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Martin J. Black, leader of Dechert LLP's IP litigation team, represents pharmaceutical, electronics, and financial services companies in patent, trademark, copyright, trade secret and software disputes. Mr. Black is a Fellow in the American College of Trial Lawyers, which is recognized as the preeminent organization of trial lawyers in North America. He recently argued and prevailed in a case before the U.S. Supreme Court on behalf of SCA Hygiene Products, where in a 7-1 decision, the Supreme Court overturned 100 years of precedent, concluding that laches cannot bar the award of legal damages in patent cases.
Mr. Black has handled a wide range of litigation and strategic patent matters for a diverse array of companies, including Microsoft, Hitachi, Endo Pharmaceuticals, GlaxoSmithKline, Baxter Healthcare, PepsiCo, Citigroup, Monster.com and others. He regularly tries cases all over the country and has obtained numerous multimillion-dollar awards. He has had significant success for branded pharmaceutical companies and tech companies in protecting their patent rights at trial. He prevailed in a five-week trial for Endo Pharmaceuticals against seven generic companies, winning injunctions against all seven companies and protecting over US$2 billion in sales. He also has special expertise in computer-related litigation. In one matter relating to computer monitor technology, he led an international team that generated US$125 million in revenue, culminating in a trial in the District of Delaware, at which he won a US$9 million award, including willfulness damages. In the Eastern District of Texas, he prevailed in a case relating to display patents invented by Hitachi, resulting in an award worth more than US$30 million. In a trade secret and patent case relating to computer avionics, he tried a four-week trial to a jury in the Western District of Tennessee, resulting in a US$23 million award, including willfulness damages and attorneys' fees.
Mr. Black is skilled in advising clients on how best to protect their patent portfolios both in the pharmaceutical and electronics space. He is skilled in Hatch-Waxman litigation strategy, having handled numerous branded/generic battles. He has worked with Microsoft on its Android operating system licensing campaign and represented Microsoft in litigation with Kyocera over its Android phones. He is assisting Hitachi in licensing and litigation over its renowned digital television portfolio and regularly acts in confidential matters to assist clients in evaluating their patent portfolios and developing litigation strategy around the world. To that end, he has led litigation teams in UK High Court patent litigation and managed patent litigation matters in Germany, France, Taiwan, the European Patent Office and South Africa.
In addition to his extensive patent litigation experience, Mr. Black has served as lead trial counsel in numerous trademark, copyright, software and trade secret disputes. These include Richards v. CNN International, (E.D. Pa.), which he tried for CNN International in relation to its World Beat music news show, and QVC v. Home Shopping Network, (TTAB), relating to the rights in the phrase "home shopping." He prevailed in the Third Circuit in Scharle v. NASCAR and The Franklin Mint, obtaining the dismissal of a copyright claim brought in relation to the creation of the NASCAR Nextel Cup Trophy. He has also tried trade secret cases relating to packaging machinery, satellite antennae, and advertising materials.
Mr. Black's litigation prowess has been recognized by Chambers USA, which consistently ranks him as one of the U.S.'s preeminent patent litigators. He was ranked as Band 1 for Intellectual Property in Pennsylvania in the 2017 and 2018 editions of Chambers USA, being described as a "brilliant intellectual property attorney" who is highly regarded for his experience and his efficiency in dealing with matters. Benchmark Litigation has repeatedly selected him as a national "litigation star", and he is the only IP litigator in Pennsylvania with that distinction. He is also recognized as a preeminent intellectual property lawyer by Best Lawyers in America. Mr. Black was named 2020 Outstanding Litigator of the Year: Pennsylvania by Managing Intellectual Property, marking his fifth consecutive win in the category. Managing Intellectual Property has also routinely named Mr. Black an "IP Star" for both patent and trademark. Mr. Black was named a Law360 2017 MVP for intellectual property, and was honored as Best of the Bar by the Philadelphia Business Journal in its Best of the Bar Awards 2017. He was also named a "Life Sciences Star" in LMG Life Sciences 2017. Mr. Black was recognized by legal directory IAM Patent 1000 in 2015 and 2016, which printed that as "the architect of abundant multimillion-dollar courtroom triumphs, he is the counsel of choice for marquee names."


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all images used on our website are the result of passionate nature observation.
carsten egevang
greenland is his heart. with more than 20 years of experience as researcher in artic seabirds, his greenland pictures express the importance of the seal hunting for the inuit community. visit his website www.carstenegevang.com to read further information or browse more images.
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visiting and traveling greenland made me understand how small humanity is compared to nature. i felt blissed to be able to experience such amazing landscapes and i learned so much about the inuit culture. enjoy my shots and feel free to contact me for further information at email@example.com


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Does one of your loved ones attend the Robot Foundry and you want to register them for a specific one time class? We now have a way to do that.
If you don't know the exact class they can attend, you can also buy a gift certificate.
Steps for Registering for a Specific Class:
- Click the links below and figure out with the child's parent which exact class (time, date, location) the child will attend.
- Click on the green "register now button" below.
- Go in as a new user (unless you personally have done this before).
- Pick the class name, time, date and location.
- You will fill out a super short list of questions to register the child. You do not need to know all the medical/etc information on the child. We will transfer their registration to their parent's account after you make the purchase.
- You will get two emails. One which is a purchase confirmation for your own records. And a second email which you can print or forward to the gift recipient.
- After you register we will move the registration to the parent's account and be in contact with you and the parent if we have any questions.
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Excellent service. Follow up phone call, detail in the packaging was amazing and quality products.
Love my shelves and have them in my hall. Lots of people have admired them
Love the shelves I bought earlier this year. They look fantastic. Customer service cannot be faulted. Lovely company to buy from. Would highly recommend.


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Continued from my post on my Pre-Surgery Nightmare…
My surgeon decided, a few days before my scheduled gastrojejunostomy (GJ tube) surgery, that my weight was too low to chance surgery. After fighting, crying, and refusing a third NJ tube placement, I had to get a PICC line placed. They told me it was the only way other than a NJ tube to get my weight and nutrition markers up to their standards. Keep in mind I had gone to my surgeon that morning with my father to try to straighten things out and ended up whisked to the bowels of the hospital to get the NJ tube placed, then freaked out and refused. At this point I was a complete terrified mess. I don't know what I would have done without my father there. So anything they suggested that wasn't a tube down my nose and would get me approved for surgery, and even though I had heard that getting nutrition though a PICC was serious business, I accepted. Looking back I'm still not sure I made the right choice.
On February 6, 2014, I was admitted to the hospital for severe malnutrition and to get my PICC line placed. By the time I was actually in a room it was apparently too late for the nurses that were specially trained to insert said PICC to come. It's hard to explain my total despair. I had a panic attack and couldn't stop crying. My dad sat by my hospital bed and prayed with me and read from the Bible until I calmed down and fell asleep. I can't thank him enough for that, I'm sure it was horrible for him too, but he helped me get through it. He stayed with me all day until my fiancé got out of work and came to replace him.
The next day, I had my PICC line placed. PICC stands for Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter. It's like having a permanent IV line, but it's inserted through a median vein in the arm, located first by an ultrasound machine, and run up through the chest to rest in the superior vena cava. An x-ray in used to verify the placement. Here's mine:
The line has two ports, one for things to go in (TPN, IV fluids, medication, etc) and one for blood to be drawn. It sounded okay to me, and that meant I wouldn't have to have an IV placed for a while, and no needle sticks, hooray! Mine was placed in the crook of my left arm and then taped really heavily so it wouldn't pull out. Of my heart. It's better to just not think about things like that.
It was NOT okay.
For starters, I had to wait another day for the correct TPN solution to be mixed and brought to my room. TPN stands for Total Parenteral Nutrition. Parenteral Nutrition goes into the body in a manner other than the digestive tract. Enteral Nutrition goes into the digestive tract, i.e. feeding tubes. TPN is started very slowly and the patient has to be monitored for a few days to avoid refeeding syndrome. My first bag was a standard solution that can be given to anyone with basic electrolytes and dextrose, started at a slow rate and slowly increased. I was started on a 24 hour cycle. The next day I was given a TPN bag formulated to my needs with the addition of lipids. I was kept in the hospital until Tuesday at 5 on a continuous infusion. The nurses tested my blood sugar every couple of hours and I had blood drawn a few times a day. I was given IV potassium twice to correct my low potassium levels.
I'm not particularly proud of this, but I raged against every second that they kept me in the hospital. The nurses and doctors kept telling me horror stories about refeeding syndrome. Refeeding syndrome basically means that if you are malnourished for a long period of time and suddenly start receiving normal nourishment, you can get severe electrolyte imbalances, which can cause your heart to give out. It can be lethal. It was first described in American prisoners of war that were released from Japanese prison camps into American custody. At the time, I was so stressed and freaked out that all I could think about was getting out of the hospital, and I tried unsuccessfully to convince them to discharge me.
I was really angry that they had let me believe everything was fine and that I was going to have my surgery and then suddenly I was too sick for it? I was afraid, felt tricked and trapped, and felt like my doctors had no idea what they were doing (still struggling with that one). I knew I was really sick, but it's weird, I would be kind of getting by at home, at least surviving, and then once I was admitted to the hospital they were worried about everything. It was a strange feeling, thinking that all these things were wrong with me that were severe enough for them to keep me in the hospital once I got admitted. Apparently not worried enough to actually fix the problem, since it took two years for them to place the feeding tube.
Please read more about my TPN experience in my TPN/PICC Line Post #2 – TPN at Home


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Baby Specialty Milk Formula Market worth to USD 3400 Million by the end of 2024
The global baby specialty milk formula market is segmented into product type such as new born (0-3 months), infant (3-12 months) and toddler (1-3 years). Among these segments, toddler segment is expected to emerge as a fastest growing segment in overall baby specialty milk formula market. The key reasons behind the growth of this segment are increasing concerns amongst the parents towards baby's nutrition across the globe. Furthermore, babies of age group of 1-3 years are majorly advised to have specialty milk formulas. This factor is expected to drive the growth of this segment in upcoming years.
Global baby specialty milk formula market is expected to register an 8.2% CAGR over the forecast period. Moreover, the global baby specialty milk formula market was valued at USD 1600 Million in 2016 and is expected to reach at revenue of USD 3400 Million by the end of 2024. The market is expected to expand on the back of growing birth rates across the globe especially in emerging countries. Apart from this, swelled disposable income of the consumers and growing spending on baby's health and wellness are estimated to intensify the growth of global baby specialty milk formula market in future.
The online store segment by distribution channel is likely to grow significantly during the forecast period. Growing e-commerce business and increasing penetration of smartphones and laptops are expected to be the major factors behind the expansion of online store segment over the forecast period. Apart from this, producers of baby specialty milk formulas are also strengthening their online distribution channel in order to capture maximum size of market. This factor is expected to foster the growth of this segment during the forecast period.
High Birth Rate
The major factor behind the increased consumption of baby specialty milk formula is elevated birth rate in emerging economies such as India and China. According to UNICEF, around 353,000 babies are born every day across the globe.
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Occurrence of Health Issue in New Born Babies
Rising incidences of health issues in new born babies such as low birth weight, weak immune systems are fuelling the demand for additional nutrients for kids which in turn likely to increase the consumption of baby specialty milk formulas in upcoming years.However, high cost of baby specialty milk formula is a major factor which is restricting low income parents to adopt baby specialty milk formula is one of the major factors that are likely to inhibit the growth of the baby specialty milk formula market in the near future.
The report titled "Baby Specialty Milk Formula Market : Global Demand Analysis & Opportunity Outlook 2024" delivers detailed overview of the global baby specialty milk formula market in terms of market segmentation by age group, by distribution channel and by region.
Further, for the in-depth analysis, the report encompasses the industry growth drivers, restraints, supply and demand risk, market attractiveness, BPS analysis and Porter's five force model.
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This report also provides the existing competitive scenario of some of the key players of the global baby specialty milk formula market which includes company profiling of Perrigo Nutritionals LLC, Nestle SA, Piermen B.V., Bebelan Lacta Ltd., Abbott Laboratories, Danone Nutricia, Mead Johnson & Company LLC , Savencia Fromage & Dairy, Abbott Laboratories and AptaNutrition. The profiling enfolds key information of the companies which encompasses business overview, products and services, key financials and recent news and developments. On the whole, the report depicts detailed overview of the global baby specialty milk formula market that will help industry consultants, equipment manufacturers, existing players searching for expansion opportunities, new players searching possibilities and other stakeholders to align their market centric strategies according to the ongoing and expected trends in the future.
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Research Nester is a leading service provider for strategic market research and consulting. We aim to provide unbiased, unparalleled market insights and industry analysis to help industries, conglomerates and executives to take wise decisions for their future marketing strategy, expansion and investment etc. We believe every business can expand to its new horizon, provided a right guidance at a right time is available through strategic minds. Our out of box thinking helps our clients to take wise decision so as to avoid future uncertainties.
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Book Information
At Swim, Two Boys
Set during the year preceding the Easter Uprising of 1916—Ireland's brave but fractured revolt against British rule—At Swim, Two Boys is a tender, tragic love story and a brilliant depiction of people caught in the tide of history. Powerful and artful, and ten years in the writing, it is a masterwork from Jamie O'Neill.
Jim Mack is a naïve young scholar and the son of a foolish, aspiring shopkeeper. Doyler Doyle is the rough-diamond son—revolutionary and blasphemous—of Mr. Mack's old army pal. Out at the Forty Foot, that great jut of rock where gentlemen bathe in the nude, the two boys make a pact: Doyler will teach Jim to swim, and in a year, on Easter of 1916, they will swim to the distant beacon of Muglins Rock and claim that island for themselves. All the while Mr. Mack, who has grand plans for a corner shop empire, remains unaware of the depth of the boys' burgeoning friendship and of the changing landscape of a nation.
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At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill
I will make inseparable cities with their arms about each other's necks;
By the love of comrades.
At the corner of Adelaide Road, where the paving sparkled in the morning sun, Mr. Mack waited by the newspaper stand. A grand day it was, rare and fine. Puff-clouds sailed through a sky of blue. Fairweather cumulus to give the correct designation: on account they cumulate, so Mr. Mack believed. High above the houses a seagull glinted, gliding on a breeze that carried from the sea. Wait now, was it cumulate or accumulate he meant? The breeze sniffed of salt and tide. Make a donkey of yourself, inwardly he cautioned, using words you don't know their meaning. And where's this paper chappie after getting to?
In delicate clutch an Irish Times he held. A thruppenny piece, waiting to pay, rolled in his fingers. Every so often his hand queried his elbow—Parcel safe? Under me arm, his hand-pat assured him.
Glasthule, homy old parish, on the lip of Dublin Bay. You could see the bay, a wedge of it, between the walls of a lane, with Howth lying out beyond. The bay was blue as the sky, a tinge deeper, and curiously raised-looking when viewed dead on. The way the sea would be sloping to the land. If this paper chappie don't show up quick, bang goes his sale. Cheek of him leaving customers wait in the street.
A happy dosser was nosing along the lane and Mr. Mack watched with lenient disdain. Any old bone. Lick of something out of a can. Dog's life really. When he came to the street Mr. Mack touched a finger to his hat, but the happy dosser paid him no regard. He slouched along and Mr. Mack saw it puddling after, something he had spilt in the road, his wasted civility. Lips pursed with comment, he pulled, squeezing, one droop of his bush mustache.
Oh hello, Mrs. Conway, grand day it is, grand to be sure, tiptop and yourself keeping dandy?
Nice class of lady, left foot, but without the airs. Saw me waiting with an Irish Times, twice the price of any other paper. They remark such things, the quality do. Glory be, I hope she didn't think—his Irish Times dropped by his side—Would she ever have mistook me for the paperman, do you think?
Pages fluttered on the newspaper piles, newsboards creaked in the breeze. Out-of-the-way spot for a paper stand. Had supposed to be above by the railway station. But this thoolamawn has it currently, what does he do only creeps it down, little by little, till now he has it smack outside of Fennelly's—
Mr. Mack swivelled on his heels. Fennelly's public house. The corner doors were propped wide where the boy was mopping the steps. Late in the morning to be still at his steps. The gloom inside gave out a hum of amusement, low mouths of male companionship, gathered by the amber glow of the bar. Mr. Mack said Aha! with his eyes. He thrust his head inside the door, waved his paper in the dark.
'Scuse now, gents. He hadn't his hat back on his head before a roar of hilarity, erupting at the bar, hunted him away, likely to shove him back out in the street.
Well, by the holy. He gave a hard nod to the young bucko leaning on his mop and grinning. What was that about?
Presently, a jerky streak of anatomy distinguished itself in the door, coughing and spluttering while it came, and shielding its eyes from the sun.
Is it yourself, Sergeant?
Hello now, Mr. Doyle, said Mr. Mack.
Quartermaster-Sergeant Mack, how are you, how's every hair's breadth of you, what cheer to see you so spry. A spit preceded him to the pavement.
You weren't kept waiting at all? This rather in rebuttal than inquiry.
Only I was inside getting of bronze for silver. Paper is it?
The hades you were, thought Mr. Mack, and the smell of drink something atrocious.
Fennelly has a crowd in, he remarked,
for the hour.
Bagmen, the paperman replied.
Go-boys on the make out of Dublin. And a miselier mischaritable unChristianer crew—
Ho ho ho, thought Mr. Mack. On the cadge, if I know my man. Them boys inside was too nimble for him.
Would you believe, Sergeant, they'd mock a man for the paper he'd read?
What's this now? said Mr. Mack.
The paperman chucked his head.
God be their judge and a bitter one, say I. And your good self known for a decent skin with no more side than a margarine.
Mr. Mack could not engage but a rise was being took out of him. The paperman made play of settling his papers, huffling and humphing in that irritating consumptive way. He made play of banging his chest for air. He spat, coughing with the spittle, a powdery disgruntled cough—
Choky today, said he—and Mr. Mack viewed the spittle-drenched sheet he now held in his hand. This fellow, the curse of an old comrade, try anything to vex me.
I'm after picking up, choosily he said, "an Irish Times, only I read here—"
"An Irish Times, Sergeant? Carry me out and bury me decent, so you have and all. Aren't you swell away with the high-jinkers there?"
Mr. Mack plumped his face and a laugh, like a fruit, dropped from his mouth.
I wouldn't know about any high-jinkers, he confided.
Only I read here 'tis twice the price of any other paper. Twice the price, he repeated, shaking his cautious head. A carillon of coins chinkled in his pocket.
I don't know now can the expense be justified.
Take a risk of it, Sergeant, and damn the begrudgers. The paperman leant privily forward.
A gent on the up, likes of yourself, isn't it worth it alone for the shocks and stares?
Narrowly Mr. Mack considered his man. A fling or a fox-paw, he couldn't be certain sure. He clipped his coin on the paper-stack.
Penny, I believe, he said.
Thruppence, returned Mr. Doyle.
Balance two dee to the General.
Mr. Mack talked small while he waited for his change.
Grand stretch of weather we're having.
'Tisn't the worst.
Grand I thought for the time of year.
Thanks be to God.
Oh thanks be to God entirely.
Mr. Mack's face faltered. Had ought to get my thanks in first. This fellow, not a mag to bless himself with, doing me down always. He watched him shambling through the pockets of his coat. And if it was change he was after in Fennelly's it was devilish cunning change for never the jingle of a coin let out. A smile fixed on Mr. Mack's face. Barking up the wrong tree with me, my merry old sweat. Two dee owed.
At last the paperman had the change found. Two lusterless pennies, he held them out, the old sort, with the old Queen's hair in a bun. Mr. Mack was on the blow of plucking them in his fingers when the paperman coughed—
Squeeze me—coughed into his—
Squeeze me peas, Sergeant—coughed into his sleeve. Not what you'd call coughing but hacking down the tracts of his throat to catch some breath had gone missing there. His virulence spattered the air between, and Mr. Mack thought how true what they say, take your life in your hands every breath you breathe.
He cleared his own throat and said,
I trust I find you well?
Amn't I standing, God be praised? With a flump then he was down on the butter-box he kept for a seat.
Bulbous, pinkish, bush-mustached, Mr. Mack's face lowered. He'd heard it mentioned right enough, that old Doyle, he was none too gaudy this weather. Never had thought to find him this far gone. That box wouldn't know of him sitting on it. He looked down on the dull face, dull as any old copper, with the eyes behind that looked chancy back. Another fit came on, wretched to watch, like something physical had shook hold the man; and Mr. Mack reached his hand to his shoulder.
Are you all right there, Mick?
Be right in a minute, Arthur. Catch me breath is all.
Mr. Mack gave a squeeze of his hand, feeling the bones beneath.
Will I inquire in Fennelly's after a drop of water?
I wouldn't want to be bothering Fennelly for water, though.
Them chancy old eyes. Once upon a time them eyes had danced. Bang goes sixpence, thought Mr. Mack, though it was a shilling piece he pulled out of his pocket.
Will you do yourself a favor, Mick, and get something decent for your dinner.
Take that away, Mr. Doyle rebuked him.
I have my pride yet. I won't take pity.
Now where's the pity in a bob, for God's sake?
I fought for Queen and Country. There's no man will deny it.
There's no man wants to deny it.
Twenty-five years with the Colors. I done me bit. I went me pound, God knows if I didn't.
Here we go, thought Mr. Mack.
I stood me ground. I stood to them Bojers and all.
Here we go again.
Admitted you wasn't there. Admitted you was home on the boat to Ireland. But you'll grant me this for an old soldier. That Fusilier Doyle, he done his bit. He stood up to them Bojers, he did.
You did of course. You're a good Old Tough, 'tis known in the parish.
Begod and I'd do it over was I let. God's oath on that. We'd know the better of Germany then. He kicked his boot against the newsboard, which told, unusually and misfortunately for his purpose, not of the war at all but of beer and whiskey news, the threat and fear of a hike in the excise.
I'd soon put manners on those Kaiser lads.
No better man, Mr. Mack conceded. Mr. Doyle tossed his head, the way his point, being gained, he found it worthless for a gain. Mr. Mack had to squeeze the shilling bit into his hand.
You'll have a lotion on me whatever, he said, confidentially urging the matter.
The makings of a smile lurked across the paperman's face.
There was a day, Arthur, and you was pal o' me heart, said he,
me fond segotia. The silver got pocketed.
May your hand be stretched in friendship, Sergeant, and never your neck.
Charity done with and the price of a skite secured, they might risk a reasonable natter.
Tell us, said Mr. Mack,
is it true what happened the young fellow was here on this patch?
Sure carted away. The peelers nabbed him.
A recruitment poster I heard.
Above on the post office windows. Had it torn away.
Shocking, said Mr. Mack.
Didn't he know that's a serious offense?
Be sure he'll know now, said Mr. Doyle.
Two-monthser he'll get out of that. Hard.
And to look at him he only a child.
Sure mild as ever on porridge smiled. Shocking.
Though Mr. Mack could not engage it was the offense was referred to and not the deserts.
Still, you've a good few weeks got out of this work.
They'll have the replacement found soon enough.
You stuck it this long, they might see their way to making you permanent.
Not so, Sergeant. And the breath only in and out of me. An obliging little hack found its way up his throat.
There's only the one place I'll be permanent now. I won't be long getting there neither.
But Mr. Mack had heard sufficient of that song.
Sure we're none of us getting any the rosier. The parcel shifted under his arm and, the direction coming by chance into view, Mr. Doyle's eyes squinted, then saucered, then slyly he opined,
Stockings, Mr. Mack elaborated.
I'm only on my way to Ballygihen. Something for Madame MacMurrough and the Comforts Fund.
Didn't I say you was up with the high-jinkers? Give 'em socks there, Sergeant, give 'em socks.
Mr. Mack received this recommendation with the soldierly good humor with which it was intended. He tipped his hat and the game old tough saluted.
Good luck to the General.
Take care now, Mr. Doyle.
Parcel safe and under his arm, Mr. Mack made his way along the parade of shops. At the tramstop he looked into Phillips's ironmongers.
Any sign of that delivery?
Expected was all the answer he got.
Constable now. Sees me carrying the Irish Times. Respectable nod. Little Fenianeen in our midst and I never knew. After hacking at a recruitment poster. Mind, 'tis pranks not politics. Pass a law against khaki, you'd have them queueing up to enlist.
The shops ended and Glasthule Road took on a more dignified, prosperous air. With every step he counted the ratable values rising, ascending on a gradient equivalent to the road's rise to Ballygihen. Well-tended gardens and at every lane a kinder breeze off the sea. In the sun atop a wall a fat cat sat whose head followed wisely his progress.
General, he calls me. Jocular touch that. After the General Stores, of course. Shocks and stares—should send that in the paper. Pay for items catchy like that. Or did I hear it before? Would want to be sure before committing to paper. Make a donkey of yourself else.
A scent drifted by that was utterly familiar yet unspeakably far away. He leant over a garden wall and there it blew, ferny-leaved and tiny-flowered, in its sunny yellow corner. Never had thought it would prosper here. Mum-mim-mom, begins with something mum. Butterfly floating over it, a pale white soul, first I've seen of the year.
Pall of his face back there. They do say they take on worse in the sunshine, your consumptives do. Segotia: is it some class of a flower? I never thought to inquire. Pal of me heart. Well, we're talking twenty thirty years back. Mick and Mack the paddy whacks. We had our day, 'tis true. Boys together and bugles together and bayonets in the ranks. Rang like bells, all we wanted was hanging. But there's no pals except you're equals. I learnt me that after I got my very first stripe.
He looked back down the road at the dwindling man with his lonely stand of papers. A Dublin tram came by. In the clattering of its wheels and its sparking trolley the years dizzied a moment. Scarlet and blue swirled in the dust, till there he stood, flush before him, in the light of bright and other days, the bugler boy was pal of his heart. My old segotia.
Parcel safe? Under me arm.
The paper unfolded in Mr. Mack's hands and his eyes glanced over the front page. Hotels, hotels, hotels. Hatches, matches, dispatches. Eye always drawn to
Loans by Post. Don't know for why. What's this the difference is between a stock and a share? Have to ask Jim when he gets in from school.
He turned the page. Here we go. Royal Dublin Fusiliers depot. Comforts Fund for the Troops in France. Committee gratefully acknowledges. Here we go. Madame MacMurrough, Ballygihen branch. Socks, woollen, three doz pair.
Gets her name in cosy enough. Madame MacMurrough. Once a month I fetch over the stockings, once a month she has her name in the paper. Handy enough if you can get it.
Nice to know they're delivered, all the same, delivered where they're wanted.
His eyes wandered to the Roll of Honor that ran along the paper's edge. Officers killed, officers wounded, wounded and missing, wounded believed prisoners, correction: officers killed. All officers. Column, column and a half of officers. Then there's only a handful of other ranks. Now that can't be right. How do they choose them? Do you have to—is that what I'd have to do?—submit the name yourself? And do they charge for that? Mind you, nice to have your name in the Irish Times. That's what I'll have to do maybe, should Gordie—God forbid, what was he saying? God forbid, not anything happen to Gordie. Touch wood. Not wood, scapular. Where am I?
There, he'd missed his turn. That was foolish. Comes from borrowing trouble. And it was an extravagance in the first place to be purchasing an Irish Times. Penny for the paper, a bob for that drunk—Jacobs! I didn't even get me two dee change. One and thruppenny walk in all. Might have waited for the Evening Mail and got me news for a ha'penny.
However, his name was Mr. Mack, and as everyone knew, or had ought know by now, the Macks was on the up.
The gates to Madame MacMurrough's were open and he peered up the avenue of straggling sycamores to the veiled face of Ballygihen House. A grand lady she was to be sure, though her trees, it had to be said, could do with a clipping.
He did not enter by the gates, but turned down Ballygihen Avenue beside. He had come out in a sweat, beads were trickling down the spine of his shirt, the wet patch stuck where his braces crossed. He mended his pace to catch his breath. At the door in the wall he stopped. Mopped his forehead and neck with his handkerchief, took off his hat and swabbed inside. Carefully stroked its brim where his fingers might have disturbed the nap. Replaced it. Size too small. Would never believe your head would grow. Or had the hat shrunk on him? Dunn's three-and-ninepenny bowler? No, his hat had never shrunk. He brushed both boots against the calves of his trousers. Parcel safe? Then he pushed inside the tradesmen's gate.
Brambly path through shadowy wood. Birds singing on all sides. Mess of nettles, cow-parsley, could take a scythe to them. Light green frilly leaves would put you in mind of, ahem, petticoats. A blackbird scuttled off the path like a schoolboy caught at a caper. Then he was out in the light, and the lawns of Ballygihen House stretched leisurely to the sea. The sea oh the sea, long may it be. What a magnificent house it was, view and vantage them both, for its windows commanded the breadth of Dublin Bay. If he had this house what wouldn't he do but sit upon its sloping lawns while all day long the mailboats to'd and fro'd.
Mr. Mack shook his head, but not disconsolately; for the beauty of the scene, briefly borrowed and duly returned, would brighten the sorrow of a saint. He followed the path by the trees, careful of stepping on the grass, till he came into the shadow of the house where the area steps led down to the kitchens.
And who was it only Madame MacMurrough's slavey showing leg at the step. Bit late in the morning to be still at her scrubbing. From Athlone, I believe, a district I know nothing about, save that it lies at the heart of Ireland.
He leant over the railing.
You're after missing a spot, Nancy.
The girl looked up.
'Tis you, Mr. Mack. And I thought it was the butcher's boy after giving me cheek.
She thought it was the butcher's—Mr. Mack hawked his throat.
Julian weather we're having.
She pulled the hair out of her eyes.
Julian, Mr. Mack?
Julian. Pertaining to the month of July. It's from the Latin.
But 'tis scarce May.
Well, I know that, Nancy. I meant 'tis July-like weather. Warm.
She stood up, skirts covering her shins. Something masonic about her smile.
Any news from Gordie, Mr. Mack?
Mr. Mack peered over her shoulder looking to see was there anyone of consequence about.
Gordie? he repeated.
You must mean Gordon, my son Gordon.
No letters or anything in the post?
How kind of you, Nancy. But no, he's away on final training. We don't know the where, we don't know the where to. Submarines, do you see. Troop movements is always secretive in times of war.
Ah sure he's most like in England, round about Aldershot with the rest of the boys.
No cook in evidence, no proper maid. Entire residence has the look of—
Aldershot? Why do you say Aldershot?
Do you know the place? Famous military town in Hampshire.
You oughtn't be talking such things. Haven't I just warned you about submarines?
In Ballygihen, Mr. Mack?
Matter a damn where. He felt he had stamped his foot, so he patted his toes on the gravel and muttered,
Dang. Matter a dang, I meant.
The breeze reblew the hair in her eyes. Slovenly the way she ties it. Has a simper cute as a cat.
Is there no person in authority here I might address my business to?
Sure we're all alone in the big house together. If you wanted you could nip round the front and pull the bell. I'd let you in for the crack.
Flighty, divil-may-care minx of a slavey. Pity the man who—He pinched, pulling, one droop of his mustache.
I haven't the time for your cod-acting now, Nancy. It so happens I'm here on a serious matter not altogether disconnected with the war effort itself. I don't doubt your mistress left word I was due.
She looked thoughtful a moment.
I misrecall your name being spoke, but there was mention of some fellow might be bringing socks. I was to dump them in the scullery and give him sixpence out of thank you.
After the huffing and puffing and wagging his finger, in the end he had to let his parcel into her shiftless hands. She knew better by then to bring up the sixpence. He had tipped his scant farewell and was re-ascending the steps when she let out,
Still and all, Mr. Mack, it's the desperate shame you wouldn't know where your ownest son was stationed at.
A shame we all must put up with.
Sure wherever it is, he'll be cutting a fine dash of a thing, I wouldn't doubt it.
Slavey, he thought, proper name for a rough general.
Don't let me disturb you further from your duty.
Good day, Mr. Mack. But remember now: all love does ever rightly show humanity our tenderness.
All love does what? Foolish gigglepot. Should have told her, should have said, he's gone to fight for King and Country and the rights of Catholic Belgium. Cutting a dash is for rakes and dandyprats. All love does ever what?
He sloped back down the road to Glasthule, his heart falling with the declining properties. Could that be true about the sixpence? It was a puzzle to know with rich folk. Maybe I might have held on to the stockings and fetched them over another day. Nothing like a face-to-face in getting to know the worth of a man. Or maybe the lady supposed I'd be too busy myself, would send a boy instead. Jim. She thought it was Jim I'd be sending. Jim, my son James. The sixpence was his consideration. Now that was mighty generous in Madame MacMurrough. Sixpence for that spit of a walk? There's the gentry for you now. That shows the quality.
Quick look-see in the hand-me-down window. Now that's new. Must tell Jim about that. A flute in Ducie's window. Second thoughts, steer clear. Trouble enough with Gordie and the pledgeshop.
Brewery men at Fennelly's. Mighty clatter they make. On purpose much of the time. Advertise their presence. Fine old Clydesdale eating at his bait-sack. They look after them well, give them that. Now here's a wonder—paper stand deserted. Crowd of loafers holding up the corner.
A nipper-squeak across the road and his heart lifted for it was the boy out of the ironmonger's to say the tram had passed, package ready for collection. He took the delivery, signed the entry-book, patting the boy's head in lieu of gratuity, recrossed the street.
He was turning for home into Adelaide Road, named after—who's this it's named for again?—when Fennelly's corner doors burst open and a ree-raw jollity spilt out in the street.
Sister Susie's sewing shirts for soldiers, they were singing. Except in their particular rendition it was socks she was knitting.
Quare fine day, said one of the loafers outside. Another had the neck to call out Mr. Mack's name.
Mr. Mack's forefinger lifted vaguely hatwards. Corner of his eye he saw others making mouths at him. Loafers, chancers, shapers. Where were the authorities at all that they wouldn't take them in charge? Fennelly had no license for singing. And the Angelus bell not rung.
Package safe? Under me arm. Chickens clucking in the yards, three dogs mooching. What they need do, you see, is raise the dog license. That would put a stop to all this mooching. Raise the excise while they're about it. Dung in the street and wisps of hay, sparrows everywhere in the quiet way.
The shop was on a corner of a lane that led to a row of humbler dwellings. He armed himself with a breath. The bell clinked when he pushed the door.
Incorrect to say a hush fell on the premises. They always spoke in whispers, Aunt Sawney and her guests. There she sat, behind the counter, Mrs. Tansy sat on the customers' chair, they had another fetched in from the kitchen for Mrs. Rourke. Now if a customer came, he'd be hard put to make it to the till. Gloomy too. Why wouldn't she leave the door wide? Gas only made it pokier in the daylight. Which was free.
God bless all here. He touched the font on the jamb. Dryish. Have to see to that. Blessed himself.
Hello, Aunt Sawney. Ready whenever to take over the reins. Mrs. Rourke, how's this the leg is today? I'm glad to see you about, Mrs. Tansy.
New tin of snuff on the counter. Must remember to mark that down in the book. Impossible to keep tabs else. Straits of Ballambangjan ahead.
I wonder if I might just . . . pardon me while I . . . if you could maybe. Maneuver safe between. Find harbor in the kitchen. Range stone cold, why wouldn't she keep an eye on it? Poke head back inside an instant.
Range is out, Aunt Sawney, should your guests require some tea.
Three snorts came in reply as each woman took a pinch of snuff.
He sat down at the kitchen table, laid the new package in front of him. His eyes gauged its contents, while he reached behind his neck to loosen the back-stud of his collar. He flexed his arms. Let me see, let me see. The boy at the ironmonger's had dangled the package by the twine and he had a deal of difficulty undoing the knot. Keep the torn paper for them on tick.
And finally there they were. Bills, two gross, finest American paper, fine as rashers of wind, in Canon bold proclaiming:
Adelaide General Stores
Quality Goods At Honest Prices
Mr. A. Mack, Esqr.
Will Be Pleased To Assist In All Your Requirements
An Appeal To You!
One Shilling Per Guinea Spent Here
Will Comfort Our Troops In France!
Page was a touch cramped at the base so that the end line,
Proprietress: Sawney Burke, had to be got in small print. Still, it was the motto that mattered, and that was a topper. Will comfort our troops in France. Appeal to the honor of the house.
Mustache. Touch it. Spot of something in the hairs. Egg, is it? Stuck.
Was I right all the same to leave it to honor only? Nothing about the pocket. How's about this for the hookum?
Pounds, Shillings and Pence!
Why Not Buy Local And Save On Leather?
Appeal to the pocket of the house. Might better have had two orders made up. One for the swells, other for the smells.
Never mind the smells, the Macks is on the up.
Jim. What time is it? Home for his dinner at five after one. Gone twelve now. He could maybe deliver the startings in his dinner-hour, the leavings before his tea.
Have I missed the Angelus so? How's this I missed the Angelus?
Clink. That's the door. Customer? No, exeunt two biddies. She'll be in now, tidy away. Aunt Sawney, I've had these advertising-bills made up . . . ? No, wait till they're delivered first. Fate accomplished. Where's that apron? Better see to the range.
Aunt Sawney, there you are. Must be puffed out after that stint. I'll do shop now. You read the paper in your chair. We'll soon have a feel of heat.
Stay away from that kitchener, she said.
The range? said Mr. Mack.
That kitchener wants blacking.
The range?
She was already on her knees. She had a new tin of Zebra blacklead with her.
Ye'll have me hands in blisters. I left it go out since yesternight.
Surely a touch uncivil to name a kitchen range after the hero who avenged Khartoum.
Did we finish that other tin of Zebra already? Right so, I'll mark that down in the book. It's best to keep tabs.
'Tis cold plate for dinner. And cold plate for tea.
Whatever you think is best, Aunt Sawney. But you're not after forgetting it's his birthday today?
I'm not after forgetting this kitchener wants blacking. She damped a cloth in the black-lead tin, letting out a creak of coughing as she did so.
The door clinked. Customer.
I'll be with you directly, he called. Then, thoughtfully:
Not to trouble yourself, Aunt Sawney. I have a cake above out of Findlater's. Sure what more could his boyship want? But no mention of birthdays till after his tea. We'll have nothing brought off all day else.
I suppose and you got him them bills for his treat.
Well, I'll be sugared. How would she know about the bills? He watched her at her labor for a moment. Wiry woman with hair the color of ash. The back tresses she wore in a small black cap which hung from her crown like an extra, maidenly, head of hair. Even kneeling she had a bend on her, what's this they used call it, the Grecian bends. If you straightened her now, you'd be feared of her snapping. Cheeks like loose gullets, wag when vexed. When the teeth go, you see, the pouches collapse. Nose beaked, with dewdrop suspending. Not kin, thanks be to God, not I, save through the altar. Gordie and Jim are blood.
She coughed again, sending reverberations down her frame. Brown titus she calls it. Useless to correct her at her age.
I'll leave the inside door pulled to in case you'd feel a chill from beyond. You're only over the bronchitis.
Mrs. Tansy says the font wants filling.
Gently Mr. Mack reminded her,
Mrs. Tansy is a ranting Methody.
She still has eyes to see.
Why would anyone look into a font? he wondered as he poured the holy water. Suppose when you are that way, dig with the other foot that is, these things take on an interest, a mystery even, which all too often for ourselves, digging as it were with the right foot, which is to say the proper one, have lost—lost where I was heading for there.
Cheeses, would you look at that motor the way it's pitching up Glasthule. Tearaways they have at the wheel. Take your life in your hands every turn you take. Hold on now, I believe I recognize that motor-car. He blew on his mustache, considering. There's a pucker idea: fonts for trams. Should send that in the paper. Never seen a font in a moving object. Would a bishop have one in his brougham for instance? Or is there maybe an injunction against fonts in anything not stationary? Should check the facts before committing to paper. There's fellows ready to pounce, the least miscalculation.
Nothing much in the street. Far away beyond the fields and the new red-bricked terraces rose the Dublin Mountains. Green grew to grey. Oats by reason the wet climatics. Clever the way the fields know to stop just where the hills begin. Turf then. They were down the other week trying to hock it on account the price of coal. Is there a season for turf, though? Make a donkey of yourself buying the wrong time of year.
Curls of smoke from the cottages nearby. Keeping the home fires burning. Back inside the shop. Clink, it's only me. Font again, no wonder it dries up so. Trade a little slack. Always the same this time of day. Might give that counter a wipe-down. Bits of snuff and goodness knows. Time to finish a stocking before dinner? Wouldn't it be grand now if Gordie would be wearing one of my stockings.
Where's there a place to fix a new shelf? Need a display for maybe a quality range of teas. High-grown, tippy Darjeeling, cans of, please. That would fetch the carriage trade.
What's this that Nancy one was on about, all love does ever what? Damn silly child. Holy show she made of his parade. Marching with Gordie in the ranks to the troopship. Son of mine stepping out with a slavey. Where's the up in that?
Here a shelf, there a shelf? Can smell it now, the wafting scents. Would madam take a seat while I weigh her requirements? None of your one-and-fourpence populars, but Assam and pekoe and souchong, and customers to match, and souchong and oolong and Assam and—
Peeping up at him, her dabs just nipping the counter, a little female bedouin with dirty face and half an apron on.
Well, little lady? Why aren't we at school today?
The ma sent me over for a saucer of jam.
Beside the door Mr. Mack had fixed a makeshift sign.
One Shilling per Guinea Spent Here is a CREDIT to You! He might better have saved the paper.
Ha'penny, he said to the slum-rat.
The sleek green motor cleared the feeble rise, haughty jerk as it jumped the tramlines, swept through the gates, gravel flittering with road-dust in its wake. Past the lodge, empty these years, least so by day, under the fairy light of arching trees, to emerge at its stabling where it shuddered in quiet triumph before a gauntleted glove that had stroked its wheel reached down to cut the engine.
Silence then, a world at rest. Not the antithesis of dust, of speed, but its complement. The gloved hand ungloved its partner which in turn ungloved its mate. Fingers untied her chiffon and felt for hair under her hat. Strays tidied behind her ears. The chiffon became a scarf, her hands reawoke the wide sloping brim of her hat. Gradually the earth too rewoke. Hedges chirruped to life, a crow bickered above, the sea resumed its reverend tide. Her hat was hopelessly démodé but the fashion was too ridiculous: she refused to wear flower-pots, and would have nothing to do with feathery things she had not shot herself.
Eveline MacMurrough slid to the passenger side, shifted her skirt over the low door. One leg, two legs, she steadied on the running-board, then slipped to the ground. The hand that held her gloves patted the coachwork, patted the trim. My Prince Henry. And they had thought to requisition you for an ambulance at the Front. Les brutes anglaises.
There was no one to see to her entrance, only the skivvy from the kitchen whom she had scarcely begun to civilize. This skin of jitters received her gloves, her chiffon, hat; Eveline allowed the dustcoat to be eased from her shoulders. L'idiote.
Not through the hall, child, she said.
Outside and shake the dust.
In the stand glass she reviewed her visage. The wind-screen had not been a total success. Then again goggles did leave such hideous lines. Perhaps it must be the veil after all. Though she did so resent the implication of purdah. Toilet water, a good scrub, then hot damp towels.
Is old Moore about?
Would he not be in the garden, mam?
Peasant insistence on interrogative response. It rather appealed to Eveline. Yes, she rather believed she liked it.
When you find him, tell him the motor-car wants cleaning. Lamps too, I dare say. Cook?
Hasn't she taken the morning to visit her sister in St. Michael's that's poorly?
Defensive really: none of my doing, as though to say.
Are we to starve so?
No, mam. She left a cold dinner prepared.
Lunch, said Eveline.
Lunch, mam.
There was a quick call through the staff roll. Bootman repairing a leak in the attic, meaning presumably he was high; parlor maids called back to the registry, replacements not turned up. Really she must see to appointing new people, a housekeeper at the very least. So trying with the war on. Rush to the altar to avail of the separation allowances. It was something her nephew might take in hand.
And my nephew?
I'm not sure, mam—flush in her cheeks—
if he hasn't gone bathing.
Eveline had completed her inspection at the hall stand. The child waited by the pass door, hands by her sides like a board-school girl. Itching to be below stairs out of harm's way. Pauvre ingénue. Eveline smiled and ordered hot water and towels to her dressingroom. Even the imbécile might manage that.
While she sponged her cheeks with water of roses, she considered her interview with the new curate at St. Joseph's, Glasthule. Naturally, it was the canon she had called upon, some invitation to decline, but a young priest had received her, offering regrets at the canon's indisposition. The canon's health was neither here nor there to Eva, her confessor being of the Jesuits at Gardiner Street, but the young man made such parade of hospitality, she had quickly perceived her demurs would serve but to encourage his insistence.
She had accepted tea in best blue china. The curate gave his name—unless she misheard, Father Amen O'Toiler, which sounded a sermon in itself. He fingered her card, then, still fidgeting, stood to make his say.
I cannot tell you, Madame MacMurrough, what pleasure it is to greet a scion of your famous name. Her famous name was given its due, which she heard as a type of Cook's tour of Irish history. Bridges taken, fords crossed, the sieges broken, battles lost, long valiant retreats—and not a one but a MacMurrough had been to the fore.
It was a familiar account and she had waited politely, seated at the edge of an aged Biedermeier whose stuffing was gone. Absently she wondered which charity the curate had in mind and what donation might eventually suffice.
The priest had continued his progress round the sunless parlor, chilly yet fuming from an ill-ventilated fire. Every few paces he referred to her card, as though the heads of his argument had been pencilled thereon, as onwards he passed through the dark centuries, the long night of Ireland's woe. Yet night, he averred, not so dark as to blind, for in every generation a light had sparked, betimes no more than a flash on the hillside, moretimes a flame to set the age afire. And not once in all the years but the cry had gone out: MacMurrough! The name was imperishable, ineradicable, sempiternal, a lodestar in the Irish firmament that had blazed to its zenith, as many believed (and not least the curate himself, if he might make so bold), in the brilliant, some might say heliacal, career of Madame MacMurrough's late revered regretted father, Dermot James William MacMurrough, Queen's Counsellor, quondam Lord Mayor and Chief Magistrate of our great metropolis, freeman of the cities of Waterford, Cork, New York and Boston, Chevalier de la Légion d'Honneur, Knight Grand Cross of the Order of St. Gregory the Great, Member for the Borough of Ferns.
And there at the moment of her direst need—the curate's voice had strained as he came to the crux of his tale—
when sacred Ireland stood upon the edge, at the very brink of extinction, who stood forth to show the way? Who but your father saw through the genteel broadcloth, the polished suaviloquence, to the degenerate soul within? Who was it saved Ireland from the alien heretical beast?
Yes, Eveline thought now, before her dressing-table glass, her father had been first to denounce Parnell. Though it had been a close race, so fierce the stampede.
Perfume bottles, phials of scent, Gallé and Lalique; a porcelain shepherdess proffered tiny sugared treats on a tray, offered them twice, for the toilet glass reviewed her, stretching through the bottles, a child sinking through colored viscous water. Eveline chose a bon-bon, sucked it thoughtfully.
There was more to this curate than at first she had suspected. More than once he had made allusion to the Fenians. His face had pecked in the intervals after, seeking collusion. She had nodded, blinked with charming detachment. Then taking her leave she had felt his high neck bend toward her. That odor of carbolic and abstinence so readily in the mind confused with mastery. The priest whispered in her ear:
The sword of light is shining still. England's difficulty is Ireland's opportunity.
The formula was stale, let alone the notion, but it had sounded singular on the lips of a priest. If this now was the teaching of the seminaries, change most certainly was in the air. Poor old Parnell—the Chosen Man, the Chief, the Uncrowned King of Ireland, adulterer, fornicator, the Lost Leader—it would be the supreme irony: to have terrified the Church into Irish Ireland.
She rose now from her dressing-table and approached the garden window. She turned the hasp and the casement opened. She inhaled the breath from the sea. Casement, how very beautiful was the word. She spoke it softly. A decidedly beautiful name, Casement.
He is far from the land, she softly hummed.
A trundle on the stairs and the child came in with towels and steaming water. At the washstand she ventured to say,
There was a delivery while you was out, mam.
Eveline nodded.
Only stockings, mam. Was I right to leave them in the library like you said?
Stockings, yes. She must see to them directly her toilet was done.
One more bon-bon from the porcelain shepherdess. It was evident the maids—the few were left her—had been at her supply.
When you have finished whatever you are doing below, go down to Glasthule. The confectioner's will know my order.
As she came down to the library she saw through the open door the gardener and the gardener's boy and the gardener's boy's boy all greedily washing her Prince Henry. It was the one chore she might charge them to perform. Her mind drifted to a time late last summer when she had motored over the hills to the old demesne near Ferns. With her had traveled two gentlemen of the press and a representative of the Irish Automobile Club. Her intention had been to astonish the world by ascending and descending Mount Leinster, whose track, winding to the summit, had in parts a gradient steeper than one in three. This feat would prove not only the motor's magnificent pedigree but her own accomplishment, representative of all Irish womanhood's, in handling it.
And indeed she had carried the day. The motor performed superbly, the IAC man figured and stamped in his book, the newspapermen assured her of a prominent notice. She had expected at the least a Johnsonian quip—the wonder being not in her exploit, but in a lady's wish to stage such performance. But the next day's newspapers gave no mention of her. The August bank holiday had passed and while she had been conquering Mount Leinster Great Britain had declared war on Germany.
At her library desk, begloved once more, this time in creamy four-button mochas, she opened the brown-papered parcel of stockings. Plain-knit, rough-textured stuff. Queer specimen down Glasthule had suggested the arrangement. She might not approve of enlistment in the tyrant's yeomanry, but she did not see why Irish soldiers should suffer cold feet. Besides, the soul had grown soft since Parnell, with the English and their ploys, killing home rule with kindness. A reacquaintance with arms might prove useful, indeed requisite, in the coming times.
For she too felt the change in the air. Last August, while she motored home alone through the acetylene-lit gloom, the twilight had forced itself upon her. But this was not the evening twilight of the foolish poets. It was the half-light before dawn, the morning of a new Ireland. For indeed it was true: England's difficulty is Ireland's opportunity. And she, a MacMurrough born to lead, knew well where lay her duty.
Inside the foot of each stocking she inserted a slip of paper. Green paper whose script proclaimed:
Remember Ireland!
The girls were colloguing outside the confectioner's when Jim came by.
Lookat, there's Jim Mack, home for his dinner. Isn't he the grand swell in his college get-up? Dinky cap and lovely shiny boots on. Delivered out of a bandbox.
And his knickers up to his knees and proper black stockings on. Wouldn't you love to take him home with you and stick him on a cake?
Ah, but why wouldn't his da put him in longers?
On his birthday and all.
Big boy he's getting, and handsome with it.
Though without the anatomicals yet, would you listen to me!
Are you getting your greens there, Jim?
Ah, the wee spurt, little by little.
Shush now, said Nancy,
leave him be. You'll have him baked for shame. She left her companions and beckoned Jim privately over.
How's the birthday boy? she asked and she planted a smacker on his cheek.
There you are for luck.
From a distance his face looked unwashed, but closer to you saw there were rosebuds on his cheeks, buds that bloomed now to perfect pinks, occasioning a further shrill of laughter from the girls behind.
Well, Nancy, he said, brushing a hand against the wet.
Is that all you have to say for yourself? She hooked his arm and marched him onward.
Don't mind them saucepots. Them saucepots is only ignorant. She chid them over her shoulder,
Ignorant, so yous are! He was muttering something, but she held to his arm. Past the butcher O'Brien's where tubs of brine fumed on the pavement and carcasses buzzed with blow-flies above. Past the buttery milky smell of Smelly's marbly dairy.
Muck for more luck, said she when he stepped in dried-up dung. Adelaide Road was spilling with children from the national school and there were cries and street-calls all ways. Only when they came to the entry to Adelaide Cottages did she draw him aside.
You'll never guess.
Guess what?
I've news from Gordie. Got a letter in the first post. She watched his eyes close, squeeze, then open wide again. A right scholar he makes. Can't even blink without thinking.
Has that woken you?
He's all right?
Flying sure. You know where he's at? She had the letter out of her apron pocket and she stumped a finger at the top of the page.
All Love, he read,
Does Ever Rightly Show, he read,
Humanity Our Tenderness . . . ? He looked up, querying her face.
Do you not catch on? Likes of you, a scholarly chap and all. She danced her finger under each word, spelling it out.
A-L-D-E-R-S-H-O-T. It's a code, of course.
Aldershot! I see it now.
It's in England. Famous military town. I looked it up in a book in Miss MacMurrough's.
We knew he was to go to England, said Jim,
only they couldn't say where.
Well, now you know.
Yes, now we know.
His head dawdled over the letter. The peak of his cap pointed up at the sky. She couldn't make out the face for his quiff fell over his eyes like the fringe of a show horse. She let him read on, biting her lip, till she knew by the purpling ear-tips that he'd reached the passage she intended. Enough. She snatched the letter away.
I'd leave you read the news for yourself, only it's a taste mashy inside.
Oh mashy something desperate.
He looked up and a smile traveled his face as though unsure where to fit. When she returned the letter to its envelope, the
S.W.A.K. on the seal caught his eye and he asked,
Is that the return?
The return, would you listen to it! But the ox-eyed look of him brought the fondness out of her. She laid a hand on his neck, relishing the twitch when she rubbed behind his ear.
Don't mind that. That's only Gordie trying to land me in scrapes at Miss MacMurrough's. He's a bold particle is your brother. I hope and you don't take after him. You don't, sure you don't, Jim Mack?
Again the ponderous squeezing blink.
I think I take after my mother. I'm not sure.
Ah sure, God bless you, what more could you ask? Your poor mother and now your poor brother gone and all. Do you miss him? Of course you do. The street isn't the same. But God is good, he'll be home again. Safe and sound, you'll see.
He was fidgeting with the flap of a pocket. She could feel the hairs on his neck bristling. And the heat off him! She lifted her hand.
I do declare, if you blush any redder you'll go up in a smoke.
I'd better be getting in.
Don't let on to your da about the letter. He came by this morning giving such a slice of the ignore, I thought to let him stew.
At last she had made him smile. His cheeks rose, the dimples came, the lonesome look departed.
You see? said she.
That's found the sunshine in you.
It was sunshine rarely seen at home. As soon as the shop door clinked closed, his father bustled from the window and said,
What were you doing talking to hussies in the street? Shop-girls and maids-of-all-work. And you had your college cap on.
And from in the kitchen, Aunt Sawney called,
'Tis cold plate for dinner and take off them boots when you're stepping inside.
'Memorable Scenes at Dardanelles.' Now that's a further development. 'Race to land before dawn.' We'll have to mark that down on the map. 'Australasians' Gallantry.' Australasians means Australians and New Zealanders, them both. No word of the Dubs, but we know they're out there.
Dinner was cold bacon and cold cabbage, the cabbage adrift in a murky water. Mr. Mack brought his fork as far as his lips.
Eat up your greens, Jim. World of goodness in cabbage. He waited while his son obeyed, then back to the news.
'Fight for Ypres. Use of Stupefying Gases.' Now that's shocking. That's beyond the beyonds. 'Canadians' Gallantry.' Still no mention of the Dubs. Mind you, don't know why we're supposed to be shocked. The German soldier has no tradition of honor. That's the case with Germany. See it with the Kaiser. All Prussian gas and gaskets, but no command of honor. And that's the sad truth.
He gave the sad truth a moment's commiseration, staring at his fork. From out the shop the Rosary came, Hail Mary low and Holy Mary high. He leant closer over the table.
I've a small something inside needs seeing to after.
I'm finished now, Da.
Out in the shop Aunt Sawney disremembered her Rosary sufficient to bang her stick and bawl,
Boys don't speak at table.
Mr. Mack half turned to the open door. A stickler for decorum, no harm in that.
Have you finished your dinner, Jim?
Yes, Da.
Again the bang of a stick on the floor. Mr. Mack frowned. He looked doubtfully at the mess of cabbage. Best thing for it was to say grace and get back in the shop.
We give Thee thanks, Almighty God, for all Thy gifts, who livest and reignest world without end.
Over which, as though in competition, Aunt Sawney brayed:
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.
It was a race to Amen, which Aunt Sawney won. Mr. Mack rose. The Rosary of course was good and proper, but had she forgotten there was socks needed knitting for the Front?
I'll take over now, Aunt Sawney. You come back to your chair. Confidentially to Jim he said,
Fetch the shop bike out of the yard and meet me inside.
The boy's face creased and he said,
But Da, I'm due back at school.
Papa, Mr. Mack corrected.
Papa, said Jim.
Better put some juldy in it so. Chop-chop.
He watched his son as he loafed through the scullery. Keen as mustard a moment since, now he's hanging dogs. Would want to catch on to himself.
What use is a chair to me? Aunt Sawney complained as she came in from the shop.
I'm beckoned hither and beckoned thither like a common shop-miss.
Now now, I'm only thinking of your health. You're only over the bronchitis and you needs your rest.
When she drew level with him, she abruptly jutted her chin in his face.
I'm still the name on the lease of this shop. And while there's saints in heaven, 'tis stopping that way.
When his son had fetched the bike, Mr. Mack muttered, discreetly closing the inside door,
Crumbi rumpitita. Latin for cabbage warmed up. Save that wasn't warmed up even. He thought a moment, recollected himself.
There's plenty would walk to Dublin for a plate of cold cabbage.
What do I need the bike for, Da?
Mr. Mack said Aha! with his eyes, and from under the shelves pulled out an onion box. He lifted it on the counter.
I want you to deliver some advertising-bills round the local populace. What do you think? They're hot off the printer's press. He showed one to his son, running his finger along the words at the expected rate of reading.
It's the modern way of drumming up trade.
The boy gazed into the box, his face growing longer and plainer. Makes a comical sketch, thought Mr. Mack. Eyebrows straight and nose the length of the Shannon. Has a face like a capital T. He thought—did he think that?—the box held his birthday present. All in a rush, he spluttered,
I've a cake for you after out of Findlater's.
What, Da?
Deliveries first. His son flicked through the pile and Mr. Mack had to check himself from cautioning against creasing the sheets.
Don't crease them now, he said, defeated by the boy's shiftlessness.
You want me to distribute these?
Deliver them. Though in point of fact, distribute was probably the more appropriate sentiment in this particular instance. Fair dues. Comes from having a scholarship boy for a son.
Distribute them if you choose. But you needn't do it all the one go. Do a couple of streets now, the bulk after your school.
The Capital T was for Tragic on his face, till the boy shrugged.
All right.
Hold your horses, do your buttons up first. Don't you want to know where to deliver them?
You said the local populace.
But which local populace? Have you not the horse-sense to ask?
Which local populace, Da?
Well, up Glasthule Road towards Ballygihen. Do you know where I mean?
The posh houses.
Quality Street, said Mr. Mack.
We're on the up, Jim, never forget it. Juldy on now. And don't be late for school. And remember, that bicycle is shop property, not something to hare up and down with.
He had ushered his son to the door, but at the door his son said,
Papa, do I have to?
Incomprehension creased Mr. Mack's rotund face. "What does it mean, do I


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Business Development Director, Lever1
Liz Wilson leads the sales division of Lever1 (a Kansas City based PEO) to help growth-minded business leaders become more productive and focused on growing their bottom line. Liz shares her entrepreneurial spirit while consulting with business leaders about the challenges their companies face, providing solutions in Human Resources, Payroll Administration, Employee Benefits, Workers' Compensation, and Risk Management. Liz brings insights from over fifteen years of business development experience from a variety of industries including banking, marketing, and health.
Liz fell in love with the Property Management industry after working with her first Multi-Family Property Management client years ago. Seeing Lever1's solutions make a significant impact on her clients bottom line motivated her to connect and help others in the industry. Liz joined the AAKC in 2016, and has participated in numerous committees, and events since. Liz is excited to serve as an AAKC Supplier Partner Director, achieve her CAS designation, and become a Lyceum Graduate in 2019.


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GL vs KXIP Head to Head Records IPL is only 2 matches old. Head to head KXIP and GL have played only 2 matches. Both the teams have won 1,1 match. Their revival is only 1 season old. And in that season they have played 2 matches against each other. Gujarat Lions is only 2 seasons in IPL because of RR. As RR is banned by Supreme Court due to owner corruption case.
Check Also ->->-> KXIP vs RCB Head to Head Records IPL
Check Also ->->->RCB vs KKR Head to Head Records IPL
Kings XI Punjab is the team Punjab in IPL. They played all the seasons of the IPL. This is the most inconsistent team of the IPL. They have seen many ups and downs in the whole IPL. KXIP is the only team who have 10 captains so far in 10 seasons. This is team is owned by Prettry Zanta. She is a Bollywood star. Last year David Miller was the captain of the team. This year Gleen Maxwell is leading the team. So far they have won all the matches in 10th season.
GL vs KXIP Head to Head Records IPL
GL is a temporary team of the IPL for 2 years. This team was formed due to ban of RR. Intex technology owned the GL team. And Suresh Raina is the captain of the team. In their first season GL performed very well. They finished on 3rd of the table. For a new team that was a quite success. Suresh Raina will remain the captain of the team for this year also.
GL vs KXIP Head to Head Records IPL
|Kings XI
|Guj Lions
|Guj Lions
|5 wickets
|Apr 11, 2016
|Guj Lions
|Kings XI
|Kings XI
|23 runs
|May 1, 2016
GL vs KXIP head to head revival are not although old enough. They have played 2 matches against each other. First match between these teams were played at Mohali on April 11, 2016. In this match GL beat the KXIP by 5 wickets. 2nd match between these two teams were played at Rajkot on May 1, 2016. In this match KXIP beat the GL by 23 runs. Winning ratio of the both the teams are 50%.


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If y'all are receiving an error message that says, "Download is Required". This issue was found and rectified by our team within few hours.
All you need to do is:
1. Update the game to the latest available version
2. Completely close the game from the memory and relaunch the game.
Also, be sure to be connected to a good WiFi connection.
Have fun sniping em' enemies out!
persian_goodboy wrote: »Where are my 1000 gold????????
It looks like you're new here. If you want to get involved, click one of these buttons!


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A luxurious villa extended in 4 levels, situated beachfront, literally one minute from the seaside, offering the most privileged view of the Aegean sea and sunset.
This luxury property enjoys an unparalleled view of the Aegean and opens up towards the green hills of Halkidiki. Enjoy like never before.
The amazing view, the sun diving into the waters of the Aegean and the tranquil green of nature of Halkidiki are all you need to match the subtle luxury of Villa Jasmine.
Feel the vibes of Halkidiki starting from your wonderful villa! With a private pool and garden, Villa Amaryllis will carry you away with the most beautiful retreats.
A luxury villa with private pool, situated within a striking distance from the endless sandy beach, with an unrivalled sunset view in a magical green scenery of Halkidiki.
Experience a unique stay at your luxury villa at Halkidiki, with a private pool and garden and a clear view to the sea. Feel the vibes of the Aegean blue and the magic of the unrivalled sunset.
Surrounded by stunning nature, with olive trees and pine trees and the crystal clear waters of the Aegean, Villa Marigold will make your dream holidays come true at Kassandra.
Villa Oleander combines the perfect private garden with the view of a stunning sunset and a few minutes distance from the sea… All that make will your stay unforgettable.
A luxurious villa with private garden and pool, combines all the modern amenities with the best nature surroundings. From the green tranquility of Halkidiki, to the big blue of the Aegean, all is at your fingertips.


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PAINTech is built on a legacy of commercial painting service that runs four generations deep. Company owner Bill Shaid was raised in the industry, and has filled numerous positions over the years, including crew supervisor, estimator, director of sales and marketing, and now Owner/President.
Our unique background has allowed us to offer large-scale capabilities with a small business flavor. We are attentive, personal, and relational, building into and supporting not only our clients, but also our local community and neighborhoods.
We are proud to offer commercial painting and flooring services throughout the Greater Philadelphia and Baltimore/Washington regions, and have expanded into Virginia as well.
If you have any questions for us, we invite you to contact us directly. We look forward to serving you!


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The role of Broadcast Television in the Olympic Movement
The Olympic Games are arguably the largest sporting event in world history. To many, they are a social phenomenon that brings the world together to engage in international cooperation and cultural tradition. Although athletes come from around the world to compete for physical excellence, the broadcast networks fight for television superiority to portray this spectacle to one of largest television audiences in history.
The broadcast bid for the United States for the XXX Olympiad in London of 2012 was over one billion dollars, making it the most expensive bid in Olympic history. Throughout the years reaching an audience and making a profit has become more complicated because with every successive broadcast of the Games, there is a higher expectation for more coverage and with that comes a higher price. The IOC continues to expect broadcast television networks to pay more money to cover the Olympic Games and cover more events year after year; however with social media, the Internet, and the rising cost of the IOC rights fees, the future of the Olympic Movement is at stake.
I investigated this problem by critically examining the Olympic Charter, the International Olympic Committee reports, and extrapolating from the various books that have been written about the Olympic Games. I also extrapolated from my professional experience I had interning at the 2010 Winter Olympic Games in Vancouver, Canada.
Ultimately, I discovered how the television broadcast of the Olympic Games plays a crucial role in the Olympic Movement. Without the profit from the US broadcast rights fees the majority of National Organizing Committees would not be able to participate in the Olympic Games. With the new technology of social media and the Internet, the profit from the broadcast rights fees is redistributed and needs to be reevaluated in order for networks to pay high sums of money for the elite status of broadcasting the Olympic Games. Without this revenue from the television broadcasts, the intangible excellence that the Olympic Games will diminish because there will be a lack of participation from nations around the world.


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Summer beverage, Sumo-style
I'm not really much of a "fancy drinks" guy. Put a beer (or three) in front of me and I'm a happy, happy Sumo. I'm slowly becoming more versed in the area of wine, but I still don't know much about it. As far as mixed drinks go, I actually know a fair bit about them, as I was a bartender back in the day, but they're not my first choice of beverages.
That being said, lately I've noticed that some of my friends and fellow bloggers have been posting their current favorite summer drinks, so I figured I'd pull a trick out of my hat that I haven't used since I was a kid – The CopyCat Gambit.
I found the recipe for this drink a while back, labelled as a "Japanese Summer Breeze". Obviously, the name grabbed my attention by the short hairs right away, but I didn't bother with testing it at the time, I just added it to my ever-growing catalog of "Things To Try at Some Unspecified Future Date". Once I made the decision to jump on the summer drink bandwagon, I dug out the specs and took a closer look.
About the only thing I could see that made this a "Japanese" drink was the inclusion of matcha, or powdered green tea. The booze in this drink (vodka) didn't really speak to my Japanese soul at all, so there was really only on option – I decided to switch it out for sake. Sake has a much lower alcohol content than vodka, but it's Japanese, and that's the important bit here.
Not too surprisingly, I had both matcha and sake on hand, as well as the other ingredients, raw sugar and a couple of limes. A little measuring, pouring, and shaking later, I had a relatively tasty, if somewhat unattractive beverage. The matcha gave the beverage a sickly, greenish color that reminded me of week-old swamp water. Not exactly appetizing, to say the least.
Not being able to leave it alone, I went back to the drawing board and tried to figure out how to fix it. I decided to utilize a different type of tea, called genmaicha. This variety of tea is a combination of green tea leaves and roasted brown rice, which when brewed, has a lovely, clear golden color.
Before I had a chance to try the new tea in the drink, I happened to find myself on a shopping trip with my homegirl Michelle Peters-Jones, the owner and food goddess of The Tiffin Box. Mich needed to procure some wine, so we paid a visit to Aligra Wine & Spirits. While mi hermana picked out her wines, I spent a few minutes browsing the store, and managed to find a fuji apple flavored sake. I had no idea such an item even existed, but I immediately began considering the possibilities for my current experiment. After a brief moment, I figured that the end result would be bloody friggin' spectacular.
As it turned out, I was right, as I usually am. The fuji apple sake paired beautifully with the genmaicha, and the lime added the perfect amount of brightness to the drink, resulting in a light, refreshing libation for the hot summer days (or nights!) here in Alberta. Out of respect to the original recipe, I have named this drink Kunpū, which is, of course, Japanese for "summer breeze".
2 oz fuji apple flavored sake
6 oz genmaicha
1 oz raw sugar
Juice from 1 lime
Add all ingredients to a cocktail shaker. Shake and strain into a martini glass. Garnish with Japanese mint. Or plain old regular mint, if you can't find Japanese mint.
For a non-alcoholic version, substitute the sake with 2 oz of apple juice.


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In this blog, we will try to understand Istio and its YAML configurations. You will also learn why Istio is great for managing traffic and how to set it up using Google Kubernetes Engine (GKE). I've also shed some light on deploying Istio in various environments and applications like intelligent routing, traffic shifting, injecting delays, and testing the resiliency of your application.
What is Istio?
The Istio's website says it is "An open platform to connect, manage, and secure microservices".
As a network of microservices known as 'Service Mesh' grows in size and complexity, it can become tougher to understand and manage. Its requirements can include discovery, load balancing, failure recovery, metrics, and monitoring, and often more complex operational requirements such as A/B testing, canary releases, rate limiting, access control, and end-to-end authentication. Istio claims that it provides complete end to end solution to these problems.
Why Istio?
- Provides automatic load balancing for various protocols like HTTP, gRPC, WebSocket, and TCP traffic. It means you can cater to the needs of web services and also frameworks like Tensorflow (it uses gRPC).
- To control the flow of traffic and API calls between services, make calls more reliable, and make the network more robust in the face of adverse conditions.
- To gain understanding of the dependencies between services and the nature and flow of traffic between them, providing the ability to quickly identify issues etc.
Let's explore the architecture of Istio.
Istio's service mesh is split logically into two components:
- Data plane - set of intelligent proxies (Envoy) deployed as sidecars to the microservice they control communications between microservices.
- Control plane - manages and configures proxies to route traffic. It also enforces policies.
Envoy - Istio uses an extended version of envoy (L7 proxy and communication bus designed for large modern service-oriented architectures) written in C++. It manages inbound and outbound traffic for service mesh.
Enough of theory, now let us setup Istio to see things in action. A notable point is that Istio is pretty fast. It's written in Go and adds a very tiny overhead to your system.
Setup Istio on GKE
You can either setup Istio via command line or via UI. We have used command line installation for this blog.
Sample Book Review Application
Following this link, you can easily
The Bookinfo application is broken into four separate microservices:
- productpage. The productpage microservice calls the details and reviews microservices to populate the page.
- details. The details microservice contains book information.
- reviews. The reviews microservice contains book reviews. It also calls the ratings microservice.
- ratings. The ratings microservice contains book ranking information that accompanies a book review.
There are 3 versions of the reviews microservice:
- Version v1 doesn't call the ratings service.
- Version v2 calls the ratings service and displays each rating as 1 to 5 black stars.
- Version v3 calls the ratings service and displays each rating as 1 to 5 red stars.
The end-to-end architecture of the application is shown below.
If everything goes well, You will have a web app like this (served at http://GATEWAY_URL/productpage)
Let's take a case where 50% of traffic is routed to v1 and the remaining 50% to v3.
This is how the config file looks like (/path/to/istio-0.2.12/samples/bookinfo/kube/route-rule-reviews-50-v3.yaml)
CODE: https://gist.github.com/vardhank87/47835f2cfb00361fd1f74f90c3cc7347.js
Let's try to understand the config file above.
Istio provides a simple Domain-specific language (DSL) to control how API calls and layer-4 traffic flow across various services in the application deployment.
In the above configuration, we are trying to Add a "Route Rule". It means we will be routing the traffic coming to destinations. The destination is the name of the service to which the traffic is being routed. The route labels identify the specific service instances that will receive traffic.
In this Kubernetes deployment of Istio, the route label "version: v1" and "version: v3" indicates that only pods containing the label "version: v1" and "version: v3" will receive 50% traffic each.
Now multiple route rules could be applied to the same destination. The order of evaluation of rules corresponding to a given destination, when there is more than one, can be specified by setting the precedence field of the rule.
The precedence field is an optional integer value, 0 by default. Rules with higher precedence values are evaluated first. If there is more than one rule with the same precedence value the order of evaluation is undefined.
When is precedence useful? Whenever the routing story for a particular service is purely weight based, it can be specified in a single rule.
Once a rule is found that applies to the incoming request, it will be executed and the rule-evaluation process will terminate. That's why it's very important to carefully consider the priorities of each rule when there is more than one.
In short, it means route label "version: v1" is given preference over route label "version: v3".
Intelligent Routing Using Istio
We will demonstrate an example in which we will be aiming to get more control over routing the traffic coming to our app. Before reading ahead, make sure that you have installed Istio and book review application.
First, we will set a default version for all microservices.
> kubectl create -f samples/bookinfo/kube/route-rule-all-v1.yaml
Then wait a few seconds for the rules to propagate to all pods before attempting to access the application. This will set the default route to v1 version (which doesn't call rating service). Now we want a specific user, say Velotio, to see v2 version. We write a yaml (test-velotio.yaml) file.
CODE: https://gist.github.com/vardhank87/13edb2d5b6dcc2f573fda1e925b42e1b.js
We then set this rule
> kubectl create -f path/to/test-velotio.yml
Now if any other user logs in it won't see any ratings (it will see v1 version) but when "velotio" user logs in it will see v2 version!
This is how we can intelligently do content-based routing. We used Istio to send 100% of the traffic to the v1 version of each of the Bookinfo services. You then set a rule to selectively send traffic to version v2 of the reviews service based on a header (i.e., a user cookie) in a request.
Traffic Shifting
Now Let's take a case in which we have to shift traffic from an old service to a new service.
We can use Istio to gradually transfer traffic from one microservice to another one. For example, we can move 10, 20, 25..100% of traffic. Here for simplicity of the blog, we will move traffic from reviews:v1 to reviews:v3 in two steps 40% to 100%.
First, we set the default version v1.
> kubectl create -f samples/bookinfo/kube/route-rule-all-v1.yaml
We write a yaml file route-rule-reviews-40-v3.yaml
CODE: https://gist.github.com/vardhank87/565dcd4cb6e9b7daa4c6efbb1aafeae2.js
Then we apply a new rule.
> kubectl create -f path/to/route-rule-reviews-40-v3.yaml
Now, Refresh the productpage in your browser and you should now see red colored star ratings approximately 40% of the time. Once that is stable, we transfer all the traffic to v3.
> istioctl replace -f samples/bookinfo/kube/route-rule-reviews-v3.yaml
Inject Delays and Test the Resiliency of Your Application
Here we will check fault injection using HTTP delay. To test our Bookinfo application microservices for resiliency, we will inject a 7s delay between the reviews:v2 and ratings microservices, for user "Jason". Since the reviews:v2 service has a 10s timeout for its calls to the ratings service, we expect the end-to-end flow to continue without any errors.
> istioctl create -f samples/bookinfo/kube/route-rule-ratings-test-delay.yaml
Now we check if the rule was applied correctly,
> istioctl get routerule ratings-test-delay -o yaml
Now we allow several seconds to account for rule propagation delay to all pods. Log in as user "Jason". If the application's front page was set to correctly handle delays, we expect it to load within approximately 7 seconds.
In this blog we only explored the routing capabilities of Istio. We found Istio to give us good amount of control over routing, fault injection etc in microservices. Istio has a lot more to offer like load balancing and security. We encourage you guys to toy around with Istio and tell us about your experiences.
Happy Coding!


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Desktop-as-a-Service Designed for Any Cloud ? Nutanix Frame
"There appeared, a few weeks later, a story on ZDNet saying that
the leading lights of KDE were joining with captains of industry to
form the KDE League, whose purpose, like that of the Gnome
Foundation, was (perhaps best) left to the imagination. This, too,
raised eyebrows."
"Fortunately, the rumors were quickly put to rest when KDE
developer Kurt Granroth sent an email to one or two of the KDE
mailing lists: 'We have stated in the past that KDE will *never*
have an elected governing board like GNOME Foundation. Absolutely
nothing has happened or will happen to change that.'"
"Most people took this to mean that the talk of something called
the KDE League was just an unfounded rumor. A few noted that it was
'a non-denial denial,' meaning that it was weasel-worded in such a
way as to be misleading while technically true. Few believed this
explanation, though. KDE is, after all, not president of the United
"In fact, it was weasel words. Work was underway on the KDE
League. The earthshaking announcement -- we await to hear from the
seismic center in Boulder, Colorado, just how earthshaking -- was
to be saved for Comdex, even if it meant deliberately misleading
the existing user base in the interim. So much for the open
Related Stories:
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Some of the products that appear on this site are from companies from which QuinStreet receives compensation. This compensation may impact how and where products appear on this site including, for example, the order in which they appear. QuinStreet does not include all companies or all types of products available in the marketplace.


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Did you know that there are only two certified organic strawberry farms in the greater Puget Sound that offer a pick-your-own option and Crowfoot Farm here on Lopez is one of them? How lucky is that for those of us who refuse all but the fragrant, flavorful, fully ripe organically grown local strawberries—and want the savings of picking them ourselves!
I talked with Elf Fay and Eric Hall, owners of Crowfoot Farm, to learn more about why they raise strawberries organically and why they offer the pick-your-own option. I also learned what and how many strawberry varieties they grow and when and where to pick or pick up these luscious, seasonal treats.
By raising strawberries organically, Elf and Eric explained, they provide berries free of pesticides, especially methyl bromide, a gas used in conventional strawberry farming. Shaking his head, Eric explained that "methyl bromide eliminates everything: weeds, insects and fungus." Then he pointed to a passage in Harvard M.D. Andrew Weil's book,The Healthy Kitchen, where Weil writes: "I do not eat conventional strawberries because they contain methyl bromide, a known cancer-causing pesticide, applied to the soil, taken up by the plant, and impossible to wash off the fruit."


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CCPP Brown Bag
Glennys Farrar
Hadronically-interacting Dark Matter
If Dark Matter has hadronic interactions with ordinary matter and a mass in the GeV range, scattering from gas in the Galactic disk tends to draw it into co-rotation with the Sun. Limits from direct detection experiments can be evaded, because the relative velocity (and hence energy deposit) is reduced. This scenario provides the first potentially viable explanation for numerous instances of correlation between structure in rotation curves and baryonic density profiles. Constraints on and tests of such a scenario are discussed. A possible 6-quark bound state with mass < 2 m_p is proposed as the DM particle. If it exists, it could naturally have the observed relic abundance, and would not be excluded by laboratory and other constraints. An accelerator experiment to discover it pointed out. Time permitting, the new explanation this may provide for the Baryon Asymmetry of the Universe, will be discussed.


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Contents of MAXIMOB combi pack (Herbs for arthritis)Herbs for arthritis
Maximob – 90 tablets herbs for arthritis
Maximob + – 90 tablets
Maximob forte – 90 tablets
Maximob oil – 1 unit of 30 ml
Composition of Maximob
Each uncoated tablet contains:
Cissus quadrangularis Ext. 150 mg
Emblica officinalis Ext. 90 mg
Abha guggal 70 mg
Laxadi guggal 70 mg
Kishor guggal 70 mg
Kukutandatvak bhasma 70 mg
Muktasukti bhasma 30 mg
Dosage: 1 tablet 3 times a day.
Composition of Maximob Plus Herbs for arthritis
Each uncoated tablet contains:
Boswellia serrata Ext. 200 mg
Yograj guggal 100 mg
Zingiber officinalis 100 mg
Vanda roxburghii Ext. 50 mg
Vitex negundo Ext. 50 mg
Dosage: 1 tablet 3 times a day.
Composition of Maximob forte
Each hard gelatin capsule contains:
Boswellia serrata Ext. 200 mg
Ricinus communis Ext. 100 mg
Yograj guggal 100 mg
Dosage: 1 capsule 3 times a day.
Composition of Maximob Oil
Dhatura oil (S.S) – 50% pain oil
Gandhpura oil (B.P) – 20%
Mahavishgarbh oil (B.R) – 15%
Kapur oil (A.B) – 5%
Pipermint oil (B.P) – 5%
Nilgiri oil (B.P) – 4%
Laving oil (A.B) – 1%
Directions for use:
- Apply 2-3 drops of Maximob (oil) on the inflamed part and gently massage for 1-2 minutes.
Reasons to use MAXIMOB over painkiller pills
- Painkillers, both opioids and NSAIDs damage kidneys and liver. While occasional use of painkiller pills may not have detrimental effects on the functioning of liver and kidneys, but their long-term use as in case of osteoarthritis and other forms of arthritis should certainly be avoided.
- Opioids are habit forming and a high risk of drug abuse is associated with them. Also, opioids are infamous for causing constipation and mood swings.
- NSAIDs also have a risk of drug dependency, but to a lesser extent than that of the opioids.
- NSAIDs are known to cause hyperacidity and gastric irritation.
- Long-term use of NSAIDs increases the risks of Gastric ulcers and intestinal ulcers.
- Long-term use of painkillers can cause heart damage and other cardiovascular issues, thereby increasing the risk of a heart attack.
Unique advantages of MAXIMOB
- 100% herbal
- No side effects
- MAXIMOB can be used by both men and women.
- After applying MAXIMOB oil, body feels more relaxed and calm. It refills the joints with the Synovial Fluid that again starts functioning like before.
- The oil has been developed keeping in mind the effective Ayurveda treatment usually done for Arthritis, Spondylosis, Paralysis, Joint Pain, Sciatica, Swelling, Back Ache, Knee Pain, Frozen Shoulder and is good for muscular aches & spasms.
- Herbs used in Maximob, Maximob plus and Maximob forte are used since centuries in the traditional Indian system of medicine – Ayurveda.


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Nevada Archive
Haunted Places in Nevada!Posted on January 31, 2018 | No CommentsFrom the original uploader: From haunted casino's along the Las Vegas Strip, to the sacred grounds of Grimes Point, The Silver State has tales of the paranormal around every corner! Which is why The Speakeasy is bringing you our list of the top 10 most haunted places in Nevada.
Haunted Places Around Reno, Nevada!Posted on August 10, 2013 | No CommentsHaunted Places in the Reno Area Compiled by Dennis William Hauck Carson City Bee Hive Whorehouse The ghost of a tall, bloated woman with straggly red hair and dressed in a dirty, white nightgown has been seen on the streets near the whorehouse where she once lived. Her name is […]
The Ely UFO Crash: Nevada's Roswell!Posted on April 5, 2013 | No CommentsELY, NV – Visit Roswell, New Mexico, even Rachel, Nevada, a stop on Nevada's Extraterrestrial Highway,and you'll find both proudly claim a spot in UFO history. You won't find that in Ely, Nevada, but maybe you should. If you google Ely and UFO you'll immediately find a link to flying […]