it cost less to produce.
I love your ideas of bringing your own carry out containers. Such a great idea. The health food store here will not let you use your own container for the food bar but you can use them for dry goods. Lots of great ideas. Thank you. Have a great one...
Stop Climate Change Silence - Start the Conversation
Berneys on steroids
guardian https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2018/dec/03/claps-and-cheers-appl...
Fortunately for Apple, someone had been hard at work fixing that bug. In 1984, a group of professors at Harvard Business School published a book, Managing Human Assets, aimed at updating workplace organization for a new era. The book was based on the first new compulsory course at the Harvard Business School in a generation, launched in 1981. Ron Johnson started his MBA at Harvard the next year, graduating as the book itself was released.
Previously, the book argued, labor discipline could be achieved in a relatively straightforward top-down manner, but now it required something else. "The limitations of hierarchy have forced a search for other mechanisms of social control," the authors said. The mechanisms they proposed consisted, at root, of treating employees as nominal stakeholders in business success, but within narrow limits that would increase rather than challenge shareholder profitability.
Johnson put many of these ideas into practice. He found the first cohort of Apple store employees by personally interviewing every manager and offering jobs to upbeat staff working for competitors. He sent the first five managers through the Ritz-Carlton training program to learn concierge skills. Then he developed a training program for the in-house production of "geniuses". (Jobs reportedly hated the term at first, finding it ridiculous. True to form, he asked his lawyers to apply for a trademark the following day.)
Does Apple's sales slump mean the firm has finally peaked?
Read more
How do you create an engaged, happy, knowledgable workforce that can pass, however implausibly, as an entire battalion of geniuses in towns across the country? More importantly, how do you do all of that without the stick of the authoritarian boss or the carrot of a juicy commission?
Apple's solution was to foster a sense of commitment to a higher calling while flattering employees that they were the chosen few to represent it. By counterintuitively raising the bar of admission, crafting a long series of interviews to weed out the mercenary or misanthropic, Johnson soon attracted more applicants than there were posts. Those keen enough to go through the onerous hiring process were almost by definition a better "fit" for the devotional ethos of the brand, far more receptive to the fiction that they weren't selling things but, in an oft-repeated phrase, "enriching people's lives", as if they'd landed a job at a charity.
"When people are hired," Johnson explained, "they feel honored to be on the team, and the team respects them from day one because they've made it through the gauntlet. That's very different from trying to find somebody at the lowest cost who's available on Saturdays from 8 to 12."
While not the lowest, the cost of these eager staff was still low – relative to industry averages, to the amount they made for the company, and to the $400m that Johnson earned in his seven years at Apple.
Apple's value dips below $1tn amid fears of iPhone sales peak
Read more
Lower wages also had another, less obvious effect. As Apple store managers explained to the New York Times, the lack of commissions meant that the job didn't pay well enough to support those with dependents: older workers were functionally excluded from representing the brand without the need for a formal policy – or the attendant specter of discrimination lawsuits that it would raise. Deploying psychology, not the maximizing calculus of economic rationality (money), allowed Apple to turn hiring and wages into managerial props.
The sense of higher calling and flattery doesn't stop with the hiring process, of course. Make it through the gauntlet and you are "clapped in" by existing workers: given a standing ovation as if receiving a prize. The clapping, according to employees, continues until new hires, perhaps after a confused delay, begin clapping too, graduating from outside spectator to part of the performance – part of the team. Leave the company and you're "clapped out".
Products are clapped, customers waiting overnight to buy them are clapped, their purchases are clapped, claps are clapped. Clap, clap, clap. "My hands would sting from all the clapping," said one manager. Claps, cheers, performances of rapturous engagement provided, by design, a ready-mixed social glue to bind teams together, reaffirming both the character of the brand and employees' cultish devotion to it.
It might be expected that Apple store employees are, as their name implies, tech gurus with incredible intellects. But their true role has always been to use emotional guile to sell products.
The Genius Training Student Workbook is the vaguely comical title of the manual from which Apple store employees learn their art. Prospective geniuses are taught to use empathetic communication to control customer experience and defuse tension, aiming to make them happy and relax their purse strings.
Stop Climate Change Silence - Start the Conversation
Granny tells it like it is!
I came across a similar vid of hers on FB, but sadly couldn't find it.
This is close enough... too funny, but dead nuts...
the little things you can do are more valuable than the giant things you can't! - @thanatokephaloides. On Twitter @wink1radio. (-2.1) All about building progressive media.


text:
THE GREAT LAKE STEAMERS. - The steamers CANADA and AMERICA, built last year at Niagara for the Great Western Railroad Company, have been chartered by Mr. Zinnerman, who will run them between Toronto and Ogdensburgh, calling at Darlington, Cobourg and Cape Vincent. These boats are by far the largest ever launched upon Lake Ontario. They are each 300 feet long and 40 feet wide. The are alike in every particular and furnished in a supurb manner. The total cost of the two boats was $300,000. The engines of these boats are of great power, and it is reported that their speed will be proportionately great. - Rochester Union.
Buffalo Daily Courier
Thursday, April 12, 1855
Steam paddle CANADA. Of about 453 tons gross. Built Niagara, Ont. 1854. 279 x 36 x 14. Rebuilt as U. S. MISSISSIPPI 1859. DISPOSITION:-- Lost South Atlantic, August 30, 1862
Preliminary List of Canadian Merchant Steamships
Inland & Coastal - 1809 to 1930
Steam paddle MISSISSIPPI. Of 2,026 tons gross. Built 1854 at Niagara-on-the-Lake, Canada. First home port, New York, N.Y.
DISPOSITION:-- Foundered August 30, 1862 at Sea. 29 degrees S. 12 degrees E. No lives lost.
Merchant Steam Vessels of the U. S. A.
Lytle - Holdcamper List, 1790 to 1868
The Maritime History of the Great Lakes site is managed by Walter Lewis
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