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UPDATE 2-Cold boosts NY gas to 5-yr high, 9-yr high hit early
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* Extreme cold expected to linger for several more days
* Major gas line to New York City warns shippers
NEW YORK, Jan 24 (Reuters) - Extreme cold weather in the U.S. Northeast pushed regional New York natural gas prices to their highest level in nine years intraday on Thursday, but prices ended the day at their loftiest mark in five years, Reuters data showed.
Early in the day gas for Friday delivery on the Transco pipeline at the New York City gate jumped more than $3 to an average of $39 per million British thermal units, the highest average price for New York gas since peaking at $47 in 2004.
But despite trades as high as $44, the final average price on Transcontinental Gas Pipeline system (Transco) was $38, just under the 2008 winter peak of $38.35.
Other New York prices traded in the $12.50 to $32.50 area, while other Northeast prices in the $31 to $34 area, according to ICE.
The William Companies Inc-owned Transco is a major provider of natural gas to the U.S. Northeast and Southeast.
The company on Wednesday issued a system-wide operational flow order to its shippers effective Thursday as the cold led to significant demand.
Operational flow orders, or OFOs, protect the integrity of a pipeline by requiring shippers to balance their daily supply with customers' usage, typically within a specified tolerance band.
Transco said it would notify all shippers as soon as operations on its system allow the termination of the OFO.
The 10,000-mile (16,100-km) Transco natural gas pipeline system has the capacity to carry 9.6 billion cubic feet of supply per day from South Texas to New York City.
The Weather Channel's weather.com said temperatures in New York would reach a high of only 24 degrees Fahrenheit (-4 degrees Celsius) on Thursday, with lows dipping into the low-teens, and with highs on Friday and Saturday also topping out under 30 degrees F.
- Search planes find no sign of missing airliner at spot located by China |
- Missing jet may have strayed to west, Malaysia military says |
- Malaysia failing credibility test as flight confusion deepens
- White House tried to mediate dispute between Senate, CIA panel: source
- Vietnam search fruitless at site where China satellite detected suspected plane debris - witness


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Canstar Community News - ONLINE EDITION
U of M welcomes more white coats
New University of Manitoba medical students officially received their white coats today at the university's Bannatyne Avenue campus.
The diverse group of 110 is made up of nearly as many women as men, many with rural roots, said Health Minister Theresa Oswald.
"Since we expanded the opportunities and the supports for medical students in Manitoba, we have seen that investment pay off," said Oswald in a release. "We have a record number of doctors practising in Manitoba and we hope this diverse group of students will make the most of the excellent training they receive and enjoy long and happy careers in Manitoba."
The Manitoba Government has created more opportunities and incentives since 1999 to recruit more rural physicians hoping they will practise in rural areas. These include tax rebates, expanding the medical school from 70 spaces to 110, and introducing resettlement and specialist funds.
"There's a lot of hard work and study ahead," said Oswald. "But we congratulate these dedicated students on their commitment to excellence. We will continue to invest in our health facilities and modern technology to make our province an attractive place for physicians to live and work, and we look forward to having them join the growing complement of Manitoba physicians when they graduate."
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Donovan Alexander comes home
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Tag: winer
Is Photocasting totally non-standard?
Not that Dave Winer is the complaining type, just like Mossberg is a "tough critic," but Dave and Kevin Yank have been swimming around in Apple's photocasting business. They didn't like what they saw. Remember Jobs saying something about photocasting using "industry standard" RSS...
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Deal of the week: Discounted tablets, wireless keyboards, cheap SSDs, and more It's been one of those weeks, and there's a pile of work ahead of me that will spill into the weekend, so I'll cut to... Type: News story Tags: CPUs Cooling Storage Memory Input devices Mobile computing |
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We're gonna break the site for a while We have some updates to make to the site, and we're planning to make these changes fairly soon, at some point in the next hour... Type: News story Tags: The Tech Report |
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Valve VR engineer moves on to Oculus We've known for some time that Valve is working on its own virtual-reality headset. Valve has also made no secret of its collaboration... Type: News story Tags: Graphics Input devices Gaming |
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Need a little more help... If you have access to the Smoky Back Room, please go here and give us a hand one more time. Hopefully this will be... Type: News story Tags: The Tech Report |
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Sony, Panasonic cooking up 1TB optical discs Okay, so this isn't the first time someone has promised us 1TB optical media. Fujifilm did just that over a year ago. But hey,... Type: News story Tags: Storage |
76 |
Smoky Back Room types, we need you If you're a TR contributor who has access to the Smoky Back Room, we're in need of your assistance one more time. Please go Type: News story Tags: The Tech Report |
27 |
Deal of the week: Discounted Windows and cheap storage Our deals posts are often dominated by storage discounts, and this week's edition is no exception. There are loads of SSD bargains right now.... Type: News story Tags: Storage Operating systems |
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Razer unveils homebrewed mechanical keyboard switches At CES earlier this year, we heard whispers about the expiry of patents on Cherry's famous MX mechanical key switches—and about about the possibility of... Type: News story Tags: Input devices |
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WD's My Cloud EX2 external drive doubles down on 3.5'' storage If you've been following WD's external storage products, then you've seen the My Cloud EX2 coming from miles away. The first seed was planted... Type: News story Tags: Storage |
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OCZ's Z-Drive 4500 PCIe sports fast specs, smart thermal control As desktop SSDs bump into the limits of the 6Gbps Serial ATA interface, server-oriented drives are enjoying the spoils of PCI Express connectivity. OCZ's latest... Type: News story Tags: Storage Servers |
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Titanfall requires 48GB of storage Titanfall may be one of the biggest PC games of the year—literally. Vince Zampella, co-founder of Titanfall developer Respawn Entertainment, revealed on Twitter that... Type: News story Tags: Storage Gaming |
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New Thermaltake tower coolers leave room for tall DIMMs Tower-style heatsinks are all well and good, but they can crowd the area around the CPU socket. That's bad news if you have tall memory... Type: News story Tags: Cooling |
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Cedar Rapids Weather
With Health-Insurance Marketplace Rates To Come, Preparing For January 1
CEDAR RAPIDS, Iowa - As October 1st looms for the start of Iowa's six-month enrollment period with the state's health insurance marketplaces (also referred to as "exchanges"), the prices for coverage are still due to come out next week.
Iowa Insurance Commissioner Nick Gerhart told the Des Moines Register on Thursday that Iowans who purchase insurance on the government's upcoming marketplaces will likely see lower prices than people in many other states. Yet until those prices are made public, speculation reigns. Dr. Keith Mueller, of University of Iowa Public Health, has spent years researching the Affordable Care Act since its 2010 passage in Congress. "In Iowa, it's hard to predict," said Mueller of the imminent pricing information to be made public. "Most of the predictions in Iowa are that the rates would be a little higher in the exchange because for most of the people coming in, the insurance carriers would anticipate higher usage, especially in the first year if they've not been getting adequate care." Here are the critical dates for Iowans considering health insurance under the marketplace: - Next Week: The Iowa insurance commissioner will release the marketplace rates. - October 1: Start of the open enrollment period. - December 15: Deadline to enroll for coverage that starts on January 1, 2014. - January 1, 2014: Earliest date of marketplace insurance. - March 31, 2014: Open enrollment period to register ends. Mueller said he doesn't expect a major influx of people signing up right away on October 1 but, as the autumn moves along, it should pick up. "They don't need to pull the trigger right away on October 1," said Mueller. "Think in terms of 'where do I get my medical care?' so that, when I do start looking at different plans, see who they include in their networks." Eastern Iowa hospitals are also anticipating any shifting demands for when the service starts on the new marketplace at the new year. "We are preparing for more clinic visits and that's the intent, really, in keeping people healthy and engaging them in their health care and have more of those clinic visits," said Lori Weil, Regional Director - Continuum of Care with UnityPoint Health (St. Luke's Hospital) in Cedar Rapids. Tim Charles, President & CEO of Mercy Medical Center, said their facilities are "really prepared" for the demand. "We believe individuals want value and what value is the highest quality care at the lowest cost possible," said Charles. "That's the intention of health care reform." Mueller agrees that it would likely be clinics that would see a higher volume of patients once the coverage kicks in. "Typically, someone who does not have health insurance and is afraid of seeking primary care and end up in an emergency room because they just have to get care," said Mueller. "Hopefully, those people will come to a primary care provider now that they have coverage." Medicaid already covers many low-income Iowans while Medicare handles many who are age 65 or older. As for who is eligible, the website www.healthcare.gov allows a user to enter their information to see what options are available. Some examples for a health insurance shopper living in Iowa: - Male, 28, single, no current coverage. Income threshold: $48,283. - Female, 38, family of four, has coverage. Income threshold: $98,935 - Male, 62, family of two, veteran and with pre-existing conditions. Income threshold: $65,167. For those "above" the threshold: options include "The Health Insurance Marketplace" but without any discounts. For those "below": Medicaid may be an option along with discounted marketplace rates. Visit Insert this html code: Health Care.gov for more information on eligibility. Conversation GuidelinesBe KindDon't use abusive, offensive, threatening, racist, vulgar or sexually-oriented language. Share KnowledgeBe truthful. Share what you know and what you are passionate about. Stay focusedPromote lively and healthy debate. Stay on topic. Ask questions and give feedback on the story's topic. Report TroubleHelp us maintain a quality comment section by reporting comments that are offensive. If you see a comment that is offensive, or you feel violates our guidelines, simply click on the "x" to the far right of the comment to report it. read the full guidelines here » Commenting will be disabled on stories dealing with the following subject matter: Crime, sexual abuse, property fires, automobile accidents, Amber Alerts, Operation Quickfinds and suicides. Most Popular
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I just loved watching this little character come to life. Blue M&M was made out of Chocolate Caramel Mud
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Manziel, No. 15 Texas A&M stun No. 1 Bama, 29-24
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Long Sister Poems. These are the most popular long Sister by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sister poems by poem length and keyword.
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I do not like poemzoo-m.com This is only my opinion. It is perfectly fine for me to have this opinion. I am not breaking any rules/regulations by having this opinion. PoemZoo-m.com is a sister-site of PoetrySoup.com, which funnels the poems posted on PS onto the Zoo. This offers poets more exposure. On a business level, this sister-site generates ad-revenue and creates a SEO back-link which helps PS ratings. Now, more exposure and additional revenue towards a site which I enjoy using, is a good thing. Also, I agreed for the PS administration(TPS) to post my work "online" in other venues every time I agreed to the Terms and Agreement clauses when posting a poem. This isn't lost on me. Wot else isn't lost on me, is that simply by posting on PS, my work can already be printed, emailed, shared, linked all over the public domain. So having my work funnelled over to the Zoo isn't really a big deal, is it? No, it isn't. Life goes on. But it can lead to yet even more possibility of work being used without my permission even with copyright stipulations/ownership. Humbly, I am merely an amateur poet only beginning on my poetic journey. I do not have illusions of grandeur. It is a specific crowd that enjoys(some lol)of my work. I am definitely not everyone's cup of tea. Yet, I have been approached(on another poetry site where I have been a member for years, a non-profit site which doesn't run ads, doesn't offer premium membership; this site exists for the sake of art itself. The owner runs it for free by donation)by musicians/producers/composers, to collaborate some of my work, turn it into music. Some of my work has since been put to score, performed live, and is being recorded in studio. I am lucky and thankful that I was asked for permission to have my work used. This is not always the case. Some of my work, and possibly some of your work even, is being used without your permission. It is very easy to print a poem and 'accidentally' cut-off the author's name. Just as an example. Yes, you can fight for your copyright, but this can be an extended, energy-consuming and frustrating experience. So here is poemzoo-m.com, a site to "look for that perfect poem". There is no 'live' submit field. Poems are funnelled from this site. When I first joined PoetrySoup.com nearly four years ago, the site was much more closed and intimate. There have been many changes since. Embedded links were added so poems can be shared and linked all over the internet. As these changes were added, I began deleting specific poems because of this, poems which I had/have intentions of taking to the next level professionally. Now that poemzoo-m.com is up and running, I will be deleting even more poems. For many different reasons. I don't mind having certain 'oldies' up for sentimental reasons, nor do I mind having specific tribute poems up(as an example). Even though poemzoo-m.com offers more amateur exposure, and this can be seen as a positive thing, I do not want more of that amateur exposure. Just because the owner of PS is covered by the legal jargon of the terms and agreements, within my sometimes far too altruistic mind-set, it would have been respectful, polite and professional for the owner of PS to have first given a heads-up beyond just the legal jargon; to have transcended the legal jargon and formally asked poets for their permission; to have at least had polls and blog discussions first. By not doing so, the PoetrySoup.com has blatantly moved away from the original "family-of-poets" setting, as exemplified between 2005 - 2010, and is now acting as a corporation. The world is already unravelling because of corporations, because of the corporate legal jargon which protects business over rights and moral codes. Again, legally, the owner of PS has done nothing wrong. The extra exposure might benefit some poets. Simply put, I was not formally asked for my input or permission to have my work funnelled to a sister-site, BEYOND the cold legal jargon found in the Terms and Agreements of this site. Also, having the choice to opt-out(a box/toggle to click in member area, etc)would be great. If the sister-site generates ad-revenue, it doesn't matter if my poems show-up there or not, the ad-revenue will come in with general traffic. Traffic is wot is obviously desired. The traffic will be there regardless if certain people's poems show-up or not, or if people uber-post two-word poems. Since there isn't such an option(as of yet), I will simply continue deleting poems, because I am not an animal to be shipped from Zoo to Zoo as an exhibit display against my own freedom of choice. __________________________________________________________________ *EDIT* Since this posting, TPS has added a toggle option in the member area so that Premium Members can choose if their poems are shown on PZ or not. I am glad to see this implemented. Good choice, TPS. ________ You say you want a revolution Well, you know We all want to change the world You tell me that it's evolution Well, you know We all want to change the world But when you talk about destruction Don't you know that you can count me out Don't you know it's gonna be all right All right, all right You say you got a real solution Well, you know We'd all love to see the plan You ask me for a contribution Well, you know We're doing what we can But when you want money For people with minds that hate All I can tell is brother you have to wait Don't you know it's gonna be all right All right, all right Ah Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah... You say you'll change the constitution Well, you know We all want to change your head You tell me it's the institution Well, you know You better free you mind instead But if you go carrying pictures of chairman Mao You ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow Don't you know it's gonna be all right All right, all right All right.... Written by Lennon-McCartney, 1968 Rights owned by the Michael Jackson Estate
Set upon the new world stage within the burning fires of hell. Silently posed factions of the elite, suppress the true inherit of Mother Earth. The meek children bending over for millennium, taken spankings of bare bottoms, pelted slavery. Upon entry to rule, the open stage of smoked mirrors began to reflect back upon the podium of lies. Taught by scholars from university books of political science. Fearful of leadership matching mirrored images, of false pretense, babbling rhetoric. The stirring masses of discontented, individualistic, thought of as dead - enders, trouble makers, and rebel rousers, rallied aimlessly. With super hero, Captain Do Gooder, bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. Weary lost hope combatants mustered courage, and accepted destiny. To this point, someone shouted against the wind of change. Felt by all who sensed the importance. "To death do us part of the purpose to which we, the united, stand for justice". The chant began, as Captain Do Gooder was dragged away, and cuffed, once bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. Damn the torpedoes. Damn the torpedoes. Captain Do Gooder, fallen, bruised ego matching skinned knees, lays helpless. Who will save them now. Second glances from high rise penthouses. Serving champagne and caviar. Brought iron clenched hands once hidden, to draw the stage curtain down. With Captain Do Gooder nowhere to be found. The voice that came from pain of pupil. Born within broken dreams of promised lands. Realized nothing was coming cheap on this occupation. The dusty streets found Captain Do Gooder aimlessly stepping against the winds of change, down Wall Street. The well-intentioned, arrested and broken spirited, lost hope of recycling any salvage rights taken from them by Metro. Was this the end of the well thought out, pushed down occupation. Was this the beginning, of the underground faction. Where was senior generation X hiding. Only Captain Do Gooder and the well-intentioned, world stage occupiers, hold the key to that Pandora's box of hope. The peoples across the oceans were already springing far ahead in their own, more brutal campaign. For they had no cushion on which they were raised to kneel against. Tyranny ran over them. A lesson yet not felt, or learnt, or taught, in the new world. No chance of city mayors issuing eviction notices. Bullets, tanks and bombs were of the order. Brought down the line, traced back to the ones our United Nations to this day, refuse to acknowledge. While leaders there home internet shop, and pump out the lies. Everyone dies. In the heart of the continent of center, where unto which as mankind sprang forth, for its first and ever conquest. The lights kept dim, to obscure the violent cleansing. A facade to disguise once moreover, the brutal tyranny for which the greed of the elite, control the dimmer switch. Diamonds and oil fuel the fire of war and oppression, on this stage of greed and guilt. Too far away, and too many distractions upon center stage for one to see or care. Thought and looked upon by most as racially motivated. The origins of all mankind, to be left, far too far, behind. The true forsaken people. Why is man unkind. So..........will Captain Do Gooder raise the bar to which drinks for the house, and all around, will quench the thirst felt by ninety nine percent of the people............mother knows best. Yet, still, self-inflicted roadblocks of appointed destiny, drop kicked long days past. Faint light shining far ahead, within the tunnel of hell, brought up to land. Firm above the depths to which it sprang. The truth of world order. Wait......what do we see......do our closed eyes deceive our cries........................................ We see Captain Do Gooder catching second wind. She breathes deep now and all can hear her war cry, no longer whimpering softly. As in past tense situations, given way to dazed and confused wall street *****es. She builds momentum, as our brothers and sisters lay dying and bleeding. On the streets of some not so distant for telling, of what's to be, will never not be coming full steam ahead and plowing through the hidden agenda. One step beyond the line drawn in the sand of time, we thought would never be crossed. Give way thoughtless future tellers, and takers. Still holding firm with paper cuts, deep into the hands who printed and prepared such slave papers, kept by the elite bankers. Captain Do Gooder returns renewed and refreshed. Our true Mother. Captain Do Gooder feels strong, as bruised knees and scraped hands heal. Brush of destiny sweepstakes, allots winnings of earth shaking, volcano erupting, tsunami tidal waves, with bonus draws of worldwide chaos. Future draws are to be held with worldwide winners. Grand prize, dead oceans rising. The next generation have no fear digest writes the next chapter. Hold the press down firmly wall street backbiting backbenchers. Drawn into the crossfire, on her mark, place the x on the next general who dares not fall into civil disobedience. Captain Do Gooder has grown teeth, and she is biting down hard against the line to pipe riches, spoiled from her lands. Stolen from the first pilgrimage, fifteen thousand years old, lost empire. How dare you steal from, and pollute the minds of her children. Yet old enough to drink and drug and die in war. How dare all of us. Meanwhile back at the ranch. Captain Do Gooder hugs tight that tree of life, to which sprang all this elbow rubbing and diversion. Wall street huddles in her corner, painted red to match the lengths to which an end will surely bring to it. Painted red for all to see. The end to friendly letter writing, give peace a chance, make love not war, generation taking a bow, and snow birding it, to false sense of security land. Like the ostrich with its head in the sand.
sometimes i talk to myself, my mind is racing, i dont know what to do... so hard to explain. depression isn't a stage or a faze some kids go through it shatters you... i saw it all. she cried silent in her bed, blood stains covered her favorite jeans, her every shirt, long sleeve ofcourse... she suffered through it all with few people to call friend and more to call enemy even more to say where quite dissappointed.... FAT her first name in school, not started by a bully or a mean rival, but by her sister, and it echoed through her soul, repeating in her mind... over and over again, like the ripples of still water when a pebble is dropped flash frozen in time repeating, over and over again... It was the first name they gave her, millions where created over the years, some unique some repeating again, just as the first had.. gothic they called her, emo, fat, ugly....worse things. but in her mind, things where worse. everything was repeating, over and over again, finally she believed it. she asked for help, from everyone tried to explain to parents she wasnt well, got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist, not from a teacher, not from a class mate, but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't, believe there could possibly be a thing wrong.... finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher. rather then giving her time, she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough... she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class... the princlipal says she needs help, sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation, her dads crying as she shows him her cuts... they walk into a hospital room, it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer, the lady at the desk gives her a smile. then she goes into a room with a lady, her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup, the girl is gaging on her perfume, and she looks really intimidating.... her dark brown hair looks dead and flat even though its a bit wavy, and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown. asks her all these questions, is mommy beating her? no is daddy raping her? no is she doing drugs? not alot is anyone beating her? pass... did anyone molest her? pass.... oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan, valium, lithium, more....... and thats what they gave her, more... some numbed the pain some brought it out tearing through her organs, she became an addict by the time she was fourteen.... over dose after over dose some for pleasure some for pain, gashes on her legs getting deeper, this time she didnt tell a soul, not even those she had come to call friends.... wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again as she dropped weight like it was nothing.... you cant controll it she argued as things became worse. at age fourteen she attempted suicide, she didnt quite succeed. the medication took away her aappitite.... she liked it she hated her body hated herself felt out of controll found a new way to cope as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat to keep her body from nuitrients... as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses I ate at my friends house.... spoken as a whisper heard like a sentance echoing in her mind over and over again, along with that word, all the words, FAT!!!!!! ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing... one bite she would say rocking back and forth craving nothing but food her body racked with hunger pain one bite and there she was again FAT! over and over and over again back to a toothbrush this time she sees blood she saw her ribs she saw her bones, it wasnt good enough, she almost died, again.... choking on this deep dissappointment in herself, gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat, their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs all shoved down her throat like candy and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste or the hurt or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon... and you know why? because daddy yelled and couldnt accept what was happening not because he wanted to hurt her but because it hurt him, and she let him believe, because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too. because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day smoking weed doing nothing, practically having us raise ourselves, she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement, and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage her mother had created for herself. because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did she was just frustrated fed up with the way things where scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty and to help heal her pain... because people in school who where so cruel had to have learned from somewhere and she wasnt going to play into their games, and they knew she was an easy target because she would never attack someone so weak and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice to help all these people.... to help her dad, her mom, her sister, every person who was beaten abused or hurt and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had. because depite the fact she had died inside, and almost passed away on the out, it was a saccrafice she was willing to make so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain, and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell of somthing that could have been and never had the chance and why? because she would take it and wouldnt strike back, because sometimes "just taking it" isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...
Once there was a girl with a tough personality. She was considered to be a friendly and talkative. She was extremely tough regardless of love and crashes. She had wishes and dreams but was never sure when it's gone come true. She was hard working always to satisfy her family and be a great daughter. She was tough about love but at the same time she knew a special and incomparable person will come to her life, who will be very different than others. When and where she will meet him, she never thought about it because she believed that we shouldn't look for love, the reason was that love comes itself. However let's see how and where she finds that special person. One night after working so hard of her project she was bored. "Oh God I am so bored let's see if my friends are online I will talk to them but at the same time gone download a song" she got online but unfortunately non of her friends were online so she thought to herself why don't I make a new friend she requested a random boy who she never knew before. After a week passed and that boy accepted her request but they never got the chance to talk to each other. "Oh this boy looks so cute but why can't I talk to him" although she wasn't trusting any boys but her heart would tell her that this boy seems to be a good boy. So she used to leave an offline massages for him in order to contact each other and be friends. One day they both were online so their conversation started. Boy…Hi Girl…Hi Boy… how are u and how did u added me Girl… I'm fine thanks well I was bored last week so I randomly added u. They started questioning each other and she asked him have you got a brother or a sister he answered I have 5 sister but no bro. She reply but I have 2 sis and no brother. The time of Salah came and she had to pray and she asked if she can leave the conversation and pray but he was surprised that she prays. After she did her prayers she asked him why were you surprised when I said its time for me to pray? He reply afghans who live in foreigner most of them are not religious. Weeks passed and one day she was so excited. Girl… You know what Boy…what Girl… I have a new baby sister Boy… congratulations They kept contacting each other even though he had exams on that time but he would still take out some time for her. At the same time he would study for exams. Few month later they became best friends and one day he told her that he like her but she didn't understand what does he mean by like. She called her best friend and told her he told her that he likes her but she doesn't know why he said this because he loves her or just a simple like. Hey dude … he told me he likes me but I don't know what he means by that. My Friend… ha ha stupid liking is the first step of love I think he loves u. She also liked him but she needed time to know him more. He was so innocent and respectful boy she had ever meet. They became so closer and their friendship turned to love after a passing of time. She didn't know much about his family and background but however she loved him and thought he is a right person for her life partner. For every relationship to became stronger and trust worthy it needs time. Relationships are like building a house. Some relationship ends fast because it was build quick and the foundation was not strong enough but some relationships last forever the reason is that the foundation which that relationship was build was strong. The foundation of every relationship is trust, promises, honesty, truthfulness, modesty, respect and most important thing is a true love. Be the kind of person you would like to be with. Some people come into our lives, make footprints on our hearts and we are never the same. People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges. She always wanted someone who is respectful and modest towards girls. Someone who is honest but she never saw any boy with those qualities in him, she only saw those qualities in him. Even though she faced so much hardships, impenetrability and tests in life however she knew that when Allah tests you, it is never to destroy you, it's to teach us something in life that we do not know. When he removes something in your possession it is only to empty your hands, for an even greater gift. She learned so much from those test and tried hard to become better Muslim. Now they know each other and they love each other a lot. She has a full trust on him more than herself. Even though they sometimes have argument for some Issues but their love is strong enough and they are a smart people to find the solutions. No matter what we face and how we act towards it but it shouldn't affect a person's trust and love in relationship because it's so hard to make one and takes a second to destroy it. This was a good story. It's sad that it takes a long time for people to understand values and life. We as people are so consumed with our own lifestyles and duties we have made for ourselves. I miss him more then he could ever know, I often ask Allah why did he have to go? I fell in love and he means so much to me, if he could look into my heart then he could see. I found something so special and it is for real, being without my love is so hard to deal. I'll be here waiting until I can be with you again, because not only are you the love of my life you are also my friend. I just want to tell you, I think of you every moment of the day. And how much I love you, Words could never even say.... I just want to tell you, I love you with all my heart. I wish for us to be together, Never shall we be apart.
It is so hard to let go of love, lovingly. It sharks, unpeels more gut more quickly than reel or reeler ever lost in all those years of lazy inches in and out: casting, winding in and playing out, hardly fishing, rarely catching anything from the deepness out of sight, hardly ever losing . . . anything. Blisters lust into the greedy thumb. Impatient, sore, the startled brake lets go. It dives full length into the never, finds the limit of its leash, pounds against its half-round prison, demands unknot at end of end of rope - Let go! Got you, shrieks the reel and reeler cranking in the give and take. The line is taut, the weight upon it heavy, throbbing, not docile, numb, and waiting . . . . . .waiting for adrenaline: explosion against the angry, smoldering thumb. Caught to catcher, fish to fisher: let me go! It tries too hard to turn to something else: away. Away and bottom still beyond the knot, the creature climbs toward the light, the something. Easy, free, her leap, an alchemy: silver unto gold. Sun shining. Sea smiling, crinkled all about. Sad, slow motion flight of glints and droplets, arcs, returns, displaces, splashes; gone, the yesses. Million mile amnesia. Buddha flashback: a flash of tooth, then placid lips close over any sign of youth . . . . . . as if the fish had never been. Gone? -the fisher wonders: gone? gone forever? Gone? The line is limp as if . . . for all the years of it, nothing at its other end. A flash of recognition: she leaps another time, not knowing if what held her holds. Silver fish scales golden ladder a sunbeam at a time, and all the rungs of memory - so slow, breaks air an instant. The line has held and as she leaps, it claims her, a thunder clap. Arrested in her flight, and broken, she drops deadweight into the bucket sea- fish to air to gold to water, too bad. Of the gold, an afterglow centered in the thumb. Did it happen? Was she really there? Was I? Air turns to air once more, the fisherman to memory, pig-a-back the job at hand, because- one slender monofilament insisting: no! Monofilamania, and memory, another plastic, refusing to let go. Another time: Kite, my pretty lovely, so flying and so softly spun, you seemed the air to me. So high and free, so very near the sun, my tears dissolve the earth's connection. The line my hands are holding: to limit freedom at its height, impossible without restraint- the line between us, subtle and so gossamer. There, it glinted, there! So very real. Real . . . The hook is realer. Tangerine transfusion from the fastened lip, transfuse dilution bleeds unreckoned into the larger blue. The sea - as wide as weakness - sucks the strength without a hunger. Tired, the hooked, and tiring even more, the line grows stronger, shortening toward the bobber boat. I've got her, cries the fisherman, orgasmic, raping at dead weight, dragging mystery toward the kitchen -on his mind is steak. Slaughter, separate from supper, passion with a knife, the knife . . . . . . the knife is ready held tight between the skinless thumb, and vendetta fingers - five Sicilian brothers waiting for their sister to come home. The other hand around the rod is closing on the lover's throat. The rod's erect, the reel is angry. Come, my dear, come, come. She hears the music of the end, the bowstring whine of gut still lean and taut from her weight alone, hears the rhythm of the reel and tries to run once more -provoking lust to snatch still harder- but can't . . . . . . is free at last of strength surrendered with the last of blood: quicksilver nearing zero- and two dollars worth of ice. Maiden fish, (a virgin: never dead before) betrayed and penetrated, (it's time now to give in, enjoy) rests her weight upon the line, sinks upward, drowning, unrebelling toward the bottom of the boat. The whore! I see her in the water! She gave me quite a fight. The captain, ready with the gaff, the lover, in his rented swivel chair, seize her from the water. The maiden's heartbeat is faint and futile as a final cry of rape. Her breath is fear, yet sounds like passion at the very end. Her swoon is now complete. Her swain is prickled with his heat. His blood pounds within his thumb. He gloats, is left alone with her. He ponders . . . . . . while he does, she pales and sheds her rainbow. Her eyes turn glassy from the air, and death. She's turned to meat. He lusts at memory for a moment, then dries the little sweat and goes forward for a beer, and band aids. The captain's seen it all before, surgically removes the hook and tidies up the gear. He and the mate carry her to the ice and lay her out within the cold. The mate disinfects the deck with sea water and a stiff brush. Returning with his second beer, a badge of gauze and Vaseline upon his thumb, the lover is confused. The deck, shipshape, so bare of scales and blood it all might not have happened. Then there would be hope. The mate calls him to the ice chest for the viewing, opens it . . I've lost her. There she is. The smell . . . it must wash off ! Time to go home. The sea is empty. It is over. Done. My thumb!
Molested the first fifteen years of my life. My mother remained silent the whole time. As the molesting continued all those years. Forced to live a pretend life all my childhood. Beaten and punished every other day. For no reason other than being a child. After all this I figured I was a unwanted child. My mother couldn't love me abusing me. She brought me fancy expensive clothes every year. To cover up all her verbal, mental, and physical abuse. She tried to hide me from people, family and friends. So that they wouldn't see the embarrassing scars and bruises. Sometimes so bad I couldn't even go to school the next day. Or I would get into fights or act rude to get a suspension notice. That would have allowed my body to heal. One time I even tried to get ex-spelled. However, it didn't work. I only came home to more beatings. Her boyfriend watched and help hold me down on the floor as she would beat, and beat, and beat. Maybe this gave him a idea that it was ok to abuse me. Being that my mother was already doing it. Yeah! From the outside looking in my childhood was perfect. Every child wanted my seat. Name-brand clothes, shoes, computers, and almost every toy in the Jc Penny catalog. From the inside looking out I was screaming to get out. Scared, alone, abused, and still a child. So there was nothing I could do. I had no brothers or sisters at the time. All my family wouldn't believe me.No! Not him they would say, and did say at age fifteen I started getting older, and more developed. I had to put a stop to this. So after talking to some school friends. I decided to talk to my mother about what was going on. So later on that night I called my mother in to talk to her. I had told her what had been going on. while she was a work, and out late shopping. She in return asked me to draw a picture of his *****. As if she didn't believe me on the spot. What! I thought to myself. How could she ask me a thing like that? After one hour she finally called the police. I was brung in also for video questioning. I told them what had been going on in the house while my mother was away. The police in return asked me "what took so long for me to tell" I replied" I was scared, alone, and threatened. I had no one in the house to protect me. From my mothers abusive ways. I thought people would tease me." The next question was to my mother. The police asked "How could you live in the same house, and not know that your child was being raped?" My mother sat quietly and had no answer. So she got charged with neglect. My mother's boyfriend got charged with child molestation, and a few other things. I can't remember them all. After all that I was still scared, but finally free. Free to be a kid again. Awh, hell the relationship between my mother and I went down the drain. After trial she hated me even more. Every day she was threatening to kick me out of the house. I was only sixteen so she couldn't just kick me out. Yet! She even got so angry at times. She went as far as not letting me communicate with my newborn brother. She even told people to keep him away from me. That hurt me so bad everyday. I prayed to God everyday to soften my mother's heart, but it never happened. When I turned eighteen she finally kicked me out the house for real. With no place to go, no money , and no food to eat. I ended up living with family and friends until she let me back in. I don't know why, but I thought things had changed. About a week after moving she called the police and told them that I was prostituting. Which was a lie. Thank God I didn't spend time in jail. Due to her lies and deceit. I never thought I would have to leave my own mother alone. However, after that incident that was my final decision. Sporadically I call her to hear her voice, and check on my brother. Unfortunately she never answers the phone. Her guilt for abusing me won't let her answer the phone. I moved to Albany, NY for a fresh start. A new beginning! There I met more friends, moved into a brand new apartment, and fell in love. I wasn't expecting to fall in love, but I did. With a adorable, hot, and sexy Italian guy. For the first time my life was great, and I was happy. I even tried some plus size modeling, nursing, and I started self-publishing my writings. I was accomplishing things that my mother never encouraged me to do. After about four years I started feeling homesick . So I came back to Virginia. Wow! What destruction was happening. My whole family fell apart. Nothing or nobody were the same. They all became police property. That was a sign to continue to stay away from them. Continue my happy life. Continue self-publishing my stories. Praying to God everyday. that I remain successful. This is a true story. Unfortunately it happened to me. From a mother who brung me in this world. Only to use and abuse me my whole entire childhood. Then pretend that nothings even going on.
WE ARE BROTHERS 1. Don't look at me as though I am an alien or stranger, Don't let the dagger of antipathy fly out of your eyes, I am your neighbor! Don't call me foe, antagonist or rival, Don't roll up your mistrustful sleeves to have a fight, I am your friend! Don't hold this murderous weapon in your kind hand, Don't deny me the right to work, to eat, to live, I am your BROTHER! 2. If destiny willed me to be born on this side of the Frontier line, If my parents wished me these clothes to wear And taught me their own dances, Do we have to be adversaries? If fate desired me to speak this foreign tongue, And the color of my skin to be different than yours, Do we have to be competitors? If necessity decided in this country, in the North, or South, or East, or West to live, Do we have to be opponents? If I believe in Jesus, Jehovah, Krishna, Buddha, Brahma or Allah, If this is my philosophy, my tradition, my history and my culture, Do we have to be enemies? NO! A million times NO! 3. Please, look at me with new eyes and through away your injurious prejudices, What do you see but a person like you who wants, Desires and hopes the same things in life: Happiness, family, well-being, a home, some friends, Some love, Look! I walk, I talk, I eat, I sleep, I dream, I laugh and I cry, just like you, I'm born, I grow up, I learn, I suffer, I bleed and I die, just like you, I'm a father, a mother, a brother, a sister, a son, a daughter, Just like you, You see, we are alike, we are the same, we are BROTHERS! 4. Listen to me my neighbor, my friend, my ally, I am telling you the truth: We are victims of schemes well- planned in advance, By deceitful, evil-hearted men who wished, Your distraction and mine, They: masters of savage forgery, dividers Of mankind, Have tricked us throughout history with Well-orchestrated lies, And with treacherous stories, these intellectually impotent criminals, Have instilled tons of poison in your heart and mine, Thus, by cultivating hatred, bitterness and rage, Managed to shape us to ruthless foes, to merciless enemies, To cruel animals, Please, listen to me! It is true! We are BROTHERS! 5. Let us, therefore, with irresistible will cross all frontier lines, That the past has erected between us, thus making divisions Vanish. Let us, with supreme power, break the bonds of history, Religion and culture and run into each- others arms, Let us uproot, from our tormented hearts, thorny mistrust That was planted there thousands of years ago, Let us seize ammunition from distractive hatred And make war capitulate, Let us sink the cholera of bitterness in the affectionate sea Of universal brotherhood and finally, Let us unite and march to higher claims, to incomparable glory, Where peace can blossom today, Thus, both of us my brother, AT LAST! Will go to sleep, Fearless of each other tonight! © Demetrios Trifiatis 08 June 2013
Hmmm, where do I start? With deep sighs, I am sighing right now. I just finished burying 2 lizards, and my heart is heavy... Let me back up a bit...bear with me if I might turn out to be confusing here, but I just need to write this, release something, in some way Although I must admit, this is not exactly what I had in mind to write for this day, hopefully I can write something more decent later... I have been wanting to write something for my brother since yesterday, since February 26 is his 10th year death anniversary. The words remained stuck in my heart, 'til I fell asleep. Visited him again today, heard mass for him, ate a Chinese dinner with my parents and sister, went home. I now needed dessert. Got a piece of Ferrero Rocher, but just one wouldn't do. So I got a piece of Almond Roca this time and ate it while walking. All this time, I have managed to keep my tears away but maybe somehow, someway, if tears want to fall, they will find a way? I walk to that area again as I ate that piece of chocolate- when what do you know, what do you know?? Oh sighs. I stepped on a lizard. Again Yes. Almost exactly the Same area, tail falls off, and the lizard skitters away. But. I did not slip this time. But, yes, I still screamed, scaring everybody again. I. Could. Not. Simply. Believe. IT. One month and 25 days after, I step on a lizard. Again. Today, of all days. As if I needed more reason to be sadder. This time around, I had the sense to try to find that lizard. I had to know if it lived, if it was okay. I pushed away the nearby cabinet. And there it was. Rather, and there they were. The lizard that I stepped on now and the petrified remains of the lizard that I stepped on on new year's day... the other one didn't live after all :( I know it was that lizard, same area, no tail, who else could it be? Survival mechanism, no match for my killer foot. By this time, I am crying, sobbing. Seriously, the tears just start falling, and my heart so heavy. And I know it's from the combination of so many things. The day itself, what I had just done, just things running through me. What broke my heart, was to see that lizard. I was wearing rubber shoes this time, last time I was wearing slippers. And its guts had spilled from its sides. I couldn't help but keep on saying, "Oh, oh, oh lizard, I am so sorry" I touched it feebly, and it was literally gaping its mouth. I don't think I can ever forget that? Such a small creature, gasping, with its insides out, its skin on its legs and body scraped. In pain. Dying. And it was all my fault. My sister was there with me, trying to help in her own way. But yes, there's nothing you can really do...I didn't want to stress it even more, and let death finish what I did. There's so much I can glean from this, and I want to ramble on, so badly but I will try to stop myself from rambling too much. I put the two lizards, along with a note, the dates when I stepped on them (ok, killed them), and placed them carefully in a chocolate truffle box. I buried them and still feel so sorry. In some ways, this is can be so funny, and just freaky & crazy (what's new, this is me?) What were the odds??? Same place, same thing happening. And I can't help but roll my eyes at myself as well, just finding it so hard to fathom how I stepped on not just one but Two lizards in just two months. I bet that the lizards are all afraid of me now, saying how I am a lizard killer. A serial lizard killer. MO: stepping on them while screaming, maybe my screams also killed them off? I actually took photos of both lizards, I am not sure why though. Oh dear God, help me, I am acting like one, even documenting them. I tell you, as I watched that lizard die, I couldn't help but just also think of St. Jude (for the impossible) and St. Francis of Assisi (for animals). I know he was dying, but somehow, yes, prayers still comfort me. I just feel so guilty, with this happening. I still can't help but cry for those lizards, death by me, for no reason at all, no purpose served. Animals, people....death. I know it's all a part of life... but it still doesn't change the fact how death can change us and of how I am responsible for two lizard deaths. I know they were just small animals, but Still. They were living creatures. Death can change us in small ways, some in big ways, negatively or positively. It all boils down to death transforming us one way or another... I won't expound on it anymore, this is too long, but one of the ways I can think of comparing it to, is that of a chemical change, maybe of the spirit, the soul? Not merely a physical change. And we can never be the same. 022720141207123552
Poet Convention Lost in a poets convention, I can't recall every poem, I've read through the years 50518, unique comments I 'validate'--- Thank You For Sharing Your Happy and Sad tears Since March 24, 2010 In the mist of every line, I'm sending special hugs, for he/she that favorite me through the years Today's Convention, A praise to all poets mentioned and not mentioned I will miss, the sweetest girl on this block LEONORA G., She treats me with love, adores my words and twisted poetry. I will start with the soups famous October, 7th babies, Frank and Kash, Debbie D, and myself, these lines belong to us, Our best characteristic has everything to do with the mind In our poetic hearts you'll find the symbol of justice and balance This is not a song, it is not a poem, it's a free falling memo written with style Back in March 2013, I said it then, I'll say it again Andrea, you and only you are the Poet Queen By the Queen, sits the Poet King of rhymes, Robert L. Hinshaw Thank you both for never stepping on your loyal subjects Carol B., & Linda Marie, no one can replace the hole you left inside I will miss all the little poetry pups, who came and sat by my side MAHIMA and Saanvi, and Sabrina, thank you for the encouragement Phyllis, Joyce, Francine, Rhonda, Betty, sweet Karen A., and Catie, Clap your hands for the lovely quiet soup ladies. Okay, maybe not Karen A., and Catie, these ladies love speaking their minds:) SARA K., a mentor to some, a Fairy Godmother in my book I will miss her "Magic Pen like Wand" dearly. Gail, thank you for spreading your wings, and teaching us how to fly. Hopefully --wings are a nice gesture, --waving-- "One day I'll see you again, my friend." Daver Austin, "Go ahead, make my day" thank you for the show Now, you know why I referred to you as, "The Clint Eastwood of Poetry." Russell Survey, encouraged my days and moods with his kind words Scribe ML., where are you my friend? Don't you know your BIGGEST FAN misses you!!! Dr Ram, Bindu V, Litan D., Donna J, Shadow, Sandra A., Peter Durgan, Giorgio V., Mystic Rose, BL Devnath and of course our Nette. Thank you for being kind and rewinding and replying to every note. Joseph M., Caleb S., Vincent F., Juliet L., Lucy Carrillo, Scott 37, Johnny R., Kelly D., thank you for the honor in always honoring my words Roger Horsch meets Eileen Ghali, your smile, her smile always made me smile, No matter how many miles apart, our smiles always met on the same page. Jenish, Don J., S.Z. Kamoonpuri, Gideon, Gary, Austin E., and Jody M., Fatima N., Mark N., Aiyah B., Ralph F., Kathryn C., Elly, Ayesha A., Clay W., Erich, Syam, MIKKI, John B., Olusegun, *Sukmawati* Gwen, Delysia H., Frederic P., Richard L., Brenda L., Keith, Debbie G., Thank you for painting the best IMAGERY Michale Clarke, Charma C., Wayland B., Jancarl C., Carrie, and Harry, M&M, Abdulhafeez, Michael B., Maria P. S., CHAN and Mandy T. You are only the beginning of what makes this a good community Arlid A., Dinda M., Silly Billy, Tim Ryerson, we go way back. Ravindra, Kim M., Richard S., Honestly JT., Wade A., Dom-X. The ingredients in your poems, makes the best soup remix Joe M., Jack H., James H., James P., Tim B., Jon A. C., Allan K., Matthew A. Deb Wilson, David S., David William, Thomas S., Cecilia M. Keep that pen flowing for tomorrow needs poets like you. Justin B., Laura B., your words will continue to be a part of me. Owen Y., and John L., your visits, your friendship I will never forget Yasmin and Carl F., hanging out with you on the soup was the best. Cherl Dunn, and Colleen Bono, SandyIvy, I will miss everything about you, Mostly I will miss your friendship and the way you took care of me. Poet and sister Skat, keep rocking what I can't.... Copy paste your love, welcome in the new. Show Edwina, Robin, Sam B., and all the NEW POETS they belong Last but not least-- Behind every mess, they are the best --Craig Cornish and Cyndi McMillan What have you done, I admit without you this place would have been no fun. Thank you for the spin, making every penny worth our paid premium memberships Before I forget, I want to take this time to reminisce and add two old friends to my hot list. Nikko and Chris A..... My first POETRY SOUP FRIENDS. I will never forget you, and all the fun moments we had, Back when the soup was not like this:) Chris, can you ever forgive me, I never stepped up to say "I was Sorry!" As you know my kindness is my weakness Now it's time to be strong and move on If one day I return, then you know, I fell off the wagon And, into arms and luring fingers of Team Poetry Soup AAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNN! Love The Poet Destroyer
Highland Lassie - There Can Only Be One Inspired by the painting "Highland Lassie" (1871) by Thomas Faed. http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/yourpaintings/paintings/highland-lassie-90027 (Verse One; In introduction to Cailin) Walkin' on the highways, searchin' down the byways, Tromps a lonely figure on the Highland roads; Peerin' from the Highdown, breezin' through the lake town, Askin' of a question erry where he goes: (Chorus; Cailin, followed by some villagefolk) And it's, "Marry, gather 'round! for she hasna' yet been found; I come lookin' for the truest lass, as only one can be: I've a letter do deliver; as you see, it says to give 'er To the fairest Highland lassie from Loch Leven to the sea." "Here's a lass," they proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May, And it's sure that she's the fairest in the Highland mountains steep: Through the heather you may go, climb the mountains capped with snow, But you'll never find a better lass on which your eyes to peep." (Verse Two; Cailin's thoughts) Some of them were pouty, others even dowdy; "These," he thought, "would never do in fifteen years: Beauty on the outside, nothin' on the inside, Leaves a girl with nothin' when it fades to tears." (Chorus; Cailin's continuing journey) Trav'lin' all around, for she hasna' yet been found; He's come lookin' for the truest lass, as only one can be: With a letter do deliver; as you see, it says to give 'er To the fairest Highland lassie from Loch Leven to the sea." "Here's a lass," they proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May," But you canna' tell the fairest one except you see them all: And the lassies sweetly smile, for this stranger to beguile, As 'e treads throughout the Highlands from the winter to the fall. (Verse Three; Cailin's travels and troubles) From the banks of Lomon', up to Durness roamin', How's a wight to judge betwixt a thousand score? Steps were waxing weary, days were growing dreary, 'Till 'e saw a lass 'e hadna' met before. (Chorus; Cailin, to a lass called Ellsie and her villagefolk) And it's, "Marry, gather 'round, for the lassie here is found! I 'ave searched and found the truest lass, as only one can be: Here the letter I deliver; as you see, it says to give 'er To the fairest Highland lassie from Loch Leven to the sea. "Here's a lass," I proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May, And it's sure that she's the fairest in the Highland mountains steep: Through the heather you may go, climb the mountains capped with snow, But you'll never find a better lass on which your eyes to peep." (Verse Four; Ellsie's villagefolk reply in confusion) Then they said, "Oh, please, Sir, don't you taunt and tease 'er, Caint you tell she's plainer e'en than Skye down dell? Caint you tell you've pained 'er? don't do that again, Sir, Lest you 'ave a reason, and if so, pray tell." (Chorus; Cailin's reply, followed by Ellsie reading the letter) "O'er the braes an' through the moor, I 'ave trode my walkers sore, All to find the truest lassie in the Highlands boggy peat; And the truest lass is fair, for the true shall never wear, So I say that here's the truest, fairest lass I've chanced to meet." Then she opened up the scroll, and she read it to the full, And for those who chance to wonder, I shall quote you what she read: "When the fairest lass I find, if our wishes are aligned, I should wish to know thee better, lass, and then, perhaps, to wed." (Verse Five; Ellsie's reply to the letter) Then she said, "Oh, come, Sir; don't be sad or glum, Sir; Meet my father, mother, and my sisters small: Soon the bells were ringin', people gladly singin' "Here's the lad who worked to find the best of all." (Chorus, which Ellsie's villagefolk sing at the wedding) "O'er the braes an' through the moor, 'e 'as trode 'is walkers sore, All to find the truest lassie in the Highlands boggy peat; And the truest lass is fair, for the true shall never wear, So I say that here's the truest, fairest lass I've chanced to meet. "Here's a lass," we proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May, And it's sure that she's the fairest in the Highland mountains steep: Through the heather you may go, climb the mountains capped with snow, But you'll never find a better lass on which your eyes to peep." Note: the verses are written using trochaic feet, meaning that they begin with a stressed syllable, followed by an unstressed, and so on repeatedly. The fifth foot (syllables nine and ten) in the second and fourth lines of the verses is a spondee, meaning two stressed syllables in one foot. I mention this for ease in correct reading. An example of this same device is "Since the Savior Found Me" by Edgar J. Haskins, (in last line of verses and refrain).


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This swap meet a doozy - 0 Comments
For the 30 NHL teams and their general managers, the four craziest days of the regular season are upon us. At 3 p.m. Wednesday, the CBA-mandated 40 days back from the final day of the season, the trade deadline arrives.
Already this weekend, the wheeling and dealing has picked up, and it should grow only more frenzied. Just before the deadline a year ago, teams pulled off 25 trades, in which 45 players (plus assorted picks) changed teams.
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Making Brown Butter Shrimp Spaghetti with Dandelion Greens
For someone who cooks food, talks (in sleep too, apparently, as verified by the Sister) food, dreams food and eats [a whole lot of] food, there are a lot of staple ingredients I have yet to taste; kale, canned anchovies, watercress, ricotta cheese, capers, all dried herbs save for oregano and basil, butter beans, dandelion greens. Sometimes I convince myself that I know what these ingredients taste like, based on hours of procrastinating, when I should be studying reading and extensive research. And in my head these informations stay, until one day when I finally taste the real thing.
As it happens to be, our small patch of garden is of the unruly sort. I think the last patron of the house had a green thumb, since there were already an eggplant patch and a papaya tree, if I'm not mistaken, when we took the place. Alas, it is now a weedy affair, with bushes I can't identify threatening to take over. Weeds have grown through the cracks in the pathway and I saw a yellow flower that reminded me of younger days, blowing dandelion seeds across the wind. Now I've read one or two Kinfolk magazine to know that they're edible, but what does it taste like?
Bitter. That's a common word in all my searched results. Boil it twice, they say, to leech off the bitterness. Pair it with rich flavors, they say, cheese, bacon, cream, egg, bacon fat and more cheese. Perfect, I say, a new ingredient to cook in hearty ingredients to taste and commit to memory.
BROWN BUTTER SHRIMP SPAGHETTI with DANDELION GREENS (serves 4) :
[ 1 lb whole wheat spaghetti + 1 lb large shrimp, cleaned and deveined + 8 tablespoons of unsalted butter + 2-3 rashers of turkey bacon (or bacon) + 2 cups fresh dandelion greens, torn into 1" pieces + 4 cloves of garlic + 3 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley + 1 teaspoon chopped red chili + juice of 1 lemon + 3/4 cup panko, or regular bread crumbs + 1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg + 1/3 to 1/2 cup parmesan cheese ]
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the pasta al-dente according to the package instructions.
In another pot, heat water to a boil and cook the dandelion greens for 5 minutes. Drain, and cook again in a new pot of water for another 4 minutes. Rinse with cold water and set aside.
Meanwhile, melt 1 tablespoons of butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Chop the bacon and add to the skillet and brown. Take it out and set aside. Remove oil and fat until you have about two tablespoons left. Add in the breadcrumbs, nutmeg and 1 tablespoon of parsley. Stir occasionally until golden brown, about 3 minutes. Transfer to a bowl.
In another skillet, heat the remaining tablespoons of butter over medium heat. When the butter melts and begins to foam, give it a good whisk and add in the garlic and chopped red chili. Keep whisking until the butter begins to bubble and brown flecks begin to form at the bottom of the pan, about 5-8 minutes. Add in the shrimp and cook until they just turn pink. Add in the parsley and lemon juice and stir. Add in the dandelion greens and turn the heat to low.
Drain the pasta and toss it into the butter-shrimp mixture. Stir to combine, making sure all the pasta is coated in brown butter. Throw in the bacon and toss again. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
Divide into plates and top with breadcrumbs and Parmesan cheese. Serve warm.


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Home » NewHampshire.com » Outdoors » Historical Markers
Ghost hunting: Investigators say they heard voices in Epping Town Hall
"So although no hard evidence was found during our investigation, the amount of personal experiences the team had leads us to believe that there just may be something paranormal going on at your location," Dianne Nault, the founder and lead investigator, wrote to Epping town officials.
The investigation was done at no cost to the town, Town Administrator Gregory Dodge said.
During their overnight stay at the town hall, two investigators heard a "clear coughing sound" in the balcony above an auditorium on the second floor.
"We had quite a few personal experiences that night, the most unusual being the sound of a man's voice and a shuffling sound coming from where the original judge's bench stood. However, when anyone approached the area the noises stopped," Nault said in an interview Monday.
Ironically, Town Clerk Erika Robinson claims she saw a "tall dark shadow" in the same area when she was alone at the town hall on a recent Saturday. Robinson said she had left the recently renovated office to use the restroom and when she was returning to the office she noticed a dark shadow walking in the office behind three windows for customers.
Robinson was stunned when the town received the report from the paranormal investigators on July 23 and she learned that one of them had also seen the shadow in the same area.
Dodge has had several experiences and claims he hears strange noises all the time. Assistant Town Clerk Michele Murphy once saw a pen fly out of nowhere, and police officers used to hear footsteps in the middle of the night when the police department was located in the basement of the building many years ago.
Nault said some investigators also "had the feeling of someone touching their hands" in the basement area.
Some heard voices that were thought to be paranormal, but after experimenting with how sound travels in the town hall built in the late 1800s, they discovered that the voices were those of investigators in other areas of the building.
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- @ Florida Gators - March 8, 2014 - 12:00 PM EST - O'Connell Center - Gainesville, Fla. - CBS
Because we love some Michael Kidd-Gilchrist here on CoachCal.com, we couldn't resist posting this video of former John Calipari star Michael Kidd-Gilchrist cramming on Greg Monroe on Wednday night. It is one of the nastiest dunks you will see all season. And given the scary injury Kidd-Gilchrist went through a few weeks ago, it's good to see he hasn't lost his aggressiveness.


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Jack Daniels
Draughtsman to Issigonis on the Mini
Thursday 02 December 2004
Even an observant car obsessive would not have looked twice at the Morris Minor that threaded its way, daily, from Oxford to Birmingham in 1956. But it was a remarkable car: unlike other Minors, this one had its front wheels driven rather than its back ones, its transversely mounted engine also helping to liberate space in the passenger compartment and the boot.
William John Daniels, automotive draughtsman and engineer: born Oxford 8 February 1912; engineer, Morris Garages (later MG Car Company, then Nuffield Organisation, then British Motor Corporation, then British Leyland Motor Corporation, then British Leyland) 1928-77; married (one son, one daughter, and one son deceased); died Bournemouth, Dorset 27 November 2004.
Even an observant car obsessive would not have looked twice at the Morris Minor that threaded its way, daily, from Oxford to Birmingham in 1956. But it was a remarkable car: unlike other Minors, this one had its front wheels driven rather than its back ones, its transversely mounted engine also helping to liberate space in the passenger compartment and the boot.
Under the homely profile of the car, these were the engineering secrets of the incredible 1959 Mini. And at the wheel was Jack Daniels, one of the élite design team that created both cars. Daniels's métier was to act as the engineering translator for the brilliant visionary Sir Alec Issigonis. However, while the flamboyant Issigonis was a cauldron of ideas and concepts, Daniels was the backroom boy he trusted to make them happen.
The racing-car constructor John Cooper recalled a time when he enjoyed a long lunch with Issigonis, during which Issigonis downed a few pink gins, while Cooper demurred because he was driving. An increasingly animated Issigonis sketched all over the tablecloth and then insisted on taking it back to the Experimental Department at the British Motor Corporation's Austin plant. As he put it on Daniels's drawing board with a "Draw this for me", you can well imagine the right-hand man quietly sighing, sharpening his pencil, and getting on with it.
Jack Daniels's skills as a draughtsman were evident as a teenager at the Oxford Central school. He had noticed the bare chassis of Morris cars being driven through the streets of Oxford to the nearby premises of Morris Garages to be turned into stylish "MG" sports cars, and in 1927 the school received an enquiry from the MG works for recommendations of suitable pupils as apprentices. Daniels, who had excelled at woodwork and technical drawing, was suggested and he started work aged 16 as MG's first unindentured apprentice.
Within two years he was assigned to the company's rudimentary drawing office, where he found an encouraging boss in MG's chief draughtsman Hubert Charles ("my real tutor", Daniels later recalled). In 1935 the MG facilities transferred from Abingdon to the Morris factory at Cowley and Daniels went with them. Two years later, he started working with a brilliant and self-assured young man called Alec Issigonis, whose freehand sketches for suspension systems Daniels skilfully turned into working drawings. It was a working partnership that lasted almost 35 years.
Daniels's time during the Second World War was spent designing military vehicles, but from 1942 he was also part of a secret coterie of engineering talent mustered by Issigonis into designing a new Morris car for the post-war period. It was codenamed "Mosquito" after the warplane, but it became the immortal Morris Minor in 1948.
"Issy", as Daniels called him, felt his best ideas were constantly scuppered by penny-pinching management. That's why he departed for Alvis in 1952. "He was fed up with not being able to do what he wanted. But Morris, I can say without any question, had the best engineering team in the country," said Daniels. Issigonis left behind that groundbreaking front-drive Minor prototype, which Daniels completed. He then used it to commute in to work at the main engineering centre of British Motor Corporation (the merged Morris and Austin), at Longbridge, Birmingham, from February 1956 for a few months before moving his family to a new home in King's Norton. He called it the company's "safest car" because of its outstanding roadholding.
Issigonis was lured back in 1955. He agreed to design an economy car to better the spindly "bubble" cars that had sprung up in the wake of the Suez crisis and resultant fuel squeeze, but only if given a completely free hand.
He was reunited with Daniels and others at Longbridge, and together they created the roomy, thrifty and stylish Mini. Issigonis got most credit for it but Jack Daniels was to remark wryly, though a haze of tobacco smoke from his trademark pipe, that his was the "90 per cent perspiration behind the 10 per cent inspiration" of his boss.
Daniels remained a stalwart of the experimental department of what became British Leyland until his retirement in 1977. He helped put the Austin/ Morris 1100, the Austin Maxi, the Austin Allegro and Morris Marina on British roads. He left the industry shortly before computers began to usurp his painstaking, hand-drawn methodology. MG Rover's present product development director Rob Oldaker, who worked with Daniels when he joined British Leyland as a trainee, says: "Jack will be remembered for his pragmatic input to many cars. He guided many towards successful careers in the industry."
In his long retirement, Daniels regularly attended enthusiast gatherings of the cars he had helped create, and two years ago, aged 90, he travelled to Las Vegas to attend a "Car of the Century" award ceremony where the Mini came second - losing out only to the Ford Model T.
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Pulizer winning author Jon Meacham speaks at GVSU
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December 7, 2012 | WGVU
Jon Meacham, pulizer prize winner and author of Thomas Jefferson: The Art of Power spoke to a sold out audience at Grand Valley about his latest biography: Thomas Jefferson. Before his talk, WGVU's Caroline MacGregor sat down and chatted with Meacham about one of America's most seemingly familiar, yet complicated and elusive leaders.
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