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It's hardly a secret that the Chantilly girls' lacrosse team has struggled in title games over the past few years. In five district, region or state final appearances during the past two seasons, coach Michele Gates' team has come up empty-handed and heartbroken every time.
But on Sunday evening for this year's Virginia AAA state final at Westfield High School, the Chargers made sure that history didn't repeat itself, and it didn't take long for them to do it.
Chantilly (21-2) sprinted out to a 7-0 lead and never looked back, claiming its first-ever state title with a 13-4 drubbing of Robinson. The win avenged late-game letdowns against the Rams in this year's Concorde District and Northern Region finals.
"Those five games just all came together into one, and we said that this has to happen," said senior midfielder Brittney Griel, who led the Chargers with five goals and an assist. "We didn't really think about the five championships, but in the back of our heads that was always something that's been pushing us."
"All the other ones don't matter now," said Gates.
In the past two years, Chantilly has been a regular season dynamo, winning every one of its games during that time period. However, the postseason has been unkind to the Chargers. Though they typically tore through tournaments, that final step tended to cause a few problems, as evidenced by three big-game losses to Robinson and two to Oakton in 2008 and 2009 combined.
IT TOOK senior attack Erin Robertson only 45 seconds to take a feed from Griel and convert from the right side of Robinson goalkeeper Kelsey Zinck. Twenty seconds later, Robertson scored again, this time on a free-position shot.
Then Griel went to work. After scoring once at 21:23, Griel whipped a left-handed bullet past Zinck, prompting a Robinson timeout.
"I think Chantilly really wanted this game, and I think that they made some adjustments to us and were able to capitalize on some really good opportunities," said Robinson coach Alison Neun, whose squad wrapped up its year at 17-4.
Chantilly didn't quit there. Katie Stillwell, who had eight goals and two assists during her team's 14-9 state semifinal win over Loudoun Valley, scored next. Stillwell's only goal of the game was followed by a hookup between Jessica Dennis and Liz Dunwoody (goal, assist) to give the Chargers a 6-0 advantage.
Griel would score her third of the game, this time at 14:26, before Robinson's Courtney Coleman (two goals) finally put the Rams on the board with 12:27 left in the first half. But Robinson's uptick in momentum would be short-lived. Chantilly continued to control draw after draw, while Lisa Comerford and Kylie Chaplin (two goals) each scored before halftime for a 9-1 Chargers' advantage.
In the second, Griel tallied twice more and Dunwoody scored, pushing the outcome out of reach. Of course Griel, who had a painfully close front seat during Chantilly's late-game meltdowns earlier this season, wasn't entirely convinced it was time to relax.
"I did not let up until that buzzer went off," she said. "We've been up on Robinson by seven, and they've come back. They've been up seven, and we've come back. They're a great team and not until that last minute or so was it realistic that we were gonna win."
Scoring Summary:
24:15 (1) -- C: Robertson from Griel (Chantilly, 1-0)
22:55 (1) -- C: Robertson (Chantilly, 2-0)
21:23 (1) -- C: Griel (Chantilly, 3-0)
20:19 (1) -- C: Griel (Chantilly, 4-0)
19:33 (1) -- C: Stillwell (Chantilly, 5-0)
16:15 (1) -- C: Dennis from Dunwoody (Chantilly, 6-0)
14:26 (1) -- C: Griel (Chantilly, 7-0)
12:27 (1) -- R: Coleman (Chantilly, 7-1)
8:24 (1) -- C: Chaplin (Chantilly, 8-1)
2:13 (1) -- C: Comerford (Chantilly, 9-1)
24:22 (2) -- C: Griel (Chantilly, 10-1)
13:22 (2) -- C: Dunwoody (Chantilly, 11-1)
9:00 (2) -- C: Griel (Chantilly, 12-1)
7:45 (2) -- R: Barron (Chantilly, 12-2)
6:22 (2) -- C: Chaplin (Chantilly, 13-2)
3:13 (2) -- R: Coleman (Chantilly, 13-3)
:29.7 (2) -- R: McHugh (Chantilly, 13-4)


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TF - KIDZY v1.5 - Responsive Kindergarten & Preschool WordPress Theme - 16912314
Kidzy is beautiful and feature rich theme for kindergarten or elementary school sites using WordPress. Kidzy features an adorable menu design with dynamic colors and looks great on every device. It can adapt to any screen size. There is Visual Composer drag-and-drop page builder in the theme package with three homepage variations which can present your institution exactly as you desire. The theme comes with Slider Revolution plugin and 3 built-in slider variations as well.

subset: commoncrawl


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Arles (Arelate) was the first Roman town to be built in Gaul after the 49 BC defeat of Pompey's forces at Marseille (Massilia) by Caesar during the Civil War. Caesar had also constructed his fleet there. A colony for veterans of the Sixth Legion was founded in 46 BC as Colonia Julia Paterna Arelate Sextanorum by Tiberius Claudius Nero, father of the future Emperor Tiberius. Continue reading Athena Review : Sites and Museums in Roman Gaul: Arles
Tag: Story
Queen Hatshepsut's Temple Deir El Bahri
By the banks of the Nile, across the river from Thebes, a three-tiered temple was found beneath hundreds of tons of sand tens of centuries after its construction. The temple is a reflection of the mortuary temple of Mentuhotep II, and was constructed alongside that eleventh-dynasty structure. However, the temple of Hatshepsut is far larger than that of Mentuhotep. The architect was Senmut, Hatshepsut's lover and a member of her court with more than 20 titles. Senmut designed the temple Continue reading Queen Hatshepsut's Temple Deir El Bahri
Hatshepsut Poetry : Speak to Me
These poems are taken from Hatshepsut, Speak to Me by Ruth Whitman [Wayne SU Press, Detroit: 1992]
When I was six
my father Thutmose the First
lifted me up to sit beside him
on his throne of Amen. Continue reading Hatshepsut Poetry : Speak to Me
Hatshepsut was born in the 18th Dynasty. This Dynasty is also referred too as the New Kingdom. Continue reading Hatshepsut
Life of Hatshepsut (1479-1457BC)
Hatshepsut (1479 – 1457 BC)
Queen Hatshepsut (left) was the first great woman in recorded history: the forerunner of such figures as Cleopatra, Catherine the Great and Elizabeth I. Continue reading Life of Hatshepsut (1479-1457BC)
The Story of Queen Hatshepsut
Born in the 15th century BC, Hatshepsut, daughter of Tuthmose I and Aahmes, both of royal lineage, was the favorite of their three children. When her two brothers died, she was in the unique position to gain the throne upon the death of her father. To have a female pharaoh was unprecedented, and probably most definitely unheard of as well. When Tuthmose I passed away, his son by the commoner Moutnofrit, Tuthmose II, technically ascended the throne. For the few years of his reign, however, Hatshepsut seems to have held the reins. From markings on his mummy, archaeologists believe Tuthmose II had a skin disease, and he died after ruling only three or four years. Hatshepsut, his half sister and wife, had produced no offspring with him (her daughter Nefrure was most likely the daughter of her lover Senmut), although he had sired a son through the commoner Isis. This son, Tuthmose III, was in line for the throne, but due to his age Hatshepsut was allowed to reign as queen dowager. Continue reading The Story of Queen Hatshepsut


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| 14.5°C Belfast
Australia flanker Michael Hooper has been cited for alleged foul play during the Wallabies' 33-13 victory over England at Twickenham on Saturday.
World Rugby announced that Hooper has been reported by independent citing commissioner Steve Hinds for allegedly "charging into a ruck or maul without use of the arms or grasping the player".
Hooper will now face a disciplinary hearing in London on Tuesday.
The incident happened just before half-time when Hooper challenged England full-back Mike Brown.
Australia's win dumped England out of the World Cup, and Hooper played a pivotal role in setting up a Pool A decider against Wales at Twickenham next Saturday.
Alongside David Pocock and Scott Fardy, Hooper is part of arguably the tournament's most effective back row, but his participation against Wales - and possibly beyond that - could now be in doubt.
Sanctions for charging range from a two-week ban at the lower end of the scale, through to five weeks if it is classed as mid-range, or 10 weeks and above if viewed as a top-end offence.
In a statement, World Rugby said: "Michael Hooper has been cited by independent citing commissioner Steve Hinds (New Zealand) for an alleged act of foul play contrary to law 10.4 (h) (charging into a ruck or maul without use of the arms or grasping the player) during the 39th minute of the Rugby World Cup 2015 Pool A match between England and Australia on Saturday, October 3.
"The hearing will take place at 1000 on Tuesday, October 6 at the offices of RWC official law firm Clifford Chance in London. The case will be heard by independent judicial officer Alan Hudson (Canada)."


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Episode 3: Stevan BloemaFirst aired: Friday, 13 November 2015 at 18.00 hours
This week in Soundcheck. Douwe Kool visits the new Dutch singing talent Stevan Bloema. Also this week, special video clips and we're curious to find out the 'golden oldie' of this week.
Stevan Bloema is as a little boy grew up with Dutch and German music. At the age of 15 Stevan lost a loved one, which suffered from a serious illness. This touched him very much, and then organized a benefit concert for the KWF Cancer Society with various Dutch artists. Because of the many positive reactions Stevan keep on singing and began writing his own songs. Meanwhile, he has released three singles and tackle a record deal.
In this episode Douwe visits Stevan and started talking about his new music career. Stevan has evening in the Café RadioNL a gig in Zwolle.
Website: http://stevanbloema.nl/
Facebook: Stevan Bloema
Twitter: @stevan_bloema


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The Prest-in is a polymer insert designed for use with the Mini Swivel and Focus to provide a flexible friction interface between the swivel and a connector. This minimises any unplanned movement and so optimises the configuration.
An overview of the features and benefits of the DMM configuration aids.


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PIC program description
General descriptionSchematic description
This small project is intended to add the flashing lights to an "analog" powered train. This circuit is battery powered and does not need electric contact to the tracks. Other important feature is the magnetic switch (reed bulb) for circuit on/off: thanks to this component the user does not fit in the model the on/off switch and has only to modify the model for flashing leds positioning. The very compact dimensions allows the user to fit the circuit in a Z, N or HO scale model.
This circuit is a perfect replacement for old LM3909 based led flashers with the improved capability to asynchronously flash the two leds.
The schematic is very simple and completely based on the PIC 12F629 microcontroller. This microcontroller has an internal 4MHz oscillator and is packaged in SOIC 8 pin for very compact realizations. The microcontroller is held in low power mode (sleep) until a interrupt from an external pin occurs. The closure of the reed bulb switch force the interrupt and is useful also for circuit switch off when the usage is ended. The two leds are connected via 470 ohm resistor for very low consumption; if the user needs more current for the leds, the resistor value can be consequently decreased.
With the shown components the sleep current is near to 0 (down 1uA) and the mean working current is about 100uA, for about 200 hours of usage.
The PIC program is very simple and is based on a main loop that flashes the two leds using a random generated seed.
When the PIC wakes up (for a switch of the reed bulb when the user move near to the bulb a magnet) the microcontroller counts the time for what the user activate the switch. This time is used for random number generation and in order to change the two led relative phase. During this period one of two leds is switched on (at 50% brightness) and remains in this state until the user activate the reed bulb.
After this initialization the two leds flashes asynchronously with a 1s period. The end of flashing can occur for two reasons: a) Timeout if the circuit flashes for 1 hour or if the user re-activate the reed bulb for at least 1 second.
The shut down procedure switch on (at 50% brightness) one led and go in sleep mode when the user deactivate the reed bulb (moving the magnet away) shutting off the two leds and the CPU.
All the parameters are specified in constant section for user tuning and easy modifying.
Building notes
The first components that should be solded are the 0603 resistor for their heights and dimensions. Then the user should sold the medium battery holder, then the lateral holder for the second battery. The final component is the PIC and the reed bulb (in lateral or vertical position). The last components are the wires for leds connection. After the complete mounting the user can put the batteries in the holders.
Polarized component orientation : The battery holders must be oriented with the opening to the PCB edge (!), the PIC 1 pin is near to the first led anode connector. The two leds have the anode in the upper and mid pad of the J4 connector and the two cathods are shorted together in the bottom pad (see the assembly).
Model Trains >


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Locally and internationally acclaimed as among the top Female artists in Africa. Vanessa has been bagging awards since her first single back in 2013. Her awards are not just limited to her music but also for her fashion, style and most importantly philanthropic nature.
Here is a toast to appreciation for awards nominated and won by Vee Money
Tanzania Music Awards
All Africa Music Awards
Tanzania People's Choice Awards
MTV Africa Music Awards
African Music Magazine
The Future Awards Africa
Abryanz Styla eand Fashion Award
Africa Entertainment Awards
KORA Awards
Nigeria Entertainment Awards
To vote for Vanessa for AFRIMA awrds click HERE


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Who knows why 34-year-old Gerry Todd Greenwood allegedly deemed it a good idea to get plastered last Friday morning? Maybe it was the spring air we've been enjoying. Maybe Thursday night never ended for the Jasper man. Or perhaps he just woke up that morning and fell victim to the seductive sentiments of this Internet meme:
At any rate, Greenwood apparently decided that the little matter of his being snot-slingin' drunk was not going to stop him from ticking all the boxes on his Friday to-do list. Unfortunately for him, one of those appointments was a meeting with his probation officer.
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According to this report, Jasper cops were summoned to the Jasper County Probation Office at 1 p.m. last Friday after receiving a report of a drunk probationer. There they found Greenwood and administered him some sobriety tests, which he failed. He then submitted to a breathalyzer and blew a number somewhere in the vicinity of twice the legal limit, a level of intoxication known technically to scientists as "shithoused."
Greenwood was initially detained but let go after authorities couldn't find a judge to arraign him -- with it being Friday afternoon, they were probably all out on the links nipping golf-bag Scotch by then. Finally Greenwood was cited for public intoxication and released, with more trouble expected this week. As with very many probationers, Greenwood was barred from booze.
The cause of Greenwood's term of probation was not given, but we turned up evidence that it just might have been for a DWI, if you can believe that.


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When the militia and the Army came with orders to kill my guests, I took them into my office, treated them like friends, offered them beer and cognac, and then persuaded them to neglect their task that day. And when they came back, I poured more drinks and kept telling them they should leave in peace once again. It went on like this for seventy-six days. I was not particularly eloquent in these conversations. They were no different from the words I would have used in saner times to order a shipment of pillowcases, for example, or tell the shuttle van driver to pick up a guest at the airport. I still donít understand why those men in the militias didnít just put a bullet in my head and execute every last person in the rooms upstairs but they didnít. None of the refugees in my hotel were killed. Nobody was beaten. Nobody was taken away and made to disappear. People were being hacked to death with machetes all over Rwanda, but that five-story building became a refuge for anyone who could make it to our doors. The hotel could offer only an illusion of safety, but for whatever reason, the illusion prevailed and I survived to tell the story, along with those I sheltered. There was nothing particularly heroic about it. My only pride in the matter is that I stayed at my post and continued to do my job as manager when all other aspects of decent life vanished. I kept the Hotel Mille Collines open, even as the nation descended into chaos and eight hundred thousand people were butchered by their friends, neighbors, and countrymen.
It happened because of racial hatred. Most of the people hiding in my hotel were Tutsis, descendants of what had once been the ruling class of Rwanda. The people who wanted to kill them were mostly Hutus, who were traditionally farmers. The usual stereotype is that Tutsis are tall and thin with delicate noses, and Hutus are short and stocky with wider noses, but most people in Rwanda fit neither description. This divide is mostly artificial, a leftover from history, but people take it very seriously, and the two groups have been living uneasily alongside each other for more than five hundred years.
You might say the divide also lives inside me. I am the son of a Hutu farmer and his Tutsi wife. My family cared not the least bit about this when I was growing up, but since bloodlines are passed through the father in Rwanda, I am technically a Hutu. I married a Tutsi woman, whom I love with a fierce passion, and we had a child of mixed descent together. This type of blended family is typical in Rwanda, even with our long history of racial prejudice. Very often we canít tell each other apart just by looking at one another. But the difference between Hutu and Tutsi means everything in Rwanda. In the late spring and early summer of 1994 it meant the difference between life and death.
Between April 6, when the plane of President Juvenal Habyarimana was shot down with a missile, and July 4, when the Tutsi rebel army captured the capital of Kigali, approximately eight hundred thousand Rwandans were slaughtered. This is a number that cannot be grasped with the rational mind. It is like tryingóall at onceóto understand that the earth is surrounded by billions of balls of gas just like our sun across a vast blackness. You cannot understand the magnitude. Just try! Eight hundred thousand lives snuffed out in one hundred days. Thatís eight thousand lives a day. More than five lives per minute. Each one of those lives was like a little world in itself. Some person who laughed and cried and ate and thought and felt and hurt just like any other person, just like you and me. A motherís child, every one irreplaceable.
And the way they died...I canít bear to think about it for long. Many went slowly from slash wounds, watching their own blood gather in pools in the dirt, perhaps looking at their own severed limbs, oftentimes with the screams of their parents or their children or their husbands in their ears. Their bodies were cast aside like garbage, left to rot in the sun, shoveled into mass graves with bulldozers when it was all over. It was not the largest genocide in the history of the world, but it was the fastest and most efficient.
At the end, the best you can say is that my hotel saved about four hoursí worth of people. Take four hours away from one hundred days and you have an idea of just how little I was able to accomplish against the grand design.
What did I have to work with? I had a five-story building. I had a cooler full of drinks. I had a small stack of cash in the safe. And I had a working telephone and I had my tongue. It wasnít much. Anybody with a gun or a machete could have taken these things away from me quite easily. My disappearanceóand that of my familyówould have barely been noticed in the torrents of blood coursing through Rwanda in those months. Our bodies would have joined the thousands in the east-running rivers floating toward Lake Victoria, their skins turning white with water rot.
I wonder today what exactly it was that allowed me to stop the killing clock for four hours.
There were a few things in my favor, but they do not explain everything. I was a Hutu because my father was Hutu, and this gave me a certain amount of protection against immediate execution. But it was not only Tutsis who were slaughtered in the genocide; it was also the thousands of moderate Hutus who were suspected of sympathizing with or even helping the Tutsi ìcockroaches.î I was certainly one of these cockroach-lovers. Under the standards of mad extremism at work then I was a prime candidate for a beheading.
Another surface advantage: I had control of a luxury hotel, which was one of the few places during the genocide that had the image of being protected by soldiers. But the important word in that sentence is image. In the opening days of the slaughter, the United Nations had left four unarmed soldiers staying at the hotel as guests. This was a symbolic gesture. I was also able to bargain for the service of five Kigali policemen. But I knew these men were like a wall of tissue paper standing between us and a flash flood.
I remembered all too well what had happened at a place called Official Technical School in a suburb called Kicukiro, where nearly two thousand terrified refugees had gathered because there was a small detachment of United Nations soldiers staying there. The refugees thoughtóand I donít blame themóthat the blue helmets of the UN would save them from the mobs and their machetes. But after all the foreign nationals at the school were put onto airplanes safely, the Belgians themselves left the country, leaving behind a huge crowd of refugees begging for protection, even begging to be shot in the head so they wouldnít have to face the machetes. The killing and dismemberment started just minutes later. It would have been better if the soldiers had never been there to offer the illusion of safety. Even the vaguest rumor of rescue had been fatal to those on the wrong side of the racial divide. They had clustered in one spot and made it easy for their executioners to find them. And I knew my hotel could become an abattoir just like that school.
Yet another of my advantages was a very strange one. I knew many of the architects of the genocide and had been friendly with them. It was, in a way, part of my job. I was the general manager of a hotel called the Diplomates, but I was eventually asked to take charge of a sister property, the nearby Hotel Mille Collines, where most of the events described in this book took place. The Mille Collines was theplace in Kigali where the power classes of Rwanda came to meet Western businessmen and dignitaries. Before the killing started I had shared drinks with most of these men, served them complimentary plates of lobster, lit their cigarettes. I knew the names of their wives and their children. I had stored up a large bank of favors. I cashed them all inóand then borrowed heavilyóduring the genocide. My preexisting friendship with General Augustin Bizimungu in particular helped save the Mille Collines from being raided many times over. But alliances always shift, particularly in the chaos of war, and I knew my supply of liquor and favors would run dry in some crucial quarters. Before the hundred days were over a squad of soldiers was dispatched to kill me. I survived only after a desperate half hour during which I called in even more favors.
All these things helped me during the genocide. But they donít explain everything.
ï ï ï
Let me tell you what I think was the most important thing of all.
I will never forget walking out of my house the first day of the killings. There were people in the streets who I had known for seven years, neighbors of mine who had come over to our place for our regular Sunday cookouts. These people were wearing military uniforms that had been handed out by the militia. They were holding machetes and were trying to get inside the houses of those they knew to be Tutsi, those who had Tutsi relatives, or those who refused to go along with the murders.
There was one man in particular whom I will call Peter, though that is not his real name. He was a truck driver, about thirty years old, with a young wife. The best word I can use to describe him is an American word: cool. Peter was just a cool guy; so nice to children, very gentle, kind of a kidder, but never mean with his humor. I saw him that morning wearing a military uniform and holding a machete dripping in blood. Watching this happen in my own neighborhood was like looking up at a blue summer sky and seeing it suddenly turning to purple. The entire world had gone mad around me.
What had caused this to happen? Very simple: words.
The parents of these people had been told over and over again that they were uglier and stupider than the Tutsis. They were told they would never be as physically attractive or as capable of running the affairs of the country. It was a poisonous stream of rhetoric designed to reinforce the power of the elite. When the Hutus came to power they spoke evil words of their own, fanning the old resentments, exciting the hysterical dark places in the heart.
The words put out by radio station announcers were a major cause of the violence. There were explicit exhortations for ordinary citizens to break into the homes of their neighbors and kill them where they stood. Those commands that werenít direct were phrased in code language that everybody understood: ìCut the tall trees. Clean your neighborhood. Do your duty.î The names and addresses of targets were read over the air. If a person was able to run away his position and direction of travel were broadcast and the crowd followed the chase over the radio like a sports event.
The avalanche of words celebrating racial supremacy and encouraging people to do their duty created an alternate reality in Rwanda for those three months. It was an atmosphere where the insane was made to seem normal and disagreement with the mob was fatal.
Rwanda was a failure on so many levels. It started as a failure of the European colonists who exploited trivial differences for the sake of a divide-and-rule strategy. It was the failure of Africa to get beyond its ethnic divisions and form true coalition governments. It was a failure of Western democracies to step in and avert the catastrophe when abundant evidence was available. It was a failure of the United States for not calling a genocide by its right name. It was the failure of the United Nations to live up to its commitments as a peacemaking body.
All of these come down to a failure of words. And this is what I want to tell you: Words are the most effective weapons of death in manís arsenal. But they can also be powerful tools of life. They may be the only ones.
Today I am convinced that the only thing that saved those 1,268 people in my hotel was words. Not the liquor, not money, not the UN. Just ordinary words directed against the darkness. They are so important. I used words in many ways during the genocideóto plead, intimidate, coax, cajole, and negotiate. I was slippery and evasive when I needed to be. I acted friendly toward despicable people. I put cartons of champagne into their car trunks. I flattered them shamelessly. I said whatever I thought it would take to keep the people in my hotel from being killed. I had no cause to advance, no ideology to promote beyond that one simple goal. Those words were my connection to a saner world, to life as it ought to be lived.
I am not a politician or a poet. I built my career on words that are plain and ordinary and concerned with everyday details. I am nothing more or less than a hotel manager, trained to negotiate contracts and charged to give shelter to those who need it. My job did not change in the genocide, even though I was thrust into a sea of fire. I only spoke the words that seemed normal and sane to me. I did what I believed to be the ordinary things that an ordinary man would do. I said no to outrageous actions the way I thought that anybody would, and it still mystifies me that so many others could say yes.
I WAS BORNon the side of a steep hill in the summer of 1954. My father was a farmer, my mother his helper. Our house was made of mud and sticks. We were about a mile away from the nearest village. The first world I can remember was green and bright, full of cooking fires and sisters murmuring and drying sorghum and corn leaves in the wind and the warm arms of my mother.
Our house had three rooms. There were small windows with pieces of hinged wood to keep out the sun and rain. The house was built on an incline of terraced farms, but the small yard outside was flat. My mother kept it swept clean of seedpods and leaves with a homemade broom made out of bundled twigs. When I grew old enough she would let me help her. I still remember the happiness I felt on the day when she trusted me to do it by myself.
From the courtyard you could look south across the winding Ruvayaga Valley to the opposite hill. It seemed an awesome distance, like looking into another country. The hill was laced, as ours was, with houses made out of mud and stucco and baked red tiles, dots of cattle grazing, the groves of avocado plants, and the paddlewide leaves of the banana trees that practically sparkled in the sun. On a perfect day you could lie in the grass near our home and see people at work in the fields on the next hill. They looked like ants. Every now and then somebodyís machete would catch the angle of the sun and youíd see the winking of metal across the valley. And far, far in the distance you could make out the clustered roofs of the village called Gitwe, where my parents told me I would one day learn how to read and write, which neither of them could do.
We spoke the beautiful language of Kinyarwanda, in which I first learned the names of the worldís many things in rich deep vowels made in the back of the mouth. Bird, inyoni. Mud, urwoondo. Stones, amabuye. Milk, amata.
To enter our house through the front door you had to step up on a stoop made of gray rocks. It couldnít have been more than two feet off the courtyard, but it seemed like a towering height. I used to climb in on my hands and knees. To the side of the door was a flat stone used for sharpening machetes. There was a shallow depression in the middle where rainwater would collect. After a storm I would splash my hands around in the cool water, putting it on my face and letting it dribble down my cheeks. It was the best part of the rain. When those storms came in September the lightning and thunder scared me. My three younger brothers and I would sometimes huddle together during the worst ones. And then we would laugh at each other for our cowardice. Thunder, inkuba.
My parents raised nine children altogether, and I was an island in timeís river, separated by six years from my older sister and five years from my younger brother. I got a lot of attention from my mother as a result, and trailed her around the house hoping she would reward me with a chore. The firmament of our relationship was work; we expressed love to one another in the thousands of little daily actions that kept a rural African family together. She showed me how to take care of the baby goats and cows, and how to grind cassava into flour. Even when I came back to visit my parents when I was grown it would be only minutes before I would find myself holding an empty jerrican and going to fetch well water for my mother.
There was a narrow path from the main road that twisted up the side of the ridge and passed through groves of banana trees. I had learned how to walk on this path. It was our connection with a small village called Nkomero, which occupies the top of one of the hundreds of thousands of hills in Rwanda. The nickname for my country is ìthe land of thousands of hills,î or le pays des mille collines, but this signifies a gross undercount. There are at least half a million hills, maybe more. If geography creates culture, then the Rwandan mind is shaped like solid green waves. We are the children of the hills, the grassy slopes, the valley roads, the spider patterns of rivers, and the millions of rivulets and crevasses and buckles of earth that ripple across this part of Central Africa like the lines on the tired face of an elder. If you ironed Rwanda flat, goes the joke, it would be ten times as big. In this country we donít talk about coming from a particular village, but a particular hill. We had to learn the hard way how to arrange our plots of corn and cabbage into flat terraces on the sloping ground so as not to turn a farm into an avalanche. Every inch of arable land is used this way. The daily walk up to a family grove can be an exercise in calf-straining misery going up, and in thigh-wracking caution going down. I think our legs must be the most muscular on the African continent.
There is a story about the conqueror of Mexico, Hern·n CortÈs, who was asked by the king of Spain to describe the topography of the rugged new nation. CortÈs reached for the map on the table and crumpled it up into a ball. ìThat,î he said, ìis what Mexico looks like.î He could just as easily have been talking about Rwanda. If you didnít grow up here you would be likely to get very, very lost among those seductive hills and valleys.
Our family had rows of sorghum and bananas planted on the slopes of two hills, which made us solidly middle class by the standards of rural Africa in the 1950s. We would have been considered quite poor, of course, when viewed through the lens of a European nation, but it was all we knew and there was always plenty to eat. We worked hard and I grew up without shoes. But we laughed a lot. And I knew there was love in my family before I knew the word for it.
I think the greatest hero in my life was my father, Thomas Rupfure. He was already an old man, well into his sixties, when I was a child, and he seemed impossibly tall and strong. I could not comprehend that I could one day be his age, or that he was once mine. I assumed he had always been old.
I never once heard him raise his voice. He didnít need to. He always spoke without apology or flourish and with a calm self-possession. If he and my mother ever fought I never knew it. On special days he would fold my hand into his and take me up the winding path to the top of the hill, and then down the rutted road that led to the village, where we would go to buy sweet potatoes or bags of corn. We walked past the houses of our neighbors, and he would greet each one with a gentle nod. Anyone who engaged my father in conversation was likely in for a long story. He loved to talk in proverbs. It was the way he understood the world and his favorite way of dispensing wisdom. Hereís an example: Somebody might tell him a story about being taxed at too high a rate by the mayor, and he would start talking about a lamb and a dog drinking out of the same river. The dog accused the lamb of dirtying his water, but the lamb pointed out that that was impossible, since the dog was upstream. The dog then said that the lamb must have dirtied the water yesterday, and the lamb pointed out that that was also impossible, because he had not been in the meadows yesterday. Then it must have been your brother!, said the dog, and he proceeded to devour the lamb. The moral of the story was that any excuse will serve a tyrant. I would have cause to remember that tale much later in life.
There was not much to our village of Nkomero, then or today. There is a commune house, which is synonymous with town hall. There is a small Roman Catholic church. There are a few stores that sell bags of sugar, salt, and soft drinks. There is a tavern where men lounge and drink the potent beer made from bananas. A car or a truck coming through was a big event. Behind the wheel, very often, was a white manóa European missionary or a doctor. Muzungu!the children would call, a word that means ìwhite man,î and they would say it with relish. It was not meant as an insulting word, just a descriptive one, and the white people would smile back at us. We were always hoping for a toss of candy or a ballpoint pen, which would sometimes come and sometimes not.
The road wound past the church and the tavern and on along the ridgetop through a grove of eucalyptus trees on the other side of the Ruvayaga Valley, tracing a long horseshoe shape all the way to the next village, Gitwe. I would walk these two miles literally thousands of times while growing up, so many times that I could practically do it blindfolded, knowing where the road turned just by counting the number of steps I had taken. It was an important symbol in my life, this rutted track that connected my home with my school. It was where I first understood that in order to make progress as a man you had to take a journey. There was only so much you could learn at home before you had to get out in the world and prove what you could do.
It was my father who first took me down this road to the school at Gitwe when I was eight years old, and I still remember him handing me off to the assistant principal and saying good-bye. I suppose it should have been a troubling moment for meóit was the first time I was leaving my parentsí careóbut I was eager to begin the adventure of learning. My father had told me over and over again: ìIf you are willing to do it, you will be successful.î I was experiencing a privilege he had never had and I know now that he was sending a little piece of himself with me that day.
Perhaps it had something to do with growing up with such a large family, but I found that I could get on well with the new kids in my school. We played soccer, of course, and racing games to see who could run the fastest. Another game was a variation of capture the flag in which the idea was to venture inside enemy territory and grab one of their sticks without being caught.
One strange game I remember in particular was called igihango, which is a word loosely translated in English as ìtrust.î There were no clearly defined rules to this game, and Iím not sure you could even call it a game in the classic sense of the word. The idea was that you made a secret agreement to be friends with a particular kid, only you werenít supposed to tell anybody else about it. Other kids tried to make you confess your igihangosby holding you down and tickling you or poking you in the ribs or whatever other kind of boyish sadism they could dream up. I was always very good about keeping my igihangoconfidences to myself, at least verbally, but I think I always exposed them when I ran to save one or another of my secret allies from being interrogated. I probably should have been more subtle.
When I went home from school in the evenings I would help my mother cook supper. My brothers and I used hoes to carve out brick-shaped pieces of dirt and we built a kind of domed oven out of them. We stuffed a bunch of sweet potatoes inside and then lit a small fire underneath them. They came out charred and delicious. Every oven was used only once. We kicked it back into the ground, so as to bury the ashes, and then built a new one the next night.
Our suppers always came with small tastes of a bitter and delicious beer made out of the juice of bananas. Let me tell you about this drink, which we call urwagwa. Visitors to Rwanda always complain that it tastes like spoiled buttermilk, but I think it is tasty. It plays a central role in Rwandan social life, and is also an important symbol of the good-heartedness and collegiality that I think represents the best side of my country. There is a saying: ìYou never invite a man without a beer.î It is the symbol of hospitality, a way of saying without words, ìYou are my friend and I can relax in your presence.î
Brewing banana beer is like the art of friendship: simple and very complicated at once. First you dig a pit in the earth. Because Rwanda is just a few miles below the equator, the ground temperature is always warm. It acts like a very slow, gentle oven for the fermentation. You take a bunch of ripe bananas, as many as you want, and bury them about four feet deep. You make a lid for the pit out of the broad leaves of the banana tree. Come back in three days and dig them up. They should be very overripe. You transfer the mushy fruit to a basin made out of a hollowed tree trunk and then press down on them using handfuls of tough grass as your gloves. You drain out the juice into a clay pot, strain out the chunks, mix it with sorghum flour as a fermenting agent, let it sit for about a month, and then you have your banana beer.
It is a simple recipe, but it takes years of practice to get it right. You have to feel your way around and make mistakes. This is normal. We have all tasted bad beer. Sometimes the banana juice comes out too light and you have to put it over a fire to reduce the quantity. Sometimes the juice comes out too potent and you have to add water. Almost every house in Rwanda has a yellow plastic jug of banana beer tucked somewhere on the premises. It is like a mailbox in America or a teapot in England; everyone has to have one.
The beer is not really the important part; it is the friendship that it cements. Everywhere in my country you see people talking and laughing over bottles of banana beer. It most often happens at what we call cabarets, which are an indispensable part of life in rural Africa. They are like a bar and a convenience store combined, sometimes made of nothing but a few planks of wood. You see them on the sides of roads, in the suburbs, and even in the smallest little villages. Here you can buy canned goods, soap, soft drinks, batteries, toys, and all kinds of other things. The most important part of the cabaretis the front, where the owner has set out chairs, benches, and maybe even an old, ratty couch. This is where the local people, no matter what their station in life, will come together for a round of banana beer, often sipped through the same red straw. It is very hard to hate someone with whom you have shared a beer. There is too much laughter and good feeling between you. Even people who might be predisposed to be enemies will come together over a beer.
Perhaps this simple act taps into something in our national memory. Banana beer is known as ìthe drink of reconciliation.î It plays an important role in our traditional local court system, known in the Kinyarwandan language as gacaca, or as it is loosely translated, ìjustice on the grass.î If somebody had a problem with a neighbor he would not seek revenge. He instead brought it to the attention of a group of men who we called elders. They were not elected in the classical sense of ballots, but they were put in a position of leadership by a kind of unspoken common assent. To be an elder you had to have a reputation for fairness and sober judgment, something that would only become apparent over time. It was apparent in the way you lived your life. Hard-liners and loudmouths did not get to be elders.
The elders would invite the village to come sit under the shade of a tree and hear the opposing sides tell their stories. Almost all of the disputes concerned property. A stolen goat, for instance, or somebody trying to grow crops on a hill that belonged to another family. More serious casesó such as those involving violenceówere always referred to the courts, but village elders were given wide latitude to help solve local problems.
After the two enemies had finished speaking, the elders would give their opinions, one by one, on what should be done to remedy the problem. It usually involved compensation. A typical punishment for a stolen goat would be to repay the man a goatóand then give him another as a fine. Somebody bringing a charge thought to be false would be ordered to pay the man he had slandered. Confession was always the key. The village put a high value on the act of admitting culpability, even if you were the one bringing the case. It was viewed as a necessary step in the process of absolution. A man who lied before the entire village knew that he would have to wear that lie for years to come. There was an enormous incentive to come clean, and very little penalty was meted out for being honest with the public, and with yourself.
Then came the most important part of justice on the grass: The two aggrieved men were required to share a gourd of banana beer as a sign of renewed friendship. There were usually no lasting scars because it was hard to stay angry at someone who had humbled himself before you. The adversarial system of justice practiced in the West often fails to satisfy us, I am convinced, because it does not offer warring parties the opportunity to be human with each other at the end. Whether you were the victim or the aggressor you had to strip yourself of pride and recognize the basic humanity of the fellow with whom you were now sharing a banana beer. There was public shame in this system, true, but also a display of mutual respect that closed the circle. Everyone who showed up to hear the case was invited to sip the banana beer too, as a symbol of the accused manís reconciliation with the entire people. It was like a secular communion. The lasting message for all that gathered there was that solutions could always be found insideóinside communities and inside people.
I am proud to say that my father was a respected voice in these sessions. He was usually the elder who spoke last, and his words therefore carried a great deal of weight. One case in particular stands out in my memory. The dispute was fairly typicalóone man had planted a crop on a piece of ground that another family had claimed. A gacaca was called and the usual grievances were aired. Even a child like me could see that this was a case of a small misunderstanding that had blossomed into a full-scale war of pride. When two people dig in their heels against one another like that it takes quite a bit of mutual humbling for things to be put right again.
For whatever reason my usually imperturbable father was a bit out of patience that day. Perhaps the silliness of the case or the small-mindedness of the people concerned had finally gotten to him. When it came his turn to talk he stood up and motioned for the two warring neighbors to join him. They all walked out, with me trailing quietly behind, to the place on that particular hill where the disputed crop was planted. My father, in addition to being an elder, was also respected as a man who had a memory for land claims that went back generations. He saw at once that the crop had indeed spilled over onto the neighborís land, but also that the majority of the field was where it should have been. There was no clear villain or victim.
ìListen, you two,î he said, motioning with the blade of his hand. ìThisis where the line is. Respect it from now on, and respect each other as well. I donít want to hear about this again.î
This was a vivid lesson for me.
My father spoke with the same kind of gravitas each January, on New Yearís Day, when relatives from all over Rwanda were invited to a feast at our home on the hill. This is probably the most important day in the entire Rwandan calendar, even bigger than Christmas. Most people here identify themselves as Roman Catholic or Protestant, but we tend to emphasize New Yearís Day as the time for extended families to come together and give each other presents and wish one another bonne annÈe. It is also a holiday to reflect on the events of the past and oneís hopes for the future, a fulcrum balanced on the tip of time. The meal served is always a belly buster. We would slaughter a bull for a feast of beef, and there were side dishes of beans and corn and peas and bananas, and, of course, banana beer.
After the meal was over my father would call me and my brothers and sisters to sit around him. He would give us all a verbal report card on our progress throughout the year of becoming good men and women. ìYou need to work harder in the fields,î he would say to one. ìYou are doing well in school, but you must show more respect to your older brothers,î he might say to another. As a good helper to my mother, and a quiet kid in general, my assessment was usually a kind one. Some parents might disagree with this discussion of a childís failures and accomplishments before the entire family, and I would agree that in the wrong hands it can be hurtful. But my father showed us the same compassion on these occasions as he showed in justice on the grass. His aim was never to embarrass us but to encourage us to do the right thing. Looking back on it I can say that I grew up knowing where the lines of good behavior were drawn.
My father had a favorite saying: ìWhoever does not talk to his father never knows what his grandfather said.î He was trying to express the linear quality of wisdom. His morality was not something that he made up on his own; it had been given to him by his own father and his grandfather before that, a mixture of Hutus and Tutsis stretching back hundreds of years to the time out of memory when our people had migrated to this hilly triangle between lakes. My fatherís sense of justice and kindness did not know ethnicity.
He often told us stories to make his thoughts clear, and one of my favorites was about the Rwandan concept of hospitality. We are a nation that loves to take people into our homes. I suppose our values are very much like the Bedouin of the Middle East, for whom sheltering and defending strangers is not just a nice thing to do but a spiritual imperative. Rwanda never had a hotel until the European colonists arrived. We never needed one, because a traveler between towns could count on having a network of peopleófriends of family, family of friendsówith whom he could stay. We do this reflexively. Here is the story my father told me to illustrate the point:
A party of hunters was chasing a wounded lion through the valley. The lion tried to take shelter in a manís house and the man decided to admit the lion, even though he was putting himself at great risk. The lion recovered from his wounds and was set free. And so if a man can keep a fierce lion under his roof, why can he not shelter a fellow human being?
Rwandans are expected to offer shelter to the distressed, no matter what the circumstances. I took this lesson as gospel, and I grew up believing that everybody felt this way.


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I should be working on my script. I know what I want to write, and I have written some of it, but I am not now writing. Why? I'll tell you.
I am actively depressed. This is not the passively sitting still and watching the world go by kind of depressed–oh no. This is the 'who the fuck cares and why the fuck do I try?' kind of depressed. I have been feeling a general malaise over the past few days (most likely because of my birthday. I am about as birthday-neutral as I can be, but apparently, it still makes me slightly depressed), and it just hit me full force.
What the fuck? I went grocery shopping at my favorite co-op (Fresh & Natural in Shoreview), had lunch with Natasha at a great Thai Restaurant, Sen Yai Sen Lek, went to the library with her and got some books, then walked around a golf course with her. We had a good lunch and a good time. I got home, and then I started sliding into the depression. I had fun on Facebook for a bit and my various political blogs, and then I started writing my script.
For some reason, though, I just don't want to write. I know what I want to write (it includes Alan Rickman, Jacqueline Kim, and handcuffs), but I can't seem to force myself to do it. Part of the problem is that I'm a fast worker, so I can put things off until almost the deadline and then finish it in one fell swoop. This got me through college, by the way, and it really is a handy trick.
However, it also allows the vague dissatisfaction that I've been experiencing to explode into full-blown depression. Then, it's as if a thick blanket of gloom wraps itself around me and duct tapes itself shut. Then, I just want to crawl into bed, pull the covers up to my nose, and never get aout again. Then, I can't stand the slightest bit of light because it's so heavy on my eyes and my heart. Then, the darkness that I try to keep contain starts spreading throughout my body.
Natasha and I talked about the voices in my head. There are many, telling me so many things, I get confused. You know how you're supposed to go with your gut? Well, I don't know which voice is my gut, which is The Dictator, which is my id, and which is, well, someone else. Natasha said I needed someone to come in and clean office–get rid of some of the jobs. I countered that I needed a personal assistant who can keep track of my time and who can ruthlessly guard my door.
Her solution is to eradicate the voices. Mine is to manage them. Part of that is because I don't know what would happen to my creativity if I totally wiped out the voices. It seems that much of the stuff I write comes to me as a gift, so I have no idea if I would stop receiving said gift if I were to lose all the voices in my head. I'm not sure that's a risk I am willing to take.
I was depressed from the time I was eight until…maybe a year ago. I mean constantly depressed. Well, mostly. Chronic depression with sporadic reprieves. People rarely knew, though, because I am quite adept at hiding it from the world at large. For almost thirty years, my life was gray. Now, I like gray as a color, but not when it's the palette of my life. My life needs to be blacks and reds and silvers–with blues, greens, and oranges thrown into the mix. Ok, yellow and brown, too, and white can tag along.
There is always a niggling fear in the back of my head that I will return to gray. The unending continuity of…emptiness. The feeling that I am a straw person with nothing inside. A sham. A walking corpse. I used to believe that I had to earn the right to live (which tied in with my hatred of my birthday). I no longer think this is true, but I can't quite shake the lingering ramifications.
What is the fucking point? That's what it comes back to for me, time and time again. What is the fucking point of anything I do, or of life itself? In the end, I cannot think of a satisfying answer. We all die in the end. The world will keep spinning or not. The presence or absence of one person–does it really make a difference? In theory, each individual life is worthwhile. In reality, I'm hard-pressed to believe this is true.


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Xamarin Evolve 2013 Talk Video - How C# Saved My Marriage
In case you haven't heard, Xamarin is a fabulous company with amazing products and their Evolve 2013 conference was absolutely smashing.
I was fortunate enough to speak at Xamarin Evolve 2013 in Austin last month, just after lunch one day. I wanted everyone to understand how excited I am about what they're doing, how Azure and Visual Studio appreciates them and how great it is to be a C# developer right now. So, I did a fun little talk called "How C# Saved my Marriage, Enhanced my Career and Made Me an Inch Taller."
The general story of my talk is that, like VISA, C# is everywhere I want to be. I can create apps now on iOS (iPad, iPhone), Android (Phones and Tablets), Mac desktop apps, Windows Phone, Windows (all flavors), and Windows 8 Store apps. You can use Xamarin Studio, of course, but even better, Xamarin integrates with Visual Studio wonderfully. You can literally write iPhone apps in C# from within Visual Studio and compile them using a networked Mac as a build server. It's amazing.
I teamed up with Greg Shackles and we ported the Pan Tilt Zoom client (I already have Web and Windows Desktop versions) to iOS and Android!
Then Dominique Louis from MonoGame helped me port Daniel Plaisted's "Disentanglement" application to Android and iOS. Now it runs on Windows 8, iOs and Android.
We announced better NuGet support for Mono, took a SignalR pull request for iOS support and more. It was great fun.
Here's a screenshot I took in the middle of the talk. I used Lync and the Xamarin-powered iPhone version of our Pan-Tilt-Zoom app using SignalR to call back to the Seattle Office. Then I turned the camera around so I could see myself watching myself watching me watching the keynote.
It's a great time to be developing with C# and .NET. I hope you also join me at the MonkeySpace conference (formerly Monospace) in Chicago in July. I'll be presenting, teaming up with a friend who is launching an amazing soon-to-not-be-so-secret .NET related product that will take C# to even more places!
Big thanks to our Sponsor this week. It's Redgate! Check out Deployment Manager – app deployment without the stress. Deploy .NET code & SQL Server databases in one simple process from a web-based UI. Works with local, remote and cloud servers. Try it free.
About Scott
Scott Hanselman is a former professor, former Chief Architect in finance, now speaker, consultant, father, diabetic, and Microsoft employee. He is a failed stand-up comic, a cornrower, and a book author.
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QAS News
See what's happening in the big wide world
While global warming continues unabated, a team from Liverpool University has come up with a polymer which absorbs CO2 and could be used in smokestacks to prevent CO2 from power plants getting into the atmosphere.
And not a windturbine in sight. A growing number of seaside towns in Northern Europe are sucking seawater into a network of pipes and heating their houses with it. Of course it works better in summer than in winter.
The Quality Assurance Standard is the new way to think about carbon offsetting. Launched in July this year with eight offset providers, airlines and IATA, the QAS fills the gap left by the UK Government's Quality Assurance Scheme, retaining its rigorous independent audit, but changed for the times to include VERs such as Gold Standard and VCS and recalibrated for a global audience.


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BPM Improves OMB's Acquisition Processes in Federal IT Restructuring
Part Three of a Four-Part Series (see Part Two)
The White House wants to make some substantive changes to the way the federal IT acquisition process works. Beyond creating a specialized group of IT acquisition professionals, it's looking to identify IT acquisition best practices and adopt them across the government.
The goal is so important that the OMB has integrated it into its recently announced 25-point plan for restructuring federal IT, in what OMB calls "aligning the acquisition process with the technology cycle."
Fortunately for OMB, this goal has come many steps closer to being met with the application of BPM at the Defense Acquisition University (DAU). DAU is the Department of Defense's corporate university for acquisition education, providing continuing education for over 126,000 military and civilian acquisition personnel. As the government's expert on procurement and acquisition, DAU is using BPM to run its own operations.
The first application DAU found for business process management was micro-purchase management, creating a system to reduce processing time, eliminate repetitive data entry, and create reports on data and statistics about requisition training trends. Ultimately, DAU's vision is to use BPM as its central business system, migrating into a larger procurement application.
If one of the OMB's plans for restructuring federal IT is to identify IT acquisitions best practices and adopt them government-wide, it can hardly do better than to start with DAU. After all, the university's job is to teach best practices. DAU is using BPM now to understand and optimize its own practices. What DAU learns will become, by default, industry best practices, or at least critical factors in understanding those practices.
In the final installment of our series, we'll look at OMB's notion of governance and accountability, and the role of BPM in meeting that goal in the restructuring of federal IT.


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This session is suitable for anyone, with or without prior experience of meditation and Reiki. It is a great way to be introduced to Reiki. It is an invitation to connect with your inner world.
A heart chakra attunement will be given so that you will be able to experience the Reiki flow through your hands. We will then do a meditation with self-Reiki healing. After the session, you will have several weeks to experience the Reiki flow and feel for yourself how healing it is.
Facilitator: Joanne Thia, Reiki Master Teacher
Check out more details and other dates:


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The Complete South Pacific
From the underwater glory of the Great Barrier Reef to the towering peak of Mt. Cook - this is the South Pacific. Board the Skyrail Rainforest Cableway for a ride over the rainforest canopy. Toast Uluru (Ayers Rock) at sunset with champagne. Visit Phillip Island, home to the world's largest colony of Little Penguins. Spend 3 nights on the island of Tasmania and see the Tasmanian Devil Conservation Center. Tour the famous Sydney Opera House. Marvel at Milford Sound. Overnight in Mt. Cook National Park under the shadow of New Zealand's tallest mountain. Spend 2 nights in Rotorua, a geothermal wonderland. Embrace Aboriginal and Maori traditions as you discover the intrinsic beauty of Australia and New Zealand.
Call (636) 978-5510 for more information or to book today! Mention code 15106321
- Tour Operator
- Collette
- Offer
- Offer valid through 12/31/2020
- Duration
- 25 Days
|Day 1 and Day 2
|Depart from Home: Cross the International Dateline as you begin a comprehensive adventure through Australia and New Zealand.
|Day 3
|Cairns, Australia - Tour Begins: Your tour opens in Cairns, the tropical gateway to one of the world's most spectacular natural attractions - the Great Barrier Reef (UNESCO). Established as a marine park in 1975, the reef is a haven for thousands of species of sea life, as well as turtles and birds.
|Day 4
|Cairns: Rise high on the Skyrail Rainforest Cableway for an unforgettable ride over the rainforest canopy. Embrace the opportunity to explore the forest floor up close with access to specially designed boardwalks. Your evening is at leisure to enjoy your tropical surroundings.
|Day 5
|Cairns - Great Barrier Reef - Cairns: Board a catamaran and sail to the Low Isles to explore the fascinating underwater world of the Great Barrier Reef. Choose how you want to spend your day in paradise by making your time as educational or as laid back as you like. Perhaps you will relax and independently explore the pristine shores of this tiny island located on the outer reef. Maybe you are a bit more adventurous and choose to snorkel, revealing a wealth of vibrant sea life. Or you may opt to join an expert for a walk along the beach and heritage trail. You also have the opportunity to meet with a marine biologist during an informative presentation.
|Day 6
|Cairns - Uluru (Ayers Rock): Fly to Uluru (the Aboriginal name for Ayers Rock) in the heart of the Australian Outback. Tour the sandstone domes known as Kata Tjuta and the beautiful area surrounding the base of 'The Rock.' Later, witness a stunning sunset over a glass of champagne as the Rock's hues change dramatically with the setting sun.
|Day 7
|Uluru - Alice Springs: Hop over the 'Red Centre' on a short flight to Alice Springs. Immerse yourself in Aboriginal culture with a memorable bush dinner, set against the unique environment of the Outback desert.
|Day 8
|Alice Springs
|Alice Springs: Access the history and culture of the Aboriginal people during a "Dreamtime Tour.' A specialist guide shares Aboriginal creation stories and explains everyday life, even providing a taste of the native cuisine. Your glimpse into the culture continues with a tour of the area. Visit the School of the Air to find out more about how the Australian educational system serves students living in remote areas of the Outback. Learn how people once communicated in the remote Outback at the Old Telegraph Station, dating back to the 1800s.
|Day 9
|Alice Springs
|Alice Springs - Melbourne: Transfer to the Alice Springs airport for your flight to the beautiful Victorian city of Melbourne.
|Day 10
|Melbourne: Set out on a city tour and see Fitzroy Gardens and bustling 'laneways' of Melbourne. There is time at leisure to explore the city independently. Later, arrive at Phillip Island to see koalas in their natural setting during a stop at a koala conservation center. Continue to the renowned nature reserve and home of the world's largest colony of Little Penguins. Protected and studied by rangers, hundreds of them waddle out of the sea and cross the beach to their burrows in the dunes. At the interpretation center, you have a chance to learn about the lives of the Little Penguins and their significance to the region.
|Day 11
|Melbourne - Hobart: A flight to Hobart, Tasmania brings you to Australia's second oldest city. The rugged and pristine beauty of Tasmania provides the backdrop to your 3-night stay.
|Day 12
|Hobart: Visit the Tasmanian Devil Conservation Center and learn about this unique marsupial, its fight for survival, and the efforts in place to save it from extinction. Later, take a guided tour of the Port Arthur Historic Site, the best-preserved example of Australia's original penal colonies and home to stabilized ruins and restored buildings dating back to 1833. En route, witness the spectacular coastal rock formations known as Tasman Arch, Devil's Kitchen and the Blow Hole.
|Day 13
|Hobart: Enjoy a free day to explore Tasmania's capital city. Indulge in the city's up-and-coming cafe culture, meander along the lively harbour, or just take some time to relax.
|Day 14
|Hobart - Sydney: Return to mainland Australia today and arrive in the bustling city of Sydney. This evening, its Diner's Choice: choose from a variety of local restaurants along bustling Darling Harbour.
|Day 15
|Sydney: See where the original English colonists first settled in 1788 during a city tour of Sydney. Highlights of your tour include Kings Cross, the Harbour Bridge, Chinatown, the Rocks, Circular Quay, the Botanic Gardens and the fashionable suburb of Darlinghurst. Discover one of the world's most fascinating architectural sights as you take a guided tour of the Sydney Opera House, poised majestically on Sydney Harbour. Then you're in for a unique experience as you learn firsthand about opals during a special presentation at the National Opal Collection. In the evening, you may go on an optional excursion which includes dinner and a once-in-a-lifetime performance at the famous Sydney Opera House.*
|Day 16
|Sydney: Enjoy a day at leisure. Marvel at the scenic vistas of the harbour showcasing Sydney's magnificent skyline, the iconic Sydney Opera House and the Harbour Bridge.
|Day 17
|Sydney - Queenstown, New Zealand: Fly to one of the world's best-kept secrets - New Zealand! Arrive in gorgeous Queenstown. Enjoy dinner overlooking Lake Wakatipu and the Remarkable Mountains.
|Day 18
|Queenstown - Milford Sound - Queenstown: En route to Milford Sound, enjoy the rugged grandeur of the Hollyford Valley as you travel through a beech forest via the Homer Tunnel. During a cruise of the breathtakingly beautiful Milford Sound, you'll see why this fjord is one of the most visited sights on the South Island. With rock faces that rise nearly 4,000 feet on either side, the scenery will take your breath away. Following your cruise, you return to Queenstown. You may choose to return via a short optional flight (weather permitting) for spectacular views of New Zealand's Southern Alps.
|Day 19
|Queenstown: A free day in Queenstown offers limitless diversions set amidst breathtaking Alpine scenery. Shop in the charming village center or enjoy an optional and exhilarating jet boat ride on the Shotover River. Or, perhaps you will join an optional tour through the charming Queenstown countryside, which showcases the filming locations of many blockbuster movies.
|Day 20
|Queenstown - Arrowtown - Mt. Cook National Park: Set out for the beautiful turn-of-the-century gold rush settlement of Arrowtown. Take time to explore independently and stroll its quaint, historic streets. Next, follow the Kawarau River and cross Lindis Pass before arriving in New Zealand's most famous national park, Mt. Cook. Revel in the Alpine paradise of Mt. Cook - a larger-than-life experience. You may choose to take a nature walk, enjoy an optional glacier flightseeing tour (weather permitting) or simply meditate on the beauty of the Southern Alps.
|Day 21
|Mount Cook
|Mt. Cook National Park - Christchurch: Travel to the historic city of Christchurch, the 'Garden City'. Enjoy some free time to explore. Perhaps you'll stroll the city's magnificent gardens or learn about its more recent history at the Quake City exhibition. This evening, join a local Kiwi family for a home hosted dinner.
|Day 22
|Christchurch - Picton - Wellington: On your journey to Picton, admire the coastal views, scenic river valleys and vineyards. From there, sail across Cook Strait to experience what has been called 'the most beautiful ferry ride in the world.' Your final destination is Wellington, New Zealand's capital city.
|Day 23
|Wellington: Come to know Wellington on a tour viewing the Beehive, New Zealand's Parliament; historic St. Paul's Church; and the Old Government Building - the largest wooden building in the Southern Hemisphere. Later you will have the opportunity to explore the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongawera, a fascinating center dedicated to art, history and the Maori culture.
|Day 24
|Wellington - Rotorua: Drive to Rotorua with its dramatic geothermal landscape. Over one-third of its population boasts Maori roots making it known as the Maori capital of New Zealand.
|Day 25
|Rotorua: Discover Te Puia - New Zealand's premier Maori cultural and geothermal experience. Witness how the Maori keep their culture alive by teaching the tribal youth traditional carving and weaving. Enjoy the chance to see the Kiwi bird and learn about the preservation efforts to remove this iconic creature from the endangered species list. At the Agrodome, see a sheep shearing demonstration and learn about the importance of agriculture to the nation. Meet the skilled carvers who work with pounamu, New Zealand greenstone, at a jade factory.
|Day 26
|Rotorua - Auckland: Travel through the majestic countryside of the North Island, arriving in New Zealand's largest city, Auckland, "The City of Sails." A panoramic city tour features the America's Cup Village, the War Memorial, vibrant Queen Street, the Auckland Harbour Bridge, and spectacular views from the harbourside. Tonight, join your fellow travelers for a farewell dinner where you will toast the end of a fabulous trip!
|Day 27
|Auckland - Tour Ends: Your tour comes to a close in Auckland.
- Dates/Pricing
- Lodging
- Melbourne Hotel Melbourne, Australia
- Heritage Queenstown Hotel Queenstown, New Zealand
- The Hermitage Mount Cook, New Zealand
- Doubletree by Hilton Alice Springs Alice Springs, Australia
- Rydges Auckland Auckland, New Zealand
- Desert Gardens Ayers Rock, Australia
- Novotel Wellington Wellington, New Zealand
- Novotel Christchurch Cathedral Square Christchurch, New Zealand
- Hadley's Orient Hotel Hobart, Australia
- Millennium Hotel Rotorua Rotorua, New Zealand
- Flynn Crystalbrook Collection Hotel Cairns, Australia
- West Hotel Sydney Sydney, Australia
- Disclaimer
- * NOTE:Tour prices are land only rates based on per person, double occupancy. Some dates may feature various changes in hotels, sightseeing and inclusions. Please confirm your specific itinerary at the time of booking. Government taxes and fees are additional. Land rates are guaranteed at time of deposit. Certain taxes and fees are to be paid upon exiting the country in local currencies.
Airfare is additional and is available through Collette Vacations.


text: The Harley-Davidson experience starts with the motorcycle – whether you're shopping for a new Harley-Davidson motorcycle or a used Harley bike. Zepka Harley-Davidson sells the complete line of Harley-Davidson models: CVO, H-D Street, Softail, Sportster, Touring, and more. We sell Harley-Davidson trikes, too! Need service, parts or accessories for your Harley? Our dealership has you covered! Trust our factory-trained technicians for performance, custom, and maintenance work. Cruise our store's aisles for Genuine H-D Parts & Accessories, as well as MotorClothes® merchandise and collectibles. Everything Harley-Davidson is within your reach at Zepka! Our 16,000-square-foot showroom is located in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, near Pittsburgh, Altoona, and Somerset. Visit or contact us today.


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Zigi's Wine Bar is a two-levels hidden gem in Chippendale. Offering an intimate cosy setting in a quirky boutique atmosphere we serve chic cocktails & dining options to suit any occasion. Zigi's has three areas which can cater for any party size. The Bar, Wine Garden and private second floor allows Zigi's to cater for groups of 10 up to 66. (Although due to covid-19 we are not accepting group larger then 10 guests)
It is the perfect space to host your special occasion. Contact us with your events and we tailor it to suit your style, flavours and budget.
All below packages are based on 4 hours event…


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Fall is a great time to promote your child's independence with dressing. Quite often taking off items (coat, hat, socks and shoes) are the easiest and earliest successes. One easy approach is to complete all the steps required for the specific task, and then ask the child to complete the final step (back chaining). As they complete this step more easily and automatically, and one more small step. Continue adding more steps incrementally until they are completely independent in that specific task.
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August 2020
About Our Blog
These articles have been developed by our team of BCBA's and SLP's for the benefit of our clients, their families, schools and the community.


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What's up you guys! Today, I'll be talking about a skincare product that has been under the radar. I find this product to be underrated. It's a good product that not so many people talk about it enough.
I don't really heard anyone talks about it. I think it's so good. I really like it that it makes my skin feel hydrated and helps on my uneven skin tone at the same time. I just love how it make my skin looks and feel.
On a side note, Yes to … products are always 100% free of toxic ingredients. Rest assure that their products are at least 98% natural, free of parabens, and made with recyclable materials. By the way this brand is not tested on animals (cruelty free) and vegan free, in case you're wondering.
Here's a bunch of products and solution to your every skin types. You can find 'YES TO' store, online, Amazon and in almost every drugstore, mass and grocery outlet.
It says here on their website about the product description: Yes To Grapefruit Even Skin Tone Moisturizer is clinically proven to help diminish the appearance of dark spots in four weeks! It contains Moringa oil which apparently is a great conditioning ingredient that boosts radiance with fatty acids while grapefruit helps to decrease the appearance of age spots.
I'm always looking for ways to brighten up my skin and this moisturizer is life changing for me. I've an uneven skin tone on my cheek for the longest time and I hated it. I've tried many products but all had gone to waste. But after religiously applying Yes to grapefruit for the past 2 weeks, just look at the result. This may sound crazy but it's amazing. I'm very impressed!
After trying for 2 weeks, here's my two cents on this product.
It does a great job at moisturizing. I like that it has a thinner yet creamy texture to it. It absorbs easily into my dried skin without leaving behind a greasy or oily finish. In my opinion, the formula might be too rich for oily skin type person but if you're dry skin, then you're going to love it.
Granted the smell of this product is pretty strong but it goes away quickly. I'm usually very sensitive to strong smells but this I can tolerate. It's not bad at all, you can smells the scents of grapefruit combined with bitter orange extract.
Don't be scared by the slight whitish cast as you apply them …that goes away too as you blend them in. So far, I'm very happy with this product.
I really like it despite reading some negative reviews about it. I think this moisturizer needs more love and for something that actually works, the question is why not! That's right, I'm shouting from my roof top that you should run and get it. I highly recommend it.
Let me know if this is the kind of post you want to read in my blog, then I can do it more often. There's so many beauty products that get so much hype on the internet but there's a ton that doesn't get enough hype. They're so good and nobody talks about it!
Has anyone try it? Would love to hear your thoughts in the comment.
Okay, that complete my post today. Hope you'd enjoyed reading it.
Thank you so much for stopping by to read. If you did enjoy this post definitely follow my blog. I hope you come to check on my social media down below. In the meantime come and say hi! I'll see you on my next blog, bye!
Sharon xoxo
Follow me on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook
Snapchat: sharonbprime
**Disclaimer: I purchased all products featured with my own money unless stated otherwise. Any links provided are for information only.


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Please note all sale items are exchange only.
A classic, round toe sandal in a neutral handwoven blush leather. The BROOKLYN combines everyday style and function with an adjustable woven ankle strap, comfortable padded footbed and studded welt.
- 100% Italian leather in blush handwoven calf
- Studded welt
- 0.5" leather stacked heel
- 100% leather sole with rubber layer for enhanced durability
- Padded footbed • Available in whole and half shoe sizes 5-11
- Handwoven sandal
- PENNY is the last used for this sandal. Learn more about lasts here.
The BROOKLYN is running small. We recommend sizing up a half size.
Do you have more questions or a comment? Please email email@example.com to reach our customer support team.
BROOKLYN is handwoven by a community of women in Elda, Spain. Our leathers are sourced from the finest tanneries across Italy. Each upper is cut, sewn and lasted by Spanish artisans who are experts in their craft. Our components are developed and tested with neighboring factories in Elda, and perfected by FREDA's design team in Sausalito. Every pair of the women's handwoven sandal is hand finished, from it's woven upper down to its sole.
See the factory.
Our woven calf shoes are handwoven by a community of women in Spain. Please note that given the hand woven nature of this product woven strands may pop up over time. Do not worry, this is not a defect and will not affect the integrity of the shoe. If you wish to remove unravelled strands, please use sharp scissors and simply snip in place. If excess dirt gets on your shoes, take a slightly damp soft cloth, paper towel, or clean makeup sponge and wipe gently. If the stain is tougher, try leather cleaner. Keep in mind, never use leather cleaner with acid or detergent as it will age the leather and shorten the lifespan of your shoes. Please test the cleaner on a small portion of your shoe to make sure there will be no discoloration. In general, it is also highly recommended to take your shoes to a cobbler to be professionally cleaned.
FRĒDA SALVADOR shoes are all handwoven in Spain using the finest leathers. Because of this, each pair will have unique variations, we love this about our shoes and hope you do too. Depending on how often you wear your FRĒDAS, what kind of terrain you are walking on, and how hard you are on your shoes will factor into the longevity of your shoes.


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Most Efficient Removal of Foreign Material
The Lehmann cocoa bean cleaning system from the Royal Duyvis Wiener group is suitable for cocoa beans, hazelnuts, peanuts, almonds, coffee and various other products. The system is complete with a double vibrating screen to separate over- and under-sized product and also includes an aspirator to remove dust and other light material such as strings and leaves.
The cocoa beans are then moved through a destoner to remove stones that are similar in size to the beans or nuts. Other foreign materials such as wood, paper, strings and sand will also be removed. The Lehmann CR Cocoa Bean Destoner can be fitted with an optional magnetic separator or metal detector for the removal of metal parts that might have found their way into the product.
The removal of foreign material
Reliable and highly efficient cleaning machines sort any foreign material from cocoa beans. Our cleaning and sorting machines are suitable for the removal of foreign material such as wood, paper, sand and stones from not only cocoa beans but also hazelnuts and almonds. The highly efficient destoner removes small stones that are comparable in size to a cocoa bean.
The Lehmann cleaning machines in conjunction with the destoner are designed to be incorporated into a continuous production process and are installed prior to the winnowing or roasting step. The destoners range in capacity from 1 up to 6 t/h or can be upgraded to an optional capacity as high as 30 metric tons an hour.
In addition, our cleaning equipment and destoners can be complemented with a magnetic separator or optional metal detection system for the removal of screws, nuts and other steel particles to guarantee a high degree of safety.
A complete process
After cleaning, the cocoa beans are fed through the unique, 'continuous-batch weighing system', which registers the amount of cocoa beans processed. The Lehmann weighing systems will continuously monitor product flow and are an excellent tool to track yield, especially when combined with other in-line weighing systems for liquor, powder and butter.
Main benefits:
- Efficient removal of foreign material
- Capacity range from 1-6 t / h or optional as high as 35 t / h
- Optional magnetic separator or metal detection
- High efficiency and removal of foreign materials is guaranteed
- Can be incorporated into a continuous production process


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|My father died in a heart attack, after thirty eight years of ministry. The flocks did not have a shepherd. My father's church was going without pastor for more than six months. And some local area pastors would come and meet me and discuss about the church continuation. They asked me to lead the church, that I was water baptized in some years before.
|One night The Lord spoke to me very clearly. I wept in my prayer, and fully committed myself to The Lord my saviour. I went to Bible college for two years, and I started running the church, which was left by my father. For those two years my uncle [my daddy's brother] was conducting the church. After finishing the Bible College I came back as a church Pastor. Many people attended every Sunday worship service. So, The Lord blessed me with many peoples. Many were baptized.
In the year 1990 I got married. The Lord blessed us with one daughter. In March 1999 my mother died after a life of successful ministry.
The Lord clearly spoke to me about a villages called MADURAI and the scattered peoples living there. I obeyed The Lord and left my home and settled here. I started churches in the villages where there were no churches. People are still gathering every Sunday with great joy for worship. In the beginning, we had a lot of problems from ungodly people. Years before I was beaten by some strange Hindu youths in a particular village. In 2004 I came down with sugar disease in my body. But The Lord has given me strength to continue His ministry for the Kingdom. Many healing are happening through the ministry. A lot of sickness run away. Many of the members got their jobs through prayers. Still The Lord is doing mighty miracles. My main aim is to ministry to the Blind. Kindly please, remember and pray for this humble ministry. Many are receiving Jesus Christ as their personal saviour.
Church Building
I like to build a church building in our "temple city". Our city is a well known Hindu "temple city".
We live in a rented building. The same do our co-workers. Please pray for all our needs. My wife, Rose Mary suffers with chest pain and low blood pressure. Some time she are fainting. Please pray that her health will become better.
Kindly please pray for these needs.
Our main needs in the ministry:
- Wooden chairs.
- Computers [PC]
- Three (3) fans, Chairs, Table
- Some mats for people to be seated for village ministry
- House rents and monthly expenses
- My daughter Kezia`s education help
- A veichle for ministry. [By-Cycles, Motor Cycle or car]
Kindly uphold all of us in your prayers. We also pray for you all.
Yours for his kingdom,
Charles and Rosemary Finny, Pastors, India.


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Vedic Mathematics is the collective name given to a set of sixteen sutras (formulas) from the Vedic period in India from 1500 to 800 B.C. These sutras were originally written in Sanskrit and are built on the foundations of rigorous logic, thereby helping to guide and hone the human mind into approaches of logical reasoning. By learning these sutras, students will get to know the various ways of solving a math problem mentally and quickly.
The Sixteen Sutras
The sixteen sutras of Vedic Math are given in word form such as "By one more than the one before" or "Vertically and Crosswise". They describe ways of using the mind, thereby giving direction to the mind, enabling the mind to solve algebra, geometry, calculus and other complex mathematical problems. Vedic Math concepts are simple to apply and as a result, answers can be obtained in one line or even mentally, thereby greatly expanding the thinking ability of the mind.
The advantages of Vedic Math are immense and these are:
- Through mental work, mental agility improves and the capacity to hold ideas in the mind increases.
- Mental work also improves concentration and memory skills.
- Rote learning of the multiplications tables are dispensed with.=
- It enables faster calculations and enables the students to use it as a check and balance tool to the conventional method.
- The use of mental work reduces the need for fingers counting.
- It is easy to learn as the techniques are simple, direct and easy to remember.
- The focus on patterns and relationships in numbers help students to understand Math concepts better and faster.
- Vedic Math is extremely coherent and unified, hence it encourages innovation among the better students while its simplicity enables the weaker students to understand the basic concepts of Mathematics.
Meet our Vedic Guru
Ken Williams, Chief Academic Advisor
As our Chief Academic Advisor, Ken brings a world of experience to Math Monkey. As an educator in the U.K. and the conductor of over 100 workshops and presentations on Vedic Math in London, Oxford and Cambridge, Ken boasts a multitude of experience in the field of mathematics education.
Ken has been studying Vedic Math since 1971 and has dedicated his academic career to researching and further developing Vedic Math. As the author of several books on the topic of Vedic Math, Ken is widely regarded as a guru on this subject. In 2000, he created the correspondence course that is the basis for the Math Monkey curriculum.
Ken's credentials include:
- University of London-University College London honours graduate
- Guest lecturer at over 100 engagements and presentations on the topic of Vedic Math, including symposiums at London, Oxford and Cambridge Universities
- 35 years of experience as a teacher serving several sixth form and post-secondary institutes within the U.K.
The Math Monkey curriculum is the materialization of Kenneth Williams' studies. The Math Monkey Knowledge Centers themselves are the embodiment of the shared goal of Kenneth Williams and the Math Monkey Leadership Team, advanced math instruction and understanding available to all.


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Fawn & Autumn Bonded Cotton Oversized Field Parka GR-124/CB
A classic outerwear piece is given a contemporary update with this colour block design. Made in the United Kingdom, this oversized field parka stands out for its modish updates of timeless details – world-famous rubberised cotton protects you from the elements as much as the hood, while the hem's drawstring fastening allows the wearer to shift the design's shape and fit to match their needs.
Product ID: 13528962
Size & Fit
Oversized fit
Model wears size UK38
Model measures: chest 38"/96cm, height 6'1"/185cm, waist 32"/81cm
Details & Care
Water-repellent bonded cotton
Funnel neck and hood
Front 7-button closure
Hood with drawstring adjusters
Long two-panel raglan sleeves with snap cuffs
Underarm eyelets
Front flap pockets
Drawstring hemline
Double vent
Fully taped seams
100% cotton (bonded)
Do not wash/do not dry clean
Made in the United Kingdom
Style ID: RO4679
Model: GR-124/CB IDJ09/IDJ05/IDJ15/KZ02
Returns & Exchange
If you are not happy with your purchase you can return it to us within 14 days for a refund.


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Linda Sánchez Introduces Amendment to Restore and Expand Child Tax Credit
Washington, D.C. – U.S. Representative Linda Sánchez (CA-38), Vice Chair of the House Democratic Caucus and a member of the Ways and Means Committee, today introduced an amendment to the Ryan-McConnell tax proposal that would expand the Child Tax Credit to more families. The Ways and Means Committee voted down the Sánchez amendment along party lines by a vote of 23-16.
"The Republican tax proposal before Congress today is stacked against working families in countless ways. This Republican proposal is full of hollow changes designed to sound like it is designed to help middle class families, but in reality are giveaways to their wealthier neighbors. It leaves the most vulnerable among us to fend for themselves. My amendment would ensure that the child tax credit helps the families that need it the most."
The amendment by Rep. Sánchez would expand the Child Tax Credit to provide a $3,600 credit for families with young children, index the credit for inflation, eliminate the $3,000 earnings threshold for the refundable portion of the credit, and make permanent the $300 "family flexibility" credit.
Text of the Sánchez amendment is available here.


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I want to warn you there is going to be a custody battle in my neighborhood that will make Britney Spears and K-Fed look like United Parents of America.
You all remember my column some months back where I told you of my little red rooster who showed up in my front yard and stayed for a week, happily running to greet me in the morning and wait for his bread and cereal. I was so concerned about the pending winter that I asked farmer Elisha Smith and his wife, Denise, to try to catch him and bring him to their farm. Elisha says he can tell by looking at him that he's an old rooster, but he was still too spry for the net. I named him Fred.
I contacted our devoted animal control officer. She couldn't catch Fred either. As the nights became colder, I took a clean trash bin, turned it sideways, and filled it with soft leaves. I don't know if Fred used it, but he always showed up for breakfast. Then he went missing for a week, and I was so worried. Finally, he reappeared, this time happily and safely ensconced in the middle of the flock of turkeys that roam our neighborhood daily. I guess this disproves the adage that birds of a feather flock together. However, it re-confirms the sayings about any port in a storm, and necessity is the mother of invention. Well, at least he has company, I thought.
Then I had to leave for my sojourn with family in New York and Illinois. I asked a friend, Leidi, to feed my dogs and cat and to look after Fred. I actually had her arrive one morning in time to see how I took care of Fred and the turkeys. So I don't think you could say I abandoned him.
Apparently, when I left, our stalwart town hall staffer Aase Jones enlisted the aid of her daughter. They built a shelter for Fred. They named him Rudy. Now, if it isn't enough of an identity crisis for a rooster to be running with the turkeys, poor Fred/Rudy now has two names and two mothers. Looks like family court to me!
I came home to many wonderful holiday cards and gifts that had not arrived before my departure. One of my favorites was a lovely note from Mark and Patricia Nothnagle who worked so hard on our Island but have now retired to Florida. Turns out Patricia recently had her third bike accident and broke her kneecap. She has mended well, but retired from bicycling, something I never thought I would see. Mark and Patricia have found a lovely home at Samaritan Village of Kissimee, right near Orlando, which will be more accessible for them. They will be moving this month. They are pleased that no hurricanes touched down in their area these past two seasons. Mark is about to retire and, as always, is looking forward to doing a lot of volunteering. They send their love to all their Island friends and most especially to the crew at our library. If you would like their new address, give me a shout.
Speaking of the library, the children's department hosts a special event Thursday, Jan. 17 at 3:30 p.m. for ages six and up. Lisa Amols will lead the youngsters in stretching and strength exercises. A great start for the new year.
The Charter School stays ever-active. Commencing their third year of five-course international dinners, the glorious fare of India is available for you tomorrow at 6 p.m. at the elegant Dr. Daniel Fisher house in Edgartown. Ticket price is $55 per person. You are invited to bring your own beverage. Funds raised will benefit the middle school students' annual international trips. For a reservation, call 508-693-9900 or Midnight Farm at 508-693-1997. I'll see you there.
The Martha's Vineyard Film Society has a great, but R-rated, movie on board for tomorrow night at 7:30, so get a sitter and don't bring the youngsters. It is The Great World of Sound, which follows two would-be record producers as they try to learn the ins and outs of their new profession. The Katharine Cornell Theatre opens doors at 7 p.m. so you can get a good seat and chat with your friends beforehand. Can I finish a five-course dinner and make it to this movie on time? Tune in next week to see.
Anniversary bouquets go out to Bob and Carol Clark on Jan. 12.
The birthday bandwagon pulls along Tony Nordquist, Brittany Blacker, Judy Thomas, Debbie Morelli and Sara Rose Kuehne today. Tomorrow is shared by Nathalie Penicaud and Gay Nelson. Jan. 13 belongs to Virginia Grant, Yvette Rigaud, Marilyn Manning and Allan Davey. Jan. 14 is a party for Peter Tileston, Anne Dudley Williamson and Nora Cowett. Jan. 15 remembers Martin Luther King Jr., as well as Jackie Richardson and Barbara McCahill. Jan. 16 honors Maribeth Roden, Thaw Malin, Joaquin Balbino and Myra Romain. And on Jan. 17, Rosemary Gambino takes the cake. Many happy returns.