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Paid Links:
Karslake House, Winsford, Exmoor Tel: 01643 851242 Click Here
Folly Self Catering Holidays, Winsford, Somerset Tel: 01643 851391
Winsford (pop 370) is often called the prettiest village on Exmoor. Lying in a valley to the north of Dulverton, it is steeped in history and has eight bridges over the many small streams. It is so called as it lies on the Winn brook where it converges with the River Exe.
The village boasts one church, one thatched inn, one village shop, a tea rooms and a guest house. It is situated right in the heart of Exmoor and is well situated for those visitors who enjoy walking, pony trekking or fishing.
A little further afield, there are the market towns of South Molton and Honiton, well known for antique shops. Taunton, the county town of Somerset, is a mere 40 minutes away with everything that you would expect from a busy, thriving town. If you like the sea, both the North and South Devon coastlines are within easy touring distance. Up into the North Devon countryside, there is the famous 'Doone Valley' immortalised by R.D. Blackmore in his novel 'Lorna Doone'.
In the village of Winsford itself, everything is peaceful. Morning rush hour is two tractors going up the road. There are no traffic jams, double yellow lines, parking meters, traffic wardens, bus lanes, or anything else that you just long to get away from. With attractions and activities to keep all the family smiling and entertained during your holiday, Exmoor through rain or shine offers plenty to do.
For the family you have zoos, railways, honey farms, harbours, birds of prey, festivals, birds and animals, castles and quaint old villages. For the romantic in you fantastic walks along beautiful beaches and county lanes, ending with a relaxing drink in some of the nicest inns and restaurants in the country.
The Local Area:
Stunning views of the moors with the Exmoor ponies and red deer. Beautiful ancient bridges and babbling rivers just a stones throw from the farm. A few minutes drive and your in Dulverton, a quaint old market town. Further along the road is Tiverton and then onwards to Exeter and Plymouth.
In the other direction lies South Molton and its wonderful antique shops and markets. Lynton and Lynmouth on the coast, watch the drop though! And then Barnstaple, the capital of North Devon with its diverse shopping experience and gateway to the best surfing in the Southwest.
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Click on Tourism for information on the area, Attractions for what to do and where to go, Food and Drink on what to eat when you get there, Leisure... well relax and think about that one and the Town Centre to shop till you drop!
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Barnstaple Accommodation Guide - Winsford


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Decorative Glass Sconce Lighting
Disclaimer: Images shown are representative, but may not indicate all variations in color or finishes.
Customize Your Lighting
Make selections below to customize your Lighting.
Decorative Glass Sconce Lighting
Decorative Glass Sconces provide ideal lighting for hallways, bathrooms and bedrooms.
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- Energy efficient compact fluorescent bulbs
- Personalize your styling space with 18 decorative options
- Base fixture available in Chrome and Brushed Nickel
- A complement to Candre cabinets and mirrors
- ETL/UL Certified for damp locations

subset: commoncrawl


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This is what happens when you don't read newspapers or watch the News. I had to find out about this from a US site.
The New Zealand Ministry of Education on Monday announced that all state and state-integrated schools using Macs would get free copies of Mac OS X 10.3 Panther, Keynote and iLife by mid-February. [Via: MacMinute.com]
Free Apple Software for Schools: Besides up-dates for their current operating software schools will also be provided with additional Apple-specific programmes. Schools will have access to free upgrades for their operating systems over the next three years.


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Military Dad Surprises Kids During 'Disney on Ice' [VIDEO]
Here's another heartwarming family reunion. Jamie Curcio made a special surprise appearance at Disney on Ice's "Frozen" at the Izod Center in East Rutherford. Jamie was stationed in the Middle East for almost a year. Watch him surprise his kids as he rides out on Kristoff's sleigh in style for a very sweet holiday family reunion..


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Reality Clash (RCC) Augmented reality combat game on Ethereum Blockchain
RealityClash Teaser
About Reality Clash
Reality Clash is an augmented Reality FPS combat game available on iPhone and Android and it's free to play!
A new revolutionary gameplay
No attachments or add-ons
Uses the phone's camera, presenting an augmented reality picture on the phones screen
Real world buildings have an impact on gameplay
Connect to friends in real-time using geo map technology
Join private teams and tournaments or go full-out street combat mode
Trade and sell your weapons through the Reality Clash platform or secondary markets for money
Speculate on weapons and become a virtual arms dealer
How Does It Work
Train and grow as a Reality Clash player, facing and fighting against enemies in their local environment.
Familiar places are now your battle fields
The people in your surroundings are either your allies or enemies
Build you own headquarters
Build defenses
Set up battles in real life environments
2 player or full tournament team mode
Invite friends and set up battles in real life environments; parks, fields, woodland, businesses
Visit gaming points to collect free health and ammo
Equip yourself with different weapons, armor and health packs
Unlock new weapons, functions and achievements, explore your surroundings, and conquer your own city
Reality Clash will have everything you expect in combat.
Full range of weapons from pistols to machine guns, sniper riffles and customizable guns
Trade and sell your weapons on the secondary market
See examples of weapons here
Full selection of weapons – including limited editions
Full selection of ammo packs
Health booster packs
Air Strikes
Customized skins
Gun and ammo bundles
Special rewards
The armory store will be available to view closer to launch. Participants is the Token Sale will have exclusive access to weapons one month after the Token Sale closes.
Token Sale participants will get bonus Reality Clash Coins at a massive discount to the app store prices. Plus exclusive weapons, early demos and special offers.
Trading Platform
Introducing the world's first token sale armory. The armory is our on-line store where you can buy all types of weapons and ammunition. The weapons available in the token sale will be limited edition, designed exclusively for the token sale and only available to the fortunate few who are lucky enough to participate in the token sale. You will have weapons and armory that no ones else will have – EVER! These weapons can be used in the game or traded and sold through the Reality Clash platform or on the secondary markets for money. All in-game content will be ERC-20 tokenized with a Blockchain based trust list. Make money, speculate on weapons and become a virtual arms dealer or simply enjoy your tactical advantage by playing in the game!
May 2017
1st Aug 2017
29th Aug 2017
ICO starts
Oct 2017
Alpha Dev starts
1st November
Online and trading platform open
MVP Release
Goal And Vision
Reality Clash will be the most comprehensive and advanced social augmented reality combat game in the market, backed by the Etherum Blockchain The team behind Reality Clash have worked in games for decades and been involved in many hit titles from Activison, Disney, UbiSoft and Microsoft. A working playable demo has already been developed. Following the Token Sale the funding will be used to develop the game to an MVP (minimal viable product) and a soft launch in Q3 2018
Why Participate in the Token sale?
Participants will get free bonus coins, plus a massive discount on the price of the coin during the Token Sale. The RCC gold coin price will be discounted to roughly $0.30 per coin. This is a 70% discount based on the retail price of RCC Silver coins ($1 per coin) when the game launches in the iPhone and Google+ app stores
Participants in the Token Sale will be able to purchase RCC gold coins in exchange for Etheruem Ether.
When the game launches RCC silver coins can be purchased through the iPhone and Android app stores for $1 per coin to buy in-game armory in our store. These RCC silver coins do not come with any bonus, discounts or exclusive weapons that are on offer during the Token Sale.
In Addition the RCC gold coins will…
Give you access to exclusive content including weapons, armor and ammo. These weapons will be available to buy and trade from 1st November 2017 on the Reality Clash platform and the secondary market. The fortunate few who are lucky enough to participate in the Token Sale will have weapons and armory that can be used in the game and will never be available again. You will have access to buy armory that no one else will have – EVER!
In Addition the RCC gold coins will…
Give you early access to demos, invite to join the 'soft launch' tournament and an exclusive medal, which will be seen on tournament leader boards, next to your name, proving you're a founder member
ERC-20 Armory – Trade and Buy Weapons
Introducing the world's first token sale armory. The armory is our on-line store where you can buy all types of weapons and ammunition. The weapons available in the token sale will be limited edition, designed exclusively for the token sale and only available to the fortunate few who are lucky enough to participate in the token sale. You will have weapons and armory that no ones else will have – EVER!
Reality Clash Coins Gold – Ticker 'RCC'
There will be 100,000,000 RCC Gold available to purchase.
RCC Gold coins are only available during the Token Sale and come with exclusive bonuses, discounts and armory.
RCC Silver coins will be available when the game launches and can be bought via the Apple or Google app store for $1 per coin
RCC Silver coins do not have any of the special offers that come with RCC Gold coins during the token sale
Token Sale Pre Sale
50,000,000 RCC will be available in the Pre Sale. In addition to the discounted price Pre Sale coins come with 50% free bonus coins. Example, buy 100,000 coins and get 50,000 FREE! Minimum investment during the Pre Sale is $25k
Token Sale
The Token Sale starts on the 29th August.
50,000,000 RCC tokens will be available with the following free bonus tokens on a first come basis. Once tier one sells out it moves to tier two and so on. No minimum investment.
Be quick as these tokens will sell out fast!
Tier one 20,000,000 RCC with 50% bonus coins Tier two 15,000,000 RCC with 30% bonus coins Tier three 10,000,000 RCC with 10% bonus coins Tier four 5,000,000 RCC no bonus coins
Any unallocated or unsold RCC Gold will be burned
Game and trading platform Development – 70% Marketing and promotions – 20% Operations- 10>#/p###
How the funding will be allocated
Token Allocation
100,000,000 RCC Gold coins
40,500,000 Free Bonus coins
8,500,000 Management, Team & Advisors
1,000,000 Bounties
Management vesting period is also aligned to 12 months to coincide with the release of the game.
How The Token Sale Works
The Token Sale starts on 29th August running for 30 days.
Pre Sale
50% of the RCC Gold tokens will be available for the Pre Sale between 1st Aug – 28 Aug 2017 and includes 50% free bonus tokens. The minimum investment during the Pre Sale is $25k
This unique opportunity will never be repeated and will put you ahead of all the other gamers in the battle to be the best of the best.
White paper:


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David McGlynn
702WI 702 E. Johnson St., Madison, Wisconsin 53703
press release: Please join us at 702WI on Wednesday, June 13th to celebrate the release of ONE DAY YOU'LL THANK ME: LESSONS FROM AN UNEXPECTED FATHERHOOD by David McGlynn, who will read from and discuss the book. Doors open at 6:30pm, event begins at 7:00pm. A book signing will follow. The event is free, but please RSVP.
Fatherhood caught David McGlynn by surprise. Just like many new fathers, he hopes he's doing the right thing—but he's never quite sure. ONE DAY YOU'LL THANK ME translates the small, often hilarious moments common among parents of young children, especially dads, into "life lessons" about fatherhood. Comprised of interconnected chapters—many of which have appeared in such prominent publications as The New York Times, Men's Health, Parents, Real Simple, and O, The Oprah Magazine—the stories invoke a sense of humor and honesty that expand our understanding of what it means to be an American dad.


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- Main roof 12/12 pitch
- Flat Ceiling height 9'
- Storage space in ceiling
- Foundation is slab on grade
- and more… (download pdf)
*Please see Change Log for recent updates and revisions.
Questions? Visit our FAQ section to see some of our commonly asked questions about plan purchases.


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I submit that the food here is average, an opinion contrary to the prevailing views in the other reviews. The ingredients are usually fresh (enough) and prepared well enough, but I've never had a uniquely delicious or inspired dish here.
The service is very good though and there seems to be ample opportunities for recreation.
However, the clientele and the valets have extremely poor road manners. It's not uncommon to find two golf carts blocking a nearby public roads while the bourgeois probably discuss the perils of owning property and I can't count the number of times that a German luxury car has cut me off or turned unexpectedly (no blinkers, no warning) in a dangerous way. One figures that at the very least, all the vehicles are insured.
I'd give this one star for the danger and inconvenience it creates for the community, but I have to give it credit for being the ultimate bullseye for any would-be proletariat revolution.
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Beautiful golf course , it is difficult from the back tees but the staff was friendly . There are great golf instructers there and they know what they are doing.
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Amazing food, great staff and one of the nicest golf courses I have played in Minnesota.
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I have a confession to make: Budapest was never really on my radar as a European destination until George Ezra's hit song, Budapest, became mainstream. But, Budapest is one of Eastern Europe's best-kept secrets, and I had a perfect three days exploring the city. Better yet, Budapest is a budget destination. There are a lot of opportunities to experience the best parts of Hungarian culture without breaking the bank.
Chain Bridge
Budapest is actually two separate cities: Buda and Pest, both of which are separated by the Danube River. Although there are many bridges which connect the two cities, the first permanent and most iconic is Chain Bridge.
Castle Hill
Located on the Buda side of Budapest, climbing to the top of castle hill will give you some of the best views of the city. It has a very rich history, with the first people having arrived in the 13th century in search of protection after the Mongolian invasion. Then, in 1476, King Matthias Corvinus married Beatrix of Naples, making Buda an important European city. After the Turkish occupation, a Baroque city was built, which was then bombed and destroyed during World War II. Today, Castle Hill is recognized as a World Heritage Site, and is home to Trinity Square, Matthias Church, and Fisherman's Bastion.
Budapest's Gothic revival-style Parliament building is simply stunning. It is one of the oldest government buildings in Europe, the largest building in Hungary, and the tallest building in Budapest.
Shoes on the Danube
Just in front of parliament, along the Danube, is a Holocaust memorial of shoes, dedicated to the Jewish Hungarian victims who were murdered and shot by racist Arrow Cross militiamen during the war. Victims were required to remove their shoes and stand on the edge of the bank, where they would be shot, and their bodies would fall into the Danube River and be washed away. The shoes represent the ones which the victims left behind.
Thermal Baths
One of the coolest things about Budapest is its abundance of thermal baths. I've experienced public bathing in Iceland, Turkey, and Japan, but this was the only other time I've seen such a thing in mainland Europe. During our stay in Budapest, we checked out Szechenyi Baths, which had saunas as well as both indoor and outdoor pools, ranging from 30-38 degrees Celsius! I also splurged on a 60 minute massage. Spending an afternoon or evening in a thermal bath is a very popular Hungarian pastime.
Andrássy Avenue / Heroes' Square
On your way to the baths, be sure to stroll down Andrássy Avenue, an awesome street filled with lively shops, neighborhoods, and lovely trees. At the end of the road, you will approach Heroes' Square, or Hósök Tere, one of the major squares of the city. It features an iconic statue of the Seven Chieftains of the Magyars, other various Hungarian leaders, and the tomb of the unknown solider.
Dohány Street Synagoague
The Great Synagogue is the largest in Europe, and the second largest in the world. The complex consists of the Great Synagogue itself, as well as a graveyard, the Memorial, and the Jewish museum. The Memorial located at the museum is a metal weeping willow, engraved with family names of victims of the Holocaust.
St. Stephen's Basilica
This Roman Catholic Basilica was named in the honor of King Stephen, the first king of Hungary. Today, his right hand has been laid to rest inside the basilica.
Ruin Bars
The ruin bars are some of the most unique bars I have seen during all my travels through Europe- you really can only find these in Budapest. Basically, after the Jewish quarter was abandoned post war and left to rot, these secret ruin bars started "popping up" all over the city. Long story short, people found abandoned parking lots, warehouses, and buildings within the Jewish Quarter and made them into bars. From the outside, they look like normal buildings or homes– there is no noise or music or anything out of the ordinary. People decorate and fill the bars with knickknacks from antique shops or furniture from flee markets. Nothing make sense, nothing matches, and it's awesome.
The bar we went to was Szimpla Kert, and I wish we had time to try out a few more!
House of Terror Museum
This museum is actually housed in the old headquarters of both Nazi and Communist parties of Hungary, along Andrássy Avenue. Now, the building serves as a museum with exhibits related to the dictatorial regimes in 20th-century Hungary. Additionally, the basement of the museum also serves as a memorial to the victims who were detained, interrogated, tortured or killed in the building– you can tour the torture chambers during your visit. All and all Hungary has been to hell and back over the past 100 years or so and this museum does a fantastic job of summing it all up.
Also, Budapest is rumored to have one of the most beautiful tram rides in the world– have a go at it if you ever get the chance! Also- eat the goulash!
What was your favorite part of Budapest?


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Porthcawl nightclub crash driver injured 21 people after being thrown out of … – WalesOnline
A 24-year-old driver who collided with 21 people outside a nightclub in Porthcawl has been jailed.
Ryan Ford, of Porthcawl, was sentenced to three years and 10 months behind bars, of which he will serve half before becoming eligible for early release on licence.
At Cardiff Crown Court, Judge Eleri Rees QC told him his actions led to "life-changing injuries" for many victims.
Ford had admitted a string of offences including causing serious injury while driving, theft, driving without insurance, failing to provide a specimen for analysis and driving while unfit through drink.
This is how the hearing Cardiff Crown Court unfolded:
Source Article from http://www.walesonline.co.uk/news/wales-news/porthcawl-nightclub-crash-driver-injured-10585949


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Register | Login
On the move? Need a garage?
Download our mobile garage locator app FREE! Click here
Download our mobile garage locator app FREE! Click here
Rpm Auto Service Centre
Garage: Independent based on 0 reviews
Garage Summary
Servicing, mechanical repairs and Mot tests on cars and light commercial vehicles, all makes and models. A well established local business, we offer a commercial alternative to the main dealer. We can service all vehicles from new and still maintain the manufacturers warranty. We are proud to be members of the national Good Garage Scheme. Why not give us a try ? We are sure that you will not be disappointed. We look forward to hearing from you.
Number of employees: 2
Address: (Full contact details)
74 Walkley Lane
74 Walkley Lane
Opening Times
- Monday to Friday: 08:30 - 17:30
- Saturday: 08:30 - 12:30
Key services:
- Servicing
- Repair
- Guarantee
- Brakes
- Pickup
- Courtesy
- Tyres
- Recovery
- Welding
- Exhaust
- Clutch
- Electrics
- Sales


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Health and Humanitarian Aid Foundation
The Health and Humanitarian Aid Foundation is a 501(c)(3) non-profit organization dedicated to providing medical and humanitarian aid to those whose lives have been affected by famine, war, poverty or natural disaster. With our team of highly specialized doctors, nurses and humanitarian workers, HHAF provides medical, surgical, nutritional and educational programs to improve the lives of underprivileged people around the world. The organisation was started a mere three years ago and has already completed a handful of successful missions.
The second most populous continent after Asia, Africa is home to one billion people, which is 14% of the world's population. A significant proportion of these are in dire need of quality healthcare. HHAF aims to address this issue through a focused initiative in Ghana, West Africa which is a country of 24 million people. Referred to locally as "the eye of Africa", Ghana is an ideal location for our work because on so many levels it serves as a model for surrounding nations. We at HHAF are dedicated to improving the quality of healthcare in Ghana by offering services ranging from surgeries to the provision of nutritious food. We also strongly believe in education and collaboration which will ensure that improvements can be carried into the future. Ultimately, our work will not just impact Ghana, but will have an effect on Africa as a whole. HHAF is run almost entirely by volunteers and one full-time staff member. It is based out of the Greater New York City Area.
HHAF was founded by "Sammy" Samuel Arthur a native of Ghana. Although far from home, Mr. Arthur whose uncanny domineer, dedication and compassion allowed him to quickly establish himself in the New York Metropolitan area, still felt very close to home and frequented Ghana to visit family and friends. After several visits, Mr. Arthur became much focused on Ghana's health care system and was compelled to make a difference. Thus, The Health and Humanitarian Aid Foundation was born.
HHAF is incredibly pleased with the progress we have accomplished so far, but still we are hungry for more. We have provided thousands of meals and sustainable resources and performed life-changing operations for many Ghanaians. There is, of course, always room for growth and each year the bar is raised as we set higher goals for the organization.
As a 501(c)(3) organization, HHAF relies on donations and various fundraising opportunities. All missions and necessary resources are the result of generous contributions in the form of supplies, time, and money. HHAF is grateful for any and all community support it receives. HHAF has been fortunate enough to receive resources and support from various corporate sponsors.
Aside from having a general passion for helping others, HHAF volunteers are divided into two teams that require separate skill sets. The medical team is comprised of specialized doctors and surgeons, while the humanitarian team provides sustainable food and institutes programs for children, women's empowerment, and more.
As a relatively new non-profit, we are constantly growing, setting higher goals for ourselves, and ultimately achieving them. We move forward with the idea that each year we will accomplish more: raise more funds and awareness, provide more sustainable food and resources, and help more people. Our main focus right now is raising money for the missions. Ultimately, we would like to build a more permanent facility in Ghana and we are working to raise money for that as well.
Most recently, we have joined with Recycling for Charities, a 501(c)(3) Non-Profit Organization that allows individuals an opportunity to recycle cellular phones, PDA's, Palm Pilots, digital cameras, and iPods for value that is then donated to the charity of their choice. Not only is RFC acting as a medium to raise funds for charities, but the organization helps individuals protect the environment as well.
Those who wish to make a charity phone donation can initiate the process by simply collecting any sort of unused cellular phone, PDA, Palm Pilots, digital cameras or iPods. The more people that donate old cell phones, the more the environment and local charities can benefit.
Website: www.hhafonline.org
Pictures related to project: View on Facebook
Visit Health and Humanitarian Aid Foundation
Project Contacts
Amanda Huggins
Amanda is the communications coordinator of the Health and Humanitarian Aid Foundation.
email: email@example.com
phone: +19178287434
Project Posts
- Responding to the crises in the Horn of Africa, January 22nd 2014
- HHAF Update on due diligence visit to Ghana, January 22nd 2014


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Sunday, November 25, 2007
Of Smoke and Beans
HaBocher b'Shirei Zimra
The Kah Ribon Niggun
Today I would just like to share two brief anecdotes. The first also appeared on Rav Lazer Brody's blog, but was submitted by yours truly:
In Public?!?
I heard this incident from the brother of the one who heard it first-hand, named Rav Avraham.
There is a Modzitzer Chassid who lives in the Lower Galil, on Kfar Gideon, just outside of Afula. As you can imagine, someone dressed in Chassidic garb is a bit unusual to find on the Egged buses in this part of the country. So my friend's brother, Rav Avraham, is traveling on the bus and a man spots him and asks him if he's a Gerer Chassid. R. Avraham says, "No, I'm a Modzitzer."
So the man says, "Nuch besser - even better - I have a story to tell you about your Rebbe."
Of course by now R. Avraham's curiosity was piqued, and he was "all ears."
When Rebbe Shaul of Modzitz ZT"L [great-grandfather of the present Rebbe Shlita] was still in Europe, a young man was seen in his Beis Medrash, smoking on Shabbos! The Chassidim didn't know what to do with this, so they went and told the Rebbe.
Rebbe Shaul [center] walking with his entourage
When the Rebbe, who was a big man - tall and broad - heard this, he began to run towards the man who was smoking. But the man just continued, undaunted, to puff away. When Rebbe Shaul approached him, he said to him, "B'farhesia - in public - you dare to do this?"
My dear readers, I've been told that Rebbe Shaul had a voice like thunder! You can be sure that these words penetrated the very being of this man! How do I know? Read on...
From that day on, the man never smoked on Shabbos. All week long he would smoke, but not on Shabbos. Other than that, he was completely non-observant. He came to live in Eretz Yisrael, and raised his family in one of the secular kibbutzim in the Lower Galil.
His children couldn't figure it out - this man didn't keep Shabbos, he smoked all week long, yet on Shabbos, Abba never lit up! It got to them so much that they decided to investigate what Shabbos is all about. I probably don't need to tell you that they are fully observant Jews by now - just from that "B'farhesia?" statement of Rebbe Shaul of Modzitz! And yes, the one who told the story was one of these children!
As Reb Shlomo Carlebach used to say, "You never know!"
At the Tish this past Thursday night, a new sefer was on sale called "Emes L'Yaakov." It was written by one R. Yaakov Emanuel Koppel z"l, who was the son-in-law of the Divrei Yisrael, the first Modzitzer Rebbe, and thus a brother-in-law of Rebbe Shaul, the second Rebbe. He was also a Chassid of both of them, as well as of the Imrei Aish, the third Rebbe. This anecdote appears in the sefer.
The Counting
"The Rebbe, my brother-in-law, was once in Lodz [the author's hometown]. Late one night, about 1 or 2 in the morning, the gas lamps weren't giving good light, because of the intense cold. We were discussing the mind's ability to grasp things delicately and quickly, which some people are blessed with.
"The Rebbe then told me that he does not count the grains of wheat when they are ground into flour, to be baked into matzos for Pesach. Rather, he looks at them carefully and he knows their amount. I was amazed by this, and he offered to be tested.
"I went to a cafeteria and found a jar of coffee beans, and placed them before him. He studied them for a moment or two, and he called out a number, which was very close to the actual amount. It took me a full five minutes or more to actually count them. I tried this a number of times, and each time I was amazed at the results.
"The Rebbe then told me that if a person puts his entire concentration on the object he is looking at, he can grasp the amount in a moment.
"And then he added – 'This is the secret of davening [prayer]. One should daven in this way.' "
Zechuso yagein Aleinu v'al Kol Yisrael – May the Imrei Shaul's merits protect us all!
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I am not a person who grew up having pets or close to animals. Unlike many of my friends who are animal lovers, I find it hard to relate how they are able to have such close relationships towards animals. But the older I get, the braver and more experiences I have with animals. I am also more aware of the kind of animals I am more fond of. For example, I prefer dogs better than cats. I am no where happy to be in contact with lizards, but the most random animals I grew to love are those who has huge bodies yet very tender. Yes, I have humongous respect and love for God's creation, the gentle giants. Continue reading "My Love for the Gentle Giants"
Tag: FidaThoughts
Passionpreneur 101: How It Works and What I learned
"Choose a job you love and you will never have to work a day in your life" – Conficius
I'm sure you're familiar with that quote. As a millenial I must admit that working day to day in the office is hardly a passion for many. I've worked in a total of four companies. All happened to disappoint. Not because of anything bad, thankfully I always manage to find positivity in everything. So all of my experience in the office is always great. I found networks, ideas, strategies, and obviously got paid enough to live my daily life. Continue reading "Passionpreneur 101: How It Works and What I learned"
What La La Land Can Teach You About Imperfect Love and Dreams
The recently most talked about movie and the one that's been snatching almost all the Golden Globes Awards, La La Land have been keeping me all gooey jolly inside. Even from the first moment the movie started—you know, where they were all singing and dancing during traffic, yeah, I wanted to be part of it right away! (perfect for Jakarta's traffic anyway). Basically since the few seconds of the film, it left me smiling ear to ear. Continue reading "What La La Land Can Teach You About Imperfect Love and Dreams"
5 Ways to Celebrate 2017 with a Bang!
Looking back at how the end of 2016 pretty much screws me over, the first few weeks of 2017 was still a tad bit disappointing. I wasn't about to bore you with my depressing stories, however. As I found a way to help the process of self-healing (yes, process), I believe these are some ways to celebrate 2017 with a bang! Continue reading "5 Ways to Celebrate 2017 with a Bang!"
11 Reasons You Should Date a Dancer-Traveler
A reblogged post from 2015 🙂
1. Challenge is her middle name.
She lives selfishly and full on ego. She strives for different challenges whenever shes out of the comfort zone of her home or rather take on learning tough dance steps. Continue reading "11 Reasons You Should Date a Dancer-Traveler"
Moving On
For the past 5 months of donning the veil, I've come across various comments from positive and weird (no negatives — at least I don't indulge myself on the negative ones).
Positive comments are obviously the best because not only people praised me for my courage and how beautiful I look (ulalaa :p), but they are also building me into a much stronger character as a Muslimah.
Now weird comments are also fascinating. It comes from different views from "so what does your hair look like now?", "you're the first hijab friend I have now" to "so you wear it because you're already skinny and you look better with it?". Hahaha I love it! And I adore their honesty towards me looking different. I'm not such a good communicator when it comes to comeback answers, but since I'm a people pleaser I usually tackle the comments with a little joke but honesty and truth.
Other comments I got about this is when my friends starts calling me by hillarious names from Kerdus (Kerudung Dusta), Jilbandel (Naughty Hijab-wearer), and Fakeda (From Fida but with "Fake" as they think the covering means nothing).
Not gonna lie I have nothing against those name-calling. I actually love them for creating those names. It actually means that personality-wise, veil has not change me. In their eyes I'm still this actively hyper person who is a tad bit dirty-minded :p. However what they don't realize is that I started wearing not because I want to change personally, but I am trying to change spiritually. I really don't care about what others think and how they're going to judge, because it is not them who I want to please, rather than my God, Allah SWT.
When I think about the things that I had done over the past of living for 22 years, seeing things that I saw, experience things that I did, I noticed that I did everything:
I curled my hair
I wore huge earrings
I have 4 ear piercings
I wore extension wig
I had weirdest yet awesomest birthday pranks
I was a cheerleader
I watched Thomas Cup badminton final live
I watched Australia Football live
I cut my hair for cancer
I rolled down the hills with coconut fibers
I swim
I dive
I got stung by a jellyfish
I fell in love
I lived abroad
I left home when i was 16
I have a video myself driving for the first time
I ran 10km
I worked and have money
I commute in a dodgiest public transportation
I laughed til I cry
I kiss
I eat like i have a rubber stomach
I jumped from high places: rocks, jetty, bridge
I partied
I got typsy
I had braces
I fight with my siblings
I drove alone at midnight
I sing my heart out in the car
I take dance exams
I perform plays and dances
I made and buy things for my ex boyfriends
I wore short skirts
I wore bikini
I learn to ride the bike crying
I make my own dishes at my 20th birthday party for about 20 people
I got locked in my own apartment
I had a freaky neighbour
I had the most friendliest landlords
I fall and bruise my knees
I kicked corals and bleed alot of times
I bought things because i want them, unnecessary whether theyre useful
I watch broadway
I watched concerts
I took tests for overseas scholarships, never got it- it's okay.
I did bikram yoga
I took pictures with indo celebrities
I organized music events n brought Indonesian artist to Malaysia
I write and received postcards
Overall I probably did many things people has or hasn't done but I am proud of my self. Sometimes what you need is a reminder that you have done what you had to do to be able to move on. To move on from a relationship, from a job you didn't like or as for me, to move on to be a better person personally as well as spiritually and be closer to God. Nothing is going to change, veils don't change a person. They act as a reminder and shield to whatever you do in life matter not only in the world, but also in the hereafter.
So here is to moving on and being constantly grateful every single day.


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WARNING: The US Stock Market Has A 70% Chance Of Crashing RIGHT NOW
// Silver For The People
shtfplan.com / Mac Slavo / November 28th, 2017
Vanguard's chief economist Joe Davis said investors need to be prepared for a significant downturn in the stock market, which is now at a 70 percent chance of crashing. That chance is significantly higher than it has been over the past 60 years.
The economist added, "It's unreasonable to expect rates of returns, which exceeded our own bullish forecast from 2010, to continue." In its annual report, the company told investors to expect no better than four to six percent returns from stocks in the next five years. Vanguard, which manages roughly $5 trillion in assets and is a proponent of long-term investing, isn't sounding the alarm bells to scare investors out of the market. They simply want investors to be prepared.
The post WARNING: The US Stock Market Has A 70% Chance Of Crashing RIGHT NOW appeared first on Silver For The People.
Read in my feedly


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The MOSO MAG 2011 Special Edition is Live! Check it out!
Consistency and application are what brings you victory, MOSO's! No matter how difficult and challenging working on your passion can be at times, there is no explanation for the JOY that it brings when you've accomplished a task and it's staring you in the face! I hope you enjoy this issue of MOSO MAG — I love it! If I should say so my self. Hope you'll find value and a few nuggets to keep your aspirations fueled! Click on the COVER to view the contents of this issue.
AEO Conference boosts brand awareness for MOSO Nation!
There aren't words to describe my gratitude for the opportunity that was presented to me as Media Sponsor of the 20th Annual National Microenterprise Conference. If I had them (words), I would be screaming at the top of my lungs to broadcast it to the universe. So instead, I will give it justice the only way I know how, sing the praises of all the folks that were instrumental in making this new awareness of MOSO Nation happen. To Connie Evans, President & CEO of the Association for Enterprise Opportunity, thank you for believing in the MOSOs that you serve so fabulously. Thanks to the AEO Board, Staff, and Event Planning Group team who made MOSO Nation look good — I only hope I represented you well.
A BIG shout out to the AEO exhibit row crew!
1. On Deck Capital www.ondeckcapital.com,
2. Down Home Solutions www.downhomesolutions.com)
3. Count Me In (Make Mine a Million Dollar Business)
4. Aspen Institute
5. CommonGoals Software
6. Credit Builders Alliance
7. PIDC/Portfol
8. VistaShare
We came, we exhibited, we were available. So if you missed us at the event, please click on the link and learn more about the folks who are working hard to make your work easier as a practitioner and as a MOSO.
I can't say enough about the opportunity I had to interview Director Business Banking, Steve Lafredo of Citibank on my Fuel Your Aspirations Blog Talk Radio Show from the conference floor on May 2, 2011. Citibank is doing great things for microenterprise in the lending space, if you didn't know, listen in by clicking on the link above.
And where would I be without my strategic partners, Glassworks Dream Boutique and Ron Witherspoon Photography and all the Howard University School of Communications Interns (Jarondakie Patrick, Jordane Frazier, Ayanna Alexander, Odochi Ibe, and Khalea Underwood) that did a bang up job.
From me and the MOSO Nation 20th AEO Conference Team: THANK YOU!
Fuel Your Aspirations!


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Firmoo+ Chic geek
The leopard detail is very cute too. Is perfect when the glasses not only help your vision, but they're fashionable too. I have them from Firmoo, a global online optical store. They offer over 300 styles of affordable and stylish frames for you to choose from. And if you don't know which style suits you better, they have a Virtual Try-On System that helps you see how their glasses or sunglasses look on you.
For more details on this look, please visit my blog post: http://boheme-fille.blogspot.ro/2013/11/chic-geek.html
We welcome nice comments and delete spam!


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Monday, December 28, 2009
2010 Resolution and Reading List
2. Reading List: I'm so fortunate to have so many good books to work through! Here is the top of the pile:
- The Republic, Plato (which I need to read in honor of one of the best teachers I've had, and so that now, as friends, we can talk about it)
- The Last Queen, CW Gortner (the excerpts of this are just lovely, I can't wait!)
- East, Wind, Rain (which I bought because it was repped by a potential agent; that didn't work out but I still want to read it)
- The Rebels, Sandor Marai (as I continue my fascination with Hungarian culture, all sparked by my wonderful Hungarian friends)
- Women Building Peace (on my Christmas list, but from a long time ago - am I still the young idealistic feminst I was? We'll see)
- Mentors, Muses & Monsters (this and the other wonderful books on writing that I have. I'm excited to work on improving my craft)
- research for the next novel (ok, I get to be a little mysterious about that)
Those plus my reads for the Historical Tapestry Challenge - so much reading! What a joy. I worry sometimes that I'll die prematurely, and won't have had a chance to do all the learning and growing I would have, a large part of which will come from books!
Monday, December 21, 2009
Home in the Snow
Friday, December 18, 2009
The Temp
On the afternoon of his last day, he ran into a few of them in the hallway. They were bundled up, heading out for coffee. "Oh yeah, your last day! Be sure to stop by and say farewell," they told him. "I'll try to come over before you leave," a nicer one said. He nodded. "Thanks."
He had enjoyed the two years. The assignment was much longer than he'd anticipated, and the work, even though it was mundane, was a joy compared to his previous assignment as a telephone receptionist, a mere conduit, no one's destination. Here he had responsibilities, and people came to him to ask questions.
The sun set before the day closed, and as his office dimmed, he waited, watching the clock march towards his conclusion. No visitors came. He sat in silence, then picked up his box, glanced around to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, and walked out.
The cold outside was bracing, and he wished he had leather gloves, any gloves, to protect his fingers as he gripped the cardboard box. He took a deep breath and launched himself forward.
"Hey!" A voice called. He kept walking, the voice tuned out, intended for someone else. "No, wait! I wanted to catch you but got stuck in a meeting." He turned to see the woman who had supervised him, measuring his productivity in folders filed and cases referred, standing shivering in the cold. Her arms were wrapped around herself, little protection from the winter, and a white envelope dangled from her hand.
"I wanted to make sure you got this," she explained, holding out the envelope. "A reference. You were great, really you were. So hopefully this will, I don't know, explain. Help make sure you get another job you like. I know you liked it here." Her voice trailed off, and she looked at the ground.
"Oh, wow, well, thank you. Thank you very much." He bobbled the box around so he could grab the envelope, and managed to slide it under the lid. "That's nice of you."
"Well, I'm freezing, I'd better run back in. But good luck, I mean it."
He nodded, and watched her hurry back to the glass sanctuary of the lobby. He smiled the whole way home. A reference. Someone else's praise, solidified and permanent. He didn't notice the cold, not for a long time.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Honolulu, by Alan Brennert
I grabbed this book in a five-minute panic at the library, and I'm grateful I didn't have any more time to peruse the shelves. The cover to this book turned me off - it looks like an Asian sexual fetish story - but because I couldn't find another historical fiction book written by a Mr. or Ms. B_, Honolulu won by default. Now that I've met Jin, learned about her homeland in Korea and her efforts to make a life in early 20th century Hawai'i, I'm definitely glad I was in such a rush.
Jin starts off life as a young girl named Regret, for her parents' feelings upon welcoming her to the world. She has greater ambitions than Confucian Korea smiles upon, and so she strong-arms her way into some luck and adventure. That takes her, as a "picture bride," to Hawai'i, where she meets the man who selected her picture from the pile. It's hardly love at first sight, but Jin ("Gem," as she now calls herself) vows to make the best of it.
The book follows Jin's life in Hawai'i, as she and the young society there work to make their ways. Jin watches, close but on the sidelines, as Honolulu struggles to come to terms with its racially-mixed identity, and she shares with the reader her own struggles.
The writing is often lovely, with evocative sentences like, "Her hair was mostly white, with a few strands of black threading through it like old memories." The prose occasionally wanders into purple, stretching the credibility of a first-person narrator who has had little education (though she treasured what she found) and speaks English as a second language. But, we can ignore these excesses for a tender and moving story.
My largest gripe with the book is the narrator's insistence on spelling out Korean and Hawaiian traditions to the reader, introducing expository paragraphs that break up the narrative. There are more graceful ways to explain habits or cultures foreign to the reader, and it reminded me too much of the author behind the curtain. Fortunately, these fade away as we get to know Jin and, in the end, her story and lovely personality make for a memorable, enjoyable read.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
A Basement Gem
"And the first reading is tomorrow!" She told her invisible interlocutor. "But that's the only reading I can make for two weeks, because of the thing at [prominent local performance venue]. Oh, I didn't tell you about that? It's a dream come true! They're paying me $200 to sing in two shows there! They're actually going to pay me!"
I walked away smiling. I was happy for her - she'd apparently just been picked for a play, and on top of that was getting paid to do something she was thrilled about. What a nice thing to find in the basement.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Holiday Spirit
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Library Adventures
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Tunnel Consulting, Part 2
The next day, a small man with greenish-blond hair falling over his forehead knocked on her flimsy door. As she opened it, he announced himself.
"I am the tunnel consultant, Marco Van Whimmel. Just call me Marco. Shall we sit out here?" He gestured at her peeling rocking chair and the wicker chair with a faded floral cushion.
"Yes, perfect," Julie concurred. She wrapped her cardigan around herself and took a seat in the wicker chair. Marco rocked awkwardly across from her. "So you ... build tunnels?" she asked.
"Exactly. I'm so sorry about the mix-up. I should have been here first. The bottom line is that someone has bought you a tunnel -" he flipped open a notebook and scanned down a page, holding it closely to his chest. "I can't disclose who. But the point is, you have a tunnel. So, where would you like it to?"
"To? I'm not in jail, so I'm not sure I need a tunnel to anywhere," Julie observed. She flicked the heels of her flip-flops up into her feet. "Where do most people get their tunnels to?"
"Oh, well there is no 'most.' But some popular choices are China, naturally, or the Grand Canyon, or the house of a married lover. Which reminds me - I should point out a few rules, tunnels we won't dig. No digging into bank vaults. Or jails, as you mentioned. We won't break the law, it wouldn't be good for business. Also, no tunnels into hell. You wouldn't think that'd be a problem, but we get the request every once in a while. Same concept as the jail break, I suppose. Anyways, it's more trouble than it's worth, so we've ceased doing that. Finally, no tunnels back in time. Or forward. Only lateral travel."
"Wait, China? Isn't that rather far?"
Marco glanced up at her, his blue eyes twitching. "Tunnels work differently. Nothing's 'far.' Please don't consider geography an obstacle, minus those restrictions I already mentioned."
Julie ran her fingers through her tousled hair, frowning and then repressing a giggle. "What about to your house?"
Marco pulled his lips into a tooth-baring smile that was either intended to show indifference or aggression - Julie couldn't tell. "No, I'm sorry, that's off limits."
"I was just kidding," Julie replied, releasing her giggle. "Let's see ... a tunnel to anywhere I want ..."
"You can mail me your answer, if you prefer," Marco noted, hugging his notebook to his chest.
"Oh yes? I think I'll do that. I need some time to think it over."
He handed her a business card with a simple P.O. Box address. "Send it by tomorrow and the technicians will be here in a week."
"You can't tell me who gave me this?" Julie asked as she showed Marco off her porch.
"No. Definitely not. Terms of the deal."
Julie nodded, and returned to her kitchen. She made up a pot of tea, and sat thinking about where she would like her tunnel to go.
In a week, the same booted man again stood on her front porch. Julie invited him in, and led him down to the basement.
"We can start it from here, you think?" she asked, pointing at the grey cement floor. She had pushed back her dusty boxes and broken furniture to clear a place.
"Why sure, that's no problem. But miss, uh, do I have your plans right? I mean, this is a bit unusual."
"A tunnel that loops around and comes back here? Yes, that's right. Just make sure it's cozy. It's the journey that matters, after all."
He nodded, made some notes, and thumped back up the stairs to get his equipment.
Tunnel Consulting, Part 1
"You mean you haven't picked one out yet? Goddamn. How'm I supposed to install a tunnel if you haven't even talked to the damn consultant yet ..." His final words trailed off in a growl of frustration.
"Wait, you're joking right? Tunnel? Consultant?" Again, Julie considered shutting the door in the man's face.
"No, ma'am. You got a gift certificate, like I told you. It's not uncommon, that's how most folks get their tunnels. Mm, prob'ly all of 'em, tell you the truth. Anyways, we need to set you up with the consultant." The man pulled a cellphone out of his back pocket, tapped in a text message, and replaced it. He sighed, and shifted his weight between his heavy boots. "It'll just be a minute."
"Til the consultant gets here?" Julie asked, alarmed at the prospect of having these mad people invade her house. She began to wonder if she should call the police.
"No, no, til he tells me when he can meet you. Listen, I know what you're thinking - but this is for real." He shrugged, and offered no argument to support his claim. Strangely, Julie found his confidence credible.
An electronic melody announced the text message. "Twelve noon tomorrow alright with you, miss?" the man asked, holding his phone open, waiting.
"Tomorrow? Well, alright."
"Ok. Think about what kinda tunnel you want, and the consultant will be happy to talk it all over with you. We'll be seeing you later then. Sorry about the mixup. Goddamn schedulers," he muttered as he walked down her creaking wooden stairs.
Slowly, Julie shut the screen door.
Continued here.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Review: The Teahouse Fire by Ellis Avery
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
On catching, or writing, the mouse
My cat, apparently, has an intuitive understanding of what makes "interesting." He pointed out to me today that, when sitting in a laundry basket, it is far more entertaining to try to catch the catnip-filled toy mouse through the holes of the basket than it is to simply reach up and over. When he can see all the mouse in its lame, grey cloth glory, the game loses its fun. Its mystery.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
A Holocaust Survivor
I'm still astonished by the experience. Selfishly, I can't believe I got to hear the story straight from the lips of someone who lived it. But more deeply, I'm reminded of the horror of the Holocaust - something that is easy to forget, as it is so difficult to comprehend. How could so many people become so hateful, while even more look on in indifference, or, at best, cowardice? How could they forget that those they killed were people, individuals with stories and feelings? Eichmann in Jerusalem has some interesting discussion of that, as do many other works, but in spite of reading about it, it's still nearly impossible to truly, truly feel, to understand it as something people lived through and died in.
Which, as usual, brings me to reading - not to understand after the fact (which is, of course, essential), but to try to prevent these things from happening in the future, to guard ourselves from indulging in such hate. Reading fiction is perhaps the most empathetic act we can do - inserting ourselves into the mind of a character. If the writer is doing her job, that character is truly human, and we feel through them. I can't help but believe that the more we read, the more human we become, through the forced exposure to other people's stories and other viewpoints. I realize reading is by no means a panacea (hell, Hitler read a ton), but I firmly believe that it opens a door, or at least has the possibility of doing so. And the more doors we crack open in our souls, the more we are willing to explore each other, the fewer chances for horrifying dehumanization. It's worth a shot, at least.
* A note: With all my emphasis on the moral enrichment available from reading, that doesn't mean I've forgotten that reading should also be ridiculously, overwhelmingly fun and entertaining. Not in the way that brussel sprouts are good for you but also a little tasty, but in the way that dark chocolate has anti-oxidants. So does red wine. Yum.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
A Coffee Bridge
It started with the coffee shop. Each day, from 2-3pm, Marlene would escape, before the kids got home from school, before she had to start cooking dinner. She knew she was out of place in the hipster hangout, all worn vinyl booths and retro stained glass lamps, but she loved it nonetheless. She liked feeling transported into a more rarefied world, pretending that she was one of its denizens, even as she knew that no one truly belonged to the life she imagined the coffee shop held. Marlene sipped her rich coffee and stared out the picture window. She particularly liked it when it rained.
One day the coffee shop switched its black-and-white photos, hung rakishly across the walls, for some bright oil paintings. Beside each was a cream-colored business card displaying a scrawled price and the artist's name, Y. Peirte. Marlene stared, fascinated at the paintings. They glowed blue and green and yellow, but didn't speak to her at all. In their failure to grab her they intrigued. I could do that, she thought. Maybe even better. Maybe.
For three weeks, she stared at the garish paintings. She wondered about the artist, Y. Peirte, wondering if the paintings sold, if they provided a livelihood, or just satisfaction. After three weeks, her heart pounding, she bought two canvases, twenty paints, and five brushes from an art supply store.
For another week, she continued going to the coffee shop, but now it was only to hide. As she stared out the window onto the sidewalk, all she could see were the colors of her paints and the blank canvas.
One day at 2pm, Marlene inched her way towards the closet where she'd stashed her supplies. She pulled the bag up into the attic, laid everything out on the rough plywood floor. First a dab of blue, then of red. Mixed, made purple. The thoughts, feelings that had been percolating in her mind over the past few weeks slowly trickled onto the canvas. The art lessons from her youth crept up to the surface of her mind and her hands. She painted.
She painted each day, from 2-3pm. Bought another canvas, and painted some more. Sometimes she hated it, sometimes she loved it. But always she painted, always in secret. Her husband suspected, but he caressed her cheek and knew not to ask. She was terrified to reveal herself.
It was a year before she returned to the coffee shop. She didn't recognize the barista anymore, which made her both sad and giggly. Marlene drank her coffee, sipping from the edge of the white porcelain cup. When she finished, she rested it carefully in the saucer and, glancing at the paintings - different - on the walls, approached the clerk.
"May I speak to your manager?" she asked.
"That's me," the young woman replied, wiping her hands on her brown apron.
"I was wondering ..." Marlene mumbled, and lay a battered white envelope on the counter. Out from it she pulled eight photographs. Her paintings.
Gingerly, woman shuffled through the photographs.
"For the shop, you're thinking?"
"Yes," Marlene said, little more than a whisper.
The woman smiled. "Wonderful."
Learing about tolerance from books ...
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Literary versus Commercial? Bah!
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
The Ideal Costume
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Mother Teresa, Greg Mortenson, and the rest of us
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Book Recommendation: The Heretic's Daughter
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Ignorance, Part 2
The bus ferries us – to the world of the living, is it? – across the city, beyond where grit is glamorous and into where it is simply a fact of life, not an accessory but a uniform. We rumble over potholes, across a cavernous overpass. People descend from the bus, some of them trudging, some bouncing as they near home. A low brick apartment complex approaches outside the bus, halts by my window and a number of riders descend. So does the violin player, so do I.
I follow twenty feet behind him, no attempt to dissimulate, just walking. He does not turn around, I am nothing to him, no threat.
He enters the building, I cannot follow. A light on the ground floor illuminates a square window. I approach. Behind the iron bars, I can see. I observe certainly that he can see. His eyes, walnut brown, drink in his surroundings. An old woman hunched in an armchair, flashes of television colors muted on her wrinkled face. He kisses her cheek, she pats his arm. He moves to another room, I follow, the dark night silent behind me, the rooms in front of me delicately humming. A younger woman, wife perhaps, with pendulous breasts and thin brown hair pulled back reaches down to pull a chicken from the oven. I want some, so does he, he pokes a fork at it. Dirty dishes peek above the edge of the sink, trying to stage an escape from their pit.
No children that I can see, just the three of them. A shadow moves – perhaps a cat, perhaps the television's dreams. A carved clock sits on a shelf opposite my window, I think it tells the right time, but I cannot see that far very well. It looks cheap, plywood shapes and laminate stickers. I wonder why he has it, the violinist.
Disappointed, I turn away from the windows and walk through the stiff grass back to the bus stop. I hope there is a bus back to the city. As I wait, I consider my failure.
A bus does come, eventually, and I am grateful, aching from standing. I return to the city, and it occurs to me that I have a chance to do it all over. Not to follow the violinist again, reenacting my selfish curiosity, but to discover what I was looking for. And the answer lies, as the violinist probably could have told me, in not looking, in closing my eyes. The next time I ascend the escalator, accompanied by the violinist's hard-earned notes, I know I will close my eyes, even if briefly, and hear just the music. I will see the man as he presents himself, no need to search, to judge. There is the music, and that is all I need to know.
Ignorance, Part 1
There is often, like with Orpheus, a mournful melody to accompany me but, unlike Orpheus, I am not the player. Instead, the shimmering, slightly off-tone garlands of music falling down the escalator come from a street musician. When I arrive in the sunlight, I will see him, large bottom overflowing his tiny perch (a bucket?), his dark, rough hands cradling the small violin. His eyes closed, always. I think it was the eyes that caught my attention.
When I reach ground level, my test concluded, I can end the curiosity. Out of the purse comes my cell phone. Time known.
I have imagined that once I will emerge, extract the phone, and there will be no time. Orpheus, unaccountably obedient, turns around and there is no Eurydice. If there is no time, I suppose the skies will be grey, one lonely note from the violin will hang on the air, and Einstein will have been wrong. (What was his ignorance, trailing behind him as he ascended?)
Naturally, that doesn't happen. But subterranean escape after escape, the music, flimsy as it is, has enchanted me. As I often do, this day I put a dollar in the violin case, worn red velvet and quarters with a 20 for show. Then I go and sit where time has stopped, or at least made us invisible. A park with peeling benches and indifferent pigeons milling on the bald turf. I sit and wait, resolved, invisible behind the violin player. I cannot see if he opens his eyes but I believe he does not, no more than a peek at least. When the commuter exodus ebbs and the clouded sky is lit only with our own reflected luminance, he rests the violin on his wide lap, empties his earnings into a plastic baggie, zips it up, and puts everything away. The bucket – I can see it is a bucket now, for he has stood – is flipped and turned into a suitcase. He walks off. I follow him.
The story is continued in Part 2.
Monday, September 21, 2009
A Man's Question
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Through the Inches
She had been so absorbed with her three new lives, blind, mewing and heart-wrenching, that she had not even noticed that the path by which she had entered her refuge was now closed. It was only when her body ached with hunger, when she was forced to leave her innocent, defenseless charges, that she realized. Anxious, she paced the perimeter of her space. It was large, but closed. Had she been human, she would have realized that the garage door had been closed, with only two inches of space remaining, leaving her in a concrete cube, without escape.
She hoped for mice - not rats, they might prey on her babies before she could prey upon them - but none entered. Soon, hunger terrorized her. Desperate, she cried out, sticking her nose out through the tiny bit of space that remained to her, her only reminder that the real, open, free world still existed. Food, release, help, she cried. Her belly, her pleading babies, drove her to distraction.
As she cried, a warm smell of meat, flesh and fat and blood, crept towards her. Then, miraculously, the meat itself appeared, slipped through the crack, glowing in the remaining sunlight. She snatched it and ran away, back to her nest in the corner.
But the meat only held her for a short time. Soon she was starving again, her kittens larger, their eyes open and looking to her for food. On black paws, she crept around the space again. No mice, no nothing. Hunger drove her, she cried. She cried and cried. The light disappeared, then, after the cool night, reappeared. Still she cried.
Inexplicably, the meat came again. She snatched it away, glimpsing bare fingertips and hearing whispers in foreign, human tones. Her hunger satiated, she calmed.
When the sunlight next returned, a rattling cacophony came with it. The cat mother blinked, startled, as the bright day slowly invaded her space. The door was opening.
She was too astonished to do anything for a moment. A man walked in, his face widening in surprise as he saw her. She cringed, waiting for the violence. He bent down.
And cooed. If she could have understood, she would have known he said, "Oh, aren't you darling! So sweet. Maria, come look at these kittens!"
He thrust a weathered, darkened hand at her. The cat laid back her ears, but was too tired, and too hopeful, to do anything more. She remembered the meat, proffered by similar hands, though smaller. He caressed her head.
"There there. We'll take care of you my love. Maria, can you get a box, blanket? We've got to move these kitties to somewhere better." He ran his hand down the cat's black fur, and extended a heavy finger to stroke the grey head of one of her kittens. "We'll take care of you," he promised.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
After the Ride
"That is fundamentally irreconcilable," he announced.
"You've had too much of that mead," she observed. "Mary is at it again, pouring you too much."
"Curses, Lucinda, you're not listening!" Richard yelled. He pulled his sword from the sheath at his hip. It did not emerge easily, seeming to grasp at the inside of the sheath. "I am telling you, the fool's claim is irreconcilable!"
"Why is that? It is entirely possible he had made his plans first. Just because the records -"
"NO!" He bellowed. He grabbed the sword hilt in both hands and drove the weapon into the bed. Lucinda raised an eyebrow as she watched, and marveled that he was able to push the blade through the fabric and avoid the metal springs.
"Listen, Richard. You are going too far with this. Look at yourself. Get out of that ridiculous RenFest gear, drink some water, sober up, and we'll call the club. Just because Dave says he booked the gig before you had a chance doesn't mean he's lying."
Richard glared at her. "You never believe me. You're just trying to keep me from succeeding."
"You know that's not true," she retorted. "I drove you to the Renaissance thing today, paid for you to rent that horse even! How can you accuse me of not being supportive? So I don't want you to quit your day job for your two fantasy jobs. Not yet at least. There's nothing wrong with that. I know you'll get there eventually," she softened her tone. "Whether it's knocking guys off their block every day in front of a movie camera or signing with a major label with the band, I know you'll get there. You just have to enjoy the ride."
Richard collapsed onto the bed, the weight of his armor sagging the mattress, which pulled his sword into a painful angle. Like a splinter sticking out from his hand.
"Ok. Can you help me get these damn boots off?"
Monday, September 14, 2009
A Note - no really, just a note
... But I'm hoping to add a number more of fiction posts. This writing and posting is good practice for me but, I can't tell how good (or not) the practice is without reader reaction. Therefore, in case you're reading this and happen to have any thoughts (no really, any at all) about my work, I welcome your comments. I'm open to feedback as well as all your gushing, glowing, overwhelming praise. So, please help me feel like I'm not mumbling alone to myself in a dark damp corner of the internet basement, and let me know what you think!
Monday, August 31, 2009
A game
Saturday, August 29, 2009
"Can I help you?" He asked, the irritation seeping from his voice. Or so he hoped.
"I'm just resting," she smiled. "Thank you." She made no movement, except to recross her legs. They made the cloth of her skirt flow, heavy liquid cascading down from the wall.
Her gratitude was genuine, if presumptuous, and he paused in his indignation for a moment.
"Well," he said, and then faltered, uncertain what he had intended.
"This is a beautiful view you have," she added, flicking her wrist towards the other side of the street. A hill sloped down across from them, empty of houses, showing lush green trees below. "You are fortunate."
He followed her eyes, and nodded. Fortunate, yes, he thought, he knew, though it was easy to forget. Startled, he sat next to her to look at it.
"You don't mind?" he asked.
She laughed. "It's your wall."
Monday, May 4, 2009
The Other Truth, Part 3
She felt a bright wave of cold and then the humid air of the jungle. She had never seen a jungle, no more than the scrawny trees that struggled to grow at the edge of the city's polluted river, but her heart recognized it nonetheless.
"Let me see your hand," the boy commanded gently. She offered him her upturned palm. "No, not like that," he scolded. "Fairytale nonsense, palm reading." He flipped her hand over, and traced his fingers across the faint shadows of veins. "The trees, they echo their lives here. Their power sings here, in your hands. We will teach you to learn it."
He nodded, and led her past a curtain of vines. Two other teenage boys crouched around a small fire, and a girl her own age, not yet into her teens, stood behind them. The fire was unlike any she had seen, leaping up from the ground without leaving scorched black behind. The flames danced playfully in front of the boys' hands.
"Shamaan," her guide said, in greeting to the others. "I bring you Ulethe."
"Ulethe?" she asked. "But that's not-"
"Your name? Yes, it is. Perhaps you didn't know it, but it rises from your skin like your scent. This is one of the things you will learn."
The boys stood to greet her, and the girl behind them inclined her head in a small bow.
"I am Serij," her guide explained. "These are Ret, Veleu," he pointed at the boys. "And Kiuxo." The girl nodded again.
"Ulethe," she repeated to herself. "That's me?"
"Absolutely. You will learn to recognize this as the truth, but for now I hope you will trust me. Come, have some water." Serij offered her a hollowed gourd, with crystal water. She drank deeply.
The Other Truth, Part 2
The weekend hours spun past, filled with gossip and laughter and fresh-squeezed fruit juice in the heat. She did not think of the boy until she descended from the rickety bus and saw him sitting, wrapped over the plant.
"You would have a skill for it, you know," he said as she approached. He had not looked up, and she jumped at being addressed. "I can hear the jaguar in your blood."
"Are you crazy? Maybe you escaped from the hospital, eh?"
"Some people would say that. But I've escaped from nowhere. This is the prison." He looked up and around, grimacing. "Listen," he continued. "We have spun the song. Come here."
Stopped, she furrowed her brow in doubt.
"I will not hurt you. Look, I'll step away. Just come near."
He rose, revealing the plant for the first time. It had shed its yellow paint, and sprouted vivid purple flowers.
She hesitated, looked around, and then shuffled closer.
The flowers became transparent, wavering things constructed more of air than matter. A hum crept into her head, undulating in rhythm with the ephemeral flowers. Shocked, she stepped backwards.
"You see it then," the boy said flatly.
"Yes," she whispered.
"They did not teach you that in your school, did they."
"No. But I don't know what it is."
"What it is? It is too big to have a name, not properly. Some have tried to call it magic, but that is false. I prefer life, but I guess that could be vague."
She shook her head.
"Come with me," he said. "I can teach you much more."
"No, I ... school ..." she whispered, and hurried off.
She regretted it the rest of the day. All day, wedged into her hard desk at school, she thought of the boy and his wonders. I always wanted something to happen, something different, like the movies. I have to do this.
Rather than walking to the right outside her school to catch the bus home, she ran down the street to the left. As she hoped, the boy sat on the curb. The bright purple flower was nearly as large as his hand, and it breathed ribbons of blue smoke.
"Are you ready to leave now?" the boy asked.
"Absolutely. I don't care where we're going."
"That's good. Because if you had asked me, I could not explain."
He raised his hand to indicate for her to wait, and then he stood above the plant. He hummed, a deep crescendo, and the blue smoke grew with his voice. It snaked up from the blossom, out into the air, forming an arc. When it circled upon itself, it hardened, and the air inside shimmered.
"Let's go." He reached out his hand, and drew her into the circle.
Continue reading Part 3.
The Other Truth, Part 1
She couldn't decide if the plant was a good sign, for in a way it represented the city's deterioration. But she found its tenacity a relief, nonetheless.
One day, a frown took root on her face as she approached the plant, which grew two blocks from the bus stop and just below the the speed limit sign that everyone ignored. Sitting on the curb, next to the plant, was a dirty teenage boy. His back curved into a bony half moon under his thin t-shirt, and he rested his elbows on his knees. The plant was hidden between them, caught between his legs. She thrust her lip out in a frowning pout and did not break her stride.
He was there again, in exactly the same pose, the next morning, and again the following day, a Friday. On that third day, she slowed, pondering him, wondering if he had chosen the plant as his anchor, or if it were a coincidence. She heard him whispering. Her feet dragged along the sidewalk.
"You, girl," he said without turning. "What do you want?"
"Me? Nothing," she said, startled, and quickened her steps to pass him.
"Have it your way. But don't worry. I won't hurt it. I want to help it."
"Help it?" She repeated. She paused, and looked around nervously. She knew always to be on the lookout for the strange, which could so easily become the violent.
"Of course. Help this 'rubber tree' sprout. The colonizer's name, of course, named only for its commodity, but it will do."
"Oh. How are you helping it?"
For the first time he turned to look at her. He had skin just a little darker than her own, with a broad flat nose and almond eyes that angled upwards, following his cheekbones. He was handsome, she admitted.
"Singing to it. You wouldn't understand. But I could change that."
"You're right, I don't. Listen, I have to get to school. I go home another way, so-"
"I know. I will see you another morning.
"You will be here Monday?"
"Is that how it goes? Any way, I will be here. We are spinning a spirit web, Inxitha and I, and it will take time."
She raised her eyebrows and walked on. A moment passed.
"I could teach you," he called softly to her back. She kept walking.
Continued at Part 2
Sunday, March 15, 2009
The Journey
Another one was ripe. The tree's branch uncurled, taking days to release the great bud ensconced inside. When the branch finally unfurled itself, the bud released and fell to the ground, rolling down the small hill. The bud rocked to a stop, settled in a mossy dip. For a long time it sat there, unmoving. Then, the outer shell cracked and split, falling open to reveal the snail. His bright blue shell glimmered, standing out like a gem against the green moss. He extracted his head and turned it from one side to another. He saw moss, which he knew to be moss, and he saw the massive tree behind him. His eyes swiveled back and forth, taking in the entire landscape. He saw no other blue gem snails, which he knew himself to be, and knew he ought to look for. The snail nodded to himself, accepting this information, and decided to inch his way forward, to explore.
After a long time, ages it seemed, the snail arrived at the edge of the world. He crept up to the edge, recognizing it from afar but wanting to see it, to experience the bliss of crouching upon the cusp of oblivion. He did so, and was amazed. Brown earth reached down below him, but beyond that he could not see anything except darkness. The sound of rushing, whispering air reached up to him. It called to him, begged him to merge himself with it. He shivered, and turned away. He made his way back.
The path he had taken previously was obscured, unrecognizable from the passage of time. The snail did not worry. He made his way as he could, sliding over moss and rotting leaves and bark. He met a moth, and passed a slug. He nodded at the slug and trudged on.
An ant, a massive ant, asked the snail for a ride. "I am traveling and could use some assistance," he explained. The snail pulled his eyestalks down into his shell as he thought. The ant was solitary, strange for an ant.
"Where are you going?" the snail asked.
"Ah, where," the ant replied. "To find something that makes me happy."
"That is a good thing to look for," the snail said. "I should like to look for the same thing. I have seen the edge of the world, and that did not make me happy. Should we search for the heart of the world?"
"You are an accommodating snail," the ant praised him. "I think we should search for the heart of the world."
The ant took his place on the snail's iridescent blue shell, and they commenced their slow journey together. They knew not to ask anyone where the heart of the world was, for they knew they would be the first to find it.
The snail crept along, and one day, as rain drizzled down upon them, he spotted a great cavern up ahead.
"I am certain that is the entrance to the heart of the world," he told the ant. The ant nodded, and the snail observed his agreement. Silently, they proceeded forward.
After a few cycles of light and darkness, they reached the cavern. It was dark inside, but they had no fear. They traveled and traveled, following the path into the heart of the world. The cave began to reverberate with a deep, contented sound. Even more confident, they continued. The air became warm, and all light was gone. The snail did not slow his pace, and the ant silently approved.
The first tickle was slight, almost imperceptible. Soon, more tickles followed, and eventually they became a warm, soft embrace, as the air around them thickened and welcomed them. A rumbling hum flowed around them. The snail and the ant had found the heart of the world, and they were happy. They smiled.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Story of an Artist in a Dirty Apartment
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Valentine's Story, Part 2
The fourth day after Ranger's new boss started was one of the few rainy days Bruni earned each year. Jessie was standing over the stove sprinkling cheese on a mac and cheese casserole when she saw Ranger's green car pull into the driveway. She slid the casserole into the oven and glanced back at the car. She furrowed her brow as the clock behind her ticked away the seconds and no one emerged from the car. The rain ran in rivulets down the window pane, and she wondered if Ranger was hoping it would let up. She grabbed an umbrella and ran outside.
She opened the passenger-side door and leaned inside.
"Hey sweetie, I brought an umbrella out for you."
He sat slouched in the seat, staring at his hands at his lap. She reached inside to brush her fingers against his thigh.
"You comin' in?"
"Yeah. Not just yet though."
"Oh," she replied, startled. "Ok. Well, I'll leave this here for you."
She folded the umbrella and dropped it into the car before running back inside.
Thirty minutes later, Ranger came inside.
"You didn't even use the umbrella, silly," she said, brushing the water off his soft, brown hair.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I wasn't thinking."
"Don't apologize," she kissed him. "What's wrong?"
He refused to say anymore, and spent the rest of the evening in silence.
It wasn't until Saturday morning, as Jessie was heading out to work, that he opened up.
"Mitch, the new boss, you know? I don't think he likes me."
"That's ridiculous, why would you say that?"
Ranger swiveled his foot on the ground, like he was putting out a cigarette.
"He told me my performance was sub-par and I was an ignorant red-neck."
"He said that?" she exclaimed.
"Yeah. The red-neck thing was under his breath, but I know he said it."
"Well, maybe he didn't," Jessie replied, hopefully. "Maybe you heard him wrong."
Ranger glared at her.
"I know what I heard. So you think I'm dumb too?"
"You know that's not what I meant. I was just hoping it's not as bad as you thought."
"I'm sure it is. I don't know what I'm going to do. I can't work with this guy."
"You're going to have to," she said gently. "We need this job. Remember how hard it was to find it? And now, with the mortgage …" Her voice trailed off. Two and a half years of mortgage payments hadn't made much of a dent in their debt, and the thought of all those zeros they still owed the bank made her nervous.
He exhaled, and his shoulders slumped. She hugged him and kissed his neck.
"I have to go, but let's talk about this more when I get back."
"Alright," he said, and kissed her.
When she returned, exhausted, Ranger was absorbed in a crime drama on TV, with a bottle of beer in his hand. She didn't want to disturb him, so she tiptoed up to bed.
As the weeks passed, Jessie's husband spiraled deeper into his own personal misery. She could rarely get him to tell her what was wrong, as recounting it seemed to wound his pride even further. He drank more and spoke less, and seldom agreed to go out with the few friends they had made in Bruni. When she reassured him, he snapped, and when she caressed him, he pulled away. She didn't know how to make him feel better, how to show him her love. Her heart ached.
And so, nearly three years after last seeing her mother, Jessie decided to write, pleading for help. Jessie's mother was no stranger to marital difficulties – Jessie's parents had nearly divorced when she was twelve, after three years of misunderstanding that rotted their relationship and led to screaming. But, to Jessie's amazement, they reversed their trajectory and reconciled. Jessie wanted that secret, wanted the advice. And when she let herself admit it, she wanted her mother's consolation. A hug scented with cloves and bread, that's what her mother's love was.
Her tears hit the paper before the ink did. She stopped thinking about what to write and just wrote. She sealed the letter without reading it, and ran it down to the mailbox.
When she came back inside, she saw Ranger sitting on the couch, watching TV. She walked behind him and ran her fingers through his hair. The TV was showing Forrest Gump, and the music surged through the quiet room. She leaned down to whisper in his ear.
"This is a little cheesier than your usual fare," she said, kissing him on the cheek.
"I guess I'm feeling mushy," he replied. He reached his arms over his head to hug her. Then he released her and reached for his beer.
"Do you feel like going out? Maybe have dinner at Chili's?" she asked, hopeful and watching his profile.
He drank the entire bottle before answering.
"No. Thanks. I'm just going to watch this. You can go though."
"No, that's ok," she sighed. "I'll be upstairs if you need me, ok?"
Friday, February 13, 2009
Valentine's Story, Part 1
Her pen hung over the paper, suspended mid-air. She watched it, waiting for something to happen. Nothing. She grabbed the brown beer bottle and drank what little was left. She returned to the pen, making it dance swirls above the paper. But still, no words came.
The first line had been easy. "Dear Mom." After that, she didn't know how to begin. With a warm salutation? With a formal opening? Or to cut right to the chase – "I need you."
It hadn't been so difficult the first time.
"Dear Mom: I'm sorry to tell you this in an email. I'm sorry I left without saying good-bye. Don't worry – I'm fine. I'm more than fine, I'm happy! Ecstatic! Ranger and I are married. We got married three nights ago, in Las Vegas. We drove there all the way from Charlotte, can you believe it? And now we're headed out, looking for a small town that's affordable where we can get a job and start a life. The land here is beautiful, Mom, and I can't believe I'm seeing it with my soul mate. We drove all day yesterday, hair in the wind. Is this how you felt when you married Dad? I know you don't approve of Ranger, but I hope you'll give him a chance. He has a beautiful spirit. And now he's your son-in-law. Write back, and when we find a place, you can come visit! Love, Jessie."
She never heard a response, not to the email or to the letter she sent when they found their tiny rancher house in Bruni, Nevada. She had given her mother her address, and begged her to visit them. Her mother never wrote, and ignored her phone calls. After a year, Jessie gave up. Frustrated and angry at being rejected, she resolved to cut her mother out of her life in the same way her mother had eliminated her.
Life in Bruni was exhilarating, at first. She and Ranger had cooed over their tiny, charming house, and dreamt about landscaping and baby's rooms. They joked that the possibilities were as wide as the horizons. Ranger got a job in the office of a small mining firm, and she waited tables in a family-run Italian restaurant down the street. The owner, a mostly-Irish woman named Shirley, welcomed Jessie with open arms. Jessie loved taking her tips and meager paycheck home, to her own house, and curling up on the couch in the arms of her own husband, resting her head on his firm shoulder. She watched Ranger come out of his shell, finding his own two feet in the absence of his father.
Visiting Ranger's house in Charlotte had been unbearable. He was 23, living at home because his parents had forbidden him from going to college and relied upon him to help pay the rent. His father vacillated between states of drunkenness and rigid propriety, and berated Ranger at every opportunity. Jessie didn't blame him for wanting to get away, to drive as far as possible. And she couldn't let him go alone. It would have been like letting her own heart leap from her body and drive away. Painful and impossible. So they left, driving his old convertible towards his freedom, their unknown.
She told him that their love was like drinking hot chocolate – warm, sweet, and more comforting than anything. She knew it was silly, but she couldn't find better words. He laughed and tickled her.
"Ok, pudding," he teased.
Then, Ranger got a new boss at his office. Jessie had visited the office once – it was a tiny place, just a few rooms in a three-story cement office building on the outskirts of Bruni. Ranger managed the sales contracts, and that Sunday he'd made love to Jessie on his cramped desk. The place felt like a fishbowl to her, and she wondered how he didn't feel claustrophobic.
Continued at Part 2.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Brushing Away the Dirt, Part 2
It started after Grandma died. I was 14 and I missed her a lot. She had always been quite the presence in our tiny home - sitting in that corner, sewing our ratty clothes, telling stories about devils or spirits, and cracking dirty jokes. Her husband had been gone some twenty years when I was born, and I think my birth gave her a new, comfortable role to fall into. Not a widow anymore, but a grandmother. We were tied together that way. And when she died, I missed her.
Our crowded house, so loud during the day, dipped into silence at night. A week after we buried Grandma, I crept out. Tiptoed past my brother's bed and through the shared living space. I cracked the light screen door open and slipped out into the warm night.
Although the street wasn't lit, the moon was bright and I easily ran along the side of the road. The cemetery was close and only a few cars flew past me, blazing headlights and screaming merengue.
You know, I've always loved our cemetery. Lush green and red leaves hug the graves, and it seemed like a fitting entrance to Paradise. I wondered how Grandma felt, and I hurried over to her new tombstone.
It was new but already it wasn't shiny. As usual, we'd had rain storms daily, and a few had brought down waves of soil from the cliffs above the graveyard. So her tombstone, like all the others, was dirty. What a shame, I thought. I pulled my nightshirt off my head and used it to wipe the stone clean. I'll admit, it was a bit of a thrill standing there bare-chested in the warm night.
I put my shirt back on and kneeled down to whisper to the gravestone. "I miss you Grandma," was all I could muster, both because I was a kid with not much of a way with words, and because I was trying not to cry. To distract myself, I looked at her name carved, not all that well I'll say, in the stone. The letters were still dirty and so, one by one, I traced my finger inside them, scooping out the grains of island dirt.
When I cleared the 's,' the last letter in her name, again I told my grandma how much I missed her. To my surprise, she answered back.
"Good lord child I've only been gone a week."
Friday, January 16, 2009
Brushing Away the Dirt, Part 1
Like Mary, I have a small secret life of my own. It couldn't be any other way, I think. Perhaps it's just the legacy of my name, but I think that everyone should have a secret life. It protects us, keeps some part of our self safe, clean from the scrutiny and insinuations of others. In our secret life, we know what we do is for ourselves, or maybe for God. Now, I don't deceive myself. The presence of a secret life by no means predicates goodness. What are murderers but those who live secret lives? I know the tragedy that such secret manifestation of self can wreck. But that isn't an argument against secret life. People come in all types, and anyone can distort beauty.
But enough philosophizing. It's not like me, usually. Only on this topic. I want to tell you about my secret life, but I can tell I'm delaying the action of turning it over, relinquishing it to the anarchy of others. Still I remind myself, I am about to die, and this secret life will soon be of little use to me. Maybe it will be of use to you, if as entertainment only. And where I come from, we live off entertainment. Sometimes there's not much more to go on.
Continue to Part 2.


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Falmouth University Referencing
Referencing is very important at university level as it shows which works you have consulted in preparing and writing your assignments. There are many different referencing systems in use, but the main one used by Exeter and Falmouth is Harvard. Some courses use MLA or MHRA.
For further information on which referencing style to use, consult your lecturer or student handbook.
The Academic Skills (ASK) team provide expert guidance, and offer individual advice (via appointments and drop-in services). They also produce the following online guides:
- Guide to Harvard Referencing at Falmouth University
- MHRA referencing
- Referencing for Exeter students
The Library offers advice about using the different referencing tools and has a collection of books in the Study Skills section, about how to reference your work.
Referencing Tools
There are many different referencing tools available to you. The official one for Falmouth University is RefWorks and for University of Exeter, it is EndNote. The Library offers support in the use of these, but you may find other tools such as, Zotero or Mendeley suit you better. To help you make an informed choice, take a look at the Comparison tables below and at the individual pages.
General Guides
- Comparison of Referencing Tools
- Citing and referencing – guide on University of Exeter library website, with links to examples from different referencing systems, and a comparison of the different tools.
Referencing Style Books
- MHRA: Modern Humanities Research Association. MHRA Style Guide: a handbook for authors, editors and writers of theses – book on using MHRA system, available in library
- MLA: Gibaldi,Joseph. MLA handbook for writers of research papers – comprehensive book on using MLA, available in library.


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Massachusetts, MA - Send flowers and gifts
Flowers by post even named grower direct or perhaps courier delivered flowers. The extra edge of courier delivery is that flowers are shipped direct from the farm and generally are fresh. Very best holiday season are Christmas, 25 Dec, and then Valentines Day, 14th February, and then finally Mother's Day. Order brokers are alternative specialists that feature product photographs and then delegate purchases to connected local florists quick delivery. Though, order broker valued clientele pay extra rates. Sales are brought to local florists for approval by way of a floral wire service. A large number of florists have order brokering services concerning national and international delivery.
A relay service, normally labeled a relay florist, is a web site where a anyone orders flowers instead of the getting gift items directly from local florist in the Massachusetts, MA delivery area. Massachusetts, MA local florist online pages offer you flowers for direct delivery in the Massachusetts locality physically serviced by their very own vans and employees. This specific service is best known as hand delivered and has the advantage of showing clients with the actual merchandise available for same day delivery.


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CYCLING: Witham Wheeler Reece sprints to second place at Darley Moor
Witham Wheelers Tony Swaby, Reece Egner and Adam Egner made the journey to the Darley Moor circuit to compete in the 3/4 category race on Sunday.
In sunny but gusty conditions, a breakaway of eight got away from the 50-strong field in the opening laps, with Reece managing to bridge across to it.
The breakaway opened the gap over the race and the bunch finally realised they weren't going to catch, meanwhile Adam and Tony were resting in the bunch waiting for the end of the race.
On the final lap, the breakaway came to a sprint for the finish where Reece managed second place overall, gaining more points towards his second category licence.
Back in the bunch, Adam went for it with half a lap to go and up the final rise out of the last corner he managed to ride the few riders that managed to get with him off his wheel for ninth place overall and his first points of the season. Tony put up a good sprint and finished in a respectable position near the front of the bunch.
l The first round of the Witham Wheelers 10-mile time trial league took place on Tuesday evening in pleasant dry conditions with hardly any wind to slow riders down.
A field of 35 with a good mix of riders aged from 12 to 72, male and female, ambitious young semi-professional racers, mountain bikers and triathletes all able to compete equally, as its just a simple matter of trying to pedal a bike for 10 miles as fast as you can, unaided.
The younger riders led the way on the evening with Reece Egner first in a rapid 22min 16sec, ahead of Peter Cocker (Giant Store Rutland/Wattbike) 22.52 and Karl Baillie (Raleigh) 23.26. Quickest lady was Louise George in in 29.17, from Heidi Moulds 30.38 and Suzanne Holdsworth 31.36. First time schoolboys Joshua Gibson and Max Moore made impressive debuts in times of 32.29 and 36.25 respectively.
On handicap, the Egner brothers led the way as the only riders to improve on last year's times with Adam's 17 seconds just edging out Reece with 16 seconds.
In the veterans competition, Michael Smalley looks like being the one to beat again with an impressive +2.51 over his age allowance, from Ian Galpin +1.28 and Simon Cocker +1.10.
The second round of the league takes place on Tuesday evening. Sign on from 6pm at Grantham Cricket Club on Gorse Lane, with the first rider starting at 6.45pm. Non-members welcome to go along and try, and as the league is the best 12 results from 16 rounds there is plenty of scope to be competitive even if you miss a few rounds.
l Karl Baillie raced on the Isle of Man in the Manx International GP for team Raleigh GAC at the weekend/
It was three laps of the famous TT circuit, equating to a 113-mile long race, with Ben Swift and Peter Kennaugh from Team Sky also racing.
The race split on the second lap up the mountain, with Karl in the third group. A hard chase saw him rejoin the second group on the final lap.
The race split again on the mountain for the final time with Karl riding strongly to finish 28th in well under five hours.
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In this highly volatile part of the world, namely Somalia, Somaliland forces have surrounded members of OLNF, the Ogaden National Liberation Front, a group, at least partially responsible for the instability in the region. This story was reported yesterday by the BBC http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-11287682.
Hopefully this group will help to bring sanity to this part of East Africa. Their citizens deserve it.