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He arrived on a typical summer evening on my suburban cul-de-sac, just another night in which Susie refused to come in from outside, or take a bath, or brush her hair – because those things led up to the dreaded bedtime.
So when I couldn't find my hairbrush anywhere, my mother assumed it was just another attempt to delay the inevitable. Not so. My hairbrush was gone. It wasn't in the bathroom or on the bedroom dresser I shared with my older sister, much to her dismay. And when I accused Nancy of using my hairbrush she laughed haughtily. She was fourteen, a teenager with her own collection of brushes and combs, a girl who spent most of her waking hours applying Dippity-Do and using orange juice cans as hair rollers. No, Nancy had no interest in my disgusting hairbrush. And my brother was innocent, too. Sean was only three and hadn't yet reached the age where he stole anything and everything – including my naked, armless Barbie dolls – to use as airplanes on bombing missions.
The brush had disappeared.
So my mother and I looked everywhere for that stupid thing and came up empty-handed. Eventually, Mom untangled my hair with her own comb, and tucked me in.
At some point during the night, an odd sound woke me from a deep sleep. The headboard of my twin bed was against the same wall as the bedroom door, so I faced into the room. The dresser mirror provided a reflection of the hallway behind me. When I heard the strange sound again – a scraping and sliding noise – I sat up and opened my eyes.
I heard a giggle. I looked into the mirror and saw him under the hall light, a little man in a matching green top hat, jacket, and short pants. He wore black shoes with big silver buckles. His eyes twinkled and his cheeks were rosy. And he was laughing and skipping down the hallway, kicking his heels when he wasn't kicking the hairbrush along the wood floor toward my bedroom.
I froze, my eyes glued to the mirror. This little man was making such a racket that I couldn't believe my parents and siblings didn't wake up. I looked over at Nancy. She was sound asleep, her orange juice cans denting into the pillow. I tried to call out to her but I couldn't get my voice to work.
It was just me and a guy who was clearly a leprechaun. I didn't dare turn and look directly down the hallway, so I took another furtive glance in the mirror. He caught my eye, and laughed even louder, like he was glad to be caught in the act. Then he gave me a mischievous smile.
I slammed down onto my back and yanked the covers over my face, trembling with fear as the scraping sound got louder and louder. I heard him in my room. He was giggling up a storm and mumbling to himself in a loud sing-song voice. And then – poof! – he was gone.
I woke up the next morning to find my brush placed in the center of my dresser. I couldn't believe it! Nobody admitted to finding it and putting it there. My mom thought I was just being a rabble-rouser when I told her all about my leprechaun, the way he giggled and what he was wearing and how he had kicked up his heels. She hugged me, laughed, and told me what a wonderful imagination I had.
"Maybe one day you'll be a writer!" she said.
You may wonder why I'm telling you about my leprechaun at this point, since the last time I posted a blog I was just about to be discharged from the hospital after three months, twenty surgeries, and the amputation of my left leg above the knee. Bear with me.
Let's return to February 25, 2012, the morning I was really, truly, finally GOING HOME. I woke very early, flipped on the light, and sat up in my hospital bed. Then it hit me – the ordeal was over. I'd done it. I'd survived. I'd been strong. I'd beaten the odds. I'd aced the test!
I'd like my leg back now.
Really, that's what went through my head. Of course it sounds ridiculous, but I understand how I might have thought that way, since it was how things usually worked for me. For the previous fifty years of my life, I had put my faith in a simple formula: if I worked really hard, things usually turned out the way I wanted them to. All I had to do was use my God-given talent, push on with bullheaded determination, and let the good luck dust sprinkle down on me the way it always had – even before I was born.
My sister is almost ten years older than me. In between Nancy and myself, my mother had three miscarriages. While being examined after a car accident, my mom learned she was pregnant again, and assumed I would become number four. But she realized something was different this time around. My mom always described it this way: "I started to feel a powerful life force inside me, pure determination, and I knew you would be fine. You were going to be born and that was that. I never worried about the pregnancy again."
This determination/luck thing went on to work for me in the post-natal years, as well. How I got into college and how I became a published author are prime examples of the formula in action.
I wanted to be a journalist, so with decent SAT scores and a B average from my little suburban public high school, I applied to the No. 1 journalism program in the country at that time – and nowhere else. I carefully filled out the admissions application and spent months crafting, typing, and polishing my essay, then drove to my in-person interview. I woke up in the middle of the night before my appointment, and tore that sucker into confetti-sized pieces. Then I sat down at the small round table in front of the hotel room window and wrote about how I'd just destroyed my essay because it was from the girl I thought they wanted me to be, not who I really was. I wrote this triumph of teen angst in pencil. On Holiday Inn stationery. Off the top of my head. The generous admissions staff at Northwestern University accepted me anyway, and I went on to get bachelors and masters degrees from the Medill School of Journalism.
More than twenty years later, I was married with two young children and working part-time as a fine arts fundraiser when I decided I wanted to write popular fiction. I gave myself one year – three hundred and sixty-five days – to write a novel from start to finish and snag an agent and/or a book deal. Since I had to quit my job in order to write, that's all I could spare. But I figured a year would be plenty of time to discover if I had what it took to be a published novelist. If it didn't happen within that time, it wasn't meant to be.
As the end of the year approached, I'd written two complete novels and was working on my third. I went to a writer's conference where I randomly sat down next to an editor at lunch. Based on our informal chat, she asked to see the first few chapters of my work-in-progress, and called a week later to say she loved the book and wanted to read the whole thing. I left a panicked voicemail with the only literary agent I'd ever met in person and I became her client by the next day's close of business. Within six weeks, I'd finished the novel and had a two-book contract with my dream publisher. Yes, I had gone past my allotted time, but hey, I figured it was close enough.
I tell you these stories to provide context, because this sort of stuff happened in my life so often that it was the norm for me. I was an incredibly lucky woman. I didn't talk about it much, but sometimes my mind went back to the night of the hairbrush, and I had to admit that I just might be in a relationship with a leprechaun.
The morning of my discharge, as I looked at all my belongings packed and ready to go, it dawned on me that the tried-and-true formula would not work in this situation. Being a stellar patient wouldn't earn the return of my knee, calf, ankle, and foot. No amount of bullheaded determination would regenerate my flesh and bone. It pained me that my damn leprechaun hadn't even bothered to belly up to the bar before closing time. He should have shown up to do his sprinkling thing before my leg got whacked off in the first place.
Clarity – a big-assed concrete block of clarity – crashed down on my head. My charmed life wasn't charmed anymore. I was a one-legged woman, and nothing I could do from this point on would change that. I was permanently powerless over the situation.
I know. The idea that any of us human beings are "in charge" of any damn thing is delusion. I've always understood that, but only as a spiritual concept that didn't necessarily apply to me. In prayer, I would give over the flow of my life to the Source. In meditation, I would let the idea of "accepting what is" float through my mind. And then off I'd go, right back into a life that I expected to work according to my equation – talent, effort, and luck would get me wherever I needed to go.
Crap. All of it.
Not only would I be going home without a leg, or a fully functioning brain, or a strong body, I'd be going home without my safety net of delusion.
My leprechaun had left the building, and he'd taken my charmed life with him, the little fucker.


text: The "other side influences our lives every day. Our sensitivity to ghostly activity grows with each encounter, sometimes to a distracting level. The Ghost Candles are speciallymade to enforce authority over the spirit world where it intersects with ours. This annual special edition is a popular tradition here at Coventry Creations. Don't miss out on this limited run. This year, we will be selling the follwing candles: Home Clear and Bless, Night Terror, Spirit Release, Seance. These special editions are made once a year and will be sold on a first come, first serve basis. Once they are sold out, they will be gone until the next year!

subset: commoncrawl


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Summary of Navigating the Badlands
Pages: 336
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Every few hundred years, the Western world takes itself apart and puts itself together again. Peter Drucker observed that this process of dissolution and reconstitution occurs so decisively that, afterward, people who live in the new world cannot even imagine the world of their parents or grandparents. Author Mary O'Hara-Devereaux believes that we are about three-quarters through a 75-year period of such disruptive innovation. She calls the transition "the Badlands." Like the barren Dakota Badlands of the Old West, they are a painful trial that makes or breaks people, and either way leaves them with a new sense of identity. The author identifies several distinct transitional pains for which she prescribes an equal number of palliatives. Her analyses and prescriptions can be thought provoking, though they are seldom trail blazing. While the book may be more smoke than fire, getAbstract.com finds that smoke signals can be useful for the long-range vistas in the Badlands. (And, by the way, the author includes a chapter on China that seems almost as parenthetical as this sentence, though interesting enough. In reality, China looks like the pivot point of Badlands transitions, and how it comes through may affect how your neighborhood comes through, as well.)
In this summary, you will learn
- How to conceptualize trends in globalization, leadership, organization and society; and
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About the Author
Mary O'Hara-Devereaux is the CEO of Global Foresight and has been a senior faculty member at the University of California, the University of Hawaii, Peking University and the Institute for the Future. She is co-author of Globalwork.
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This is a guest post from Howard Wolinsky. A former tech-beat reporter for the Chicago Sun-Times, Howard is a freelance writer based in the Chicago area. He has a passion for photography and when not teaching or writing can be found exploring the city and suburbs. He recently took a tour of the new Verizon Chicago Destination Store and shared his reactions with us.
Tech fans, need a break from your holiday shopping along the Mag Mile? Check out the new Verizon Wireless Destination Store at 840 N. Michigan. The 10,000-square-foot store, the biggest of its kind, is a great place to check out not only what's new in smartphones, but also in other tech.
When you enter the store, you quickly notice this is not just a place to get a new phone, it is a wonderland of technology – both on display and for sale. From beautiful video screens to fun, engaging displays, guests are invited to play!
The store has an urban vibe with CTA-style infrastructure as decoration. Upon arrival you can park your device with a concierge who will make sure you're charged up. In the same area, an interactive wall explains the differences between different phones.
Photo Credit: Tasos Katopodis/Getty Images for Verizon
I really liked the sports tech section. There, I toured my old South Side neighborhood via a system suitable for stationary biking on a sub-zero day. I even peeked at Central Park in the Big Apple. While a soccer newbie, I checked out a wired soccer ball and scored a goal dead center in the net. Not too shabby.
From my time as a "sports star," I wandered over to the Fun Zone - actually everything was fun - and saw some amazing GoPro videos. I started dreaming Go-Pro dreams. And flying Droid dreams.
Photo Credit: Tasos Katopodis/Getty Images for Verizon
But when you're done window-shopping, or actual shopping, don't forget to pick up your phone from the concierge!
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CELLSTAR® EASYstrainer™ Cell Sieves
EASYstrainer from Greiner Bio-One is a novel product for fast and safe filtration of cell suspensions, such as from tissue dissociation for flow cytometry. The filter fits all standard 50 ml tubes and is available with filter mesh sizes of 40, 70 and 100 μm. The innovative design of EASYstrainer™ allows for secure aseptic handling with a clearly reduced risk of contaminating the filtered cell suspension. In particular, a circumferential mantle surface and an additional handle can be used to grip the device firmly without getting in contact with the wetted filter material. The single blister pack also makes aseptic handling easier and more convenient.
EASYstrainer filters have a venting slot between the tube and the filter. This feature allows air to leave the tube readily while filtrated solution flows through the mesh. Thus, problems observed with other strainer brands (such as liquid trapped between the tube and filter), and overspill of cell suspensions, are prevented.


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- Breaking my ankle (lowlight)
- Starting my blog (highlight)
- Making some amazing friendships
- Starting high school
- Getting my camera
- My country hosting an
amazing super fantastic awesomeAYOBA soccer world cup and seeing a match
- Getting my ears pierced
- Going to parties that end at midnight (woooow :p)
- Growing even more closer to family
- Getting to know some lovely bloggers :)
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Ending the year with a photo, some memories and a collage
What ? Its the end of the year already ? GASP ! I cant believe it. What year it has been. Mmm I guess I this is the time most people choose to reflect but Im only going to highlight just a few memories.
Posted by Emma Alexandra at 10:27 PM
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Mr. Biggers works with clients on accounting and financial reporting, Securities and Exchange Commission compliance, enterprise resource planning (ERP) system selection and international business matters. He has substantial experience in all aspects of the energy industry (upstream exploration and production (E&P), midstream, refining, services and manufacturing) as well as the engineering and construction and retail sectors.
While at A&M, Mr. Biggers led engagements where he reported to the Board of Directors for clients while serving as interim Chief Financial Officer (CFO) and Controller in both the energy and construction industries. He has also established C-Suite and Board level relationships in the delivery of various strategic projects, including organizational assessments and major remediation / transformation initiatives.
While working in industry, Mr. Biggers served as the CFO of a small publicly-traded oil and gas company with assets in West Texas, the Chief Accounting Officer (CAO) of a public international oilfield services company based in Houston and Calgary, and the CFO of a privately-held international engineering and construction company headquartered in Houston.
Mr. Biggers also previously worked in the E&P subsidiary entities and corporate headquarters of Mobil Oil Corporation. He served as the CFO of an oil and gas joint venture in the Middle East with $8 billion in assets that produced over one million barrels of oil per day and had an annual capital budget of over $700 million. He was responsible for accounting, information technology, human resources, legal, government relations, medical and building services. Other joint interest partners included BP, Total, Shell and a national oil company.
Mr. Biggers earned a bachelor's degree in accounting from the University of Texas at Austin and a master's degree in finance from Hull University in England.


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Michael A. Battle Sr., president of the Interdenominational Theological Center in Atlanta, home to six theological schools, will leave that office after a six-year term to become the U.S. representative to the African Union with the rank of ambassador. The African Union, based in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, integrates the political interests of 53 African nations. The Senate confirmed the appointment on August 7.
Edwin Tuller, 95, the top executive for American Baptist Churches during the civil rights movement, died August 25 in Pittsburgh. "Ed Tuller was one of a vanguard of church leaders who made it clear that support for the civil rights movement was a Christian duty," said Michael Kin namon, general secretary of the National Council of Churches. "He openly supported his fellow Baptist, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and he was prominently visible at the 'I Have a Dream' march on Wash ington in 1963 and other demonstrations." He served as ABC general secretary from 1959 to 1970. His successor was Robert C. Campbell, who died July 27. Tuller oversaw the 1962 completion of the American Baptist headquarters building in Valley Forge, Pennsylvania—a circular building known as the "holy doughnut" and also called by some "Tuller's Cruller."


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Related Information for Kaoma Kaoma is a pop group from Brazil, who had a major chart-topping hit with their dance single Lambada, which was stolen from the native music band Los Kjarkas from Bolivia, in 1989.Lambada is a dance which became internationally popular in the 1980s. The exact origin of the dance is somewhat disputed but it is known to have begun in Brazil and has forerunners such as the forró, sayas, the maxixe, and the carimbó. Some also say it began in Bolivia, a thought due to the song named Lambada w.. read more