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Everedge Lawn Edging - Description
- Everedge Classic Garden Edging
- Pack of 5 Metal Lawn Edgings
- Specifications
- Length of Each Section: 1m
- Total Pack Length: 5m
- 125mm (5") in Height (Highest Edging Available)
- Colour: Brown
- Standard Thickness
- Material: Galvanised Steel
- 1.6mm Gauge Metal
- Features
- 6 Metal Spikes in Base
- Interlocking Tongue System - For Secure Joining of Sections
- Flexible Metal - For Curves & Straight Lines
- Durable, Flexible & Simple Solution to Maintaining Clean & Permanent Garden Edges
- Resistance to Strimmer Damage
- Designed to Last Many Years
- Pack Weight: 7.5Kg
Everedge Lawn Edging - Uses
- Use to edge lawns & paths
- This taller edging can be used to create low raised beds
- For low cost & long lasting garden edging
- Top quality product suitable for both landscapers & domestic use
- Ideal for edging paths, drives, flower beds & lawns
- Ideal for creating formal beds & bedding areas
- Flexible metal can be used in straight lines or on curves
- Reduces garden maintenance
- Can be used to divide vegetable gardens or herb gardens
Everedge Lawn Edging - Advantages
- Clever interlocking system gives a secure & reliable hold
- Built to highest standards
- Metal edging is resistant mower & strimmer damage
- Also frost & weather resistant
- Lay once, lasts many years
- Gives a stylish & neat finish to your garden
- Very cost effective to install compared to brick edging
- Flexible design allows for use on straight lines or curved edges
- Create edging & borders instantly
Everedge Lawn Edging - How To Install
- First mark out edging using spray can, garden hose or garden twine
- When creating beds, consider the shape of the lawn & create long sweeping beds
- Alternatively, when creating straight beds, consider the proportions & balance between beds & lawns
- Measure the length of edging you require
- If your edge is 20m in length you will need 4 packs of Everedge® lawn edging
- Make a trench for your edgings
- Position so that logo is facing the front
- Use a rubber mallet to tap the edgings down until the bottom is flush with ground level
- To lock the edgings together
- Ensure that the male & female ends are overlapping (See video & installation guide)
- Slot the tongue through the hole & using a screwdriver, fold the tongue down 45° to lock & hold the edgings together
- Using EverEdge® on curves
- Each section is flexible & can be bent to form your desired curve
- Bend the sections before installing them
- Use a piece of timber to form the curve (See video & installation guide)
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A TSA approved advanced imaging scanner in use. Photo courtesy of the Transportation Security Administration
The U.S. government disputes research by two former physics professors who say the controversial X-ray scanners used for security screenings at airports will not detect explosive material that is flat and attached to a person's abdomen.
In response to a request by Government Video, the Transportation Security Administration (TSA) provided a written statement that indirectly denies the findings of Joseph Carlson and Leon Kaufman, both former physics professors at the University of California-San Francisco who studied the effectiveness of airport X-ray "backscatter units."
The professors issued a report—An Evaluation of Airport X-ray Backscatter Units Based on Image Characteristics—that was published by The Journal of Transportation Security published as a peer-reviewed article. The report says, "that although images can be made at the exposure levels claimed, detection of contraband can be foiled in these systems."
According to the report, the reasons contraband might not be detected are because of the X-ray exposure level produced by the scanner combined with how a substance such as plastic explosives are placed on a persons body. Those factors can prevent the material from being detected by the scanner, the study says. In addition, "because front and back views are obtained (in a scan), low Z (metal) materials can only be reliably detected if they are packed outside the sides of the body, or with hard edges, while high Z materials are well seen when placed in front or back of the body, but not the sides."
"Even if exposure were to be increased significantly, normal anatomy would make a dangerous amount of plastic explosives with tapered edges difficult, if not impossible, to detect," the study says.
Furthermore, objects as large as 15 to 20 centimeters in diameter that are "irregularly-shaped," and about a centimeter thick, taped to the abdomen, "would be invisible to this (scanner) technology," because such an object "is easily confused with normal anatomy." Thus, "a third of a kilo" of plastic explosives shaped like a pancake "would be missed by backscatter high technology," the report says.
T he research reveals there is an assumption that the X-ray machine will be performing at 100 percent efficiency, an assumption the professors' dispute. The performance of the X-ray machines is "heavily influenced by the number of units and budget, and little influenced by competitiveness and performance," therefore, "the efficiency (of the scanners) may easily be 50 percent."
Nonetheless, the TSA says, "Advanced imaging technology is a proven, highly-effective tool that safely detects both metallic and non-metallic items concealed on the body that could be used to threaten the security of airplanes."
"TSA employs many layers of security that work collaboratively to form a system that gives us the best chance to detect and disrupt the evolving threats we face," the agency's statement says.

subset: commoncrawl


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Zinc is a trace element found widely in the environment, including in many foodstuffs.
It is sometimes taken as a dietary supplement.
Good food sources of zinc include meat, shellfish, milk and dairy foods such as cheese, bread, and cereal products such as wheatgerm.
There are 6 publications matching this term. Click Here to view the list (New Window).
This glossary is designed to explain some of the jargon and gobbledygook used by some people when they talk about autism or research..
You may be able to find more information, including links to other parts of this website, by clicking on the title of an item.
If you can't find the word you are looking for, or you know of a word we should include, please email firstname.lastname@example.com
The fact that an intervention is listed in this glossary does not necessarily mean that we agree with its use. Nor does it necessarily mean that there is any scientifically valid or reliable evidence behind it.


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Is being infamous in the virtual world just as desirable as being famous in the real world? Why has "memes", a perfectly respectable Greek word that means the transmission of ideas and cultural phenomena, come to be identified with ideas that are propagated through the virtual world? America may be the birthplace of the internet but has Asia taken control of it?
The film, THAT PARALLEL UNIVERSE, LIVING BIG ONLINE uses "old media" to try and understand "new media". It analyses the truths and untruths, trends and the phenomena of the parallel online universe that has collided and become part of modern-day reality.
Check out our advanced search for all our videos


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Critical Whiteness: An Old Critique for a New German Debate
Political activists in Germany are six steps behind again when it comes to discussions about racism and imaginations of Africa and Otherness at large that moved the US and UK, for instance, decades ago. And make the same mistakes again. The debate about "Critical Whiteness" is getting more and more a carneval of identity politics negatively connoted, self-flagellation and victimization. The latest example is the aggressive intervention of political activists at a taz-sponsored event on racism. There is antivenom against this kind of thinking, and it is out for eleven years now: Achille Mbembe's "African Modes of Self-Writing", still relevant and already a modern classic. Read it if you don't know it!


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The Ocean Breeze
I feel the ocean breeze whip it's wispy tail onto
my own face . How nice it feels.
Beatiful thing of nature.
It whisper s to me, like daring me to come and play tag
with it. A hypnotic sound, like of a mermaid's.
It sing's its beautiful sound
of nature. How I love it.
One to
one in nature.
Share This Poem
- Nature
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The Ocean Breeze
PoetGenesis Pacheco-Mora


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To deliver and support a global product offering that thrives on rapid growth, success and wealth creation for the brand.
Within 2 years we had delivered, and were operational in, 43 countries with 66 eCommerce websites. Generating over £2m in revenue from advertising in one year, 4 million email campaigns sent, plus much more.


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When you change jobs, you might wonder what to do with your 401(k) account. One option is to roll it over to an IRA. Making a direct transfer is your wisest choice, as it allows you to sidestep any question of tax liability and any worry over timing of the transfer. If you do elect to take a distribution from the 401(k) and deposit it to the IRA yourself, be sure to complete the transaction within 60 days.
Contact your 401(k) plan administrator and say you want to make a direct transfer to an IRA. You'll likely need to fill out a distribution form with your name, address and 401(k) account number, as well providing the institution name and account number of the IRA you are transferring the money into.
Sign the forms and deliver them to the plan administrator. If there are any fees required, the administrator will let you know.
Check with the IRA trustee to be sure the transaction was completed.
- Some banks and brokerages that offer IRAs require that you fill out a form letting the institution know that a transfer from another account is to be expected. If this is the case, provide the name and identifying information of the 401(k) institution to the IRA trustee in advance of the transfer.
- You can also choose to have the 401(k) trustee disburse the funds directly to you. However, the trustee will automatically withhold 20 percent of the withdrawal amount for federal taxes, and you will have to make up that 20 percent with funds of your own for transfer to the IRA. In addition, you have to put the 401(k) money into the IRA within 60 days of receiving it. If you do not, the Internal Revenue Service sees the transaction as a distribution and you will face tax liabilities.
Photo Credits
- Comstock/Comstock/Getty Images


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MADE IN DPRK: Full Trip (Parts 1 & 2)
Exploring and Understanding North Korea's Rural Markets, Manufacturing & New Consumerism Trends
October 1st to 9th/10th 2017
(9 Days / 8 Nights)
Yanji | Tumen | Rason (SEZ) | Chongjin | Chilbosan | Kyongsong | Orang | Pyongyang | Pyongsong | Pyongyang | Sinuiju | Dandong | Beijing |
Paektu Cultural Exchange, in collaboration with its advisors and DPRK government partners, has designed this academic travel program called MADE IN DPRK in order to explore and understand the DPRK's rural markets, manufacturing, and new trends in consumerism. Participants in this program will experience three dynamically different regions of the DPRK (Rason SEZ, North Hamgyong, and Pyongyang), as well as China's quickly developing north-eastern region, Yanbian Korean Autonomous Prefecture.
Participants will visit factories, shops and local markets to observe methods of production, manufacturing, and distribution, and see trade and joint investment projects throughout the country. This program aims, in part, to give visitors a firsthand look at the DPRK's growing economy and its new consumers through direct observation of business enterprises, site inspections and face-to-face discussions with DPR Koreans and other benefactors engaged in various economic activities. In turn, participants will gain knowledge about methods of positive engagement, collaboration and ethical business, investment and trade.
The extension for this itinerary also includes participation in the national holiday celebrations for the Worker's Party of Korea (WPK) Anniversary on October 10 and the rare chance to see the Military Hardware Exhibition House of the Korean People's Army, an underground bunker complex and the unique experience of sleeping at a rural coastal homestay, around the time of "추석" (Chusok) the Korean traditional Thanksgiving holiday.
✪ Witness the DPRK's unique economy through on-site visits to factories, departments stores, banks, markets (장마당), modern boutique shops and meet with labors, factory workers, officials and stakeholders
✪ Celebrate the Worker's Party of Korea (WPK) Anniversary with locals in Sinuiju (+1 day)
✪ Work alongside fisherman, farmers and other laborers to experience & evaluate some of the labor practices of this independent socialist nation
✪ Travel through 8 different provinces and by train, flight, and private coach to see key cities, rural towns, fishing villages, farms and the DPRK-China borderland areas
✪ Engage and converse with DPRK university, middle school, and elementary school students through interactive learning activities
✪ Visit art galleries, museums, revolutionary sites and special visits to an underground bunker complex and the Exhibition House of Military Hardware of the Korean People's Army
✪ Visit local and top restaurants around the country and take part in private cooking class
✪ Take in the pristine natural beauty of DPRK's East Sea coastlines, the Chilbo Mountain Range, the Tumen River Triangle Area and more
✪ Exchanges stories and play games with rural families and experience a unique overnight stay at a local DPRK family's home
✪ Attend closing farewell dinner & cocktail party at Fujimoto Kenji's new Sushi and Ramen Restaurant
Final inspection and packaging at a site visit to the Susongchon Combined Foodstuff Factory in Chongjin DPRK (Paektu Cultural Exchange).
PCE utilizes its high-level contacts with government officials and more than 20 years of relationships (Kr:관계, Cn:关系) to organize unique meetings and activities that would otherwise not be possible.
Social Responsibility
Paektu Cultural Exchange is a social enterprise dedicated to promoting ethical business with a focus on social impact. A significant portion of the delegation fees will support Paektu Cultural Exchange's Project Samjiyon, providing school supplies and language learning materials to less accessible rural elementary schools in northern Kanggye and Chagang provinces. This is a joint project between Paektu Cultural Exchange and ministry-level DPRK government partners. All donated materials are strictly designed to benefit primary school children and their educators.


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北京阿尔特商贸有限公司 (Beijing Art Commercial & Trade)
No. 57 Xingfu Street Dongcheng District Beijing China
+86 185 106 859 66
Silk Plaster in Beijing China
Room 10B10, Changyin Plaza No.88 Yongding Road Haidian District Beijing China
400 1133 158
Due to GDPR changes introduced on 25th May, I agree that SILK PLASTER GROUP (SIA SILK PLASTER GROUP and SILK PLASTER GmbH) may collect following information from the visit of this web site:
All of the above is collected so that the website works fine and the site is personalized to interests. Please agree with the terms of data collecting.


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#1 daughter will probably be here tomorrow: It's her birthday. She's been subtly reminding us ("Did you remember: Saturday is my birthday?") for at least a week.
It'll be good to see her. My wife picked out something that I think and hope she'll appreciate.
Meanwhile, our son bound an old digital organizer in the basement: a little flip-top thing, about half as thick as a deck of cards. After identifying it as mine, he asked if he could have it. Well, sure: I hadn't used the thing in years, and the batteries had run out.
He was quite pleased with that.
My wife and #3 daughter got out today, to pick up groceries, and - aside from the routine reading of Garfield at the end of the day, that's about all that happened.
As far as I remember.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Friday: Looking Forward to the Weekend
Posted by Brian H. Gill at 12:53 AM
Labels: birthdays, son, technology
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Yoga mats are small carpets used when doing yoga. Yoga mats provide not only cushions the body against the hard floor but also insulation. Yoga mats are the only equipment used for yoga. Therefore, buy a good mat is a reasonable investment.
Yoga mats of various types, depending on the model, pattern, style, fabric, and texture. Personalized yoga mats is portable and easy to manage. The main aspects to consider when buying a yoga mat are durability, comfort, weight, and ability to fold. An important element in the main yoga mat is its ability to grip the floor so that the user does not slip or slide on the floor during the posture.
Generally 4-5mm thick yoga mat can be quite stiff to not tangle on the floor while flexible enough to be rolled, carried out and washed. Yoga mats should also be capable of handling repetitive laundering. Yoga mat today is also non-toxic and environmentally friendly.
Various other types of mat sticky mat, travel mat, folding mats, mat light, and others. This mat is available in plain colors and attractive colors and patterns. Yoga mats are available in beautiful and interesting patterns and colors. Yoga mat pattern of the most popular is the lotus, hibiscus, marigold, zebra prints, leopard prints, stripes, dots, month, and circles.


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Commanders of Bolivia's military and police helped plot the coup and guaranteed its success. They were previously educated for insurrection in the US government's notorious School of the Americas and FBI training programs.
By Jeb Sprague
Continue reading "Top Bolivian coup plotters trained by US military's School of the Americas, served as attachés in FBI police programs"
Jeb Sprague is a Research Associate at the University of California, Riverside and previously taught at UVA and UCSB. He is the author of "Globalizing the Caribbean: Political economy, social change, and the transnational capitalist class" (Temple University Press, 2019), "Paramilitarism and the assault on democracy in Haiti" (Monthly Review Press, 2012), and is the editor of "Globalization and transnational capitalism in Asia and Oceania" (Routledge, 2016). He is a co-founder of the Network for the Critical Studies of Global Capitalism. Visit his blog at: http://jebsprague.blogspot.com


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Ecopsychology: Addiction Recovery for a People (pt. 3 of 5)
April 8, 2012Posted by on
The best part of growing up is making your own path. The broken world of the abuser, which has only two roles (abuser or victim), would have you either accept or deny its paradigm wholesale. Either you acquiesce to some degree or another, doing the best you can with CFLs and Priuses and accepting the overall will of the abusers (thus becoming one of them yourself). Or you run. You live the happy life with the birds (which will soon be extinct)—in which case, you're just a victim. It's like the frickin' Hotel California. You can check out any time you want, but you can't ever leave.
I think of Jesus, who came to a place and a time of lots of Either/Or thinking. Should we have Greek-centered or Judaism-centered culture? Sadducees or Pharisees? Capitulation to Rome or armed revolt?
Confronted with all these ridiculous nonsense choices, the Son of God called them all ridiculous nonsense. He struck out in His own way and lived and taught a better life than anyone could have thought of before He came along.
How good it is to follow Him.
It turns out that recovering from abuse is a lot like repentance. It's the flip-side version of repentance, of course, because you didn't do anything wrong yourself. (Actually, many abusers enjoy forcing their victims to do things they find morally repugnant. Think Abu Ghraib. For many people whose abuse included these domination-submission games, it can be an entire process in itself just to remember what the difference is between the two. Those of us trying to make do with CFLs and cloth shopping bags know a tiny taste of that insanity.)
But so many things are the same.
In order to repent, an abuser has to change their view of the world to one where other peoples' agency matters.
In order to heal, recipients of abuse have to change their view of the world to one where other peoples' agency matters.
For victims, this means coming to terms with the fact that someone really did force them to do something. This is difficult because, while it allows one kind of healing to begin—the acquittal of guilt—it also requires the realization of exactly how vulnerable we are. This is a large part of what makes recovery from rape so difficult—to realize how easy it was for someone to just make you their bitch because they felt like it.
That realization is terrifying. It's why so many of us cling to illusions of control. It's why we like to blame victims ("She was asking for it," "Look what she was wearing," "She's exaggerating how bad it was," etc). It's why we'd rather self-loathe for being wishy-washy environmentalists than admit that we're being coerced into doing things we don't want to do.


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Funders need to pay more attention to research aimed at increasing the shelf life of human organs. Doing so could pay dividends for both transplantation and basic research.
There is currently a serious shortage of organs for transplant. In the United States, at least one in five patients on transplant waitlists dies awaiting an organ. Part of the problem is an insufficient number of donors. Part of the problem is the quality of the organs in the donor pool. But the real enemy is time. A meeting last month organized by the nonprofit Organ Preservation Alliance (OPA), the American Society of Mechanical Engineers and several partners brought together researchers, transplant surgeons, healthcare professionals and others to discuss means of extending organ 'lifetime' and encouraging more funds into the field.
The current gold standard for preserving organs, static cold storage (at 4–8 °C), quickly leads to chilling damage and ischemia/reperfusion injury; although kidneys can be stored for up to about 24 hours, hearts and lungs can barely be kept alive for more than 3–6 hours. This means that a huge proportion of donor organs are discarded.
According to the OPA, one-fifth of donated kidneys are never transplanted and almost two-thirds of donated hearts and lungs are wasted, sometimes because time runs out, sometimes because of damage. The ticking organ clock also means that those who receive grafts often get a suboptimal match (Nat. Biotechnol. 35, 530–542, 2017).
This tragic waste could be avoided if organs could be preserved for more hours, days—or even weeks. The extra time would enable marginal organs to be rehabilitated by ex vivo treatments. It would allow comprehensive evaluations of donor tissues and better graft characterization. And organs could be transported farther, creating a larger catchment area for physiologically and immunologically matched/tolerized recipients.
At the fringes, basic research might also benefit: improved organ preservation would enhance the consistency and quality of human cell and tissue samples, thereby promoting reproducibility.
One promising approach to extend organ lifetime is continuous perfusion ex vivo using machine pumps at normothermic temperatures (35–37 °C). A combination of perfusion with hypothermic temperatures (4–10 °C) is now in routine use for kidney transplants and can extend lung survival times from 8 to 21 hours (Lancet Respir. Med. 5, 119–124, 2017). The addition of cryoprotectants and staggered cooling and rewarming to suppress ice formation (supercooling) in rat livers enables perfusion technology to be pushed to even lower temperatures (−6 °C), extending storage times to 4 days (Nat. Med. 20, 790–793, 2014).
The real game changer, though, would be the ability to chill below −100 °C. Slow freezing of tissues has been used for decades for research purposes and in reproductive medicine. But techniques for cryopreserving organs, such as 'vitrification' (which suppresses ice nucleation by suspending cells in a glassy state) and 'directional freezing' (controlling the direction of ice crystal propagation using a thermal gradient), remain works in progress. Vitrified samples are dogged by the toxicity of cryoprotectants; and rewarming often causes ice recrystallization and catastrophic chemical, osmotic and mechanical stress (fractures) within tissues.
This is where bioengineering can help. For example, radiofrequency-excited silica-coated iron oxide nanoparticles markedly enhance the uniformity of rewarming and viability of vitrified pig arteries (Sci. Transl. Med. 9, eaah4586, 2017). Less toxic cryoprotectants are being engineered from ice-binding proteins and quantitative structure–activity relationship used to synthesize ice recrystallization inhibitors (Sci. Rep. 6, 26403, 24 May 2016). 'Omic studies of amphibians, reptiles and mammals that are freeze tolerant and capable of sustained metabolic arrest are yielding clues about molecular pathways and cell-stress signals useful for designing cell-protective agents or to provide predictive markers of graft quality. Combining perfusion technology with miniaturized sensor technology for continuously monitoring physiology, serum proteins or small molecules can also improve organ quality assessment.
Between recovery and transplantation, ex vivo perfusion also opens up the possibility of acclimating donor organs to recipient physiology (for instance, adjusting heart blood pressure to more closely match that of a recipient). Perfused marginal organs can be therapeutically targeted using recombinant factors (such as tissue plasminogen activator to clear clots or interleukin 10 to dampen inflammation) and small molecules (such as β2-adrenergic receptor agonists to reduce edema), opening up the possibility of gene therapy, antisense treatment or RNA interference. For recipients, added organ shelf life would also allow better HLA matching and application of immune tolerance regimes to the recipient (for example, thymic and mixed hematopoietic chimerism).
The major problem though is not technology; it is galvanizing resources and funding behind the grand challenge of organ preservation. Cryobiology is a small field—the Society for Cryobiology claims only ∼300 members. At the OPA meeting, many new biologists were invited, but there remains a chasm between basic and applied research—several clinicians mentioned a lack of crosstalk with basic researchers.
Funding also needs reviving. The European Union recently set aside $7.1 million for the Consortium for Organ Preservation in Europe (COPE). And the US Department of Defense (DoD) has announced $14.8 million in small-business grants for the field and the launch of a $300 million Advanced Tissue Biofabrication Manufacturing Innovation Institute, which will include a focus on tissue preservation. But in the context of other research, investment looks anemic. A search of NIH RO1 grants in the past year reveals a paltry $7 million spent on cryopreservation and ex vivo perfusion technology.
Organ preservation research thus remains in dire need of investment. At the very least, funding agencies should better coordinate grant programs to maximize the use of the available funding. In showcasing the substantial near-term clinical potential of ex vivo perfusion technology, the OPA meeting demonstrated how just a little funding could provide major benefits for the tens of thousands of people who die or are hospitalized each year waiting for a transplant.
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Buying time for transplants. Nat Biotechnol 35, 801 (2017). https://doi.org/10.1038/nbt.3971
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Further reading
An integrated perfusion machine preserves injured human livers for 1 week
Nature Biotechnology (2020)
Subzero non-frozen preservation of human livers in the supercooled state
Nature Protocols (2020)
Preparation of Scalable Silica‐Coated Iron Oxide Nanoparticles for Nanowarming
Advanced Science (2020)
Supercooling extends preservation time of human livers
Nature Biotechnology (2019)
Systems engineering the organ preservation process for transplantation
Current Opinion in Biotechnology (2019)


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Flyfishing & Tying Journal – summer 2012 issue is now available. Water Time Outfitter's owner Rob Crandall is also editor of FTJ. In this issue we have some great information for the fly fisherman as well as the fly tier. See a great photo essay by Dale Spartas on Hoppers Up Close. Go to the riverside with Dave Hughes and explore the edges for big trout. Gary Lewis talks about the 7 Wonders of Oregon and Al Ritt gives us 10 Wet Flies Trout Can't Resist. Also, Harry Murray gives us the inside scoop on fishing Tricos and cress bugs for wiley trout.
Subscribe today and find out what you have been missing: FTJ Subscription Information
See more about Rob Crandall's business visit: www.watertimeoutfitters.com


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In an attempt to streamline the content that I want to syndicate to social I ended up reading a lot about Zapier and IFTTT. I actually had an account on both for a long time but never utilized them fully.
Read the following article to know more about both the services: https://tallyfy.com/zapier-vs-ifttt/


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"Golden" will return in a week or two. I have a toothache that's slowing me down. Extractions next Friday.
This is a work or creativity. As such, you may see words, concepts, scenes, actions, behaviors, pictures, implements, and people that may or may not be socially acceptable and/or offensive. If you are sensitive to adverse and alternative subject matter of any kind, please do not proceed, because I guarantee you'll find here. You have been warned. Read at your own risk.
I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy, or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. If something that I say displeases you, please, just leave. If you don't like this story or me, please don't spoil this experience for everyone. Just go away. For the rest of you, the saga continues…
Chapter 29—A Family Dissection
Marty is floating right in front of my face, looking me in my eyes.
It's as if she knows something is wrong with me. She swam to the front of the tank as always and she's just floating there, wagging her tail like a dog, staring at me and waiting for me to make a move.
This is not your fault.
When is the last time I've heard from her? Weeks? Months? I don't even know. She doesn't sound like Carla this time, though. She sounds more like Grace.
This is not your fault.
Isn't it?
How can you logically think this is your fault, doctor?
I don't think her behavior is my fault, but I think that I might have helped influence her actions.
And again, I ask how you logically came to that conclusion?
Would she have done this had I talked to her about how Christian was feeling? Had I found a way to discuss Carrick's concerns without seeming intrusive? There's something else that I could have done to avoid this happening.
Survivor's remorse.
She's not dead and my life wasn't in danger.
But you feel like she could have died, so you're now trying to ascertain all the possible outcomes of your actions to see what you could have done so that this wouldn't have happened. Nothing. There's nothing you could have done. She's where she needs to be. Be glad that you were there to help her.
Survivor's remorse. That seems like such a stretch. I know that when the Bitch shows up, it's nothing more than my right brain and my left brain battling out the situation at hand, whatever it may be and quite frankly I don't know which side is the Bitch. I just know that she has a voice, and most of the time… most of the time, she's right.
You love me.
Shut the hell up.
Marty swims away as if she knows the Bitch has helped me come to a conclusion. Truth be told, I haven't come to any conclusion. I still feel like there's something else I could have done or something I should have done differently to avoid this… something that would make Elliot not detest me so much. His face materializes in the glass where Marty was standing, his eyes full of hurt and remorse. I feel like shit thinking of him in pain right now with his mom in the psychiatric ward. He's probably scared shitless thinking the worst of the situation and what could be going on up there.
"Dad's right."
The reflection speaks and scares the shit out of me, but I manage not to react—just in case I'm losing my mind and I don't want my mind to know. Closer investigation and that logical doctor mind that the Bitch was ridiculing a moment ago helps me realize that the reflection is what shooed Marty away. Elliot is standing behind me.
I don't respond or turn around. I just stand there looking at his refection… through his reflection into the water.
"I've been acting like a spoiled, entitled brat and I'm sorry," he says softly. There's those two useless words. I won't hammer him, though. It won't do any good. I'm of the firm belief that kicking a dog while it's down doesn't teach the dog anything—it only hurts more.
"I just need you all to know that nothing like this has ever happened to me with my mom besides me actually losing my parents, so this shit is really scary. So, if I act like I've lost a couple of screws over the next couple of days, just cut me some slack, okay? I'll try to keep all the nuts and bolts in the box." I nod. I don't know what to say. Dr. Steele-Grey is not in right now and Anastasia doesn't quite have the expertise to deal with this at the moment. She's kind of raw and exposed right now.
"I really fucked up, didn't I?" he presses, closing the space between us. I roll my eyes and try to find my words.
"It was a tense moment for us all," I say, the most generic statement I can conjure. His chuckle is tragic.
"There you go, going PC again," he says through insincere laughter. "I was an asshole, and you're hurt because of it."
No, I'm not hurt. I'm confused and I'm scared and I'm angry and I feel misunderstood and taken for granted. I feel wrongly accused for the situation, so much so that moments before he interrupted my quiet time at Atlantis with my favorite butterfly fish, I was blaming myself for the entire thing. I'm being pulled in different directions, uncertain, and somewhat undone, but hurt… no, hurt isn't one of the feelings in the plethora of emotions and thoughts swimming through my head and body right now.
"Like I said, it was… it was rough for us all." My words trail off at the end and I'm barely able to finish my sentence. God, I need to talk to Ace. This was really, really big. I feel strong arms wrap around my waist from behind and Elliot leans his chin on my shoulder. I raise my eyes to meet his in the reflection of the aquarium, his gaze now clear and blue as if we were looking in a mirror.
"I know it doesn't mean shit right now, but I was an asshole, and I really am sorry. I was talking without thinking, and I should never have spoken to you in that way. I was wrong. When and if you ever feel better about this situation, I hope you can forgive me."
His voice is solemn and soft, and he almost looks like a lost child, his head hanging over my shoulder as he pleads his case.
"Thank you for being there for my mother," he adds. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been there for her." I take a deep breath and release it.
"You're welcome, Elliot," I reply softly. "I love her, too."
"I know," he says, just above a whisper. "Now, I hope no one judges me, but I'm going to have a drink." Why does that statement not surprise me? I should, but it doesn't. When Kate tripped Val at the garden party, he had an open beer sitting next to him just in case, like one of those break glass for emergency situations. His mother may or may not have tried to kill herself and is now on the psychiatric ward of Seattle General Hospital on a 72-hour suicide watch. I think a drink is the very least he's entitled to.
"Nobody would judge you, Elliot," I reply. "You know your limits and you're an adult. I think this situation calls for a drink."
"Join me?" he asks, and I nod, though a bit reluctantly. He gives me another squeeze and for a moment I could swear that I see movement out the corner of my eyes, but when I turn my head, no one is there.
We walk over to the bar, and I reach into the refrigerator for the cold bottle of Vodka I know I'll find there. I hold it up and he nods. I take two shot glasses from the shelf and rinse to the remove any dust.
"Single or double?" I ask.
"Single," he replies. I pour a single shot for him and a double for myself. I throw half my shot back in the first drink and Elliot only sips his. He takes a deep breath between each sip as if savoring the elixir like his last meal.
"I wasn't really paying attention when Dad was trying to tell me what was going on. Can you explain it to me, please?" he asks without raising his head. I nod, even though he's not looking at me.
"They're going to run a battery of scans and tests on Grace to make sure that there's nothing wrong physically… you know, like with Val?" I begin. He nods. "While they're eliminating any physical issues, there's going to be intense therapy to see if there's another cause for her behavior…"
I'm hung over again. I had three double-shots of vodka while Elliot and I talked. He nursed the one single through the entire conversation, and he didn't even finish that. I have a feeling that he just tipped the glass to his mouth to wet his lips, then licked the liquor from his lips just to taste the flavor. There's no other way that he could have possibly nursed a single shot through that entire conversation—long conversation, I might add—while I threw back double after double after double. Drunk on a Sunday afternoon… I'm surely going to hell.
Add to that the fact that my children haven't seen me for at least 24 hours. They were asleep when Christian and I got home and I didn't want to wake them. I took a shower and changed, came down to Marty and Atlantis, and proceeded to continue the pickling of my liver. I haven't even eaten a decent meal…
And where the hell am I?
It's hard to focus, but the rust and copper décor informs me that I'm in my husband's den. I have no idea how I got here, but the lilting sound of the piano assured that I would remain in a blissful state of coma until I ripped myself from the clutches of the beautiful lullaby. Even now, I'm having a terrible time pulling myself from the comfort of the soft, sweet music caressing my senses. I have to stop him or I'm going to sleep my life away.
"Christian," I call out softly, my voice too weak to carry anywhere. I hear the lilting sounds of the piano softly fade to what sounds like the end of a song and a few moments later, I see my husband's jeaned thighs come into view before he crouches in front of me, bringing his face to mine.
"That almost sounds like a cry for mercy," he says softly, mirth in his voice as he brushes my hair from my face with his fingertips.
"It is," I confirm weakly. "What time is it?" He looks at his watch—the Hublot that he now wears every day, my wedding present to him.
"It's 9:19—nearly bedtime for the rest of the world," he says. I sigh.
"I'm going to be up all night," I lament, "and I have to go into Helping Hands tomorrow." He frowns.
"We have a family crisis. Can't someone else handle Helping Hands for a few days?"
He's actually right. With the crisis that our family is experiencing right now, no one would blink if I wasn't at Helping Hands for the next few days. But there's no one at the helm of things now and Grace left things on a very sour note. Nothing has hit the news yet, which surprises me for a lot of reasons, but I can't just let the Center fall apart, especially not now. It never left my mind that we still haven't heard from the licensing board about our accreditation and that even though I somewhat abandoned my letter-writing campaign temporarily that I'm three letters away from actually filing a complaint or going over Felton's head about the matter.
One of the biggest reasons that I want to go into the center is because I truly feel that right now, Grace would want me to. There's too much room for speculation with both of us gone. I may have to do some fancy footwork to maintain the family's and Grace's privacy, but with the staff already walking about on cat's paws—and not comfortably, I might add—the unexplained and inconcealable absence of both leaders is a catastrophe waiting to happen. I just know it.
"I know you're right in theory," I begin, "but in actuality, there are a lot of unsettled 'natives' and their Chief alienated a lot of people before she disappeared for a now undisclosed period of time. I can't, in good conscious, leave the Center unattended under those conditions." He just looks at me and I can tell that he's reloading.
"We don't know if the ticket brigade has been called off," he said.
"Did you have any problems travelling to or from the hospital?" I ask him. He tries not to react, but I can see the realization dawn even in his attempted impassivity. "The only way for us to know if the ticket brigade is over is for us to go on with our lives."
He wants to continue arguing about it, but instead, changes tact and turns to another subject.
"How was your talk with Elliot?" he asks, now sitting on the floor with his legs bent and his arms resting on his knees.
"Tense," I say. "He was offering an apology that I'm just not ready to hear." Christian raises his eyebrows at me.
"He apologized, baby," he scolds. "You can't expect him to grovel."
"I don't," I say with no malice, "I'm just not ready to hear that apology right now."
"I'm not sure what that means," he says. I sit up and wrap the blanket he placed over me around my body.
"Some things just take a little time," I tell him. "It's all really very raw. He made me feel like an outsider, like I didn't care about her. The scene was harrowing had it been someone that I didn't know. This is someone that I work closely with every day. Grace and I have been elbow-to-elbow on many projects and things—personal and professional. She's a surrogate mother to me, and watching her bleed like that and I couldn't stop it…"
I cover my face to stop myself from sinking down the rabbit hole again. The sight was horrendous… and this was Grace!
"And for him to just flippantly dismiss my feelings and how this whole thing affects me, too…" I sigh and push back the tears. If I cry anymore, I'll fucking dehydrate. "I'm not ready to hear that apology right now."
"I know," he says, putting his hand on my knee. "I told him as much myself, I just don't want you to stay in a place where you don't forgive him because that's not who you are." I don't respond. I just wrap the blanket tighter around me. "I had a bit of trouble today," he adds. I raise a questioning gaze at him.
"With what?" I ask.
"With… Elliot… holding you." My brow furrows.
"With what?" What is he talking about? When was Elliot holding me?
"With Elliot holding you," he says. "You were standing at Atlantis and he had arms wrapped around you, holding you against him from behind…"
I'm still trying to picture what he's talking about and then it hits me—Elliot's reflection in Atlantis. He was holding me… very closely. That's when he was trying to apologize.
"It wasn't…" I begin, but Christian holds up his hand to silence me.
"I know," he says, looking at his hands, "but that's how I hold you. It's… not easy to see another young, handsome man holding my Butterfly that way… even if he is my brother."
The shadow… the something or someone that I thought I saw… It was Christian. He was there.
"Why did you leave?" I ask. "Why didn't you come in? I knew I saw something and I thought it was just my imagination." He shrugs.
"I heard the conversation," he admits. "I know it was harmless… and necessary. It's just…. Uuugh!" He groans in frustration and scrubs his face. He's ashamed of his jealousy right now, but he can't help it. It's part of who he is.
I slide off the sofa and onto the floor, onto his lap, straddling his hips, our bodies fitting together like a puzzle. I say nothing. I just gently stroke his face. He sighs deeply.
"Do you know what you do to me?" he says, gazing into my eyes. "You turn me to mush on the inside. It's stronger than when we first met. I still don't know what to do with it. You make me… weak. Strong, but… weak… so, so weak…"
He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against mine, then he gently brushes his nose against mine. I get a small chill and tilt my head only slightly to press a tender kiss against his lips. He returns the tender gesture and I can feel the moment the spark ignites and the air changes between us.
Dear God, Christian, I love you so much…
I push my hands into his hair and try not to lose control as the kiss becomes more intense. He holds me close to him… so close to him… I feel like a doll, helpless in his arms. I cling to him as he holds me, gently caressing my back, pressing my body against his…
He turns me around and lays me on the floor, our lips never parting, our need and desire growing exponentially by the second. We devour each other's kisses, and he covers my body with his.
"Annie, I hate to bother you, but I've got a bit of a problem."
Christian and I are eating breakfast at the breakfast bar and still deciding if either of us wants to go into work this morning. We're dressed for it, but we still haven't made the decision.
"What is it, Daddy?" I ask.
"I can't get out my driveway," he says. "It's swarming with reporters and from what I can tell, they want details on the adoption." My mouth falls open.
"Oh, my God, you're kidding!" I nearly yell at the breakfast bar. Christian looks up from his coffee and frowns at me. I've already risen from my seat. "This is ridiculous! Why did they come to your house?"
"What's wrong, Butterfly?" Christian asks.
"Easy target, I guess," he says. "What should I do?"
"Stay where you are. I'm on my way," I say, ending the call and heading for the mudroom.
"Butterfly, what's going on?" Christian asks again.
"The Paps have my father trapped in his house!" I hiss, reaching for my jacket.
"What?" he asks, falling in step behind me.
"He can't get out of the driveway," I tell him. "They've got him blocked in. They want info on the adoption."
"Oh, for the love of God," he says and pulls out his phone as I double back to the dining room to get my purse. "Taylor, I need damage control at Ray's, pronto… I don't know. The man is blocked in his driveway, so I'd say it's pretty deep… We're on our way now. You and Chuck meet us in the garage. Bring a third."
When we get to Daddy and Mandy's simple Kent home, we can barely get into the driveway. Of course, the arrival of three black Audi SUVs draws the focus from Daddy's house to us. Fuck political correctness. This shit stops right now. I leap out the back seat and slam the door, bringing inquisitive gazes my way.
"Get outta my way or you get nothing!" I announce. My voice suddenly becomes a bullhorn in Daddy's front yard and the crowd parts like the Red Sea. Apparently, these people know that when I say they'll get nothing, they'll get nothing. I walk right up to the front door and call my father.
"Hey, Annie," he answers on the first ring.
"Open the door, Daddy. I'm here." In a moment, the front door opens and the cameras begin flashing. I want to break out a water hose on these vultures, but instead, Christian and I just get inside as quickly as we can while security stands at the front door.
"When did this happen?" I ask the moment the door closes.
"I opened the garage door and there they were," Daddy says.
"You know they're not supposed to be on your lawn, right?" Christian says. "That's private property and they're trespassing." Ray shrugs.
"So, they'll crowd the sidewalk. I still can't get my truck out. I've never dealt with the press before and I don't want any trouble. What do they want with me anyway? I'm adopting my stepdaughter. What's the problem?"
"Your adult, billionaire stepdaughter," I point out. "They know there's more to it and they want the scoop."
"There is no scoop," Daddy protests.
"As far as they're concerned, there is," I say, rubbing my scar. "We need to talk to them, Daddy, put this thing to rest…"
"Not until we talk to Mac," Christian protests.
"We don't have time for her!" I retort. "Daddy needs to get on with his life! There's nothing to hide here and this is hardly newsworthy. I will not entertain or defend any kind of spin they want to put on this! It's that simple. This is about me and my father, and we're going to put this thing to rest—now. Are you ready, Daddy?" Daddy's eyes grow large.
"Is there anything I shouldn't say?" he says.
"Yes, don't let them aggravate you, irritate you, or provoke you. If you don't know what to say, squeeze my hand and I'll take over. I won't let them bully you. I'll chew them up and spit them out first. Got it?" Daddy tries to hide his smile.
"Got it, Sunflower." He nods once and I take a deep breath. When I open the door, Taylor, Chuck, and Ben step aside so Daddy and I can step onto the porch. I take Daddy's hand and allow the crowd to clamor and take a few pictures before I speak.
"Okay, you all know how this works. If you're all screaming at us at once, we can't hear you. Keep it orderly and respectful and we'll answer as many of you as we can. Then, I'll have to ask you to leave my father's premises because you are on private property."
"You're a 30-year-old mother of twins. Why are you looking to be adopted now? A sudden case of Daddy issues?" one reporter calls out. I want to smack him about the age thing, especially since he got it wrong.
"If you're looking for an answer to that question, I suggest you reword it," I retort.
"What he means to say is that it seems a little late for Mr. Steele to be petitioning to adopt you. Why now?" another one says.
"My father and I never really felt like we needed a document to tell us that he was my Dad," I reply. "However, a little while back, I had a medical emergency and there was no readily available next of kin. At that time, I made my father my power of attorney and I just wanted to make the whole 'next of kin' thing official. We should have done it a long time ago."
"Wouldn't Christian be your next of kin?" someone else says.
"Yes," I say. "This is in case my husband and I are both incapacitated. My husband has other family that would be able to make decisions on his behalf. I do not."
"What about your mother?" someone says. "Isn't she still alive?"
"As far as I know, she is, but as you should already know, my mother and I are estranged, so I don't want her making any decisions on my behalf."
"You can't just take away her parental rights," the first asshole retorts.
"No, but if I have another legal parent and said parent has power of attorney to make decisions in the event that I become incapacitated, then we're discussing a moot point, aren't we?"
"What if Mr. Steele becomes incapacitated before you do?" Same asshole.
"Well, we would have to cross that bridge when we get to it, wouldn't we?" I retort.
"So, this is the only reason Mr. Steele wants to adopt you… to be able to make decisions if you become incapacitated?" Yep, same asshole.
"No," Daddy interjects. "I want to adopt her because she asked me to. Because she's my daughter and always has been and I've loved her like my own since she was an infant. Because I should have done this decades—yes, decades ago, and you all wouldn't be standing on my stoop and killing my grass right now with these ridiculous questions!" Daddy's losing it. I squeeze his hand.
"Come on, Mr. Steele," the asshole says. "You want us to believe that you have no ulterior motive in suddenly wanting to adopt a billionaire stepdaughter with twin heirs to the Grey fortune?"
And that was the powder keg.
"Yes! That's exactly what I want you to believe!" Daddy retorts. "I've loved this child since she was in diapers. I loved this child when her mother didn't love me anymore—tried to take her away from me; tried to tell me she wasn't mine even though I helped raise her; gave her my name; took care of her; loved her like my own blood. I stood strong when friends tried to usurp my authority; when so-called family tried to tell me that I didn't count. When she lost her memory, she remembered who I was! She remembered that I was Daddy. That's who I am, and that's who I always will be! Now, maybe you've never known that kind of love which is why you're standing here in my neighborhood invading my private space trying to taint something real and true and for that, I feel sorry for you. But what I suggest you do is stop trying to create a scandal where there is none and go out and cut your teeth on some real news, little paper boy!"
And just like that, Daddy got his first sacrificial lamb.
"There's no need to be offensive, Mr. Steele," he says, trying to save face as the cameras are all turned on him now… and I don't even know his name.
"Did I stutter, Junior?" Daddy shoots. "You're looking to make a name for yourself. You need juice. There is none here. I'm adopting the daughter I've loved for more than twenty years. We're making it official like we should have done all those years ago. There's your story. Are you famous yet?"
Asshole reporter is still trying to get a word in and Daddy just laughs.
"You know, when I was active duty, when your commanding officer made an example you, you shut up. You just don't get it, do you, kid? How about this. My daughter has already told you that you're on private property, so now, you're trespassing. I'll kindly ask you to leave. If you don't, those gentlemen driving up behind you in the black SUV's will be more than happy to assist."
I hadn't noticed that while Daddy was handing the asshole his ass, more of GEH security were arriving on the scene… a whole lot more… like several SUV's full.
This could get ugly.
Suddenly, the crowd is silent and "Men In Black" exit the SUV's and await instructions… and the asshole suddenly has nothing else to say.
"Um… Ana, have you spoken to your mother at all?" someone in the front asks cautiously.
"No," I reply. "She has no say-so in this and we haven't contacted her concerning the matter."
"I have," someone in the middle of the crowd says, and all eyes turn to her.
"You have what?" I ask, afraid of the answer.
"I've spoken to your mother," she says. "She gave me a statement." I swallow hard. Do I want to hear this? "She says that Ray Steele has always been the father that you never had and that she's happy he's made the decision to adopt you."
I'm. Speechless.
"She. Did?" Daddy says, just as awestruck.
"Yes, she did. What do you say to that?"
"Um… I don't know," I respond. "Our relationship has been very strained and I haven't spoken to her in a while. I don't want to rehash anything in the press—you probably already know all the dirty details anyway, but I'm very surprised to hear that she's so… affable about the whole thing."
"Do you think you'll try to get in touch with her?" the reporter asks.
"I'd rather not discuss that at this time," I reply.
"I think that's enough," Daddy says, putting his arm protectively around me. "We've answered your questions about the adoption. There's nothing else to say. I will ask that you please disperse from my lawn now. Thank you." Daddy shuffles me back into the house in pure Christian Grey fashion while GEH security tends to clearing the press off the lawn.
"Daddy," I say, mocking surprise, "I didn't know you had it in you!"
"Neither did I," he says, walking around his kitchen island to Mandy, who's been occupying Harry and keeping his attention away from the reporters on the lawn. "I didn't think they were really that persistent. I always wondered why people let the press get to them until that crap with that Rossiter fucker…" Mandy glares at my father and covers Harry's ear.
"Sorry," Daddy says half-heartedly, "but then, this. What did he expect me to do, cower in a corner?"
"No, he was egging you, Daddy," I confirm. "He wanted to see you explode."
"Well, someone should tell these people that when you mess with a Marine, you're very likely to get full metal jacket. You won't get a story… you'll become the story." I chuckle.
"Apparently in press speak… or at least in press speak around here—it's called 'becoming the sacrificial lamb.' I've had plenty of them." Daddy laughs, too.
"I guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree," he says. We both laugh at the irony of that statement given the current situation.
So, we decided to get back to business as usual and even with the fleet of SUVs—and not the Fords—showing up at Ray's, there were no tickets issued to anyone on staff. I think it's safe to assume that the ticket brigade has been called off, but I won't send that fucker's dog back until I get proof that the tickets he already had issued have been expunged.
"So, you know the Facetime interviews with all of the broadcast journalists are tomorrow," Mac says. "I think we really want to get this done as quickly as possible with all the crap going on in your life right now. How's your mom?" I shrug.
"No new news yet," I tell her. "We're all just… waiting." She nods.
"The good news is that this story must have been totally squashed. Even Josh hasn't heard anything from his underground sources."
"Nothing is ever squashed in Greyville, and you know this, Mac," I tell her, still half-heartedly trying to decipher the Capito financials. "It just goes quietly into hibernation until somebody finds a reason to dig it up."
Dad returned to Grey Manor once he left the hospital on Sunday, effectively taking the wind out of the Grey "split" story, but with Mom in the hospital and that story originally being on the underground wire, it's only a matter of time before something gets leaked. I'm pondering the idea of releasing a statement of some kind—or having Dad do it—but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.
"The 'Facetime' meetings—how is that going to go?" I ask, changing the subject.
"The meetings start at 9am and each one has an hour to pitch their idea. You'll discuss over lunch and make a decision by the end of the day. The interview will take place this weekend, so get security, agendas, and locations together and we'll go over them together to make sure everything is as we want it. We'll need to have the employees at the gun range sign NDAs or the story will be out before the interview is aired. Lots and lots of balls in the air right now, so make sure that your lovely wife is here tomorrow morning to start the ball rolling."
"Not that I'm complaining, but why are we moving so quickly on this?"
"Um…" She begins counting on her fingers, "you just went public with a defamation lawsuit and a restraining order on the man who flashed raw cunt to your wife and attacked your father-in-law—who, of course, just made news this morning. Thanks for the warning."
"We didn't have time to pow-wow. Butterfly made a decision and we moved on it," I defend.
"It was a good decision," she admits, still looking at her iPad and notes. "The camera likes him and he held his own very well. Adult adoption… we better address that in detail. Even though Rossiter is quiet for now, I wouldn't expect for that storm to be over, either. Also, Mom's on the ward, Dad just moved back home, your sister's getting married in two weeks in an event that promises to rival Lady Di's funeral. Still don't see the urgent urgency?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Mac! You had to compare my sister's wedding to a funeral?" I protest vehemently. This is not the best analogy with my mother maybe/maybe not trying to kill herself this weekend.
"Have you ever watched Lady Di's funeral?" she asks, her voice a mix of awe and astonishment. "I mean, I realize that you were very young at the time and it was probably not on the top of your list of things to do, but it was quite the international media event and the Princess of Wales was very beautiful and very beloved. Elton John rewrote 'Candle in the Wind' and sang it at her service. Come on, Christian. It was pretty damn historic. Mia's wedding could be compared to worse things." I roll my eyes.
"It's been a pretty bad weekend," I point out. "Can we try to steer away from the morose?"
"Point taken," Mac says, "but it was still a big thing. Nonetheless, I get it. Anyway, we're going to want to get this interview recorded and in the editing room as soon as possible. I don't know when our program of choice is going to want to air it, but we don't want to end up shoved in some filler spot somewhere. That would be the worst."
I nod. She's right about that.
"Ideally, get your journalist of choice in town before week's end." She continues. "They get good, fast, raw footage. Not a lot to jerk around, and you get to dictate how they use it. They present you in the wrong light, you barbeque 'em." I sigh.
"Remind me again why I agreed to do this?" I ask.
"Because you need to present an image of you and your wife that no one has seen yet, one that indicates that you aren't just a businessman, that you're a family man, and that you're a fearless and formidable team that won't stand by and be targets anymore." I scrub my face with my hands.
"Oh, yeah, that," I say. "This is getting so out of hand, Mac. I'm starting to feel like…" I trail off. There are some things that she just doesn't need to know. "Never mind. We'll be here and ready at 9AM." She nods and stands.
"Good, because I've got a whole lot of people to see and NDA's to get signed." Just as she's walking out of the office, Jason and Alex are standing at the door awaiting permission to enter. I gesture them inside.
"You've got news for me?" I ask.
"I've got confirmation from my contacts at the court that the tickets have been expunged," Alex says. I look at Jason.
"The crusade has been called off. Your boy actually put an end to it Friday, hoping he'd get his pooch back over the weekend. Apparently, that broad of his is giving his absolute hell."
I laugh inwardly again that he called me in a fit—an utter fit—about that dog.
"The dog is in good health?" I ask.
"Oh, we've been treating the dog like a queen," Alex says. I nod.
"One more day," I reply. "Send the dog back tomorrow. Have it thoroughly groomed." Alex laughs.
"Of course," he replies.
Elliot is silent at dinner and barely touches his Chateaubriand. Butterfly describes how the mood is somber at Helping Hands with Mom not there and her only able to reveal that she's not well and currently on a brief leave of absence. Even with the ungodly way my mother has been acting, her staff knew that this was behavior totally out of character and that something was ghastly wrong. According to Butterfly, their concern for her was palpable and now, it's even more palpable at our dinner table with my brother barely able to eat, even at the gentle coaxing of his wife.
Mia and Ethan have joined us for dinner and are discussing the very real possibility of postponing the wedding if there are no answers to what's going on with Mom right now. Mia's in the process of revamping most of the arrangements for the ceremony anyway, so postponing the "performance" wouldn't be too far behind. According to Mia, there are some things that she has discovered was the idea and brain child or children of her outlandish wedding planner and she's having a hell of a time having these things cancelled without Mom's permission. This whole ordeal is eye-rolling insane!
Somewhere around 8:30, Dad enters the dining room and all chatter falls silent. He's been at the hospital with Mom and we desperately need an update. It's day two of the three-day hold and we want to know what's going on.
"It's not a tumor," he says immediately. I look over at Elliot and I think he's going to tip over into his plate. "They've run all the scans and put a rush on things, because it's Grace—and now, they're actually doing a barrage of other tests—because it's Grace. They've ruled out quite a few things, but now…" He trails off.
"Now what, Dad?" Mia asks.
"They're… they're looking at possible mental and physical issues… dementia, early onset Alzheimer's, chemical imbalances, depression, psychosis…"
"Oh, God," Elliot laments, and Valerie gently rubs his back. "That would explain a lot."
"Yes, it would," I breathe.
"Any of those things are treatable, you guys," Butterfly says softly. "At least we'll know now." Elliot nods.
"She's right," Dad says. "It's better than having her walking around here in a state of complete self-destruction and we have no idea what's going on or how to help her. This way, we'll know what's happening and what needs to be done to correct it. She continued intense therapy this afternoon. She'll be in intense therapy tomorrow as well. They'll get to the bottom of it."
There's a collective sigh of relief in the room. We'll know something soon. We'll know what's wrong with Mom and we'll be able to do something about it. That feeling of helplessness is finally leaving. I'll get my angel back…
"I wish I could say that I'm sorry, but I can't."
"Why not?"
"It's complicated, son."
"What's so complicated about it?"
"I just can't explain it to you. You wouldn't understand."
"Are you doing this on purpose, Mom? Are you trying to punish us?"
"Of course not."
"Then why?"
"You wouldn't understand, son. There's no way that you would understand."
"Just tell me. Make me understand. This doesn't make sense."
"I know it doesn't…"
"Mom? Mom…? Mom, where are you? Don't leave, Mom, we need answers. It's not fair to leave us like this…! Mom…?"
My wife's voice wakes me from my blissless slumber and I'm gripping the covers, sweating profusely with visions of my mother's face fading behind my eyelids. I hate that she's in that place and I hate that we don't have any answers to what's wrong with her. Is she crazy? Is she losing her mind? Is she just plain delusional? What the fuck is it? Did we drive her to this or was she already on her way? Will they know what's wrong with her after only 72 hours? A week? A fucking month? Goddammit!
I violently throw the covers off and get out of bed. I begin pacing the room as if the answer will come to me if I just walk around for a moment. I run my finger through my damp hair and try to recall what she said to me in my dream.
"It's complicated, son…"
"You wouldn't understand…"
"I wouldn't understand what?" I hiss.
"Christian, what is it?" Butterfly asks, her voice concerned.
"My mother," I say, scrubbing at my face. "She was… talking in riddles. She… can't tell me… she said I wouldn't understand." I look at Butterfly. "What wouldn't I understand?"
"I don't know…"
"She wouldn't apologize," I say, pacing again. "She said she couldn't. She didn't want to? She didn't know how? What the fuck?" This shit is frustrating me.
"It was a dream, Christian. You're going to drive yourself crazy trying to figure it out…" I'm already crazy. My mother's not well and I don't know what the hell is wrong with her, and I'm going on with my life like business as usual. If she doesn't come out of that place tomorrow… today… I swear to God…
"Christian, please…"
"I'm going downstairs," I say, going to my dressing room for a T-shirt. I can't tame my thoughts and I don't want to talk. I want answers. I want this dream to mean something, to be clear and concise and instead, it's feeding all of my unanswered questions from before—all the doubts I had when this shit first started.
What the hell is wrong with my mother?
Sunrise catches me still caressing my ebonies and ivories and no closer to deciphering the images that haunted me in my sleep. I like having my piano in my den. It affords me the privacy that I need when I feel the need to play; the privacy that I didn't have with the piano sitting out in the open at Escala, even though no one dared disturb me while I was playing… no one except Butterfly, that is. Now, I can barely get her to breach my solace when I escape to this corner of the world.
I know I can't stay here forever. We've got those damn Facetimes starting at nine at GEH, but my fingers begin to play a song that continues to haunt me as the sun bursts through the paned windows behind me. It's a soft melody and the words, I only slightly remember, speak of a departed matriarch and the love and wisdom she imparted upon her daughter. The song is inspirational and promises of a time where they will be together again in heaven in worship for eternity, and all I can think of is my angel and when I'll see her again and will she be whole and well—or will she be sick and feeble and maybe not even remember me or want to see me?
This is one of those rare occasions where my wife has invaded my solace, but I realize that she must. She's completely dressed with her hair in some amazingly coifed style that I won't even begin to try to imagine how it got that way without a professional stylist and I'm still in my pajama pants and a T-shirt, so I know it's coming on time for us to head to GEH for our Facetime interviews. I sigh heavily and look one last time at my fingers on the keys before closing the piano cover. Time to go on with my life like business as usual.
My wife clearly meant business when she got dressed this morning. She breezes into GEH like she rightfully owns the place in a red three-quarter length wool jacket and matching wool pants with a soft plaid shirt underneath. A black leather gloved hand grasps a large, red leather bag, and signature black Louboutins click across the marble floors toward the express elevators. She leads the charge of well-dressed, tall men in dark, tailor-made suits—myself included—causing a hush to fall over the lobby as our entourage proceeds across the lobby. She looks neither to her left or her right as she proves that she doesn't need to wear a men's suit to command attention, and her attitude is enough to make even the most confident women step aside as she glares from behind her signature Jackie-O's.
That's right, peasants. Yield to your Queen.
Total silence has fallen over the lobby as we wait for the express elevator—a deafening thirty seconds—and the ding of its arrival seems to echo all the way across the street. Jason and I share a knowing look as the elevator doors open and we all walk inside. The ride up to the executive floor is silent and Mac is standing there as soon as the doors open.
"You two really like to cut it close, don't you? Damn, Ana, you look hot!" Mac ushers us into the conference room quickly.
"What the fuck am I, chopped liver?" I hiss.
"You always look like that," she says. "Not that Ana doesn't always look hot, but she's looking particularly hot today," Mac clarifies. Ana smiles an accommodating smile as she removes her glasses and gloves. "Ana, you sit here. Christian, you here. Raynell is first…"
The interview starts moments later. The poor girl is stumbling over her words, can't organize her notes, and she is a total pushover. We're wondering the entire time how she comes off so flawlessly on the news shows if she can't even handle an impromptu interview that she knew was going to occur for at least a week. Butterfly is chewing her up and spitting her out for the entire discussion. My wife would be dominating her for the entire interview and that would completely bleed through on air. She's a "no" before Facetime is even over.
"Something wasn't right about that," Butterfly says before the next Facetime begins.
Danika and Maria are completely opposite of Ms. Stanton. Both are concise in their questioning—no beating around the bush, straight shooters. They take curveballs in stride and though their approaches are completely different, their rebuttals are crisp and ideas fresh and intuitive. We're leaning toward Maria because she's both our first choice and she can be in Washington faster as well as stay longer. Her schedule is more flexible, which is honestly what we need. However, both candidates could completely fit the bill.
Shortly after noon, Mac leaves us to enjoy a pre-ordered lunch in the conference room while we mull over our choices, which have obviously been narrowed down to two.
"What was the deal with Raynell?" Butterfly asks as she dips pita bread into hummus. "I saw an interview she did a few years ago with Simon Benford from Benford Electronics before the company went belly-up a few years ago. That woman could skate on face-up razor blades and not cut her feet. I don't get the stuttering, stammering, and stumbling today." I nod as I swallow a mouthful of falafel.
"I saw that interview, too, and I have to agree with you. She started out strong and then she went downhill after about five minutes."
"Do you think she might have suddenly fallen ill?" Butterfly asks. "Maybe we should have Vee give her a call and make sure she's okay… reschedule the interview."
"We don't really have time to reschedule the interview," I tell her. "Not if we're trying to get it out of the way. Think about it, she pretty much blew 55 minutes of open time. If she couldn't get it together after 55 minutes… can we afford for that to happen on air? Maybe she should just take care of herself and see what's going on. I'm with you on having Mac call her to see if she was ill or something, though." Butterfly nods as she feasts on hummus and pita bread, chasing it with a mouthful of cranberry spritzer.
"So," she says, once she has swallowed her food. "Maria or Danika? You know I like Maria, but Danika is giving her a real run for her money."
"I know…" I say. We spend the next hour and a half reviewing the benefits of both candidates and eventually have to compile a list of pros and cons for both to assist with the decision-making process. Finally, after agonizing more over who to let go than whom to choose, we summon Mac.
"So, what's the decision?" she asks when she enters the conference room.
"First things first," Butterfly says. "Raynell Stanton. I don't want to jump to conclusions. She could have been ill, in which case, I would be concerned about her and would like for you to call her and make sure that she's okay. However, the more I think about it and consider her behavior, I more and more get the feeling that she threw the fight. We just don't know why."
"You're right," Mac says. I frown.
"Excuse me?" I say.
"You're right. She threw it."
"Why the fuck did she waste our time, then?" I ask, perturbed. Mac rolls her eyes.
"Raynell lost interest very shortly into the interview. I picked up on it as you were discussing the direction for the platform, about ten minutes in. She was… unfocused, to put it mildly. I put a call in to her after you two broke for lunch to feel her out. It didn't take much. She was quite forthcoming."
"Really?" Butterfly says, somewhat affronted. "So, what's the deal?"
"A basic lack of interest," Mac says. "Brutal lack of interest is more like it. Her desire to not be a part of this project was so vehement that I couldn't even relay it properly after a few words. You have to hear it for yourself." She pulls out her phone and swipes the front. She touches something—or some things—on the screen and a conversation sparks up midstream.
"I was trying to save face for him," Raynell's disembodied voice says. "What makes him think anybody wants to sit through this same old song and dance again?"
"That's pretty pretentious of you," Mac's voice says. "No one has ever done an up-close and personal exposé with Christian Grey. Just because you're not interested in it doesn't mean there's not an audience."
"There's always hope, Ms. McIntyre," she says, her voice condescending. "Yes, there's some lonely, undersexed housewife somewhere—several, in fact—who will be glued to the screen to see the handsome, unattainable billionaire spout off about himself and his multi-million-dollar house and his multi-million-dollar life and his beautiful wife and his perfect children. What I was hoping for was an exploration of the brilliant entrepreneur and businessman who has built an empire on his back from a small loan and his own genius. I was eager for a glimpse into the thoughts and innerworkings of a mastermind who took the business world by storm and secured a coveted position at the top of the industrial and technological pecking order in a matter of just a few years. I was hoping for just a few moments with the savant, the guru, the expert who made the corporate world stop and take notice—come to a screeching halt and pay homage, in fact—to their newest leader, their newest sage.
"Instead, what I get is a narcissist who appears to be suffering from a Napoleon complex and wants to stand on top of a hill and shout for the whole world to see that he's the big man on campus and won't be pushed off the mountain. He wants to take the wife to the gun range and shoot off automatic weapons because some big bad asshole had the nerve to flash her a pussy. Granted, the guy was an asshole for that, but geez, Grey, Charlie Sheen beat you to epic celebrity meltdowns a few years ago, okay?"
"Ms. Stanton, that's really out of line and you're being quite assumptive about the conclusions you're drawing concerning the message that the Greys are trying to portray here. Haven't you seen how they've been depicted and even attacked in the press? Their good times and bad sprayed over the tabloids and picked apart indiscriminately? You don't think they have a right to defend themselves? To tell their side?"
"That's not what I said," Stanton defends.
"Isn't it?" Mac retorts. "You just pretty much tore this man down and compared his attempt to bare any of his personal and family life to Charlie Sheen's post rehab meltdown narcissistic rants about tiger blood, winning, and being a rock star from Mars. This man, and now his family, has been and continue to be harassed, mistreated, and dragged through the mud for nothing more than having money and—as you said—building a business on his back. Now, he comes to someone like you to present his story to the public as a father, husband, family man, and protector—and yes, that story may come with a bit of grit—and the best you can come back with is that he's a narcissist with a Napoleonic complex?"
The recording is silent for several moments.
"He got the right one in you, didn't he?" I hear Raynell's voice say. "I appreciate your fervor and your loyalty to your boss. I even appreciate his plight and all the shit he and his wife have to deal with. I'm not the one to tell his story, because it's not the story that I was expecting to tell. The grit that I was expecting involved how a brilliant businessman stays on top of his game; how he's always one step ahead of the competition; how he always knows which companies are ripe for the picking and which ones to leave on the chopping block. And Ms. McIntyre, I don't apologize for my opinions. I may do my best not to piss off the wrong people, I didn't get to be who I am by soft-shoeing around. If he wants to do that 'King of the Hill' interview, he's going to have to go with another journalist." She stops the recording.
"That's pretty much it," Mac says, placing her phone on the table between us.
"What made you think to record the conversation?" Butterfly asks.
"I record all my conversations," Mac says. "They're destroyed by day's end unless I need to keep them."
"Isn't that illegal?" Butterfly asks. Mac shrugs.
"Depends on the recording and how I use it," she replies before turning to me. "What do you want to do?"
"About what?" I ask.
"Her," Mac asks. "She was pretty brutal."
"She was pretty bitchy, but what can she do?" I ask. "She doesn't want the piece, so fuck her."
"That's it?" Mac says. I nod.
"This is a human-interest piece," I tell her. "This is a piece that presents me as a human being, not just a cold, staunch businessman. Yes, they will see parts of the businessman, because you can't see the whole of me without parts of that, but that's not all of me. The idea is to present me and my wife and my family as human beings, as a cohesive unit—to present the unbreakable bond between us as well as the unmovable force that we are when we work together. She's made it clear that's not the story that she wants.
"You can pick up any Fortune 500-type magazine of Wall Street Journal-type publication all over the world and see the Christian Grey that she's trying to interview. Everybody already knows him. You can probably hear his life story on NPR. College students study him in business classes and kids dress up as him on Career Day. Who needs that? Who's going to watch that interview—a bunch of stuffy businessmen? A class full of undergrads? Exactly who wants to hear to what do I owe my success? If that's the story that she considers cutting edge journalism, then she did us a favor and she was right to throw the interview.
"Do I want to retaliate for what she said? No. As long as she doesn't start spitting any venom at us or our journalist of choice before or after the interview airs, I'm fine. As long as she keeps her mouth shut and let us do our thing, I say let sleeping dogs lie." Mac nods.
"Very well," she says. "So, who's going to be doing the interview?"
"Maria Sanchez," I say. "It was a really hard decision. Both women are really very good, but in the end, Maria is the better choice." Mac nods again.
"I knew you would choose Maria," she says. "Now, I should probably tell you to go prepare yourselves to do the interview this weekend.
"This weekend??" Butterfly exclaims. "Like three days from now?" Mac nods.
"Did you not have that conversation with her that I had with you yesterday?" Mac scolds. "All the shit happening?" Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. I scrub my face.
"Mom's on the ward. Mia's wedding in two weeks. Too much shit happening all at once. We need to hurry up and get it out of the way while we can control what footage they get, and they can hurry up and get it on the cutting room floor."
"Goddammit!" Butterfly exclaims. "I was hoping to lose ten pounds…" My head snaps over to her.
"Forget it!" I hiss.
"What are you? A buck-o-five?" Mac observes.
"One-o-nine, one-ten, maybe," Butterfly laments.
"You don't need to lose any weight, Ana, for God's sake," she scolds.
"Well, I was always told that the camera adds ten pounds," Butterfly protests.
"And even if it does, you still don't need to lose any weight," Mac reinforces. "Women would kill to look like you not six months after giving birth… to twins, no less! Don't you start going on that whole 'body shaming' thing because you're going on camera, okay? You look like a goddamn fashion model today!" Mac looks down at her iPad dismissively as if to say this conversation is over, and effectively, it is.
"So," Mac says, rising out of her seat and still looking at her iPad, "I have a billion things to do to get ready for this interview. Be ready to host Maria as early as Friday and make no plans for the entire weekend. We know that you'll most likely be at the gun range one of those weekend days, but leave the planning to me and the PA's. Tell Marilyn and Andrea to be on call for the next five days and be prepared to work miracles because that's what's about to happen. Every connection they have will most likely be put to the test before this is over…" Butterfly is already on her phone, no doubt texting Marilyn.
"You'll see Andrea before I do—brief her on your way to the elevator." My phone buzzes as I finish my sentence.
"Good point," Mac says without raising her head. "Excuse me while I go and turn the state upside down—and get one broadcast journalist on a plane." As she leaves the conference room, I pull my phone out of my pocket and see a text from Jason.
**The package has been delivered. **
What package?
A/N: The song that Christian was playing was called "Thank You (Mom's Song)" by Susan G. Acheson.
Pictures of places, cars, fashion, etc., can be found at https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/raising-grey/
You can join my mailing list on the "Contact Me" page. Just click the link and it will lead you to a form to join the list.


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Another major exploit has been discovered in Apex Legends that immediately classifies under the category of "game-breaking."
This new exploit allows players to essentially remove the smoke effect from their own game coding and thus allowing them to see through smoke in-game as if it wasn't even there.
Smoke is, of course, an important aspect of the Bangalore's Tactical Ability 'Smoke Launcher,' which allows the Legend to fire grenades that release a plume of thick, gray smoke that cannot be seen through.
This smoke can be used both offensively and defensively, as players can take advantage of the visual cover to escape or change position, or they can shoot through the smoke if they have the rare Digital Threat optical sight on one of their weapons.
The scary part about this glitch is that it is very easy to activate; all players have to do is go into the Apex Legends game files in their computer and manipulate them so that the particle effect of the smoke gets disabled.
Once this is done, the next time the game is launched, smoke will no longer appear on the player's screen as the game's coding will no longer render the effect.
A demonstration of this exploit, a long with the step-by-step process of how to activate it, can be seen in the video below, courtesy of former Overwatch pro player Mendokusaii.
It's important to note that Mendo's purpose in publishing this video is not to teach players how to take advantage of this exploit, but rather to raise awareness so that Respawn Entertainment will work to remove it from the game.
In his video, Mendo explains how these types of commands that are input into the game files are usually "cheat protected," meaning they can't be used when playing online, but it appears that Respawn may have overlooked this specific one.
He does point out that the glitch has one drawback, which is that it also removes bullet trails from the game, so players can no longer effectively tell from which direction they're getting shot at.
The presence of this exploit is certainly alarming, and it joins the list of other game-breaking glitches in Apex Legends, such as the one that allows knocked players to continue using their weapons.
Until Respawn fixes these issues, and work harder at filtering out cheaters, the integrity of the game will continue to be compromised, and a solid and successful esports scene will remain out of the question.


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Degree Programs Offered
Within the Department of Modern Languages and Classics, students can study Spanish at the graduate level several ways:
MA in Romance Languages
- Spanish option
- Literature track
- Applied linguistics track
- Romance languages option (French and Spanish combined)
PhD in Romance Languages
- Spanish Option
- Romance languages option (French and Spanish combined)
- Linguistics option (French or Spanish in combination with linguistics)
Admission and Degree Requirements
Master of Arts in Romance Languages
Doctor of Philosophy in Romance Languages
Master of Arts Comprehensive Exam Formats for Spanish
Program Director, Advising
Spanish Program Director
Dr. Alicia Cipria
B.B. Comer, office 225
Tel: 205-348-8483
Fax: 205-348-2042
Graduate Adviser of Spanish Literature
Dr. Iñaki Rodeño
B.B. Comer, office 209
Tel: 205-348-5059
Fax: 205-348-2042
Graduate Adviser of Spanish Linguistics
Dr. Erin O'Rourke
B.B. Comer, office 219
Tel: 205-348-6048
Fax: 205-348-2042
firstname.lastname@example.com : On Sabbatical Spring 2020. Prospective graduate program applicants – Please direct inquiries to Alan Smith email@example.com; Current students – please contact Dr. Alicia Cipira email@example.com
Spanish Linguistics academic advising begins two weeks prior to registration for the following semester.


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In School Yoga's Wellness Program is a 9 week program specifically designed for years 8-12. We are focused on bringing health and well-being into our school system here in Western Australia - giving these valuable tools to as many students as possible.
For more details on our programs, please contact us.
Anxiety and stress are becoming so common in students and in school yoga programs are teaching them to cope and giving them strategies to get past the anxiety. In School Yoga's mission is to provide teenagers with practical tools they can use in their everyday life, helping them to manage stress, combat emotional situations, and maintain a general sense of balance and wellbeing.
In addition to our 9 week Wellness Program, we also offer the following yoga, meditation, and mindfulness workshops for both students and teachers. These workshops give you a taste of what our Wellness Program offers.
On Development Days, we come to you to indulge you in an hour of meditative yoga practice. A well-deserved re-boot for your hard working teachers and a great way to educate them on mindfulness practices which they can use in their daily lives as well as in the classroom.
Our Wellness Program is designed to achieve results. However, a camp experience or workshop is a fun, positive and great way to educate students and teachers about mindfulness.
A visit to your primary school introducing yoga, mindfulness and meditation through creative play!
Our founder, head teacher and director, Courtney Hahipene, has been teaching and working with teenagers since she was one herself. Her combined teaching history of yoga and dance goes beyond 16 years experience. After achieving success as a top 20 contestant on Australia's "So You Think You Can Dance", opportunities opened up for her to work not only as a performer and a teacher but as a role model for youth all over Australia.
Courtney's character is warm, compassionate, inspiring and effervescent. She lifts the spirit of all those around her.
Courtney is a registered teacher with Yoga Australia.
Kendall Walter has a natural affinity with kids and teenagers. Her warm, compassionate nature always presents itself in her classes, leaving students feeling cared for and supported. A qualified Counsellor, and moving on to study Psychology, Kendall brings knowledge and a passion to the table when it comes to supporting our youth and young lives in Perth, Western Australia.
Kendall's journey through Yoga and Meditation has given her more empathy towards herself and others.
Embracing who you are helps to embrace everyone and everything around you.
Chelsea Joy is a free spirited Californian. After moving here to Australia to complete her masters degree, she quickly realised her passion for sharing yoga and energetic healing and felt the need to share with others these amazing wellness modalities.
Chelsea is intuitive, creative, sensitive and devoted to her students.
Passionate about cultivating a safe place for her students to connect to themselves, she is a beautiful guide and has a warm compassionate nature to her teachings.
Teaching from the heart, Karen loves to combine creative sequencing, yogic philosophy and some humour into her classes. After all, yoga is fun too! Trained in the ISHTA lineage of yoga (Integrated Science of Hatha Tantra and Ayurveda), a class with Karen will leave you feeling peaceful, balanced, nourished and content regardless of how you arrived on the mat.
Karen acknowledges the amazing teachers who have helped her on her yoga journey and continues to learn every single day recognising that she is now an eternal student of yoga.
Thank you so much for the session yesterday. I have not previously had the pleasure of attending one of your sessions but wow, you were fantastic. Not just as an experienced and professional practitioner but so very good with engaging the students. The feedback from them was extremely positive - they really enjoyed it and got a lot from it.
Rachel - Teacher at Perth Modern School, WA
Respect to you for the amazing work that you do! You have a beautiful radiant demeanor that instantly makes us feel at ease and that we are 'allowed' to relax. Thank you.
Sally - Perth, WA
I have a cultural background with yoga as I am Indian and practice regularly however never have I felt as inspired, motivated, strong and fulfilled as much as I have in your lessons. The classes help me with everything that I do, they are my favourite part of the week! You are an inspiration and have instilled a passion and love for yoga. Thank you!
Pooja - Subiaco, WA
Thank you so much for your Yoga lessons! They are the best lessons I have ever had. I am so grateful for your time and the opportunity to do these classes! We love you and will miss you!
Sangitha - Subiaco, WA
Doing the yoga outside was amazing. I have never thought about the breath and the focus that goes into it to make it more then 'poses'. I feel less tight and knotted up. My body hurts less on days I do this. Thank you.
Mia - Perth Modern School, WA
The yoga practice during our school day feels necessary. I feel that your guidance and love has brought positivity, joy and appreciation into my days. Thank you.
Student - Perth Modern School, WA
Yoga really helps in calming us down after stressing over school and expectations. The pace of your sessions are relaxing and I think more people should join in the yoga club next semester! Thank you very much.
Student - Perth Modern School, WA
The yoga sessions are extremely calming, a welcomed break from school. Your lovely encouraging personality makes the session extremely comfortable for everyone to come together and practice. Thanks.
Sarah - Perth Modern School, WA