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Keeping track of traffic
Training Tips
Keeping track of traffic
Getting radar traffic advisories from air traffic control is a big help when you fly in busy airspace. Radar can provide that second pair of eyes that pilots talk about. The service does not relieve you of your responsibility to see and avoid other aircraft, but it's still a reassuring presence as you fly the route.
After a few flights with traffic advisories, the terminology becomes familiar and you learn the distinctions between the various phrases ATC uses. For example, if you haven't spotted an aircraft reported as nearby or on a converging course, it's a relief to hear the controller follow up and advise you that the traffic is no factor. However, if ATC reports that the traffic is no longer observed, the other aircraft may still be nearby—perhaps descending—so it's important for you to continue scanning for it.
Two-way communication is the key to making traffic advisories work, so what should you do if you lose track of an aircraft that you had previously reported in sight?
In that case, be sure to notify the radar controller if you lose visual contact. This is important for two reasons. First, it will alert the controller that he or she should resume advising you of the aircraft's position relative to yours. Second, if you had been instructed to follow the aircraft to the airport, ATC will have to come up with a new plan for sequencing your arrival. If the other traffic is a large aircraft, you will have to be sure to avoid encountering its wake turbulence.
Too often, pilots drop the ball by failing to inform ATC that they have lost sight of previously reported traffic, with safety suffering. A near-midair-collision that occurred while a Beech Bonanza was descending to a Pennsylvania airport followed the pilot's losing sight of traffic, according to the report the pilot submitted to the Aviation Safety Reporting System. The pilot was unsure whether the conflicting traffic, a Cessna, was the same aircraft or another airplane. Spotting it may also have been hindered by its being concealed in the Bonanza's blind spot.
With all the demands on a pilot's attention, losing visual contact with another aircraft is always possible. Be safe, and get that second pair of eyes helping you out again!
Flight Training News
Fuller unveils effort to boost flight training excellence
In a speech delivered Jan. 26 on AOPA Live®, AOPA President Craig Fuller unveiled a new initiative designed to encourage best practices and recognize flight training providers who put those practices to work every day. The AOPA Flight Training Excellence Awards, brought to you by Flight Training magazine, will be given annually to flight schools and individual flight training professionals. They are based on AOPA's flight training student retention research. Read More >>
EAA to expand Young Eagles program
The Experimental Aircraft Association shared more details on its plans to expand its enormously popular Young Eagles program in 2012. At the 2012 Sebring U.S. Sport Aviation Expo, EAA President Rod Hightower said the program's newest outgrowth, an orientation program for adults called Eagle Flights, will be launched in conjunction with expansion of EAA chapters and a newly forged partnership with Boy Scouts of America. Read more >>
If you're a student pilot, should you let ATC know?
Many student pilots hesitate to admit that they are students when they contact air traffic control. Is it unnecessary information, or do controllers appreciate when pilots mention this? In this segment of Ask ATC, a tower controller explains how ATC handles a request when a pilot announces that he or she is a student. Watch the Air Safety Institute's latest Ask ATC video >>
Join 'Flight Training' editors for February chat
Join Flight Training Editor Ian J. Twombly and Technical Editor Jill W. Tallman for a live Facebook chat on Thursday, Feb. 2. The editors will take questions from 3 to 4 p.m. Eastern time. Twombly and Tallman are ready to talk about the February issue of Flight Training or any other training topics you'd like to discuss. To participate or view transcripts of previous chats, simply log in to Facebook and go to the Flight Training page.
Tecnam offers discount program
Seeking a greater share of the market—particularly the flight training market—Tecnam announced a new program Jan. 20 in which it will make up to 500 light sport aircraft available at 20 percent off the base price. Those who take Tecnam up on the offer must make their aircraft available for limited demonstration within their state, and must agree to hold on to the aircraft for at least two years. Read more >>
'Flying Wild Alaska' pilot to appear at Maryland event
Flying Wild Alaska's Sarah Fraher will appear at the March 10 Women Fly It Forward event at Frederick Municipal Airport in Frederick, Md. The event is one of numerous activities that will take place at airports around the world March 5 through 11 in celebration of Women of Aviation Worldwide Week. Read more >>
Training Resources
Even as a student, you need to start thinking like the pilot in command you'll one day be. Here's an example: It's a beautiful day and you're dying to exercise your new private pilot certificate, so you and a couple of friends decide to venture out for the proverbial $100 hamburger. You've got a briefing through the FAA DUAT System, an Internet-generated route, a sectional chart, a GPS, and a reliable aircraft—what else could you possibly need? Find out what you might be forgetting with the Air Safety Institute's safety quiz on VFR cross-country planning.
Did you know that student pilots who join AOPA are three times more likely to complete their flight training? Membership includes unlimited access to aviation information by phone (800/USA-AOPA, weekdays from 8:30 a.m. to 6 p.m. Eastern time) or from Flight Training Online or AOPA Online. If you're not already a member, join today and get the pilot's edge. Login information is available online.
Honoring the Tuskegee Airmen
Red Tails, a film inspired by the exploits of the nation's first military program for African-American pilots, opened in theaters nationwide on Jan. 20. Have you seen the film? AOPA President Craig Fuller sat down to talk with one of its stars, Academy-Award-winning actor Cuba Gooding Jr., at AOPA Aviation Summit 2011. Gooding explained how he became involved in the production; how he prepared for the role; and how the participation of surviving Tuskegee Airmen helped to shape the film. Watch AOPA Live >>
Career Pilot
American Eagle replaces turboprops at DFW
American Eagle Airlines, the regional affiliate of American Airlines, is replacing all of its ATR turboprop aircraft operating from Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport. Fourteen markets throughout Arkansas, Louisiana, Missouri, Oklahoma, and Texas will have all-jet service beginning Jan. 31; they will be served by a combination of 37-, 44-, and 50-seat jets. American Eagle also announced that it would launch daily nonstop jet service between Dallas/Fort Worth and Garden City, Kan., beginning April 9. The carrier operates more than 1,500 daily flights to more than 170 cities on behalf of American Airlines.
Southwest announces new Atlanta-Los Angeles route
Southwest Airlines on Jan. 11 announced plans for one new daily nonstop flight between Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport and Los Angeles International Airport beginning June 10; it will be in addition to the three daily flights operated by AirTran, Southwest's wholly owned subsidiary. Southwest will begin service to the Atlanta market on Feb. 12 with 15 daily nonstop flights to five destinations; two additional destinations will be added in March.
Plane Spotter
Piper Aerostar: Mid-wing twin
Did you learn to fly in a high- or low-wing airplane? The pros and the cons of each basic design are debated endlessly—and usually, sportingly—by their respective devotees. If you see a twin-engine airplane on the ramp that doesn't seem to fit into either category, but looks like a speed demon, you may be in the presence of a mid-winged Piper Aerostar. Also known as a shoulder-wing design, this pressurized piston-powered airplane grosses about 6,000 pounds, and can cruise at more than 250 knots at altitudes in the mid-20,000s.
Training Products
Portable cart for BrightLine Bag
BrightLine Bags has introduced a portable folding cart for use with its premier offering, the Brightline Bag. The cart is meant to be used when the bag is filled up and heavy. It weighs three pounds and sells for $25. To order, see the website or call 415/721-7825.
Note: Products listed have not been evaluated by ePilot editors unless otherwise noted. AOPA assumes no responsibility for products or services listed or for claims or actions by manufacturers or vendors.
Member Benefits
AOPA gets member his medical back in minutes
When prostate cancer grounded Jim Anderson, the impact was great. He is an aerial photographer, so not only did he lose his privilege to fly, but he also lost the way he earns his living. Once his tests were clean and it was time to get his medical back, he contacted AOPA as a member of the Medical Services Plan. Read more >>
New, improved AD&D insurance plan offers 24/7 coverage
AOPA members who enroll in the AOPA Accidental Death and Dismemberment insurance plan will now benefit from new expanded offerings and 24/7 coverage, even when not flying, all available at no additional cost. A favorite among pilots looking for coverage while flying, the AOPA Accidental Death and Dismemberment insurance plan has undergone some exciting changes, making it more beneficial than ever before for members to enroll. Read more >>
Your first flight with a passenger
The March issue of Flight Training features a story of a pilot's first passengers with a bit of a different twist. In the latest Flight Training blog, Flight Training Technical Editor Jill W. Tallman invites you to share the story of the first time you carried a passenger. Was it everything you imagined it would be?
First breakfast flight!
AOPA Communications Coordinator Kristen Seaman is sharing her experiences as a brand-new student pilot in the Let's Go Flying blog. Do you recall fighting the urge to steer the airplane on the ground with the yoke, or feeling a sense of wonder at that very first entry in your logbook? Read about her first lesson.
AOPA Career Opportunities
Ever dream of turning your passion for aviation into a career? We're looking for a chief flight instructor, manager of flight training programs, AOPA Live producer/videojournalist, and associate editor–Web/ ePilot. To learn more about other AOPA career opportunities, visit AOPA Online.


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TORONTO (Reuters) - Canadian housing starts climbed unexpectedly in June as multiple urban starts in Quebec and British Columbia bounced higher, but homebuilding is still expected to slow as the year progresses, Canada Mortgage and Housing Corp said on Tuesday.
The seasonally adjusted annualized rate of housing starts surged to 222,700 units in June, compared with an upwardly revised rate of 217,400 units in May. The May figure was initially reported as 211,400 units.
The bounce bucked expectations for a slowing in housing construction - analysts in a Reuters poll had expected 205,000 starts in June.
"We thought the data would be above consensus given a clear strengthening in the latest building permits reading, and today's starts print confirmed that homebuilding is showing no signs of cooling off yet," CIBC World Markets economist Emanuella Enenajor said in a research note.
"Today's data suggest homebuilding could be a contributor to growth in the second quarter, and the current low rate environment is continuing to support already elevated housing construction activity, namely in the condo/multi-family segment."
Canada's hot housing market has sparked fears of a bubble, particularly in Toronto, Canada's largest city, where low interest rates have driven a condominium building boom and double-digit annual price increases for existing homes.
Mindful of the U.S. housing boom that was left unchecked until it burst, the Canadian government moved last month to tighten conditions for both homebuyers and mortgage lenders in a bid to deflate a possible bubble before it pops.
Separate data showed the average price of a home in Canada increased between 3.3 and 5.5 percent in the second quarter of 2012 compared to a year earlier, according to the Royal LePage House Price Survey.
By the end of 2012, Royal LePage expects national average prices to be 3.2 percent higher than in the same period of 2011.
"We have had three years of solid house price appreciation in almost all regions of the country," Phil Soper, president and CEO of Royal LePage Real Estate Services, said in a statement.
"Confidence in Canada's real estate market is sound, but home prices cannot grow faster than salaries and the underlying economy indefinitely," he added.
In the second quarter, the price of standard two-story homes rose 4.7 percent year-over-year to C$408,423 ($400,100), while detached bungalows increased 5.5 percent to $376,311. Average prices for standard condominiums increased 3.3 percent to $245,825, the survey showed.
But signs from across the country clearly indicated that the national housing market was at a turning point, with some major regions continuing to grow unabated while others peaked and began to pull back for the first time in three years, according to Royal LePage.
Housing starts is a volatile data set, but the level remains close to the six-month average, according to the CMHC.
"CMHC still expects the pace of housing starts to moderate as the year progresses," Mathieu Laberge, Deputy Chief Economist at CMHC's Market Analysis Centre, said in a statement.
For some markets, CMHC uses a moving average to complement the monthly rate to account for swings in monthly estimates. It said housing starts were trending at 218,500 units in June.
The seasonally adjusted annual rate of urban starts increased 2.6 percent to 199,500 units in June. Urban single starts slipped 0.3 percent to 67,500 units, while multiple urban starts jumped 4.1 percent to 132,000 units.
June's seasonally adjusted annual rate of urban starts increased 7.7 percent in Atlantic Canada, 17.3 percent in Quebec and 31.2 percent in British Columbia. Urban starts fell 6.9 percent in the Prairies and 9 percent in Ontario.
($1 = 1.0209 Canadian dollars)
Reporting by Andrea Hopkins; Editing by Jeffrey Hodgson and James Dalgleish

subset: commoncrawl


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... enlargement of our standard lines in domestic, supervisory and recreational Items for the intending settler in the new territories. Our Agency has had agents on hand for every auction of choice items; stock your kitchens and servants' quarters from the best hotels and restaurants of Europe. And while Settlement Directorate issue may do for field-hands and machine-tenders, when it comes to the strawbosses. interpreters and drivers you will need for your plantation or enterprise, our breaking-and-training establishments are unmatched for price and quality. Why go to the expense of importing your serf cadre from the dregs of the Police Zone?
And amusement? From the snowy blond of Sweden to the olive of Italy, the fruits of conquest are yours to pluck. From peasants to aristocrats, from the illiterate to the ballerinas and university students of Paris, wench or prettybuck. your fantasy is our reality. Whether your desire is sjambok-broken docility or a wild Finn you can tame yourself. Stevenson & de Verre has it! Chemo-conditioning and polygraph testing ensure unmatched reliability for our product, reared in and tailored to local languages and custom, from Seoul to Lisbon! Don't waste precious time and capital training your own; consult our brochures, and contact your local representative for further information.
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Area, 1948 ed.
"Pater Noster, qui est in caelis..."
"Shut up, slut-bitch!" The guard raked her hard-rubber truncheon along the bars in frustration, then stalked off down the corridor.
Sister Marya Sokolowska lowered her head and fought to recapture the Presence; a futile effort, it could not be forced. Enough, prayer is more than feelings, she chided herself, while habit droned the sonorous Latin words and told the beads of her rosary. The words were a discipline in themselves; faith was a matter of the intellectual will more than subjective sentiment. And the others relied on her: even Chantal Lefarge the communist over in the corner was joining in; it helped remind them they were human beings and not animals-with-numbers, that they were a community, linked one with the other. Something easy to forget in the ten-by-twelve brick cube of cell 10-27, under the Domination of the Draka. Though she was the only Pole here, and the only religious.
Covertly, her eyes followed the guard as far as the grill-door would allow. The building had not been designed as a prison; the Draka had taken it over when Lyons fell, back in '45. Before then... a school, perhaps, or some sort of offices. Then the Security Directorate had come, and cordoned off as many square blocks of the city as need dictated; knocked doors and built walkways between buildings, surrounded the whole with razor-wire and machine-gun towers, put in bars and control-doors. It was a warren now, brick and concrete, burlap and straw ticking, the ever-present ammonia stink of disinfectant. Lights that were never dimmed, endless noise. The tramp-tramp-clank of chain gangs driven in lockstep to messhalls or to their work, maintaining and extending the prison-complex. Far-off shouts and screams, or someone in the cell across the corridor waking shrieking from a nightmare. Mornings were worst: that was the hour for executions, in the courtyard below their cell. The metal grille blocked vision but not sound; they could hear the footsteps, sometimes pleading or whimpering, once or twice cracked voices attempting the Marseillaise, then the rapid chattering of automatic weapons and rounds thumping into the earth berm piled against their block's wall... The nun finished the prayer and came to her feet, putting solemnity aside and smiling at the others. Together they rolled the thin straw-stuffed pallets up against the walls, each folding her single cotton blanket on top and placing the cup and pan in the regulation positions. There was nothing else to do; it was forbidden to sleep or sit after the morning siren. Conversation was possible, if you were careful and very quiet, a matter of gesture and brief elliptical phrases, and it helped break the terrible sameness of each day. Newcomers brought in fresh tidings from the world outside, and bits of gossip passed from hand to hand, on work details or at the messhall... not as elaborate as she had expected, there were too many informers and turnover was too high. This was a holding and processing center, not a real prison; a place to sit and wait until they took you away. Terrible rumors about what lay beyond: factories, labor camps, bordellos, medical experiments such as the Germans had done during the Nazi years... but no real information. For herself, it was not so bad; she had much time to meditate, and the others to help, and what came after would be the will of God, Who would give her strength enough to meet it, if no more.
Marya crossed herself and moved a careful half-pace closer to the bars. Good, the guard had gone around the corner. She was just a trusty, a prisoner like the rest of them, with no key to open cell doors. She could mark an individual or a whole cell down and inform the real guards, the Security bulls and retired Janissaries who ran Block D, Female Section. That could mean flogging or electroshock or sweatbox for all of them, you never knew. But the guard would be reluctant to do that; it was unwise to have more contact with the bulls than you had to. A prayer was not enough provocation; a real racket might be, because then she would be in danger of losing her position and being thrown back into a holding pen, which meant being quietly strangled one night. Seven to one was bad odds.
God forgive them all, Marya thought. For them too the Savior died. She herself would probably get nothing more than a whack across the kidneys with the rubber truncheon at mess call.
Not for the first time, she reflected that Central Detention was like being inside a machine. Not a particularly efficient one, more like an early steam engine that gasped and wheezed and leaked around its gaskets, shuddering with loose fittings and friction. But it used the Domination's cheapest fuel, human life, and it was simple and rugged and did its work with a minimum of attention; she had been here six months and rarely even saw the serf guards and clerks who did the routine management, much less one of the Citizen-caste aristocracy of the Domination...
There was an iron chung-chung from the landing down at the south end of the corridor; the main door to Block D, two stories up the open stairwell. A sudden hush caught the cells along the narrow passageway, an absence of noise that had been too faint for conscious attention, then a rustle as the inmates sprang to stand by their bedrolls. The nun moved to her own and assumed the proper posture, feet together, head bowed, hands by sides. She could feel the sweat prickle out on her palms, wiped them hurriedly down the coarse cotton sack-dress that prisoners were issued. Suddenly the familiar roughness itched against her skin, and she forced her toes to stop their anxious writhing in the sisal-and-wood clogs.
A whimper. Therese; she had never been strong, or quite right in the head since they brought her and Chantal in. A slight girl, dark and too thin, who never spoke and slept badly. The nun had had medical training, but it was nothing physical; the abuse that had made the elder Lefarge sister strong with hate had broken something in Therese. Perhaps it could never be healed, and certainly not here. Eyes met across the cell, and someone coughed to cover the quick squeeze of the shoulder and whisper of comfort that was all they had to offer.
Pauvre petite, Marya thought; then with desperation: much too early for the bulls to be down looking for amusement. And they had never picked cell 10-27. Holy Mary, mother of God, please...
The guard pelted down the corridor and dropped to her knees by the stairs from the landing. Marya's bedroll was nearest the door; she could see boots descending the pierced-steel treads. Three sets, composition-soled leather with quick-release hooks rather than eyes for the lacings. Draka military issue, the forward pair black and the other two camouflage-mottled. Quickly, she flicked her eyes back to her toes. A Citizen! Could they have found out? Silently she willed the boots to pace by, on down the corridor. Not praying, because this could only mean bad trouble and the only words her heart could speak would be: somebody else, anyone but me.
Marya swallowed convulsively, thick saliva blocking her throat. Even Our Lord asked that the cup pass from him. But he had not wished it on anyone else. Nor would she.
The lock made its smooth metal sound of oiled steel and the cell door swung open. She could feel the breeze of it, smell leather and cloth, gun-oil and a man's cologne.
"Bow, you sluts!" the guard barked, hovering nervously in the corridor. The eight inmates of cell 10-27 put palms to eyes and bent at the waist.
"Up, stand up." A man's voice, cool and amused, speaking French with a soft slurred accent. "Present, wenches."
Marya jerked erect and bent her head back to show the serf identity-code tattooed behind her left ear, one hand holding back the long ashblond hair that might have covered it.
The position gave her a good look at the three men. Their armed presence crowded the cell, even though there was room in plenty with the inmates braced to attention. Two were common soldiers, Janissaries from the Domination's subject-race legions with shaven skulls and serf-numbers on their own necks. Big men, young, thick heavy-muscled shoulders and necks and arms under their mottled uniforms. Both carried automatic rifles; ugly, squared-off things with folding stocks and snail-shaped drum magazines; there were heavy fighting-knives in their boots, stick-grenades clipped to their harness, long machete-like bushknives slung over their backs. Dark men, with blunt features and tight-curled hair and skins the color of old oiled wood; Africans, from the heartlands of the continent where the Domination began. Their people had been under the Yoke for generations, and the Draka favored them for such work; they looked at the women with indifferent contempt and casual desire.
The third was an officer, a Citizen. In the black tunic and trousers of garrison uniform, with a peaked cap folded and thrust through his shoulder-strap; Marya understood just enough of the Domination's military insignia to know he was a Merarch, roughly a colonel. A tall man, leopard to the Janissaries' bull strength. Tanned aquiline features, pale gray eyes, brown hair streaked with a lighter color, a single gold hoop-earring. No more than thirty, with white scar-lines on his hands and face, one deep enough to leave a V in his left cheekbone. A machine-pistol rested in an elaborate holster along his thigh, but it was the weapon in his hand that drew her eye. A steel rod as thick as a man's thumb with a rubber-bound hilt, tapering along its meter length to the brass button on its tip; a cable ran from the hilt to the battery-casing at his belt. An electroprod.
The tip came towards her face. Sweat prickled out along her upper lip as she fought against the need to flinch. Marya knew what it could do; the 'prod was worse than a whip, as bad as the sweatbox. The Draka used it to control crowds; the threat was usually as effective as an automatic weapon, and less wasteful. Too many times and you could start having fits. Applied to the head it could cause convulsions, loss of memory, change you inside... She closed her eyes.
Metal touched her chin. Nothing. Not activated. She opened her eyes, and the Draka nodded with approval.
"Spirited," he said. "Sound off, wench."
"Marya seven-three-E-S-four-two-two, Master," she recited, fighting off a flush of hatred that left her knees weak, on the verge of trembling. She would not show it, not when it might be mistaken for fear.
The man in black flipped open a small leather-bound notebook with his left hand. "Ssssa; 34, literate, languages French, German, English, Polish..."He raised an eyebrow. "Quite a scholar... advanced accounting... ah, category 3m73, religious cadre, that would account for it." The electroprod clicked against the crucifix and rosary that hung through the cloth tie of her sack-dress. Made from scraps of wood, silently at night beneath her blanket. "Nun?"
"I am a Sister of the Order of St. Cyril, Master."
The Draka flicked the steel rod against her hip, hard enough to sting. "You were. Now you're 73ES422, wench." He read further, pursed a lip. "Suspicion of unauthorized education? Ah, that was six months ago;
Security must have been dithering whether to pop you off or send you to the Yanks with the Pope and the rest." He shook his head and made a tsk sound between his teeth. "Headhunters, typical."
Marya felt herself pale. "The... the Holy Father has been exiled?"
Two more cuts, harder this time. "Master," she added.
He turned without answering, scanning the others. "You," he pointed.
"Chantal nine-seven-E-F-five-seven-eight, Master." Marya could see the film of sweat on the other woman's face, and knew it was rage, not terror.
Calm, keep calm, she thought. Suicide is a mortal sin.
The Draka stepped over and looked her up and down, smiling slightly. She had dark-Mediterranean good looks, long black hair and a heart-shaped face, a full-curved body under the coarse issue gown. "At ease," he said, and the inmates straightened and dropped their eyes again; the officer chuckled as he watched the dark woman glaring at his boots and consulted the notebook.
"Twenty years, literate, numerate, French and English... ex-bookkeeper, member of the Communist Party..." He caught the hem of her gown on the end of the electroprod and raised it to waist height, and murmured in his own tongue: "Not bad haunches, but these Latins run to fat young."
Marya understood him, with difficulty; the English her Order had taught her was the standard British form. The Domination's core territory in Africa below Capricorn had been settled by Loyalist refugees from the American Revolution, speakers of an archaic eighteenth-century southern dialect, and it had mutated heavily in the generations since. He paused, let the cloth fall, tapped the steel rod thoughtfully against one boot.
"Shuck down, wenches," he said after a moment.
There was a quick rustle of cloth as the inmates stripped; the prison gowns were simple cotton sacks with holes for arms and heads. Marya undid her belt, pulled the garment over her head, folded it atop her bedroll, slipped off the briefs that were the only undergarment and folded them in turn, stepped out of the clogs and stood in the inspection posture, hands linked behind the head and eyes forward. The dank chill of the place seemed suddenly greater, raising the gooseflesh on shoulders and thighs, making her wish she could hug herself and run her palms down her arms.
When she had been arrested, it was only chance that the secret school was not in session and the children gone. All unauthorized education was forbidden, under penalty of death; they would have penned her and the children together in the room and tossed in a grenade. Alone, she would have died there and then if any evidence had been found. Two of the mothers had been with her, and there was no room in the police van; the green-uniformed Security Directorate officer had drawn her pistol and shot them both through the head as they knelt, to save the trouble of calling in for a larger vehicle. And inside Central Detention there had been no interrogation, no torture; only the cell and the endless monotony spiced by fear, until she realized that her gesture of defiance was not even worth investigating.
There had been a speech for her batch of new inmates. Very brief: "This is a bad place, serfs, but it can always be worse. We ask little from the living, only obedience; from the dead, nothing."
Beside her Therese was weeping silently, slow fat tears squeezing out from under closed lids and running down her face, dripping from her chin onto her breasts. Most of the others were expressionless, a few preening under the dispassionate gaze; the Draka nodded and turned to the guard.
"This one and that one," he said, flicking the prod toward Marya and Chantal. "Put the restraints on them."
Marya's stomach lurched as the guard's rough hands turned her around and pulled her arms behind her back. The ring-and-chain bonds clanked, fastening thumbs and wrists and elbows in a straining posture that (breed the shoulders back; you could walk in them if you were careful, but they were as effective as a hobble when it came to running. Not that there was anywhere to run; and anything at all might be waiting beyond the iron door. Cell 10-27 was a bad place; of cold and fear and a monotony that was worse than either, grinding down your mind and spirit. Now it seemed a haven... The one thing you could be certain of in the Domination was that there was always someplace worse.
The guard shoved the two women roughly toward the door of the cell. Marya staggered, turned and bowed awkwardly.
"Master," she said. "Our things?"
"You won't be back, wench," the Draka said, stretching. The Janissaries chuckled; one reached out and grabbed the weeping Therese by the breast, pinching and twisting. She folded about the grip in a futile shrimp-curl of protection, mouth quivering as she sobbed.
"Yo" be needin' us'n, suh?" he said. "Mebbeso we-uns stay here fo' whaal?"
The officer laughed, and Marya could feel Chantal quivering behind her. Therese was her younger sister; they had been swept up together for curfew-violation. Distributing leaflets, probably, but they had been clean when the patrol caught them and might have gotten off with a light flogging if Chantal had not attacked the squadleader when he started to rape Therese... The nun forced herself between the other woman and the soldiers, pushing her back against the bars, hearing the quick panting breath of adrenaline-overload in her ear and a low guttural sound that was almost a growl. Madness to attack three armed men with hands bound, but a berserker does not count the odds. Even worse madness if by some freak she could hurt one of their captors; that would mean impalement, a slow day's dying standing astride a sharpened stake rammed up the anus. And not just for her; the Draka believed in collective punishment, to give everyone a motive for restraining the wilder spirits. Innocents would die beside her.
The Draka laughed again, reaching out and playfully rapping the Janissary across the knuckles with the electroprod. "Na, no rough work with Security's property," he said. "Besides, I know you lads; once you had your pants down you wouldn't notice even if one of the others pulled the pin on a grenade and shoved it where the sun don't shine. Then think of the paperwork I'd have to do."
The dark soldier released the woman and saluted. His officer returned the gesture, then grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "But no reason you shouldn't hit the Rest Center until we're due; consider yourselves off-duty until..." He looked at his watch "... 20:00 hours. Report to the depot then. Off you go; I think I can handle the wild French wenches alone."
"Yaz, suh!" the serf soldiers chorused. Their clenched right fists snapped smartly to their chests before they wheeled and left.
It had been half a year since Marya last saw the main door of Block D; not since the night of her arrest, when she had been kicked through still bruised and dazed from the standard working-over with rubber hoses that all new inmates received. And she was nearly the oldest inhabitant; the others came and went, swept in off the streets for some offense too petty to merit an immediate bullet, processed through and vanishing to places unknown. A few found the courage to call farewell as they climbed the pierced-steel treads... Behind them came Therese's voice, thin and reedy:
"Chantal, don't leave me, come back, please—"
Then the welded panels clanged shut, and they were outside. A serf clerk at a desk-kiosk, a saffron-skinned slant-eyed woman in neat coveralls who bowed as she took the papers the Draka handed her.
More corridors, more cells; the electroprod tapped her on the shoulder, left, right, pointing to crossings. A harder jab to Chantal's lower back, just over the kidneys. She gasped, stumbled, would have turned her head to glare if the aching strain of the restraints had not prevented.
"Walk more humble, wench," the Draka said softly. "Through there, I think."
A men's section, hairy faces crowding close to the bars and glittering eyes, silent and intent, others who looked at her with pity, or away. The nun felt herself flushing under that hopeless hunger, forced herself not to shrink back towards the sound of the Draka's bootheels. Courtyards, and she began to shiver as a thin drizzle of cold rain fell slick on her skin. Cobblestones, a brief glimpse to a road outside as a convoy of steam-trucks chuffed in with a new load of detainees, ragged figures clutching bundles and children as the guards chivied them into ranks for processing. Overhead, huge and silent, a dirigible was passing, its lights disappearing northward...
Then they were in an office complex. Soft diffused lighting instead of the harsh naked bulbs, warmth, rain beating against sound windows of frosted glass. Incredulous, her feet felt carpet beneath, soft and deep; somewhere a teleprinter was chuttering, and the homey familiarity of the office-sound brought sudden inexplicable tears prickling under her lids. She was conscious of her nakedness again; not in shame or modesty, but as vulnerability. Most of those she saw were serfs as well, but they were neatly clad in pressed overalls and good shoes, clipboards and files in their hands as they strode purposefully down the aisles or sat at desks working, typing, filling the air with a clatter of abacuses and adding-machines. Their eyes flicked over her and away, and she could see herself in them: nude and wet and muddy-footed, rat-tails of wet hair clinging to her shoulders, arms locked behind her. Livestock, beneath contempt to these born-serf bureaucrats, the selected elite who occupied the management positions just below the Draka aristocracy.
"Hope these'un're house-broken," a voice said, and others chuckled. Her ears burned, and Chantal beside her stiffened and glared. The man behind them evoked more interest: deferential bows, and curiosity. Marya saw a few other Citizens, through the open doors of offices or walking in their bubbles of social space, crowds parting for them; but those men and women were in the olive-green of the Security Directorate, not War Directorate black. The freefolk grew more numerous as they climbed stairs and at the last an elevator to the upper level. There was no bustle here; empty corridor with wide-spaced doors, wood paneling replacing the institutional-bile paint of the lower levels. Names and mysterious number-letter codes on brass plates: "Morrison: infl.77A Relig.delation."
"Carruthers: alloc.lOF Labor." A larger door still, unmarked, at the end of a hallway.
"Through," the Draka said, tapping them again on the backs of their necks with the prod. Hesitantly, Marya stepped closer. The dark oak panel slid aside with a soft shusssh, and she stepped through, blinking with astonishment. She had been six months in prison; before that six years in war-crippled cities, on the roads of Europe, in refugee centers and tenements... For a moment she lost herslf in wonder.
The room was large, a lounge-office fifteen meters by twenty. Two walls were floor-to-ceiling tinted glass, a view over the tumbled rooftops of Lyon down to the choppy surface of the Rhone, iron-gray under a sky the color of a wet knifeblade. The other walls were murals in the Draka style, hot tawny savannah and herds of zebra beneath a copper sun. A huge desk of some unfamiliar glossy-russet wood occupied one corner, with a sparse scattering of files, intercom, telephone, closed-circuit television monitor. The floor was covered in Isfahan carpets, the furniture soft chairs around a cluster of low brass tables on filigree stands, Arab work.
The remains of a light meal were scattered on one, meats and cheeses, fruit and bread, coffee warming over a spirit-lamp with little pots of sugar and cream.
Marya felt her nostrils flaring and mouth filling. The prison fodder was abundant and adequate; porridge laced with fish and soya meal, hardtack, raw vegetables. Bland, bland; after months of it, years on scrimping wartime rations, the smell of the good food was intolerable. She was used to austerity, would not have chosen a religious vocation if comfort were essential to her, but she could feel her skin drinking in the softness and warmth, eyes flooding with the color and brightness. To feel something besides harsh cloth and stone, to see something that pleased the eye and was not ugly and hurtful...
The Draka officer's hand rested on her shoulder, forcing her to her knees beside Chantal. Inwardly, she shook herself as she bowed her head and glanced upward through the lashes; a prisoner could not afford the luxury of distraction. Focus on the people, she thought. Study them. Know those with power. Knowledge was the only defense of the weak.
There were five others in the room. A man behind the desk; Security uniform, high rank. In his forties but athletic, short, with dark curly hair, blue eyes, tanned pug face and a cigarette in an ivory holder. In the lounger... Marya blinked. The woman lolling there was the first Draka she had ever seen not in some type of uniform; she was wearing low tooled boots, loose burgundy trousers, a long blouse-shirt over a stomach that showed the seventh month of pregnancy. Somehow that seemed unnatural, shocking... Of course Draka had to be born like other folk, but... Tall, hawk-faced, hair a mixture of brown and gold that gave the effect of burnished bronze, one hand holding a cup. A massive thumb-ring, long fingers... And beside her a girl of perhaps ten years in a thick silk tunic, playing with a long needle-pointed knife.
The nun frowned, glanced covertly from one face to another. There were two servants, in dark elegant liveries; one knelt in a corner and played softly on a stringed instrument, the other was a middle-aged black woman standing by the child, probably a nurse. Forget them for a moment; there was something about the Draka... All the Citizens she had seen had a certain look, of course: hard sculpted faces, gymnast's physique, the studied grace that came of long training. Even the girl had none of the coltish awkwardness usual on the verge of adolescence; her hands moved the blade with relaxed precision, spinning it up and snapping it closed again around the hilt without looking down. But there was something more...
Ah, a family likeness. Pale eyes and long limbs and sharp-featured eagle-nosed high-cheeked faces; the pregnant woman might be the sister of the officer who had fetched Marya from the cell. She licked her lips, waiting.
"Gudrun, yo' said you were old enough to carry a weapon; don't fiddle with it." The woman's voice. Soft, rather husky. The child pouted, flushed and pulled up the hem of her tunic to slide the blade into a sheath on her leg. The blush was very evident under pale freckled skin, copper hair; there were dark circles under her eyes.
The pregnant woman worked her fingers and spoke to the man behind the desk. "An' yes, Strategos Vashon, I've been known to do outlines for mural work; the Klimt workshops have a few in their standard offer book. Not takin' commissions right now, though, what with everythin'." She transfered her attention to the two prisoners.
"So, Andrew, these two are the best yo' could do?"
The voice stirred a memory, elusive; darkness and pain, dust and the hot-metal stink of engines... It slipped away as she tried to grasp at it.
The Draka who had brought the women from their cell snapped his fingers for coffee, sinking into one of the chairs with a grateful sigh and hooking the electroprod onto his belt. "More difficult than the manual workers, sister dear, yo' wanted them spirited and intelligent... troublemakers, in other words. That, these are; healthy sound stock, as well."
The woman shifted, sighed, rested one hand on her belly and held out the other.
"The tag," she said, and her brother tossed a strip of metal; her hand picked it out of the air with a hard fast slap. "Yasmin." The girl in the corner laid down her mandolin and rose to take the key. "Take the restraints offn them."
Marya kept her head bent as the serf approached, knelt behind the two inmates. A crisp sound of linen and silk, a smell of scented soap, a soft hand on her arm.
"These-heah on way too tight." The girl's voice was harder to understand than the Draka's had been, the same soft drawl but a more extreme dialect. "It gowin hurt." Metal clicked. Thumbs first, then wrists, then the painful stretch of elbows drawn together behind the shoulderblades. The fetters had been a burning ache; agony lanced through muscles and tendons, throbbing as circulation returned. Then relief through the fading pain, almost as hard to bear; involuntary tears starred her lashes, breaking the light into rainbows that flickered like kaleidoscopes as she blinked, as her hands fell trembling to the rough surface of the carpet. She heard Chantal's hoarse grunt, and the metal of the restraints clanking as the serf-girl folded them. When the dark woman spoke it was in a whisper, barely audible and spoken downward into the rug so as not to carry.
"Be brave, mah sistahs. Tings bettah soon." Yasmin rose, laid the restraints on a table with a bow and returned to her instrument, strumming a faint wandering tune.
Endless moments passed, and Marya became aware of the Draka speaking among themselves.
"... nice pair of Danes, but I thought you still had that Jewish wench, what was her name..." the woman was saying.
"Leja." The officer in black worked his shoulders into the cushions and sipped his coffee. "I do, but I'm out of Helsinki in the field, most of the time. No company while I'm gone, too much work for one when I'm back. Besides, she's pregnant again."
"Why not have her fixed, for God's sake?"
Andrew sighed. "And spoil years of work? She just might not like that, you know; even gratitude has its limits. Why do you think I pulled her out of that Treblinka place when we overran it back in... yes, '42. Don't roll your eyes, I'm not going to start another boring war story."
"You don't have to, I remember the pictures you sent. Fuckin' sick picking her out, too, she couldn't have weighed more than thirty kilos." A grimace. "What happened to the rest of them, anyway?"
"Ask our good friend Strategos Vashon here."
The squat secret police officer looked up from his desk and leaned back in the swivel-chair, picking up a ball of hard indiarubber. "Nursed them back to health, every one we could," he said; the ball flexed under the rhythmic squeezing of his hand. "Most enthusiastic collaborators we've got, particularly in Germany."
Alfred nodded. "And Leja was well worth the trouble, to me; six months an' the bounciest wench yo' could want. Saw she had good bones from the start, an' spirit too." He grinned without opening his eyes, as if savoring a memory, a gaunt expression. "Gave her a knife and she went down a row of SS guards we had tied up, slittin' throats. The two I picked up in Copenhagen, Margrethe and Dagmar, they're just nice little bourgeois muffins, pathetically happy to be out of the ruck and terrified of goin' back."
"Why not Finns?"
Andrew snorted. "Almighty Thor, no! When I want to commit suicide, I'll do it decent, with a pistol." He opened his eyes and extended a finger at Chantal. "Those Finns're most-all like Leja, or her; hearts of fire.
Sieu, they call it. Place won't be safe for a decade. You can tell it by the eyes."
He waved his cup toward Chantal. "Speakin' of which, look at that one, sister dear. I didn't save her from a gas chamber. Sure yo' want her 'round-about the place?"
The pregnant woman rested her elbows on the arms of the lounger, placed her palms together, tapped fingers, addressed the inmates.
"Look at me, wenches." Gray eyes, impassive. Appraising. "My name is Tanya von Shrakenberg," she said. "Yo' will address me as 'Mistress Tanya"; we pronounce it 'Mistis.' This is my daughter Gudrun; you will call her 'Young Mistis Gudrun.' I have bought you out of Central Detention." A smile. "It may interest you to know that your price was roughly the same as a record player's; the tort-bond I had to put up was considerable larger, because yo' two're classified as potential trouble-makers."
Her head went to one side. " This is a bad place..." Freya's truth, and you've probably heard rumors "bout what might happen when you leave; most of them are true... breaking rock and shoveling rubble in a chain-gang until you died, most likely. Or worse. You've been very lucky indeed; now you're going to be part of the familia rustica on the plantation my family is establishing west of here. Household serfs; interpreters, bookkeepers. Possibly in positions of responsibility, eventually. Well fed and clothed, not punished unless you break my rules. Which are simple and plainly stated, by the way." She pointed at Chantal, turned the hand palm-up, crooked a finger. "Come and kneel here by me, Chantal."
The Frenchwoman shuffled forward on hands and knees, wise enough in the Domination's etiquette not to rise without permission. Tanya cupped a hand beneath her chin, forcing the head up. 'I've read your dossier, wench. You were picked up for curfew-breaking by an Order Police lochos; yo then tried to brain the monitor with a piece of pavin'-stone. Why?" A tighter squeeze. 'The truth, Chantal, not what you think I want to hear."
"He—" A pause. "He tried to rape my sister, she's a child, she's only fourteen, Mistis!" The last word was a hiss.
Tanya used her grip on the other's chin to wag her head back and forth. "With the result that you were both raped, repeatedly, then beaten bloody and ended up here, rather than in the factory compound where your family was sent." Another pause. "Have you enjoyed it here? Has your sister? From the report, she's simple-minded now: 'post-traumatic shock syndrome.' How do you think she's goin' to do without you to look after her, here in Central Detention?"
Marya could see the hands clenched by Chantal's sides, quivering. The Draka's voice continued: "Have you learned anything from this, Chantal? Besides the fact that the Draka are not humanitarians, that is.
"Hearken to the voice of experience, wench. Where are we?"
"In—in prison, Mistress."
"Beyond that."
"France, Mistress."
The hand shook her head again. "Wrong. We are in the Province of Burgundia, under the Domination; I am at home, you are an immigrant, ignorant of the laws and customs of the land." A smile. "And a serf, who is new to being a serf. I am a serf-owner, born of seven generations of serf-owners; consider who will have the advantage of knowing all the tricks, here.
"Now, here's what I'll do. I will buy your sister Therese, as well as you. She will have a room, light work; nobody will hurt her, and I'll even tell the overseers that she's hands-off." Chantal jerked and made a muffled sound. "Or, if you wish, I will have you sent back to her cell and pick someone else. Your choice. Shall I send you back, or not? Now, wench."
A whisper. "No, Mistress."
"Louder. I can't hear you."
"No, Mistress, please."
Tanya chuckled and leaned closer. "Now, that's what you should have learned from the incident that brought you here: the difference between courage and recklessness. Not at all the same thing. Tell me, Chantal, do you know what in loco parentis means? Yes? Good; you will be in loco parentis for your sister. Only, for you a special rule will be made; when the parent sins, the child is punished. Understand?"
She removed the restraining hand, but Chantal did not move.
"Yes, Mistress," she said, in a quiet, conversational tone.
"Oh, ho, what a look," Tanya said, keeping her eyes locked with Chantal's. "Andrew was right; a heart of fire, this one. Maybe we'll continue this conversation at greater length, someday." She brought up finger and thumb and flicked the other's nose. "Back."
Marya let her breath out in a long shudder, only then conscious of holding it, averting her eyes as the other woman crawled back and sank on her heels by the nun's side, panting as if from a sprint. The sight was disquieting; the nun felt a flush of shame rising from breasts to cheeks and bent her head, letting the pale curtain of her hair hide her face and silently cursing the milk-pale skin her Slavic ancestors had left her. The war, the Soviet and Nazi occupations, the long flight westward before the Draka had been chaos, random death, hunger, sickness, running through the cold wet squalor of the refugee centers. Soldiers and police, prison and camps she understood; even the Draka occupation had been merely a harsher version.
This was not a matter of armies and bureaucracies, however brutal; it was a ritual of submission rawly personal, as much a matter of calm everyday routine to her new owners as eating a meal. Oh, I understand the psychology of it, she thought; hers had been a teaching Order, and a progressive one. It was still something out of the ancient world, come to impossible life around her.
Tanya turned to her daughter, stroking her hair. "You've been patient, darlin'; now tell me, what do yo' think of these two."
"Well..." the child frowned and wrinkled her nose. "... They seem sort of, well, uppish. Sort of... um, shouldn't you punish them, mother?"
Tanya laughed, and tousled the girl's hair. "Cudrun, sweetlin', school can teach any number of useful things. But handlin' serfs is like..." She pursed her lips and tapped one thumb on her chin. "Like dancing; has to be passed on, one practitioner to the next. There's never a set answer, not on an individual scale. What did the Romans call their slaves?"
Cudrun's frown relaxed; that was much easier. "Instrumentum vocale, mother. The tool that speaks."
"A wise people. But always remember, the tool that speaks is also the tool that thinks, and believes. Watch." She turned her attention back to the two kneeling figures. Fascinated, Marya observed the change sweep over her face; less a matter of expression than of some indefinable shadow behind the eyes, warmth vanishing until frosted silver looked out at her human chattel.
"You, yo' were a nun, eh?"
"Yes, I am, Mistress."
"Were. Now, if 'n I told you to sweep the floor, would you do it?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"If I gave you Gudrun's knife an' told you to cut Chantal's throat, would you?" There was a silent pause. "The truth, wench: don't try lyin' to me."
Marya moistened her lips. "No, Mistress."
"Ah." The Draka smiled. "And if I told you to jump out the window?"
"No, Mistis." At the Draka's arched brows: "Suicide is a mortal sin."
The Draka woman laughed softly. "And if I told you that if you didn't, I'd kill Chantal here?"
Marya opened her mouth, hesitated, shook her head.
"More difficult, eh?" Tanya chuckled and nodded to her daughter. "Remember this; there is always some order that won't be obeyed. Either don't give it, or be prepared to kill. Human bein's are like horses, born wild but with a capacity fo' domestication. These are old fo' breakin', so it'll be difficult." She turned to the serf-girl with the mandolin.
"Yasmin," she continued, writing and tearing a leaf from a pocket-notebook. "Here. There's a Stevenson & deVerre office on the ground level. Take them down and see to them, there's a good wench. Light cuffs, clothin', tell them the basics. We'll come down when yo're finished."
Yasmin covered her instrument in a velvet case and pattered over to them, signalling them to rise. Tanya levered herself to her feet and approached also, stopping them for a moment with a lifted finger, paused.
"You two are mine now," she continued; neither of the women lifted their eyes from the carpet. "All your choices are gone, except one. Obedience, life. Disobedience, death. That one we can never take from you." Another pause. "But yo've already made it, no?" She shrugged. "I am your fate, then. Yo've decided to spend life under the Yoke; so remember, there's no point kickin' and buckin'. Be good serfs, an' my family will be good masters. Resist, and yo' suffer."
Copyright © 1989 by S.M. Stirling <email@example.com>


text: CHANGE IN STATUS. A federal judge has approved a change in bankruptcy proceedings for GIC Government Securities Inc. Tampa-based GIC, operating in Florida as a securities dealer since 1982, filed Oct. 3 for protection under Chapter 11 of the federal bankruptcy code after being shut down on fraud charges. Such a filing allows a company to continue operating while it reorganizes. The switch, to Chapter 7, will allow the court to liquidate and distribute the company's assets among creditors.


text:
Had my usual Saturday walk with Ellie and Lucy this morning. To Riverside Park and the River Run playground. Once we were home, Ellie talked about making tomato soup. Now, Sofia's made many fine soups, but none of them tomato. (I'm hoping for matzo ball soup one of these days.) I asked Ellie if Baba taught her how to make it, and pointed out that I've never made it. (I've only had the one Warhol presumably liked.) "No. I know myself." she said. Thinking this was going to be more pretend cooking I settled into some web browsing.
Then some tomatoes attached to Ellie walked by -- to the bathroom, where she can reach the sink. I paid a bit more attention when a pot of water came walking back from the bathroom, most of it (not all) staying in the pot. "OK," I thought, "this is not entirely pretend." and cleaned up the floor.
So I peeked into the kitchen. (Thankfully we live in an open-plan apartment, so this required leaning back about One Inch.)
Turns out that peek was some sort of sixth parenting sense: there was Ellie standing on her chair, serrated knife in hand, halfway through a tomato on a precariously placed cutting board on the narrow part of the counter in front of the sink. Knife is On. The. Way. To. The. Fingers.
[Oh. Jesus.]
I guess she knew she shouldn't have had the knife because I didn't have to say much or say it loudly. Nonetheless, lots of sobbing tears -- body-heaving sobs. Sheer physical trauma from the disappointment. This girl *really* wanted her tomato soup.
So we talk, and I explain that I don't really know how to make it. But we can always look it up in the Joy of Cooking. (Amazing book, that.) And of course it was about the fifth soup recipe.
And so we cut the tomatoes. (Ellie watched this time.) And sautéed some onions in olive oil, just like Joy says to. Ellie got to put in the onions. Then the tomatoes about seven minutes later. (Any risk of her standing near the stove on a chair seemed worth it.) We munched on some bread while it simmered. Finally we did the puree thing, added a touch of cream, simmered a bit more, and served.
So maybe I don't get a listening award. Or a home safety award.
And I certainly didn't get the salt right. (Not enough.)
But it was a very fine soup.


text:
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About FDD
Military Trip to Israel
Frequently Asked Questions
I am interested in Israel and national security but I am not currently employed in the field. Am I eligible to apply for the trip?
The FDD National Security Trip to Israel is specifically geared towards individuals pursuing careers in national security, counterterrorism, or foreign policy. Those who are currently working in these fields will have priority, although we will give fair consideration to applicants who have a demonstrated interest as well.
I am slightly younger than 30/I am slightly older than 40. Am I still eligible?
Those who are between the ages of 30-40 will receive priority consideration, but those who are slightly below and above the age range will also be considered based on their professional background and suitable qualifications.
I work at a government agency and am required to submit information about the trip to receive approval for participation. Can you provide me with more information?
In addition to participants from the private sector, FDD's National Security Trip to Israel has included Hill staffers, military officers, and government officials from a number of agencies. FDD is a 501c3 non-profit organization, which complies with all federal and congressional ethics rules. We are glad to work with you to fill out any necessary paperwork. Please email
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Participants are required to attend pre-trip and post-trip meetings in Washington D.C. The meetings are tentatively scheduled for the evenings of May 10 and July 12, 2018. As long as you can commit to being in D.C for all of the relevant programming, your application will be considered. Please indicate in your application if you are not D.C.-based.
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Participating in the pre and post-trip programming is mandatory. We have found that these sessions greatly enhance the trip experience. Please note in your application if you have a conflict with the pre-trip or post-trip dates. We will consider circumstances on a case-by-case basis.
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Originally posted by Logos23
I come from Manchester in the North West of England...people tend to finish every couple of sentences in conversation with " Do ya know wot i mean?" ...Drive's me mad!
Infact a lot of Manc slang drive's me insane.... wicked/ sorted/ minted/ buzzin/ sick.....
Even worse when people put "age" on the end of word's like "sickage"
And the newish one young girl's tend to use..... expanding on "lol" from text speak and using the word "lolage" in conversation referring to something funny.
Also the word "gutted" meaning disappointed or upset
And the word "chuffed" for happy or pleased.
Although in typing this i realize i am guilty of using a few of those word's myself even though they irritate the hell out of me!......shoot me now!!
Originally posted by michael1983l
Period as in full stop
have a nice day
blood (as in UK youths refering to each other as this)
Eyeraq as in the was G.W.Bush pronounces Iraq.
Get a handle on it
Thats all I can think of for now. But I have loads, I just can't remember them all.
oh and the American version of Aluminium as in alooooooooominum
The metal was named by the English chemist Sir Humphry Davy (who, you may recall, "abominated gravy, and lived in the odium of having discovered sodium"), even though he was unable to isolate it: that took another two decades' work by others. He derived the name from the mineral called alumina, which itself had only been named in English by the chemist Joseph Black in 1790. Black took it from the French, who had based it on alum, a white mineral that had been used since ancient times for dyeing and tanning, among other things. Chemically, this is potassium aluminium sulphate (a name which gives me two further opportunities to parade my British spellings of chemical names)...
...Sir Humphry made a bit of a mess of naming this new element, at first spelling it alumium (this was in 1807) then changing it to aluminum, and finally settling on aluminium in 1812. His classically educated scientific colleagues preferred aluminium right from the start, because it had more of a classical ring, and chimed harmoniously with many other elements whose names ended in -ium, like potassium, sodium, and magnesium, all of which had been named by Davy...
...Actually, neither version was often encountered early on: up to about 1855 it had only ever been made in pinhead quantities because it was so hard to extract from its ores; a new French process that involved liquid sodium improved on that to the extent that Emperor Napoleon III had some aluminium cutlery made for state banquets, but it still cost much more than gold. When the statue of Eros in Piccadilly Circus in London was cast from aluminium in 1893 it was still an exotic and expensive choice. This changed only when a way of extracting the metal using cheap hydroelectricity was developed.
It's clear that the shift in the USA from -ium to -um took place progressively over a period starting in about 1895, when the metal began to be widely available and the word started to be needed in popular writing...
"Bro or Dude" - whoever says it just want to say shut the heck up you hipster doofus.
Originally posted by RightInTwo
'A whole nother'
I hear this phrase time and time again, it's not even correct grammer. Theres 'Another whole' but 'WHOLE NOTHER' makes absolutely no sense.
All Office Speak like "going forward" &"lets touch base".
Originally posted by Juggernog
reply to post by BABYBULL24
I say "dude" all the time, grew up in the 70s 80s lol..
I do get annoyed at this..
All Office Speak like "going forward" &"lets touch base".
And "be that as it may" wtf does that even mean?
Originally posted by Juggernog
And "be that as it may" wtf does that even mean?


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Field Cameras
Field Cameras (also known as Wildlife or Trail Cameras) are motion-activated (or optionally time interval-activated) devices designed to be left in a fixed location which will automatically capture still images or video when triggered by animals passing by. All are battery powered and have an infra-red-illuminated night mode. Some higher end models include the facility to install a mobile SIM card and automatically upload captured footage to the internet (subject to data charges from your operator.) Should you require any advice on these wildlife cameras, please feel free to contact us or phone on +44 (0)1225 466364.
Minox DTC-390 Trail Camera£99.00
- IR-Blackflash (invisible for animals, 940 nm)
- IR-flash range: 49 ft. (15 m)
- Fast shutter release (1 sec)
- Convenient 2.4" TFT colour monitor
- HD video resolution
Minox DTC 700 Trail Camera£179.00
- Removable camera module
- Invisible IR-flash with a range of 15 m
- 6 megapixel resolution
- Fast shutter release of <1 sec. (0.2 sec. if used with an external power supply)
- Special MINOCTAR lens
- Multi-lingual menu navigation
- SDHC memory card up to 32 GB
- Convenient 2" colour display
- Battery life up to 6 months
- Robust and weatherproof protective housing with a Camouflage coating
- USB port
- Integrated port for external power supply
- Includes mounting strap and USB cable


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Crowder Road in Longley is closed in both directions between the Longley Lane junction and the Southey Green Road junction, because of a house fire.
Emergency services are on the scene, so drivers shoud use an alternative route.
Unconfirmed reports on social media say it was a gas explosion, but nobody was hurt. Although the family dog is thought to be missing.
More to follow


text: Here is another idea of making your lunch different from the usuall. This goes well with beef stew and "pastetke" that I posted yesterday. You basicly cut in half your pears, cook them til soft, fill them whit a jam of your choice (if you ask me, they are best with cranberry jam) and let people top it with some sour cream. It is so delicious, fresh and fruity and it goes well with stews and sauces. And it makes a meal even richer.


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HD 205 – Milk War Q & A Vancouver BC
February 9th, 2011 | Hella Delicious, Shows, BC, choice, cowshare, Dairy, food, legal, local, Milk War, rawmilk, Vancouver
Excerpts from the Question and Answer session with Alice Jongerden and Declan O'Driscoll after the screening of Milk War in Vancouver, BC. Gives the history of the pasteurisation laws in Canada, some of the differences between BC and Ontario, how Home on the Range cowshare got started and why Alice can't milk the cows at present. In BC raw milk has been declared a hazardous substance without looking at all the facts. Given the increase in food-borne illness (and deaths) in the industrial agriculture food system targeting small scale local community dairies is irrational and unnecessary.
Milk War was co-produced for ichannel by Stornoway Communications and The Path to Gimli. Milk War premiered at the Royal Cinema in Toronto in September, 2010 and can be seen on iChannel.
Amid a resurgence in local food systems emerges Milk War, a documentary highlighting raw milk skirmishes that pit corporate-owned regulatory agencies against food freedom.
Written and directed by award-winning journalist, Kevin O'Keefe, and produced by Declan O'Driscoll, the 60-minute film explores the Michael Schmidt case, a biodynamic farmer who legally challenged Ontario's ban on raw milk. -Dissident Voice
To support, please share, and donate to the Real Milk Legal Defence Fund here.
This post is part of Kelly the Kitchen Kop's Real Food Wednesdays.


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Everyone likes to be able to measure things. Goals, weight, progress, and workouts. There have been many heart rate monitors on the market, some glitchy, some just ok, but nothing compares to the amazing technology of Under Armour's Armour 39.
I love the tagline "never cheat yourself again", and this device simply won't allow it. So what exactly does it measure? Heart rate, calories burned, intensity, and WILLpower. (WILLPOWER™ IS THE FIRST TRUE MEASURE OF AN ATHLETE. IT BOILS YOUR WORKOUT DOWN TO A SINGLE SCORE 0.0-10.0.) So what IS a WILLpower score? WILLpower™ is a single score of how hard your body has worked during a training session, on a scale of 0.0 10.0. It accumulates over the length of your workout, taking into account information that includes the length of your workout, body position, intensity throughout, user profile, and key heart rate information. With WILLpower, you can, for the first time, objectively measure a hard day versus a light day. There are two options, both require the chest strap. You can use the strap and your mobile device,* or use the chest strap and the Display watch (sold separately)
If you choose to use your smart phone, you simply download the Armour39 app from the app store, sync it to your chest strap, and begin! There is an optional assessment that I highly recommend doing at the beginning to help the device zero in on your target heart rate.
*Compatible with iPhone® 4S, iPhone® 5, iPhone® 5S, iPhone® 5C, and iPod Touch® (5th gen) Here is an example of your workout overview:
If you are anything like me, you struggle to take "easy days easy, and take cross training days seriously and need to up the intensity. With this device, you set a target so you never take a day too easy or too hard. I love having a goal, and I love looking at my phone, seeing I need to push harder, and then can see the results of "picking up the intensity". It truly shows how much of your WILLpower you put into each workout, and is a great tool for any athlete. What's better? Thanks to my friends at Under Amour Women, I am giving away a chest strap here on THLG! This strap retails for $150, and can be used with your smart phone, or you can purchase the watch to go with the strap. Simply follow the rafflecoptor instructions below:
Get Your Free Printable Set!
Sign up to get my free printables on goal setting & fitness tracking.


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Warm up your credit cards: Digitimes reports that the next-generation iPad may start shipping as early as late February of 2011. Digitimes' Taiwanese sources claim that Foxconn, Apple's leading product manufacturer, will ship the next-gen iPad within the next 100 days, with an initial shipment run of 400,000-600,000 units.
The current iPad, announced in late January, was not available for sale in the US until early April (Wi-Fi only) and late April (3G). While a late February ship date for an unannounced iPad 2 may sound far too optimistic to be true, Digitimes has been a decent source of component-related rumors in the past. Over a month before the release of the iPhone 4, Digitimes described the then-forthcoming handset's internals to a tee, correctly describing the specs of the Retina Display and the CPU and RAM upgrades.
[via Mac Rumors]


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Christmas for Caregivers
It was mid-November, a time of year I usually love. The Thanksgiving holiday, which falls just before my birthday, always brings me a sense of contentment. My sister comes to visit and my Mom (who can barely speak) is overjoyed when she's got both daughters within arm's reach. She smiles when we're all together and always finds the strength to say, "The two! The two!'
But even the thought of autumn togetherness could not lift my mood. I felt worn and ancient. On a physical level, my body seemed beyond repair. After two years of lifting my mother five times a day, my spine was angry and resentful. Five times may not sound like much, especially since she's only 92 pounds. But without time to restore myself, each lift was like hauling bricks. In two years, my only real vacation had been a three day summer break.
My back was aching more than usual because I had been working on a series of writing assignments that were all due the same day. My bosses needed me to produce three 70-page beauties for a deadline after Thanksgiving — on my birthday! Writing at my computer for hours on end left me stiff as a rusty gate. When I stood up to take a break, I walked like a tired granny.
The Search for Respite
Most #caregivers know about this kind of pain. It comes from being on call physically and emotionally 24 hours a day. We seldom get the deep rest needed to heal. But I had reached the point where I was determined to get that rest. I knew if I didn't get some kind of caregiver respite I would injure something besides my sense of humor — which already felt badly sprained.
My search for help led first to a cozy personal care home that rejected my mother because she was too frail. A second facility made the same decision. Mom's condition was too fragile and no one wanted the liability of caring for her. Tears rolled down my face as I thought about her weakness and my own. The steering wheel was wet and I couldn't find a tissue anywhere. I felt awful but I knew we had made it through painful trials in the past, so I tried to remember how we survived before. Some of those memories gave me some strength.
[Part I of IV]


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Dine on your pool table
One of my favorite hobbies is to play pool. Unfortunately the town where I live doesn't seem to care for pool halls, and the only tables to be found are in seedy bars. Needless to say, I haven't played much lately. There have been many times over the years that I've wanted to purchase my very own table so I could play whenever I wanted. The main issue that always arises is space. I don't generally have a lot of spare room, and my wife refuses to entertain the idea of getting rid of our dining room table. However, I just might be able to talk her into a FusionTable.
The idea of a pool table that converts to a dinner table has crossed my mind on a number of occasions, only they are rather difficult to find. The two biggest pitfalls to designing such a table are the height (pool tables are a bit higher than most dining tables) and the pockets stick out like sore thumbs. FusionTables take both of these into consideration. The Easy-Lift system allows you to raise the table a full three inches simply by lifting. The spring-assisted leg extensions take care of the rest. The pockets are completely hidden unless they are actually in use. They are made out of a hi-tech stretch memory cloth which will expand to accommodate the balls, then contract out of sight once they are removed.
It looks like these tables are being offered in a variety of finishes with matching chairs and benches. Pricing was conveniently left off of the site, but I think the old adage would hold true here. If you have to ask, you can't afford it.
Source: Yanko Design


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An elite squad consisting of the stealthy serpent, the balanced krane, the powerful mantis, and the fierce tiger! No one can defeat the animal force four as they have two different head quarters! 3rd period English, and 6th period Spanish!!!
Max was about to kill Iggy, but the the animal force 4 came in and saved the day!!!
by The Master Serpent March 24, 2009
buy the domain for your pet blog


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The Organisation
CAPE Awards
The CAPE-WP
CAPE Definition
Call for nominations: Recent Innovative Contribution (RIC) Award 2015
Following up on the Long Term Achievement Award decided at ESCAPE 22 in London, it is the turn for the Recent Innovative Contribution Award 2015 competition. The CAPE-WP has the pleasure to announce that the call for nominations for the Recent Innovative Contribution Award 2014 is open from 12/06/2013.
The nominations for the RIC award should be sent to the current chairman of the CAPE-awards committee with a copy to the CAPE-WP chairman firstname.lastname@example.com CC to email@example.com. The deadline for receiving the nominations is 01/03/2014.
Rules for nominations and eligibility:


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Wednesday, 21 November 2012
K & Company Blog Candy!
21 comments:
Fabulous papers Colette! Good luck with the blog giveaway, off to post a link on my blog now (fingers crossed I can remember how to do it!)ReplyDelete
Dawn x
I don't have a blog. Does that mean that I can't enter please?ReplyDeleteReplies
Hi Lucretia,Delete
Unfortunately for the linky to work, you need to enter a blog address. It doesn't necessarily have to be a craft blog :)
Colette x
Oh, I can't enter then as I don't have one. Never mind. You have a lovely little blog here.ReplyDeleteReplies
Hi Lucretia,Delete
I've changed the rules slightly. As you are now a follower, you are entered!
Good luck
Colette x
Was having another look at your blog and noticed the rules had been altered. Thank you very much for entering me. Very kind.ReplyDeleteReplies
You are welcome :)Delete
- paperkate27 November 2012 at 14:10
Couldn't enter as have no blog, but now registered by e mail to your gorgeous funky blog.ReplyDelete
Hope that means I am entered for this fab blog candy draw.Replies
Hi Kate,Delete
Thank you for following my blog by email. I am confirm that you are entered into the blog candy draw :)
Good luck
Colette xx
I would love to enter!ReplyDelete
Hi Katelyn,ReplyDelete
Thank you for following my blog :) You are now entered into the blog candy!
Good luck xxx
What fab candy. I am just about to put this on my sidebar.ReplyDelete
Nikki xReplies
You are entered Nikki, good luck!Delete
Colette xx
Wonderful candy – thank you so much for a chance to win and for sharing it with the crafty world! ;)).ReplyDelete
I've added your candy to my Blog Candy Cauldron linky.
Merry Christmas and a happy New Year to you and yours!
Asia xxReplies
Hi Asia,Delete
Thank you for following! Good luck in the candy giveaway.
I'm from Bulgaria http://nelisidea.blogspot.com/2012/12/blog-post_9116.htmlReplyDeleteReplies
Hi Neli,Delete
Thanks for becoming a follower of my blog. You are entered for the blog candy, good luck!
Colette x
- Anonymous19 December 2012 at 14:13
is this international?ReplyDeleteReplies
Yes is is, but you need to become a follower of my blog. If you have your own blog you also need to post the candy on your side bar with a link to my site:)Delete
Lovely giveaway :)The papers are gorgeous ^^ReplyDelete
Thank you for this chance !!
Big Hugs Rebecca
Hi Rebecca!Delete
Thank you for following my blog and entering to win the candy. I have put a link to your blog in the 'Brilliant Blogs I Follow' in the sidebar.
Good luck with the candy:)


text:
The Technique of Calculation - Part 7
21 min
Today GM Khachiyan reviews one of his favorite games! A battle full of swindles, surprising (often amazing) tactical shots, and many resourceful options for both sides: Gormally-Sutovsky, Gibraltar 2005 was something to behold! Of course, Melik provides insight into the calculation process of each player, and how we can all learn from their play. Enjoy!


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It's far too easy to run us, and those institutions, down without recognising what we and they achieved and continue to achieve.
I am proud to say that I was educated at Paisley, where I secured my degree in biology, and at Glasgow, where I secured my diploma.
The institutions have a good reputation for their partnerships with industry and for improving the life opportunities of thousands of people of all ages and from a wide diversity of backgrounds.
In fact I would argue that Paisley and Glasgow Colleges gave a bigger lift or added value to their students than those institutions that Mr Kerr thinks are only worthy of any consideration.
Now I'm not seeking a battle with the ancients. I have worked closely with academics and management from their science departments and have the greatest respect and admiration for their achievements. It's people like David Kerr that give the ancients a bad reputation. All I'm asking is for a bit of mutual respect.


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CLINTON, S.C. – The Presbyterian College women's soccer lost 4-0 to Mercer Sunday afternoon.
How it Happened
The Bears scored three goals in a span of three minutes to take a 3-0 lead 18 minutes into the game. Mercer capped of the scoring in the 71st minute on a goal into the top right of the goal.
Woman of the Match
Freshman goalkeeper Alyssa Leaman came into the game at halftime and recorded three saves in her 45 minutes of action.
Stat of the Game
Ashlynn Powell led the team in shots with three, and shots on goal with two.
PC falls to 1-2-0 while Mercer improves to 2-4-0.
Up Next
The Blue Hose will travel to Wofford for a 7:00 p.m. kickoff against the Terriers Friday evening.
How to Follow
Fans can keep up with all the Blue Hose action at gobluehose.com, or follow along on twitter at @BlueHoseSports and @PCWSoccer.


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As my time in Taiwan nears its end, my blogging has regrettably slowed down to a near standstill, but fear not, I'm back to update you on my adventure.
I have to backtrack to the beginning of May, which kicked off with preparations for the arrival of the GWC kids. They were embarking on the first leg of the exchange that I undertook five years before. The groundwork included a trip to Kaohsiung, 高雄, which I welcomed as respite from the relentless studies of my Chinese class. In hindsight, that wasn't my finest decision as I had my final exam in a few days and could hardly feel less prepared.
Time passes fast when you have a deadline, and as soon as we had finished the prep, GWC arrived. Unfortunately, I was not there to greet them myself as I had again taken time off school and university (again not my best decision) to take a three-day trip with Winnie and family (when I say family, I mean extended family - cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, you name it). The chosen destination was the small island of Peng Hu, 澎湖, off the west coast of Taiwan. It chucked it down for two whole days, which made me feel quite at home actually, so it didn't detract from the experience for me.
When I returned from the thoroughly drenched island of Peng Hu, 澎湖, I met the GWC kids. After filling their young heads with wisdom accumulated over the past 9 months, I offered my assistance whenever I had free time...which, unfortunately for them, was often. Just as it had for me five years before, time passed incredibly fast that week. The days were jam-packed with activities, so that jet lag wouldn't set in for the GWC visitors. I shall recount some important highlights.
Top-rated activity must surely have been badminton with the awesome Maggie Sproule (GWC Chinese teacher). As a team, we were unbeaten resulting in a 4-0 scoreline for Scotland against Taiwan! Another team event, which gave me particular personal satisfaction, was the GWC pupil involvement in my hockey class. Their participation meant that, for the first time, my Taiwanese students were able to witness what a small hockey game should look like when everyone doesn't run at the ball. Wednesday (25th of May) was Kaohsiung, 高雄, day and a greater contrast with our preparation day, we could not have had - the pouring rain had been replaced by glorious sunshine. First stop was the British Consulate where Maggie and I enjoyed tea and cakes while watching the pupils explore. This was the day when the group really bonded - by the end of the trip, all were chattering harmoniously (if a little too loudly).
All good things must come to an end, and so did the GWC students' trip to Taiwan. The trip culminated with a visit to Taipei where the aforementioned agreeable group of pupils would be deposited at the airport. But not before packing in a few more experiences. Firstly, a visit to Tai Zhong, home of the Earthquake Memorial Museum, where my Chinese teacher from 5th year at school was reunited with her favourite pupil!
On arrival in Taipei, the first order of business was some exercise - up a steep hill that revealed a fantastic view of Taipei city. Unfortunately, my presence of mind was lacking at the summit and so are photos (most likely due to the temperature - 37C!). Last stop before the flight home was Taipei 101, the tallest building in the world from 2004 until 2009 when the Burj Khalifa in Dubai overtook it. (See what a wonderful source of useless information I am!) There, we met a group of past GWC teachers and a solitary ex-pupil. I had previously stood at the base of Taipei 101, but this was my first time ascending the building to the highest point accessible by the public. What a way to end the 'shortest' week I have experienced in Taiwan! And so, it was time to say a sad farewell to Maggie and her students.
Well, that leaves me 2 weeks behind on my blogs. University work has been intense for the past few weeks. Sadly, I have finished at Cheng Kung University (成功大學) and sadly, I have no more excuses for slow output of blogs. Hopefully I'll catch up soon...


text:
In the News:
Dr. Calderon interviewed on meditation in an article in the October 2016 issue of the New Orleans Gambit.
Qi Qong and Mind-Body Medicine
Dr. Calderon leads participants in Qi Gong at the Mind Body-Medicine Fundamentals course held in Portland, Oregon in October 2016.
Dealing with Emotions After a Tragedy
Dr. Calderón shares some advice on WWL-TV to help people deal with feelings of fear, anxiety and more after the latest the police shooting in Baton Rouge.
Radio and Podcasts:
Groundless Ground: Groundless Ground is a podcast hosted by Lisa Dale Miller, LMFT, LPCC, SEP, who specializes in Integrative Psychotherapy and Somatic Experiencing Therapy. She is the author of a highly regarded textbook on Buddhist psychology for mental health clinicians, Effortless Mindfulness: Genuine mental health through awakened presence and a recent chapter in The Handbook of Mindfulness: Society, Culture and Context. Lisa is a dharma teacher and has been a yogic and Buddhist meditation practitioner for over four decades. Listen Here!
Out to Lunch Radio Broadcast on WWNO 89.9: Out to Lunch is a radio broadcast hosted by economist and Tulane finance professor Peter Ricchiuti, who invites guests from the new world of the New Orleans business renaissance to join him. Listen to Dr. Calderón speak about Mindful Psychiatry and alternative provisions of health care in New Orleans.
Fostering Healthcare Provider's Posttraumatic Growth
Disaster planning has traditionally focused on the concrete needs of the impacted population. This paper looks at the impact of direct and indirect trauma exposure as it affects healthcare providers responding to a region-wide natural disaster and discusses trauma management via the incorporation of self-care techniques.
Rebuilding Public Inpatient Psychiatric Services in Post-Katrina New Orleans
This article describes the clinical and administrative expe- riences of providing inpatient care in post-Katrina New Orleans, including the increased demand for programs to treat patients with co-occurring disorders, the expanded scope of practice for psychiatrists to include primary care, and ongoing staff shortages in a traumatized and displaced workforce.
TMS as an Augmentation Agent in Treatment Resistant Bipolar II Depression
Depressive symptoms in bipolar disorder produce a significant level of disability, and seem to be the predominant phase of the illness. Bipolar depression can be difficult to treat, and there is great need for techniques to improve rates of response. Transcranial magnetic stimulation (TMS) has been reported to be effective in unipolar depression. This summary sheet displays the findings of a study designed to test whether the addition of TMS to pharmacotherapy would improve the rates of response to medication treatment.
Optimizing the Response to TMS in Major Depression through Intensive Concomitant Medication Management
This summary sheet displays the findings of a study designed to test the concomitant use of TMS and antidepressants.


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As is tradition it seems, the 5 year old fell ill at the weekend (again). He had some terrible mosquito bites which quickly got infected and turned into cellulitis which caused him to go all floppy and tired while we were out on Sunday. Queue a trip to the doctor for yet more antibiotics and numerous lotions and potions. He's definitely perked up again now and was well enough for his school trip on Wednesday, which he loved. But he still has these huge angry red marks all over his skin.
Weird skin infections aside, this week has been full of dips in the pool, travelling (the Mr) and lots of sunshine. And isn't everything always better when the sun is out? Anyway onto my #littleloves for the week:
I'm almost finished Are We Nearly There Yet? It's such a fab book. I love the fact you're laughing one minute and it's so touching the next. I'm not sure what to read next though. I've got so many books on my kindle waiting to be read, I never know which one to choose next!
The Durrells is one I didn't watch when it was first one, but have recently discovered on catch up and have fallen in love with. I'm at the end of series one and can't wait to see what madcap adventures occur in series 2!
I 'made' a new contact this week, which has worked out rather nicely for me as I've bagged myself a new social media client. It's funny, just as I was thinking of throwing myself into a course, revamping this blog and perhaps actually concentrating on my own social media, now this has come along. For me jobs are like buses, they all come along at once or you wait what seems like ages for one. But I guess that's the nature of the beast and I can't wait to get my teeth into this new project.
I 'wore' my new haircut. Does that count? I finally got to a hairdressers appointment after the little one was ill last week and I missed it. I was in the chair at 8.15 after dropping the kids off to school and home by 9.15 with a much shorter 'do. I've had half my hair cut off (literally) and although it's a teensy bit shorter than I envisaged (It was very long and I wanted it to hit my shoulders but it's above my shoulders), it's so much lighter and I can't stop flicking it about. Now I just need to decide on what colour I want it!
Having caught up with all the live episodes of Hashtag Authentic, I was looking for a new podcast to listen to and came across Kat Molesworth's Blogtacular The Podcast. I've listened to a few episodes so far, picking out the more relevant ones for me and my favourite is the interview with Emma Gannon, who it turns out has her own podcast, so that's another one on my list for future listening. I'm fast becoming a podcast convert. Considering I hadn't ever listened to any and it's now something I do every weekend – usually as I read #littleloves posts, I'm discovering new podcasts to listen to and new ideas and inspiration every week.
What we haven't heard yet is whether we will be moving, so things are still uncertain. But it should be today or early next week, so I'm on tenterhooks at the moment.
And lastly…
Did you hear about the fab new linky from Anna Marie from Mummy Hearts You? Each week she alternates between linking to her favourite blogs, vlogs, tv shows and instagram and this week it was the turn of the vloggers. Why not head over and link up your own post? (Shameless plugging there, but I persuaded her to turn it into a linky so I need to do my bit!)
We don't have any plans for the weekend yet. I'm thinking the beach definitely needs to go on the list if the weather is as gorgeous as it has been this week and of course several dips in the pool will be called for. Have a great weekend whatever you get up to!


text: This is house style 64 bar loop. Smooth uplifting electronoc loop. Will be good for new product or service presentation, sports result and wins achievement videos. Very nice loop to for sports, games, achievements, uplifting moments. It's both relaxing and energetic, suitable for web sites, television, commercial presentations, corporate videos background


text: I just finished watching Underworld for the first time ( I know, it's been out for like 5 years already ). Anyway, there was a special in the special features called "Fangs to Fiction". They talked about the possibility of Vampires and Werewolves being real. One thing that I couldn't help but notice was that every "witness" of a werewolf sounded almost exactly like a Bigfoot sighting. Could it be that Bigfoot is really a Lycon? That would explain why they are so hard to find and we never find dead ones. After being spotted, they run off and then turn back into a human. So what do you guys think? Bigfoot a werewolf? Or are the werewolves really Bigfoot?


text: Hey all. I just joined a few minutes ago. I have had my Droid since April. Love it. Just updated to 2.2 this morning. Having a few issues with it. I already posted a thread in Audio/Video with a ringtone issue after updating to 2.2. Hopefully someone out there can help me! This is my first forum experience, so I am learning as I go! Thanks!


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Ten of Pentacles Tarot Card Meaning & Interpretations
The 10 of Pentacles, or The 10 of Coins, is a card of good long term investments, happiness in the home and at work and inheritances. The element here is Earth which relates to wealth and material possessions. The number 10 is reduced in numerology to a 1. However never forget that the 10 marks the completion of one cycle at the start of a new one. The aspects of the number 1 in numerology are beginnings, creation, progress and ambition. This card can refer to long term investments that will be successful and bare fruit. Unlike the lonely 9 the 10 shows a couple enjoying the benefits of this wealth. This is a happy card of financial and emotional happiness.
© Phuture Me Ltd 2010-2015-2012. All rights reserved.