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HE RAVELER G.C.C. Creative Arts Magazine EDITOR: Betty Whitaneis; ASSISTANT EDITOR: Christy Dunham; ART DIRECTOR: Kay N. Yetter; COVER PHOTOGRAPHER: Marion L. Peddle; EDITORIAL STAFF: Karen Edelstein, Larry Larson, Tawnybell Grover, Leigh Ann Hunt; GRAPHIC DESIGN STAFF: Brian Galvin, Kerry Gross, Linda Johannpeter, Ken Legan, Sally Schmitt; STAFF PHOTOGRAPHER: Susan Sheenan; ART AND PRODUCTION ADVISOR: Mirta Hamilton; LITERARY ADVISOR: Dr. Robert Johannsen and Mildred Fischer; PHOTOGRAPHIC ADVISOR: Willis Peterson; PRINTING: DE Cooper Printing TABLE OF CONTENTS PROSE Cynthia Yokam 3 Jack Baker 6 Alia My-Lynn Tung 14 Dolores Seats 18 Robert Hall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 20 Sharon Hallman 24, 25 Christy L. Dunham 27 Larry Larson 30 POETRY Vida Aguilar. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 19 Nolan Anglum 5, 10, 13 Alice Burt 31, 32 Theresa (Akido) Collie 8 Christy L. Dunham 9, 16 Karen Edelstein 16, 26 Helen Ehrlich Back Cover Sandra Ellis 10, 13 Tim Francis 13 Robert Hall 4 Sharon Hrebicek 1 Elizabeth Ann Jones 12 Larry Larson 11 Jackie Morris 21 Anna Reynosa 26 Becky Schlofner 4 Dolores Seats 11 ART Anthony Banayat 32 Sally Cordova 8 Mary Dougherty 33 Betty Bowman 5 Brian Galvin 17 Georgia McCoy 17 Julie Pollard 17 Jennie Porter 29 Dorothy Ray 16, 20 Kim Russo 1 Joyce Thompson . . . . . .. 26 ILLUSTRATIONS Mary Eckstein 3, 4 Brian Galvin 31 Kerry Gross 24 Linda Johannpeter 30 Ron Jones 16 Sally Schmitt 21 Deanna Smith 26 PHOTOGRAPHY Karen Altender 11 Peggy Avina 13, 22, 23 Bob Gater 10 Justine Jennings 12, 19 Gina Lee 9, 11 Sandra Howard Mazur . 7, 14, 18 Marion Peddle 14,25 Jennie Porter 29 Brenda Stevens 13 Published annually by G.c.c. English and Art Departments, 6000 West Olive, Glendale, Arizona 85302 © 1983 The Traveler, Glendale Community College I c:! .. FROM THE EDITOR It is with pride and pleasure that we, the staff, present the 1983 edition of The Traveler, Glendale Community College's creative arts magazine. Our purpose is to demonstrate the creative talent on campus in as broad a spectrum as possible. To that end we have included varying styles and genres which represent students from eighteen to "older", from various nationalities, as well as from the day and evening class sessions. In this way we express our "community spirit." Maintaining our award winning tradition took a lot of hard work and dedication. Iwould like to compliment the entire staff on their discipline and perseverance. Particular appreciation goes to Chris Dunham and Kay Yetter for their continuous support. I also want to thank the many faculty members for their assistance: Mr. Brazie, Ms. Brophy, Ms. Schiedat, Ms. Grandt, Mr. Hartley, Dr. Johannsen, Dr. Herlihy, Ms. Sheidat, and Ms. Sweet for judging the literary contributions; and Mr. Hillis for judging the art and photography. Special thanks to Dr. Johannsen, literary advisor; and Ms. Hamilton, art advisor; and Mr. Peterson, photography advisor; for their valuable guidance. I am proud to be associated with The Traveler and hope you derive much pleasure from reading it. I encourage any student, regardless of his/her major, who has an interest in the creative arts to consider contributing to next year's magazine. We will begin accepting submissions for the 1984 edition next September. .~. ~ y{-<-Z~ MEET OUR 1983 TRAVELER STAFF Betty is a Registered Nurse and has an A.A. degree from G.c.c. She is presently completing courses that will enable her to pursue a career in technical or creative writing. Illustration seems to be the primary concern of Kerry Gross, especially cartooning with some fine technical work in airbrush. Enrolled in graphics classes at G.c.c. he is serving as both a staff illustrator on the College Voice and a designer illustrator on the Traveler. Leigh Ann Hunt is also a staff member of The Voice, G.c.c.'s campus newspaper. She is gaining experience and credits to apply towards a degree in journalism. (no photo) Traveler/2 Kay Yetter, a part-time student of G.c.c. for the past three years, is working for her A.A. degree, with the primary focus being Graphics. She is presently fulfilling her life's dream, by starting her own Graphics business. Kay has found working with The Traveler to be an invaluable and rewarding learning experience. Larry Larson is familiar with the creative process. He writes poetry as well as prose and has had editorial experience. He, too, is pursuing a career in writing and/or publishing. (nophOIO) Christy L. Dunham is an escapist from the work world who finally, after notable Libran procrastination, arrived at G.c.c., to explore and to become a part of the world of literature. Tawnybelle Grover is an honors graduate from G.c.c. She will be attending A.S.U. to pursue a career in creative writing. (nophOIO) Interested in the field of illustration Sally Schmitt has taken classes at G.c.c. in drawing, water color and graphic design. She's sharing her fine art experiences in this year's Traveler Magazine and preparing for a career in commercial art. Graduating from Glendale College this year, Susan Sheenan, is transferri~ g to the Arizona State University to pursue a B.A. degree in Graphic design. She has joined The Traveler as a staff photographer which has just recently become her new media for graphic expression, but her serious interest is to prepare for the professional field in graphics and typography. Ken Legan is a second semester student in Graphic Design with a strong background in fine art. His experience in production has been not only classroom oriented, but he has worked professionally in serigraphy and presently enjoys developing posters and flyers for his membership organization The MGM Owners Association. Linda Johannpeter has been attending G.c.c. gaining experience in fine arts. She has worked in the graphic design area for the past year and is planning fo formalize her training in graphics as her career field. She is a participating member of the Valley Artist League of Phoenix. A staff artist on the school newspaper, and an enthusiastic designer, Brian Galvin, will be attending G.c.c. for two more years. He is working on a comprehensive commercial art portfolio, and to achieve that he will be building his learning experience on both his classroom work and travel to Europe. -,----------------------------- -- He stands, majestic, pure, perfectly reflected in the pool. The moon's silvery light creates an ethereal glow over the darkened woods and greenery which grows to the water's edge. As the light touches his horn, it refracts into myriads of colors, the blossoms of a rainbow. Golden hooves impatiently paw the ground as he dips his horn into the water, purifying it for the multitudes of animals awaiting in the growth. Neighing lightly, the unicorn calls to his mate. The mare, smaller than he, quickly joins him, rubbing against his side. The female is heavy with their unborn, the product of their everlasting love. Unicorns mate for life. The female unicorn nuzzles her mate, indicating her time is near. .." The female drinks deeply of the silver waters as the male calls to the waiting animals who wish to share the communion of drink. From the darkness of the forest emerge deer, rabbits, ground squirrels, badgers, ferrets, and field mice. The shrubs yield foxes, wolves, chipmunks, and porcupines. All walk together in friendship to share a moment of peace and love with Nature's most precious of creatures. The unicorn, of all the animals on earth, has no enemies, takes no lives, and aids in prolonging life. The elusive horned beast, hidden from man's conscious life, rarely appears even when mankind experiences a relaxation of conscious thought. Somewhere in man's past, his ancient ancestral past, he knew the unicorn. They were at one with the God. Then man changed. Greed, hate, and envy stole his peace of mind and separated him from his magical brother. Still, the unicorn continues to niggle at the subconscious. Wavy images remain, the Repetition Cynthia Yokam lIIustrated by: Mary Eckstein clear-cut picture distorted by human attitudes and prejudices. The animals sit, side by side, conversing in the universal language of the forest. The female unicorn nuzzles her mate, indicating her time is near, and slowly, meticulously picks her way through the underbrush to a predestined hollow. The white male, drenched with moonbeams, remains at the edge of the pool and quietly awaits the birth of perfection and beauty,God's promise to them that all is not wrong with the world. A black cloud blankets the moon and a loud, cacophonous sound scatters the menagerie. The unicorn remains stationary, a pristine, white guardian, boldly aware of the danger, yet determined to sacrifice his life defending the female. Ears pricked forward, stance fixed, the unicorn, without sound, communicates peace to the female. She was afraid, but is now calmed. Her love, her life, will protect her and their unborn progeny. "Damn it, throw the net." Rough voices pierce the night. Dark shapes, ragged, unshaven faces, unclipped, stringy hair, and tensely whispered words merge to describe the hunters. Presuming himself to be silent, but perceived awkward and loud by the animals, Man approaches the peaceful pool. Minutes before teeming with life, it is now divest of all living creatures except one. The unicorn does not move, does not attempt to escape, does not want Man to discover or take the promise of "They always run in pairs. Look for the female." tomorrow, his child. He now stands motionless, a gleaming, sleekly muscled statue of emotions as Man quickly and deliberately surrounds the small pool and the unicorn. Traveler/3 'They always run in pairs. Look for the female." The coarsely growled words are bitten off as man advances and drops the net on the male, imprisoning his resolute body. The words are understood as the unicorn begins to fight and pull away, desperately trying to distract his captors. Nickering loudly, he tells his mate to stay, to live, to bear and raise their young. Lastly, he whinnies his love to her as he is dragged struggling away. "We'll come back for the female," a hoarse, breathless voice asserts as they move slowly from the pool area. Quiet descends and the female nuzzles the fresh, newborn babes as a tear silently courses down her cheek. Two lives, a male and a female, so tiny, fragile and perfect, depend on her. She must now depend upon herself. Forest animals gather and stare in wonder at the beauty before them. Here was the God's promise that all was not wrong with the world. Slowly the tiny heads lift, and wobbly legs strengthen as mother nuzzles them. The children stand and begin to suckle. Mother stares out toward the pool where she's last seen her mate. Now, for the babies, she's alive, but only until they can survive alone. She has no wish to live longer. Adults now, the two babes had been well taught by their mother. The lone female disappears to physically die. Her life's spirit ceased to exist that night when greed, hate, and envy stole her mate from her. Nature, however, is ever replenished. The cycle is complete. He stands, majestic, pure, perfectly reflected in the pool. The moon's silvery light creates an ethereal glow over the darkened woods....• Traveler/4 The Drunk, Sleeping Wino First Place Poetry no one relies upon a drunk, sleeping wino crusty with life's excrement ~ next to plastic . trashbags. Robert Hall LIFELINES The vines of green hung from high tree terraces. A cry of dinosaur, ready for the kill, arises from earth to sky. Stomping through the growth of time we arrived at our destination. The roaring rockets flew overhead as inhabitants went their way. Cars screeched to a halt as the small girl walked out from the curb. Streamlined Ships of the Stars explore planets and populate them. Tens of thousands of years later new ships go forward An ancient dinosaur lets tears stream down on a small girl and an old, worn out car. Becky Schlofner SUBWAY , Black sooted finger 1ines Made against a bl~~k€med sky. Subways passi'ng in gray days Of childhood. Bricks of yesterday's Red, blood, and clay. Hardened clacks, wheels on tracks, Riding jagged¥'on the cracks Of broken dreams and broken backs. Passing row upon row, floor on floor Past festered, now just living sore, A pain so old, it's pain no more. A blight, disease of urban light, • Diffused and clouded, not sunshine bright, That makes gray days and grayer night. Mutated, faded, outside moles Retreating from the paste fji:d holes That captured and then ~ilI~d their souls. No ansWer to the human belt A curse on man from man befell To spend gray days in man made hell. BlacK sooted finger lines Made against a blackened ~ky On subway windows passiY{g by. Nolan Anglum Traveler/5 She were killed last grizz' while she were berries down by the OLD MAN MILLER Jack Baker First Place Fiction The crude sign on the gate leading to the old Miller homestead had a simple message: NO HUNT, NO FISH, NO TRASPAS, and THIS MEAN U! Running from the gate down the hill to Bear Creek was a trace of a road that was nothing more than two brown ruts separated by dead weeds. Mark had to put the pickup in four-wheel drive to cross the creek because the crossing was washed out. The road leading up the hill from the creek to the house was in even worse shape; it was dissected by gullies up to two feet deep. With the pickup still in four-wheel drive, Mark never stopped on the hill for fear of losing traction on the muddy slope. He did slow down, however, when we passed a skull sitting on top of a post with a sign that said, "Bad Dog." "Maybe the neighbors are right! Maybe old man Miller is as crazy as a loon," said Mark pushing down harder on the gas pedal. "Maybe so," I replied, "but I think there's some kind of feud going on between the Parkers and the Millers. And Parker did admit that he had only seen old man Miller three times in the last thirty years." "Yeah, I guess you're right. That's not really enough to judge a man." With the truck bouncing up and down and the engine groaning, we finally got to the top of the hill and saw Traveler/6 the Miller place for the first time. It looked like all the houses in this remote valley; it was just another old gray house that needed painting. As Mark pulled up and stopped the truck at the end of the flagstone walk leading to the front porch, Isaw a white-haired old man in bib overalls and a blue denim shirt coming out of the front door. I didn't see the shotgun until he sat down in his rocking chair and placed the gun across his lap. "Well, that must be old man Miller," I said. Mark shut off the engine. ''I'd like to· get Fraser out here for just one day and watch him trying to tell these hill people they can't live here anymore." Mark and I wore our pistols (in violation of official state policy) for the first time since we started serving condemnation notices. When I stepped out of the truck, I heard the old man's rocker creating a dissonance of moans, creaks, and other strange sounds punctuated by regular intervals of silence. In spite of the fact that we were trespassing on his land, the old man didn't seem to be upset; furthermore, he kept rocking away as if he had visitors come up the hill every day of the week. I led the way, walking slowly up the flagstone walk toward the porch. Old man Miller had made direct eye contact with me from the moment I had stepped on the first flagstone. I shifted my gaze back and forth between the shotgun and his face as I approached. I noticed his leather brown skin caused by a lifetime of working out-of-doors; moreover, he was taller and thinner than the mental image I had constructed of him after hearing his neighbors' descriptions. His clothes seemed to be too big, as if he had once weighed much more. When I stopped on the last flagstone at the foot of the steps, I was on eye level with old man Miller, who was only eight feet away. His dark eyes stared straight into me; he neither blinked nor looked away occasionally as most people in the city would do. "Jason Miller?" I asked, looking directly into those dark eyes once agam. "Who wants to know?" He stopped rocking long enough to light his pipe. "Did you get the letter from the state about the dam over on Rough River?" "Maybe, maybe not. I ain't felt like walkin' out to the mailbox since Bess pass away." "Bess?" I looked at the condemnation papers. "Was she your wife?" "01' Bess were my mule!" Old man Miller slapped his knee and let out a whoop of laughter that started a dog howling. With the unearthly sound echoing off the hills behind me, I felt the hair on the back of my neck standing up as a little shiver of fear ran up my spine. Both Mark and I looked around quickly since the BAD DOG warning sign was still fresh in our memories. "Ain't no need to fret now, boys," said the old man, his eyes shining with amusement, "cause Big Blue won't hurt you. He's chained up out back." "Whose skull is that down there on top of that post?" asked Mark. "Oh, that's Sarah." Old man Miller's face radiated sadness now. "Your wife?" I asked, doublechecking. "Yep! spring by a pickin' wild crick." Mark and I smiled at each other. There hadn't been a grizzly in this state for over one hundred years. "Why did you put her skull on top of a post?" asked Mark. "Some varmint keeps diggin' up her bones, so I decided to put Sarah up there'cause she always liked that view of the crick. I had to put her in the shade of that big maple tree though. Sarah never could stand too much sun." Old man Miller rocked away lost deep in thought about a world that no longer existed. His eyes stared straight ahead, not seeing anything or anyone. "Sir," I said finally, trying to bring the old man back.to the reality of the present, "if you will allow me to explain, 1..." "Ain't no one ever call me 'sir' before!" Mark pointed to the state insignia on his uniform and the door of the truck. "Mr. Miller, we're here on official state business." "Hmmmmmm!" was his only reply. It was hard to tell whether old man Miler was ready to listen now or not. "A huge dam is being built over on Rough River. In five years the lake will back up Bear Creek, flooding your property," I said quickly before he could interrupt me. "And..." "You mean to tell me you're goin' to flood me out, an' there ain't nothin' I can do 'bout it?" asked the old man, rubbing the stubble on his chin. "But you'll be paid a thousand dollars an acre for your property. With your quarter section, that comes to $160,000, so you'll never have to work again." "I ain't working now!" "Mr. Miller," said Mark, "you're a rich man now. You can buy a house in town, put your money in the bank, live off the interest, and never worry about where your next meal is coming from." "I got a fine house now, Sonny, and I ain't never missed eatin' even one day of my life. No need for a man to pay for store-bought food when God provides rabbits, squirrels, quail, deer, and trout. Money can't buy all this," he said, pointing to the trees and hills around the house. "All of your neighbors are moving into Denton," said Mark. "With all the new houses that are being built there, I would expect the population to grow to five hundred or more before the end of the year." "I ain't partial to livin' in such a crowd. If Parker and all the rest want to live like that, it ain't none of my business." "Do you live here all alone now?" I asked. "Nope, I still got my dawg!" Old man Miller frowned. "This were a bad year for me, that's for dang sure. Lost both Bess and Sarah." "That's another reason why it might be best to take the money now and move into town before the winter comes," said Mark. Old man Miller thought for a moment. "Nope, it ain't right to up and leave Sarah jus' like that. Besides, I were born right here an' I plan to die right here. I ain't movin' nowhere 'til I see the water rising up in the yard." I noticed again how thin the old man was. "How will you find enough game to eat this winter? And won't you run out of shotgun shells and supplies before spring now that you don't have a mule to ride into Denton?" "I ain't got no shells now," he said, opening up the doublebarreled shotgun to show us that it wasn't loaded, "but I don't need a gun when I got a dawg like Big Blue. Why he'll go fetch me a rabbit or a quail anytime I ask him." "I never heard of a dog that could catch quail," said Mark, smiling and winking at me. "Big Blue is a powerful runner, Sonnyl He can run into a covey and grab a Bob White before any of 'em have a chance to up and flyaway. Why sometimes he'll run through them quail so fast he scares the daylights out of them, and then he'll turn and run back through and grab Photography by: Sandra Howard Mazur the last one right out of the air. One time I seen him catch two at once, one in his mouth and one in his paws. Yes sir, Big Blue is the best dang huntin' dawg I ever did see. He can jump clear over a tall man." "Can your dog catch anything else besides rabbits and quail?" asked Mark, encouraging the old man to str~tch the truth even further. "Sure he can, Sonny! Big Blue catches trout for me when there ain't no ice over the crick. He's a powerful swimmer." "Your dog can catch trout?" I asked in amusement. "Yep!" Old man Miller reflected for a moment. "I guess he has the mostest trouble with deer. Ain't no trouble runnin' 'em down, but it takes him awhile to tote 'em all the way back here by hisself. He comes back an' gets me to help when he downs a big buck. I got enough deer and bear meat up in the spring house to last me two lifetimes, so I ain't worried none 'bout runnin' out of grub. My onliest problem now is Big Blue. He's been feelin' mighty poorly since his run-in w;th that grizz' last spring. But 1guess I'd feel under the weather for quite a spell if I'd fought a grizz' like he done." "Was that the bear that killed your wife?" I asked. "Yep, same one! Sarah were down pickin' berries by the crick when she were attack. I hear her screamin', screamin', so I grab my deer rifle an' run out an' unchain Big Blue. He ture off down the hill and chase that bear clear across the crick, but Big Blue were too late 'cause poor '01 Sarah were dead when I got there. "I seen Big Blue pesterin' and nippin' at that grizz' 'til he clumb up in that big oak. By the time I waded 'cross the crick, Big Blue and the bear were goin' at it 'bout halfway to the top of the tree. Iain't never heard such a caterwaulin' in all my born days. 1couldn't shoot 'cause I might hit my dawg. 1jus' had to let'em fight it out to the end." Old man Miller stopped talking long enough to take a draw on his pipe. "Well, Big Blue, he kept nippin' that 01' silver-tipped devil 'til he backed out on a dead limb that broke under his weight. That grizz' fell out of the oak tree an' landed on them big rocks down below. 1finished him off with two shots to the head. Poor 01' Big Blue was torn up something' fierce, an' he ain't been the same dawg since." "Big Blue can climb trees too?" I asked. Traveler/7 \ I'VE BEEN THIS WAY BEFORE How do we go on? To be one again the visible two Grains of sand that slip silently Through the cracks of Time... How do we go on? Gathering the richness of Autumn years To release heavy heart and hidden fears ... How do we go back? Grains of sand that slip silently through the cracks to Time... How do we go back? to yesteryear brimming full of scintillating mystery and hot - blooded nights... . \,1\ .~. "\ \ I·I ' - We cannot go back After crystalline tears have shattered dreams And innocent hopes smothered by fears "Sure can, Sonny! How else would he fetch squirrels for me?" "T00 bad we can't see Big Blue do all these things," said Mark, winking at m_e again. Old man Miller tapped his pipe on the porch railing to loosen the ashes, and then he placed the pipe in his pocket. "Would you boys like to stay for supper? I'll send Big Blue out to catch us a couple of rabbits." "We've got to be going, Mr. Miller," I said, not wanting to waste time watching the old man's dog chase rabbits. I walked up the steps and handed the condemnation papers to him. ''I'll leave these papers with you, and we'll come back in a week or two after you've had a chance to look them over." "It ain't no use leavin' them papers here, Sonny. I can't read! Sarah were the smart one in the family." "We have to leave the papers, Mr. Miller," said Mark. "It's the law." "Well, leave 'em then! I'll use 'em to start fires." Mark and I walked back to the pickup and got in; Mark started the engme. "Old man Miller sure is an independent old cuss, isn't he," I said, looking back at the lonely figure rocking away on the porch. "Somehow I think he's better off out here than in town. How old do you figure he I.S?." "Oh, I'd say he's in his eighties or nineties, maybe older. I wish now that we had a tape recorder with us," said Mark. "I've heard that some of the other teams are recording mountain music and folk tales, but I'll bet none of them could top this old boy when it comes to tall tales." "That's for 'dang sure, Sonny!". How do we go back? To times that gently whisper soft caresses against skin - thrilling delights ... Theresa (Akido) Collie Traveler/8 us Park benches, Naked of pigeons, Remain vacant as the sky grays. Hurricanes of people once swirling, Now Gone. Lovers drink love From each others bodies To dissolve Into the folds of one another. Grow thru winter Springtime waits To Begin. Christy L. Dunham You ask why time is now so slow? It is so you can more fully spend, The mile-long time of your life; although Tomorrow your life's turn may end... Seconds move a slow pace. Minutes float on by. The clock hands run a snail· paced race. Time passes so slow - WHY? Dolores Seats FLORABUNDANT Third Place Poetry ...my desert greenhouse without walls to shelter it from thermal change... southwestern Eden, ages old... perpetual aesthetic range: wild plants grow in secret places, undisturbed by human voice. Desert paintbrush splashed crimson, rainbow cacti - painter's choice. Bladder sage with pods like tissue, proffer nut-like seeds all year. Red-barked ponderosa pine has waving blue pentstemon near. Lupine thrives in sandy washes. Century plant is marking days. Silver sage with purple shadows our Lord's candle lights the ways. Poppies, asters, and verbena mingle through the tall wild grass . tinting sand dunes and the valleys . solar spectrum of stained glass. Hours plod towards the end of the day. Weeks, like derelict boats, drift by. Here comes another year to play. Decades are mountains that scrape the sky. The seconds tick-tack away. Minutes become demons of speed. On hurricane winds, clock hands away. Where is the time you need? THE TIMES OF YOUR LIFE Hours rush to the end of the day. Weeks in fast racing cars zoom by. Years no longer come and stay. Decades vanish in the blink of an eye. Larry Larson You ask why time passes so fast my friend? The answer: there's too much to do. All too soon lives come to an end. When will time finally catch you? Traveler/ll Traveler/12 PHASES OF THE MOON Second Place Poetry Impish girl. Peeking 'round the corner of twilight eager to grow up. Veiled lady. Luminescence dissipated, not dimmed By the cloud's lacy edge. Brilliant Luna. Slowly showing the light in your face To truly call it night. Discreet woman. Leaving quietly before the harsh eyes of day. Soft memories remain. Nolan Anglum the bitter truth it bites the flesh and all hearts fall from time to time but mine must surely hurt the worst just because it's mine Tim Francis TIMES SHARED Minutes crawl as days fly by- What's time to one like you or I? We take and hoard each precious hour, Creating memories with love's power. Times shared - they bring to us such pleasure As only friends in love can treasure. Sandra Ellis Traveler/13 ALIA MY-LYNN TUNG First Place Non-Fiction Taking my morning walk one day, I gleefully discovered wild flowers blossoming at their most beautiful by the roadside shrubs. My first impulse was to pluck some and offer them to mother who was always thrilled by whatever flowers I brought. My energetic plucking, however, slackened as I sank in the sad remembrance that mother had passed away almost two years ago. I had wished to convey my love to her with those flowers, and I was stunned by a bitter emptiness. However, I could not resist continuing my collection of the fresh and lovely yellow, white, and violet blossoms. As I was trying to decide which vase would most suit them, I suddenly realized I had completely forgotten where I lived and which home I should bring the flowers to. This feeling lasted but a blink moment. I had only one home then. Perhaps constant moving over the years contributed to my disorientation. My family had moved from house to house during the past twenty years. Depending on our income, some had been spacious and well-furnished, while others were simple and modest. The fact that I had often visited my parents was probably another factor. Whatever had caused my confusion, one thing enlightened me then and there. There is some special factor, something that ranges prominent and high in human consciousness and that supersedes all worldly structure, that constitutes what we call "home." It does not surprise me that as I fell into a bliss of exhilaration admiring the wild flowers, the very first person I thought of offering them to was my mother. Mother had been the essence of my home. The first place I thought of bringing the wild flowers was to my home. My home was my center. Therefore, mother and home have formed the core of my love and chief concern. What kind of a home it was, where it was situated, whether it was elegant or modest, had been secondary considerations. It seems that what is essential to the place I call home is that it is a refuge from all weathers; it is a place where I can find peace and ease, can rest my tired feet and cook my meal in any style I like, can decorate with a few wild flowers and feel elated as if it were the most elegant palace in the world. A Chinese idiom says, "Shut up this door and you are king of your own house." Within this domain, we lay our roots, bear our children and keep ourselves fit. From Traveler/14 this domain, we offer our talent, energy, and time to society in various exchanges. Home is the very cell, and thousands of cells consolidate to make society. I have visited many of societies' cells, including magnificent palaces, huge mansions and finely decorated residences. Apart from admiring them, they bore little or no significance to me. Not because I didn't own them, but because I found no attachment, no coziness, and no dear source there. People live in this world but a few decades. Within the dimension of limitless time, one's life span is but a wink, or less. A house means merely a temporary protective shelter made of materials and shaped in certain traditional or non-traditional forms. Whether the house is a huge, ornate mansion or a humble chalet makes little difference since both will serve for short-term shelter. But with that special factor that constitutes home, one can even borrow another person's house, mansion, or palace and enjoy it to the fullest. Once we borrowed a friend's seaside villa, where we lay down on a meadow under shady trees and relished air sweetened with pine fragrance. For city dwellers, it was a real and rare change. These trees that lined up at the backyard of the villa and led straight to the back fence and then to the beach sang in cool sea breezes and delighted us by showering thousands of pine needles, as if greeting us with their slight prickly touch. The sea's waves left crops of tiny silver fish and shells on the sand for us. After many hours of swimming from a beach exclusively ours, we had a picnic with roast fish wrapped in banana leaves and cooked on a campfire. That villa seemed built especially for us on that particular day. come and see. Papa has brought home fish! Dad's home! Tonight we are going to have fish! Mum, cook it, fast, fast!" As if magic had touched it, that dirty back-lane quarter turned suddenly into a wonderland of contentment and wholesomeness. The sky darkened and street lights glowed. That happy commotion was still resounding as I turned my steps toward home... Home, cozy, warm and dear ~ it holds so many attachments: life, kinship, and that special factor that outshines any palace and raises any wooden shelter to sublimity, that unique ingredient that turns a house into a home with an unalterable soul of its own. That ingredient often transcends time and space to make all other things in the world objective and less and less important. I recognize, of course, that the big spaces, the beautiful environment, the fine furniture, well-manicured garden, and up-to-date appliances of a villa can add to the comfort and enjoyment of life, but they are not part of the special factor that constitutes home. Once, at sunset, I saw a worker walking briskly and holding a tiny fish and a few stalks of vegetables. His blue, ragged, dusty clothing was soaked in sweat and dirt. However, I saw him smile, and by the way he was hurrying, I guessed he was heading for home. I followed him secretly. After a number of shabby lanes where garbage smells filled the evening air and stinking sewer water flowed down a pavement of broken bricks, I saw him enter a wooden shelter as low and dark as a den, one of those squatter's makeshift shelters. No sooner had he entered than out burst a commotion of hails, laughter, and welcoming remarks as children yelled with excitement, "Dad's home! Dad's home! Ah fish! Mum, That, perhaps, explains why mother still lives in my heart, and I wonder which home I shall bring the flowers to. In every home I have had that special factor ~ Love.• Traveler/15 Traveler/ 16 DIOU~ ODY~~~Y You looked at her, gazing, resting your eyes upon her breasts, quietly, silently, arresting your expression, freeing your mindto wander her body, caress her soul to wonder of her... loving me, yet, wanting her. Christy L. Dunham The shooting star bursts incandescent bright before fading into night. Karen Edelstein Top right drawing by: Georgia McCoy (lst Place) Bottom right drawing by: Julie Pollard Top left drawing by: Dorothy Ray Middle left illustration by: Ron Jones (lst Place) Bottom middle drawing by: Brian Galvin ... / Singing Grass rubbed her bramble-scratched arms, unaware that she was part of a living legend of the lost tribe now called Hohokam. Traveler/18 Perspiration ran in rivulets down her grimy face and her body sagged with weariness from trudging along the dry wind-scoured riverbed in search of food. She had been gathering pithy stems and leaves dryas thorns, and collecting anything that walked, crawled, or slithered and that could be caught or pried out of the ground with a stick. Red Cloud, her husband, was contributing to the hoard by knocking birds to the ground with the atali, his throwing stick. His efforts proved unrewarding since the quail, doves, and sage hens ~re flying further to the north in desperate need of water. Each evening she stashed the days provisions in the secluded underground cache concealed with earth, the keeper of secrets. Edibles were hidden from the eyes of the despised marauding tribes that swept down in darting raids from the north, killing and crippling her people and stealing their harvest. In past years, she had not had to gather seeds, wild grasses or grub in the ground for the spicy bark of roots and wild onions. Red Cloud had fought the harsh forbidding environment and cultivated the land. He had clawed and scraped trenches into which the river water had always flowed, built a rock barrier dam and filled its cracks with snarls of arrowweed. This year, they had waited in vain for signs of the bushy plants to break stone-hard baked caliche and produce four-inch long ears of corn. Tepary bean plants withered and yellowed at sprout stage. Cotton plants, a crop so vital to their existance, failed to mature. There would be no new breech cloths or blanket dresses to protect them from the desert, bone-rattling cold nights. No matter how they scrounged the land, they could not find enough supplies to carry them through the winter. Day after day, she watched grandfather Batuka, the tribal medicine man, chant incantations and entreaties to the Great Spirit to send rain. He rolled the sacred stones and murmured to the Great One, but no rains came. The sun shone hot and relentless. The sky held no clouds, as he danced his beliefs that they would not be a forgotten people. Batuka scattered hallowed pollen into the searing winds as he shook the revered coyote tail. Time after time, the old man intoned the ancient chants of legends until one could almost visualize land covered with restless waters offorgotten seas. He begged the gods' forgiveness for having forgotten some of the petitions of his weather-wise ancestors. Looking to the skies, pleading for a miracle, Batuka implored that none should perish. Suddenly, the sky blackened. Singing Grass was puzzled. Undulating darkness spread over the mountains, moving toward them. Swarms of locusts were approaching on the wind and settling on the land. For them, too, the need for sustenance was hopeless this year. Singing Grass cowered in fear. She clung to her grandfather, who supported her with his presence and comforting words: "Granddaughter, this is not an ominous threat. This flying cloud of droning insects will prove a blessing instead of a curse. Our worries are over. These insects will be our survival. Hurry! Get the nets that were used to catch the food that swam. Now they will be used to catch the food that flies. We must trap and beat them to the ground as our ancestors did. We can dry and store them in our red clay jars, to be roasted and ground into flour." Grandfather spoke the wisdom of the ages. Singing Grass was relieved. They would survive. ROBERT HALL Second Place Fiction Traveler/20 J The rain had stopped, and the freshly cooled summer breeze blew gently across my bunk. I was just beginning to enjoy the coolness that monsoon brings when Jeff walked into my room. He sat heavily on the bunk opposite mine, and his foot began toying with a crumpled potato chip bag on the floor. "What's happening?" I asked after a couple of moments of silence. "I can't speak the language," Jeff said dejectedly. "What language?" "Spanish, I can't speak Spanish," he replied, looking up from his bag for the first time. "Neither can I." "You're not Mexican." I stared out of the window and watched the relentless sun eat away the mist still clinging to the rice paddies. He was right; Iwas not Mexican, and for the first time I realized he was of Mexican descent. To me he had always been the archetypical California beach bum who had made a small mark in competition surfing. Jeff still sat on the bunk staring at ~e, and I felt a need to help him out of (continued on page 32) The math monsters hold me captive. They force me to be adaptive. I must learn: to factor and fracture, to equate and exponentiate; not forgetting nomials-,the mos, bis and tris. When you're having fun - time sure flies. Math .~ i "\ oristers ~/ Algebra I left the scene, or did I have a dream? Algebra II took its place. I may head for outer space. There's still one more to go, and that will be the end of the show. The formulas are so dreary, do I really need all this theory? I guess it's nice to know, but when I enter the flow, the computer will do all the math, while I just sit back and laugh. Jackie Morris Traveler/21 Traveler/22 A CLOSER L Photo story by: Peggy Auina Copy written by: Betty Whitoneis Layout by: Kay N. Yetter Phoenix is 350 square miles of modern buildings, tileroofed, adobe houses and palm trees. It is a large, clean, spacious city unlike many metropolises in this country. There is, however, a universal sight which is identifiable anywhere-"downtown." The buildings are older here than those in the rest of the city. The park benches are occupied and the birds mingle as do generations and cultures. At one time, Phoenix was a small, dusty, "wild western" town. It has evolved into a progressive, "All American City." It has a wonderful history and a center common to us all-"downtown." Traveler/23 [GRAND AVENUE by Sharon Hallman We all have our little indicators that tell us what kind of day we're going to have. For some, it can be a horoscope reading; for others, it may be biorhythms. However, my "omen" isn't anything very mystical or complicated. My day depends on a traffic light. Sound simple? It isn't. If I catch a green light on Grand Avenue on the way to school in the morning, Ican be assured of a good day. So far this year, I've had two good days. For those of you who may not be familiar with Grand Avenue, I'll try to explain. Actually, explaining Grand Avenue to someone is rather like attempting to explain Einstein's theory to a pre-schooler. Nevertheless, I'll try. Grand Avenue is a four/six lane highway/street (see it's already getting confusing). It was supposedly created for expediting travel through the city of Phoenix in a northwesterly direction. It's not a freeway; there are MANY traffic signals. These traffic signals have almost assuredly :interfered with the progress of our citypossibly the progress of mankind. Each intersection is like a giant roulette wheel. Your chances of getting off on the right street are about as good as they are for breaking even when you go to Las Vegas for the weekend. Longtime residents are convinced Grand Avenue is a curse put upon us by the Hohokam, who are punishing us for desecrating their ancient burial grounds. Another theory is that Grand Avenue is actually a Communist plot, designed for the purpose of diverting us while they quietly infiltrate the city. If this is the case, then Grand Avenues will begin springing up throughout our country. If so, we're doomed. Little wonder the Lost Dutchman turned up missing. My first encounter with Grand Avenue taught me something - fear. But, Ijust keep coming back for more. Leaving my northeast Phoenix motel, early one morning about four years ago, I plotted my course for southwest Phoenix. (Now if you were paying attention, you would immediately realize this course is in direct conflict with the route which Grand Avenue follows.) (Everything in my life is in direct conflict with Grand Avenue.) All I remember is seeing a street sign saying "Grand Avenue." The next thing I knew, I was back in my motel room and four hours had somehow been lost. I will never again scoff at people who claim to have amnesia. I now know how pilots feel when they cross the Bermuda Triangle or how Captain Kirk responds to being caught in a time warp. I, too, have successfully efied gravity and lived to tell about it. • Traveler/24 'm becoming paranoid. In spite of being semiaverage with 2.3 children, a mortgage anda couple of cats in the backyard, I'm getting a little crazy. (Trying to figure out what I did with that .3 child isn't helping a bit. I sometimes lie awake at night trying to imagine what a .3 child is like. Probably much like the two I already have.) Anyway, the alarmists in this world have taken a toll on my sanity. Alarmism has reached epidemic proportions in this country. It is not a discriminate disease; it can strike anyone regardless of age or intelligence. It doesn't take a PhD. to deduce that frightening people is a real attention-getter. Alarmism is the favorite indoor/ outdoor sport of many people. It's really quite easy, and I suspect some have a natural talent. There are no rules, and you don't have to check with your physician before getting involved. Alarmism ranges from the subtle to the bizarre, and you are only as good as your imagination. Some participants consider it to be an art form. Many alarmists deal in generalities; others are more specialized. The general, or basic alarmist, covers a lot of territory-anything from a cat up a tree to an all out war. By the time he gets around to telling the truth, we have envisioned ourselves in the worst possible crisis imaginable. By this time, we have made out our wills, sworn off all bad habits, and wished we hadn't yelled at the kids quite so often. Natural disaster alarmists come up with some of our most creative scares. They are the true artists of the alarmist community. Fires, earthquakes, tidal waves, killer bees, and oversized lizards are but a few of the devices they employ to inspire fear. The celestial alarmist is also included in this select group. Blessed with a vivid imagination, a few obscure facts and a telescope, these folks get the job done. The Jupiter Effect, just past, is a prime example of their work. Of course, we never take these forecasts senously, even though some of us have purchased abandoned missile silos just in case. Juvenile and/or parental alarmism is interchangeable. Anytime there is a lock of attention on the part of either, steps must be taken to reassure the insecure alarmer, or alarmee, that he or she still holds a place near and dear to the heart of the victim in question. For a parent, these attacks can be lethal. Any parent who sees mvher own child's blood, hears a cry of anguish, or waits for his/her offspring more than one hour late, immediately assumes the worst and then becomes a blubbering idiot. In most cases, the child in question wanders in, totally unconcerned, wondering why the police are outside and why mom and dad are sedated. On the other hand, parents are guilty in their own right. Although most of these assaults upon children are committed purely in the name of love, or coercion, few of us have managed to escape this phase of alarmism. In order to force a child into acquiescence, all manner of threat is perfectly acceptable, regardless of how ridiculous it may be. The romantic alarmists are likely to be the most amusing of all. They provide us with many a laugh at the expense of their own misery. We must try to overlook their total irrationality as we have all been exposed to this at some time in our lives. Romance can, in some instances, be very serious, even life threatening. We must deal delicately with the amorous sufferer, lest he do himself or others bodily harm. Luckily, the condition is only temporary. Marriage is usually the'most effective cure. The commercial alarmist is the businessperson of all the alarmists. He may look foolish, or may make us look foolish; however, his assault upon our intellience is for one reason - a trip to the bank. The commercial alarmist never fails to appeal to our sense of insecurity, creating unrealistic situations to turn a profit. Once more, our imagination runs wild as we perceive oursleves caught up in an embarrassing situation: away from home without cash, our deodorant giving out at a crucial moment, or contracting terminal "greasies." The commercial alarmist will ever be with us, just like roaches, merchandising us into bankruptcy. For those persons who accept crises with quiet reserve - great. I just don't happen to be one of those people. I am, quite frankly, an alarmist's dream, a reactionary in the first degree. I am the type, who, when they hear phrases like, "I have a bit of bad news" or, "We interrupt this (continued on page 32) Traveler/25 Drawing by: Joyce Thompson That golden brown leaf was shimmering plump rye green the last time I looked. Karen Edelstein SUMMER IS Sitting Underneath a tree. Meditating on Memories. Everyday with a smile, Resting oh so peacefully. Anna Reynosa Traveler/26 A lone morning cloud sits on a mountain listening to eagles' silence. Karen Edelstein Il1ustration by: Deanna Smith (3rd Place) OUTCRY Christy L. Dunham Second Place Non-Fiction And reaching up my hand to try, I screamed, to feel, to touch the sky. The clouds join together like the intricate parts of a picture puzzle. Inside my mind, I'm pondering the meaning of it all life in all its uncertainty reminding myself that time will endure on its own and take me with it, swirling me behind, dancing my waltz of "death." I feel the struggle of it all, being different, a step apart from others. I comfort myself with the fact that ( am young and capable, with life lying in wait for me to achieve it, take it, instead of its taking me. My "death" is being seized, controlled by a malfunction of my brain, elusive and strong, capable of total control of my body. It produces a fear, a fear alien to me, for I am born of a free spirit, wanting to lose control, but only on my terms, not the terms of a seizure. I do not want the ugliness to be a part of me, but, no matter what, it will be thereperpetual in its grasp. Each seizure is like a stonemason chipping away, taking some here and there, forcing me into the depths of a blackness unlike the night - a blackness which exists only in the mind. (understand it will not deform me, make me insane, or deplete my intelligence. But it has caused suffering like no other I have ever experienced. Nothing exceeds what epilepsy is able to do to one's life. The pain of losing love, complete disappointment, defeat in my own personal attempts to succeed, conflict and frustration demand that ( search for an "end" to it. My lifetime, nearly all twenty-seven years of it, has been shrouded by the fact that I am an epileptic-doctors, hospitals, tests, barbiturates. The life of my family is one of terror, confusions, once, long ago, misunderstood, misconstrued. When I had my first blackout at the age of fourteen, my family was not present. They found me afterwards lying on the floor, the phone dropped onto the floor with the earpiece close to my head. It frightened them, coming home from work, finding me lying face-up on the floor, pale white against the bright carpet. ( felt their fear and knew something was wrong. It all began slowly, passing out here and there, once in a while. As (grew older, changing in my body chemistry, changing in my life, the passing out became more frequent and emotionally exhausting. (t was not until I was eighteen years young that the questions of my blackouts and sudden lapses of unconsciousness were to be answered - partially. I would question these blackouts for a time: then, without reaching any satisfaction, I would dismiss it, bury all the questions somewhere far enough away that they could not come out unless I wanted them to. These thoughts were daunting. A fear built up in me that made glass out of my emotions. (became fearful of the horrible sensations which arose and climbed quickly throughout my entire body for I knew it would take me. The sickness comes, engulfing all of me. It bends me over at the belly and crawls in blackness up over me. The dizziness and ringing is intolerable. The ultimate is loss of control, a loss so difficult to accept, one ( cannot deal with. It is as if a monster comes inside of me, seizing my belly, contorting it into a painful cramp that I must excrete. It works its way up and over me until it reaches my ears, making them ring in high pitches, until, eventually, there is no external sound: I hear screaming in my head, my eyes roll backward, my face begins to contort, perspiration drips from my body. Colors illuminate, sight is gone. The sickening fall takes me, sounds, yelling, cold, cold inside my head. Flashes of life come sometimes, faces illproportioned, disoriented and disfigured, and then silence. The seizure has control and will run its path through my body, stiffening me to rigidity with its enormous electrical energy. There is no memory of the seizure itself. Then, through the hollowness of blackness, I hear again, inside my mind like a vacuum sounds, far, far away. I cannot reach, cannot speak back. Total confusion exists. Consciousness comes slowly. I vomit. I'm in a cold sweat, exhausted, and, oh, so frightened. I feel the wetness of urine and the softness of feces between my legs. I cry. Disgust. I hate it. It's over for now. Will my desire and dreams of it never happening again dissolve away into the reality of epilepsy? (look at myself in the mirror and don't see an "epileptic." But I am. It's a characteristic of me, a part of me that will never change. And yet, I must go back to the mirror, to look again, to reestablish myself, to convince myself that it doesn't show. I see blue eyes, blond hair, a woman with no visible deformities, only a crooked smile. And, when I look further, I see the fear, hatred trapped inside me and wonder why it doesn't show, at the same time thankful that it is not obvious. No one would know unless ( told them or they saw me seizing - the fraud of the symptoms of epilepsy. The memory of the seizure stays, hanging on, making me dread the next one even more. (know there will be another, and another. When the "aura" comes, ( want to run, fight it, get away. Nature protecting me, common sense dictating to me that I must lie down, not run, or it will hurt worse, telling me there is no safe place to go. It will take me. After I graduated from high school and moved away from home to begin my career, ( experienced my first Grand Mal seizure. I awoke in the back of the ambulance, a paramedic giving me oxygen, assuring me that I would live. The last I had known, I had severe cramps and a sickening nausea. I was hospitalized, my mother flying to my side, my having told her ( was diagnosed as having either leukemia or ~pilepsy - my Traveler/27 naivete saved me - I knew of neither their consequences nor deliverances. I was too busy living out my fantasies of the career woman, yearning to be someone, somebody. All my life this is what I had wanted, a paradox to what I would become: I was to learn discrimination, stigma, skepticism, and alienation. The seizures worsened, their frequency, their severity. I would wake in the night, dizzy with vertigo, nauseated with pain, climbing to the bathroom until it took me and released me, to cry and shake, frightened by my "death", until someone came to hold me and carry me back to bed. The night or nocturnal seizures are the worst - no time for "aura", no time to prepare myself mentally that I am going to have a seizure; it's already happening. The sickness comes, engulfing all of me. I look at myself in the mirror and don't see an "epileptic." Such an ironic situation, where one is so beautiful and satisfying and the other so gross and unwanted. This fear sent me on my search to a multitude of doctors. I had to know. I could no longer live with this revolting brute inside me. When I was nineteen, I was admitted to a university hospital. Their techniques were "orthodox" experimental treatments - a medical training hospital. Tubes were inserted into me hundreds of questions were asked about attributes of my self which I had never thought about, siezures would be induced, EEG's, brain scans, CT scans, Dilantin and Phenobarbital, spinal taps and lots of blood work. The diagnosis was vague - "seizure-like episodes" with a summary that was not able to confirm a diagnosis of temporal lobe epilepsy, but could not exclude it, and the treatment was to be Phenobarbital one and a half grains daily and Dilantin 300 mg. per day as a "dind of therapeutic test." It was a gues, nothing concrete, not an explanation of why, where or how come - just past history of a car accident resulting in a mild concussion and testimony from people who had seen me seizing. No one ever said, "You are epileptic"; it was, "You have seizures." Okay, I can live with that, and I began taking my medication reverently in the belief that it would control, end them, and never-neverland came - bouncing me between reality and subsistence. The powerful, sedative effects from the medication took over. I was to spend the next five years scratching and clawing though the maze of barbiturates. What started out to be threea- day became four, then five, until, eventually, it was eight. Each time I had a seizure the medication was increased in an effort to balance and stabilize its therapeutic value. My personality changed. Inwardly I wanted it all; outwardly, I looked like a junkie - my eyes circled in dark rings, pupils dilated and glazed, speech and coordination impaired. My life was going to revolve around epilepsy, not around me. The stigma hard and cruel attached itself to me as a parasite, defeating me and eating me, 'til I would be nothing. I blamed the barbiturates for everything: job performance failure, balloon gums, acne, and a total lack ofcommon sense in terms of money and how to treat it. Medical bills piled up. I was as uninsurable as I was unemployable. But, through it aliI never really felt a thing - the downers sedated me, took the exhilaration out of me, left me loose and untouchable. There developed a vicious syndrome - the frail line between "wanting to lose control" and "losing control involuntarily." The only other thing in life where one must be able to lose control is orgasm. Such an ironic situation, where one is so beautiful and satisfying and the other so gross and unwanted. I was afraid of being touched by anyone - repulsed Traveler/28 by my body, I separated myself from it. [was closed off, even from a motherly hug. And, yet, I craved it, w.mted it badly. Resentment seethed inside me at my inability to be affectionate. The suppression was enormous, insufferable, contained. It had to come out, release itself from inside me. The stress was making the seizures worse, but, still, I could not let go. My mind did it for me. A fugue occured. The las I had known I had been at home on my lunch hour eating a sandwich, the next, I was at the office at my desk. Nearly an hour and a half had passed. I had no awareness of the activity of driving, working, nothing. The impact of "waking up" made me hyperventilate and seize. I was taken to the hospital. Therapy was to be my answer to this tormenting situation. Upon my arrival at the hospital, my neurologist talked with me and called a psychologist. With a letter in my hand, a nurse by my side, we walked to the mental health clinic. I spent two weeks in sessions with him, talking about my divorce, fears, seizures. He placed me in group therapy. I had a seizure the day before one of our Monday afternoon sessions. The mental turmoil was the same - hating myself, resenting my life, wondering why it was me, despondent, unwilling. Mary, our group counselor, was probing at me. Would [ take a risk with the group? I was hesitant, my fear of the unknown obvious. Prior rejections surfaced. Silence as they waited for my answer. Their faces were warm, no pressure. I knew of them and their reasons for being there - this was a sharing group. I trusted them. She asked me to stand in the middle of the circle of chairs and to close my eyes. I stood, remembering their faces and the message in their eyes before closing mine. There was absolute silence for a minute. Then, rustling sounds; [ knew they were getting up out of their chairs...and leaving! [began to cry with all my memories of loneliness and separateness; this was cruel, another game_ Then a sensation on my forearm, a warm touch, then another, another, and another until I was covered with a feeling, a feeling of acceptance, a feeling for the first time in years that [ was okay. Iwas crying harder, pouring out all of my past, taking in my needs. I opened my eyes and they were all there, holding me, crying with me, loving me. My pain was seeping out of every pore in my body. We began to laugh. It was over. I was finally going to be all right. [could feel again, without apprehension, without fear. This experience opened my life again, I was exhilarated for the first time since the beginning of it all. I remained with the group for another six months before I felt confident enough to leave them. Never again will I have an enlightening experience such as this one. I love them all. I had touched the sky....• NINTH COLONY Larry Larson 2nd Place Humor I I 1/ /' I / ! '" \ "...And now the top story in the news tonight. Eight , colonies within a fifty mile radius were totally devastated \ ) by unknown forces. The colonies of Sardak, Andites, ~ Mypat, Leviaton, Xelia, Cadmon, Kloonyoo, and I· Rasputen were completely destroyed," the reporter / said grimly. 1'if \' '/ "Survivors of the terrible experience at Andites, tfie . I f/ hardest hit colony, stated that they felt the earth shcWe .... / violently before the destruction. Eyewitnesses say th'ey ~. \ saw the San Andites Mountains crumble and topple: '\ down upon the colony. Federal help is being sent.:":" "Wow! Mom, did you hear thatT the youngster' quizzed. "Quiet!" his mother said scornfully. ".. .Iet us hope that no other freak accidents like that occur tc:> any c:>ther ~olonies. That's the news f~tonight. Good m...Walt a mmute...THE GROUND.. .ITS~HAKlNG!!! RUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES, QUIC~ ..." The TV went dead. The youngster became h~$teri-cal. His mother looked up just as the roof of th~r\~ome caved in upon them. \ \ \ Outside the little girl stomped upon the a~t flilt,a d ran off laughing, counting NINE upon her fingers.'. '~, J " \/ '\.1 !" ,i \ \. \ ~ Traveler/30 BACKSTAIRS LOVE A silver thread, Like silken hair, Wound its way Behind the stair. Gossamer soft, Hidden from view, For a spider who Waits for the fly Who flew askew! Alice Burt Traveler/32 ALARMIST AT LARGE (Continued from page 25) program for a special report" or, "Do you have a little boy with blonde hair and a red bicycle?" etc., etc., immediately suffers coronary arrest. In our world of thrill-a-minute living, people refuse to relax and let nature take its course. I suppose it is, .in many instances, merely a way of mJectmg a little excitement into a normally dull existence. Nevertheless, whatever reasons these people have, it's beginning to get to me. . I hope I have helped you identify Just a few of the alarmists who are running around loose in our world. I only wish I could give you some sound advice on how to deal with them. We must each learn to handle these people while maintaining our sanity. Giving up your family for adoption and moving to a deserted island might be one answer. You may choose to break off all communication with the world by changing your name and becoming a Sherpa guide. Group therapy has proven helpful in some instances. I really don't have a solution. All I can do, at this point, is wish you luck. I really must be going. I hear a siren. My daughter hasn't come home from school yet. The Emergency Broadcast System just interrupted my favorite television show. I think I smell smoke.• JEFF (continued from Page 20) his strange depression. I had never seen Jeff depressed before. "Listen," I began, "you were born in California right?" "Yeah." "Your parents were born there too, rightT "Yeah." "You're an American in the United States Army, right?" "Yeah." "So for Christ's sakes, you're supposed to speak English" I finished, the matter resolved i~ my mind. A victim of my own argument. "Yeah, but my name is Vasquez, and the GODDAMN ARMY PLAS-TERS IT ALL OVER EVERYSHIRT I HAVE!" he screamed. "Every other Mexican can see who I'm supposed to be," he finished in a small voice as he walked from the room. I didn't see Jeff for about two weeks after that, but I had heard many stories concerning the heroic amounts of drugs and alcohol he consumed nightly in the nearby Korean village. Eventually I heard the M.P.'s found him one night after curfew half in and half out of a butcher shop'window. The plate glass had done a number on his face. Disciplinary action was taken against him, and he was placed on the chain gang, or menial work force. I finally saw him one day around noon time. He was painting roadside rocks white in the baking sun. "Hey Jeff, what's happening?" I called. "Nada man, nada," he smiled and his scars crinkled whitely against his dark tan.• restless sunflowers like wild stallions held at bay by rusting barbed wire Helen Ehrlich
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Light to medium bodied wines that are high in acid and light to medium fruit. Typically no oak.
Light to medium bodied wines with lots of juicy fruit, typically medium acid and medium oak.
Full bodied wines that have typically undergone malo-lactic fermentation and/or spent time in oak.
Pale and vibrant in color. The 2010 Pascal Jolivet Sancerre is fresh, clean and screaming with racy acidity. On the palate it is fresh and tightly wound; acidity is tempered by very subtle residual sugar; very clean; alive, racy, youthful. Overall, a dry and elegant wine.
"A bony and mouthwatering style, with lots of flint framing the lime, chive and fleur de sel notes. Shows great cut on the finish. Drink now through 2012." 90 Points Wine Spectator
The house of Pascal Jolivet is one of the youngest and most dynamic in the Loire Valley. Founded in 1985, this specialist in the wines of Sancerre and Pouilly-Fume has very quickly gained a leading position with the Michelin-starred restaurants of France. Pascal owns an estate of more than 40 acres evenly divided between two appellations. He believes strongly in letting...Read More About Pascal Jolivet
It's unfortunate that this region is so under appreciated and overlooked - the wines from the Loire Valley are outstanding. They are delicious examples of varietal and soil expression and the wide range of wines is so refreshing. Dry, sweet, sparkling, red, white… all represented here in the Loire. The main white grapes are Chenin Blanc, Muscadet and Sauvignon Blanc. For reds...Read More About Loire
Sauvignon Blanc (so-veen-YAWN blahnk) One of the most distinctive grapes, Sauvignon Blanc is a highly aromatic variety that does well in both the old and new world. From the Loire Valley of France to Marlborough in New Zealand, Sauvignon Blanc has found many regions that bring out its unique and delicious flavors. Notable Facts Sauvignon Blanc's home...Read More About Sauvignon Blanc
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Kerrybrook Apartments in Apartment Rentals in Austintown, OH
1837 South Raccoon Road #2
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Property Description:
Kerrybrook Apartments Description
Kerrybrook Apartments were designed with you in mind!! Located in Austintown, Ohio, this great apartment community offers many comforts and conveniences--- and an affordable price! Choose from the spacious studios, one- or two- bedroom suites that are available for you to call home! The feature dishwashers, disposals, wall-to-wall carpeting, individual heat & air condition control, private balcony, and washer & dryer hookups are available especially for your convenience. Residents of Kerrybrook Apartments also enjoy other great community benefits such as heat and water included*, carport parking, and maintenance-free living. Also, Kerrybrook Apartments is pet-friendly! With a great location, residents of this community have close and easy access to freeways, nearby shopping, and dining. Stop by and meet our friendly professional staff that can help you to take a peek at what makes Kerrybrook unique!
Pet Policy:
Cats and Dogs are allowed. Maximum weight of pet(s): 75. Restrictions or other terms: Pets Welcome.*Dogs must be 75lbs and under with breed restrictions. Call for more details..
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- Carnegie Arms Apartments 1916 Youll St Niles, OH 44446 Phone Number: (330) 529-5382
- Liberty Heights Apartments 734 Mill Cir Alliance, OH 44601 Phone Number: (330) 357-4220


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About MLAMLA Leaders Current MLA initiatives are addressing many issues that I believe are essential to the success of the association and its members, such as proving the value of library services, improving the CE program, and using technology to improve the association's communication mechanisms. Another issue that is key to MLA's continued success is current and potential changes in scholarly publishing, including the provision of free access to many articles on scientific research results. Scholarly publishing changes will profoundly affect all hospital and academic health sciences librarians, as well as our users.
Medical Library Association
Last Updated: 2008 October 13 |


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Your landscape and garden beds can be a source pride and beauty twelve months of the year here in South Texas… as long you select plants that thrive in our climate and use gardening techniques that optimize our tough soils. Milberger's was voted the Best Plant Nursery in San Antonio because of what we offer you: year-around color for your garden beds, trees and shrubs for your landscape, turf grass and water features. Visit Milberger's where the plans stock is always fresh and healthy and the gardening expertise is free.
The Bougainvillea is an immensely showy, floriferous and hardy plant: brilliant tropical color it loves the hot sun and is prized for its spectacular color Virtually pest-free and disease resistant it can be coaxed into a small manageable potted plant or a sizeable tree, it can spread itself vertically on a wall or trellis and it makes one of the best hedges, bushes, and curb-liners. If you watch for our weekly ad specials you will find bougainvillea on sale at Milberger's Nursery.


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SOAR programs are designed to welcome you to your new campus home and help you make a successful transition to Missouri State. SOAR will help you:
We want your first semester at Missouri State to be as successful as possible!
Attendance at a SOAR session is required of all first-time freshmen prior to registering for classes. SOAR also offers programming specific to families of first-time students. Visit Who is SOAR For? for more information.


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The position reports to the Executive Director.
Responsibilities include:
University degree in Engineering, Marketing or Administration, specializing in Computer Science, Telecommunications, Information Technologies and/or the Internet.
Candidates will preferably hold a post-graduate or MBA degree.
Experience in decision-making positions within the Internet, Telecommunications or Information Technology industries, involving team leadership and development, commercial policies and strategies.
Knowledge of LACNIC, its products and services will be valued.
Fluency in Spanish, both oral and written Fluency in English, both oral and written Oral and written Portuguese communication skills will be valued.
Availability to travel abroad. Domiciled in or willing to relocate to Montevideo, Uruguay.
Subject to professional training and experience, we offer a competitive salary and an attractive benefits package.
Friday, February 18, 2011.


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PUMA News Archive
Fernando Alonso
July 2012
June 2012
May 2012
Fernando Alonso evoSPEED Q&A
May 25, 2012Fernando Alonso talks to us about the season so far, Monaco, training, and the evoSPEED Race Boot
March 2012
Hot-Hot Heat, Humidity, and Flames!
March 24, 2012It's all hotting up in Sepang! Our feline friend ventures behind the flame-damaged scenes to bring you an update from today's qualifying.


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SmileMakers has a large selection of Dr. Seuss items for your classroom! Let SmileMakers provide the fun!
Reward your students with fun character products from SmileMakers.
View our complete list of categories to the left.
Copyright 2014, SmileMakers, Inc., All Rights Reserved.
All images displayed on this site are the property of SmileMakers, Inc or their respective owners and may not be reproduced in any manner.


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PwC: Pace of Rising Medical Costs Slowing
Lower-cost healthcare options such as retail clinics and a decline in hospital readmissions are holding the projected increase in medical costs to 6.5%, a full percentage point lower than the 2013 projected rate, says PwC's Medical Cost Trend report.
As work to implement the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act continues, a new report projects that for the fourth consecutive year, the pace of medical cost increases will slow.
Taking into account the spread of less expensive care options such as retail clinics and a decline in hospital readmissions, in 2014 healthcare cost are projected to increase by 6.5%, according to the Medical Cost Trend report from PwC's Health Research Institute [PDF]. That is a full percentage point lower than the 2013 projected rate.
The medical cost trend, which is a measurement of the inflation in the cost of medical goods and services from year to year, is of importance to employers and consumers because it influences the cost of health insurance premiums, Rick Judy, principal in PwC's Health Industries practice, said in a telephone interview.
While the economy continues to impact the healthcare industry, a number of new factors are identified as influencing the downward direction of healthcare costs in 2014. Some are related to the PPACA while others are structural changes introduced by the private sector:
Declines in hospital readmissions: New readmission penalties introduced by the PPACA take direct aim at waste in the health system, which is estimated to be as high as 30%. According to PWC Medical Cost Trend report, hospitals are already putting more effort and energy into preventing costly readmissions and it shows—hospital readmissions dropped by nearly 70,000 in 2012. That trend is expected to accelerate through 2014.
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tratamiento de las úlceras (6/18/2013 at 11:48 AM)
Is that this is the consequence of failing to health in the hands of the free market, that's the experience we left the Reagan administration and lack of regulation by the market would lower costs and raise quality (contrast effect was ). country are using health as a business and not as a good of the nation.
- Why Is Healthcare Price Transparency So Hard?
- 5 Hot Healthcare Ideas from SXSW
- EHR Spending Continues, But Jury Still Out on ROI
- Hospital Groups Strike Back at Hospital Rating Systems
- Adverse Events from Insulin Prescribing 'An Epidemic'
- Care Coordination a Cost-Cutting Quality Driver
- The Trouble with Hospital Price Transparency
- Hospital CEO Turnover Hits Record High
- 4 Marketing Tactics for Hospitals on Instagram
- Slideshow: Healthcare Leaders Discuss Population Health Management


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Regal Beloit Corporation To Hold Fourth Quarter 2011 Earnings Conference Call On Tuesday, February 7, 2012
BELOIT, Wis., Jan. 11, 2012 /PRNewswire/ -- Regal Beloit Corporation (NYSE: RBC) announced today that it plans to release its fourth quarter 2011 financial results after the market closes on Monday, February 6, 2012.
At 9:00 AM CST ( 10:00 AM EST) on Tuesday, February 7, 2012, Regal Beloit will hold a conference call to discuss the earnings release. To listen to the call and view the presentation slides via the internet, please go to http://www.regalbeloit.com/ or at: http://www.videonewswire.com/event.asp?id=84548. Individuals who would like to participate by phone should dial 866-524-3160, referencing Regal Beloit. International callers should dial 412-317-6760, referencing Regal Beloit.
A telephone replay of the call will be available through May 1, 2012, at 877-344-7529, conference ID 10008818. International callers should call 412-317-0088 using the same conference ID. A webcast replay will be available until May 1, 2012, and can be accessed at http://www.regalbeloit.com/rbceventspresentations.htm or at http://www.videonewswire.com/event.asp?id=84548 .
Regal Beloit Corporation is a leading manufacturer of electric motors, mechanical and electrical motion controls and power generation products serving markets throughout the world. Regal Beloit is headquartered in Beloit, Wisconsin, and has manufacturing, sales and service facilities throughout the United States, Canada, Mexico, Europe and Asia. Regal Beloit's common stock is a component of the S&P Mid Cap 400 Index and the Russell 2000 Index. SOURCE Regal Beloit CorporationSelect the service that is right for you!
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version: UK | USA | International
Sort: publication date | titles A - Z
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In this fascinating book, Dr. Treffert looks at what we know about savant syndrome, and at new discoveries that raise interesting questions about the hidden brain potential within us all. He looks both at how savant skills can be nurtured, and how they can help the person who has them, particularly if that person is on the autism spectrum. more »
2010, Hardback: £25.00/ $39.95Keywords: Asperger syndrome, autism, creativity, gifted and talented, giftedness, high functioning autism, savants
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The History of Supreme x Vans Sneaker Collaborations @ Complex
March 18th, 2011 by Aaron Hope | No comments
In late 2009, Sneaker News showed you the History of Supreme Sneaker Collaborations, many of which were crafted in conjunction with the original skateboarding sneaker brand, Vans. We've seen a bunch of additions to that heritage in the intervening months, so as they are wont to do, Marc Ecko's Complex.com set to making a list of the best Vans x Supreme tag team efforts. The list starts off appropriately with 1996′s original camo-covered Supreme x Vans Old Skools and takes us up through notable releases like the Public Enemy and Bad Brains packs, all the way up through the suede-n-mesh joints that hit retail yesterday plus the upcoming zebra-striped pairs. Click through for a preview and head over to Complex for the complete list.


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Reuters - Brazil's state-run oil company, Petroleo Brasileiro SA, said on Friday that it had discovered new, good-quality oil deposits in the so-called sub-salt region.
Reuters - Britain's biggest oilfield Buzzard will undergo 25 days of planned maintenance starting in late July, its operator Nexen confirmed on Friday. During
By Henning Gloystein, Reuters Ukrainian plans for expanding Black Sea natural gas output have been thrown into doubt by Russia's seizure of Crimea, a region
FLIR Systems, Inc. announced that Cathy Stauffer and Catherine A. Halligan have been elected to its Board of Directors, effective immediately. The addition of Stauffer
By Andrew Osborn, Reuters Gently bobbing up and down in the sheltered waters of the Bay of Sevastopol in Crimea, Russia's storied Black Sea Fleet has an air of decay about it.
According to a special advisory warning recently issued by U.K. maritime intelligence provider Dryad Maritime, there has been an increased threat of crew kidnap in the Gulf of Guinea.


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Join Us This Spring in New Orleans! March 6-9, 2014
National PharmFree Week (NPFW) is an annual event to highlight the importance of putting patients first by addressing conflicts of interest and encouraging evidence rather than marketing-based education. NPFW aims to focus the attention of medical, premedical, and allied health students on the importance of understanding the impact and control of financial and professional conflicts of interest in education, research, and patient care. AMSA has put together a wide variety of student and institutional projects for education and policy change which you can learn more about below or by visiting www.pharmfree.org.
This programming was made possible by a grant from the state Attorney General Consumer and Prescriber Education Grant Program which is funded by the multi-state settlement of consumer fraud claims regarding the marketing of the prescription drug Neurontin. Presented by: AMSA's PharmFree Campaign
April 09 - Launch of the 2013 AMSA PharmFree Scorecard Attend live in-person or join our online webcast!
April 10 - National Opt Out Day Opt Out of the AMA Physician Masterfile.
April 11 - Miller School of Medicine AMSA Scorecard Experience Join us for this webinar with Executive Dean of Education and Policy.
National Grand Rounds The AMSA Scorecard: The State of Medical School Conflict-of-Interest Policies and Cultivating a New Era of Effective Change
Georgetown University Medical Center, Med-Dental Building, Room SW107, 3900 Reservoir Road, NWSE408, Washington, DC 20057
Reshma Ramachandran, Pharmfree Fellow American Medical Student Association Ms. Reshma Ramachandran is a rising fourth year medical student at Warren Alpert School of Medicine at Brown University. She is currently serving as the AMSA PharmFree Fellow, overseeing the PharmFree Campaign, which works with medical schools to ensure evidence-based rather than marketing-based medical education and empowers medical students to drive institutional change to mitigate conflicts of interest. She will be discussing the 2012-2013 results of the AMSA PharmFree Scorecard, a tool established in 2007 to grade medical schools on their conflict of interest policies. Now in its fifth iteration, the Scorecard encourages institutions to adopt strong and effective conflict of interest policies.
Daniel Carlat, MD Director of the Pew Prescription Project Dr. Daniel Carlat oversees the Pew Prescription Project, which seeks to ensure transparency in physician-industry relationships and promotes policies to reduce or manage conflicts of interest that could affect patient care. He will provide an update on the rationale for upcoming changes to the 2014 AMSA Scorecard and offer institutions the opportunity to learn how best to prepare.
For more information please contact: Ann Woloson, NPA Director of Education at firstname.lastname@example.com
This event offered as part of the Partnership to Advance Conflict-free Medical Education. This partnership and related materials were made possible by a grant from the state Attorney General Consumer and Prescriber Education Grant Program which is funded by the multi-state settlement of consumer fraud claims regarding the marketing of the prescription drug Neurontin. Learn more at www.npalliance.org/conflict-free
On April 10, AMSA is asking its graduating fourth year members to tell the American Medical Association (AMA) that they are opting out of the AMA Physician Masterfile! As physicians who strive to practice evidence-based medicine, we do not want our personal and prescribing information sold to the pharmaceutical and medical device industries.
The AMA Physician Masterfile was established by the AMA in 1906 as a record keeping device supporting membership and mailing activities. The Physician Masterfile includes current and historical data for more than 1.4 million physicians, residents and medical students in the United States. Today, sales of the AMA Physician Masterfile totals more than $40 million per year and over 20 percent of their annual revenue.
Want to do more? Write a letter to the editor and share it with your local newspaper.
Come hear about how the AMSA Scorecard spurred the administration and students at University of Miami Miller School of Medicine to improve their conflict of interest policies as well as the barriers both current and past to implementing change.
Executive Dean of Education and Policy Dr. Laurence Gardner will be presenting.
Click here to watch online: Microgrants are available for students who wish to host viewing parties of either the live or recorded event.
If you are interested in learning more about these projects, obtaining additional materials, or just want to share great events you have planned, please contact PharmFree via firstname.lastname@example.com.
National PharmFree Week dates not working for your school? We highly encourage participation by shifting the dates to accommodate your schedule. Please feel free to continue using AMSA materials or to reach out for any support you may need.
View the PharmFree Initiatives
AMSA PharmFree Scorecard The PharmFree Scorecard evaluates and grades the conflict-of-interest policies at every US medical school in a variety of domains. See how your school fared and areas improvements can be made. How does your school compare? Present your Dean and classmates the results of your school's evaluation by the 2011-2012 AMSA PharmFree Scorecard.
Lecture Disclosure 2nd Slide Campaign - AMSA has developed a project to advocate for schools to develop clear guidelines for faculty disclosure to students. In the last lecture you attended did your teacher disclose relevant relationships with industry? It's standard practice in research conferences and continuing medical education to disclose conflicts of interest. This professional duty should be incorporated into medical schools.
PharmFree Curriculum AMSA has has developed a Model PharmFree Curriculum for teaching about drug development, marketing and conflict of interest. PharmFree is also currently developing resources to assist faculty and staff looking to make these changes at their schools, including a menu of ready-made lectures/slides and other materials, as well as a list of faculty across the country who are willing to consult on curricular development.
Policy Change at Your School It is not often that students have the opportunity to initiate such large policy reform in their schools and medical centers. Due to recent research, media attention, and discussions in academic medicine, the issue of conflict of interest and industry-education interaction has reached a tipping point. At many schools, leadership will need a little push from students to set reforms in motion. Hear student stories of change and access a guide to engaging your school leadership in policy reforms.
Access to Medicines PharmFree seeks to educate medical students on the the issue of access to medicines. Specifically, AMSA seeks to connect the market-driven practices of pharmaceutical companies to both domestic issues (conflicts of interest, marketing) and global issues (access to medicines, neglected disease research). Visit pharmfree.org/access for project ideas.


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The Polyphonic Spree
The Polyphonic Spree
Holidaydream: Sounds of the Holidays, Vol. 1
Original Release Date: October 23, 2012
Track Listing
1. A Working Elf's Theme
2. Winter Wonderland
3. The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)
4. Happy Xmas (War Is Over)
5. Silent Night
6. Silver Bells
7. Do You Hear What I Hear?
8. Carol of the Drum (Little Drummer Boy)
9. White Christmas
10. Let It Snow
11. It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year
12. Silver Bells (Reprise)
13. Holidaydream
John Lennon: Composer
Yoko Ono: Composer
Tim DeLaughter: Piano, Composer, Glockenspiel, Vocals, Vibraphone, Sleigh Bells, Artwork, Whistle
Eric Drew Feldman: Organ, Percussion, Piano, Drums, Guitar (Bass), Keyboards, Producer, Mixing
Mark Pirro: Guitar (Bass), Tambourine, Engineer
Mark Chalecki: Mastering
Gabriel Shepard: Mixing
Casey Diiorio: Engineer
The Polyphonic Spree: Arranger
Jason Garner: Drums, Choir, Chorus
Audrey Easley: Flute, Piccolo, EWI
Julie Doyle: Trumpet (Pocket), Vocals, Choir, Chorus, Moog Synthesizer, Fender Rhodes
Jessie Hester: Piano, Vocals (Background), Choir, Chorus, Moog Synthesizer, Toy Piano
Jessica Jordan: Vocals (Background), Choir, Chorus
Jennie Kelley: Choir, Chorus
Dylan Silvers: Guitar
Steve Wrubel: Photography
Speekers: Producer
Kelly Test: Percussion
Benjamin Curtis: Guest Appearance
Chris Penn: Project Coordinator
Ricky Rasura: Arranger, Harp
Scott Rowe: Photography
Buffi Jacobs: Cello, Choir, Chorus, Electric Cello
Tamara Cauble: Violin
Paul Williams: Engineer
Heather Test: French Horn
Kristin Hardin: Vocals (Background), Choir, Chorus
Jenny Kirtland: Vocals (Background), Choir, Chorus
Jon Rodriguez Bilbao: Photography
Jonathon Kimbrell: Artwork, Typography, Layout
Steven Leggett: Photography
Stella DeLaughter: Choir, Chorus
Rob Robbirds: Photography
Randi Rubin: Choir, Chorus
Mike St. Clair: Guitar (Acoustic), Trombone, Trumpet, Trumpet (Pocket)
Michelle Stockton: Photography
Maika Beckner: Choir, Chorus
Julie A. Doyle: Executive Producer
Felix Delaughter: Guest Appearance
Cory Helms: Guitar (Electric)
Cassandra Askin: Choir, Chorus
Cameron Gott: Photography
Alejandra De La Deheza: Guest Appearance


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The Adventure Island blends timeless design with Hobie innovation. Kayaks and trimarans provide truly outstanding ways of enjoying the water—the Hobie Mirage Adventure Island combines these joys in one easy-to-use package.
Molded Carrying Handle
Ergonomic handles fitted to stainless padeyes make portaging easier and more comfortable.
Large Bow Hatch
Enables easy access to the bow's stowage compartment. A security strap with a detachable clip tethers the hatch; abovedeck, Bungee® cords secure extra gear.
Mast Base
Revolutionary hands-free propulsion system. When pedaled, the flexible fins assume the shape of a propeller blade, providing forward motion with each pedal stroke.
Rudder Up/Down Control
Daggerboard Well
Mesh Stowage Pocket
Easy access and safe stowage for the things you reach for most.
8" Twist and Seal Hatch
An efficient corkscrew mechanism ratchets down this hatch, keeping stowed items secure irrespective of the sea state. The lid is permanently attached to its base via a hinge, so you don't have to worry about leaving it at last night's campground.
Cup Holder
Cold, hot or somewhere in between--we've got a convenient spot for your favorite beverage.
Rudder Left/Right Control
Soft handle makes fingertip steering easy.
Mid-Boat Carrying Handle
These ergonomic handles are bolted onto either side of the kayak's cockpit, making it easier to negotiate launching ramps or transport.
High-Back Padded Seat
Self-inflating lumbar support, thick padding, and easily adjustable straps provide comfort and good posture...essential ingredients for a smooth, comfortable ride.
Rod Holder
These molded-in holsters securely tote your rods, are perfectly angled for trolling and can accommodate a gaff, nets and other gear.
Rear Cargo Area
Big adventures demand plenty of gear. These molded areas and Bungee® tie-downs ensure that it's still there when you get to camp.
8" Twist and Seal Hatch with Gear Bucket
Molded Carrying Handle
Ergonomic handles fitted to stainless padeyes make portaging easier and more comfortable.
Island Rudder
Furling controls are available from the cockpit for beaching or higher-wind reefing.
Trampolines add space for gear storage, reduce spray, and allow you to move your weight outboard for better performance in windy conditions.
This quiet and efficient electric motor will dramatically expand your horizons.
This 8-gallon, live-bait tank was custom-designed with the serious angler in mind (adapter required).
Browse the full line of options in the Hobie Parts & Accessories catalog.


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Changes related to "2008-05-24 Ricky Hatton w pts 12 Juan Lazcano, City of Manchester Stadium, Manchester, England - The Ring"
From Barry Hugman's History of World Championship Boxing
This is a list of changes made recently to pages linked from a specified page (or to members of a specified category). Pages on your watchlist are bold.
No changes on linked pages during the given period.


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Morning Drive starts your day with the absolute best music on the radio and combines it with news from NPR, local updates, features, traffic and weather, and more!
Local songwriter and musician Josh Eagle of "Josh Eagle and the Harvest City" was in the WNKU studios last Friday to perform live. Afterwards WNKU's Steve Hirschberg sat down with him for an interview. Eagle was asked when he first realized he that wanted to make music his career.
When you think of adult beverages made or mixed in Kentucky, you naturally think of Bourbon and, perhaps, Mint Juleps. But now The Bluegrass State is starting to produce its own locally-crafted beers. In fact, there is even a new website for beer-loving tourists. It's called The Brewgrass Trail. In this Postcard story, WNKU's Steve Hirschberg talked about the burgeoning breweries with Adam Johnson. He is Executive Director of the Danville/Boyle County Convention and Visitors Bureau.
This Saturday, Cincinnati Mayor Mark Mallory is hosting a Financial Education Day at the main public library downtown. WNKU's Steve Hirschberg reports.
The non-profit Children's Law Center in Covington has just teamed up with Northern Kentucky University's Chase College of Law to start a clinic designed to help young clients who need legal services. The clinic will also help NKU law students hone their skills and get real-world experience in their chosen profession. WNKU's Steve Hirschberg talked with Professor Amy Halbrook, the Director of the new clinic.
Businesses and non-profits looking for help finding solutions for PR and communication technology issues will be getting some assistance from NKU students. The College of Informatics and Communication Department will be hosting MashComm-36. Professor Zach Hart says student teams will work with area partners to design strategies and integrate technology to solve existing problems. WNKU's Matt Kelley visited with Dr. Hart to find out how the program will work.
This weekend, modern country music composer Rick Ferrell, a Scioto County native, will be the featured artist in the first-ever songwriters seminar at Greenbo Lake State Resort Park in Greenup, Kentucky. The park is located across the Ohio River from Scioto County and the city of Portsmouth. Anne Stephens is a University of Kentucky Extension Agent for Fine Arts in Greenup County. WNKU's Steve Hirschberg asked Stephens what the seminar is all about.
Cincinnati Police Chief James Craig, with the support of Mayor Mark Mallory and City Manager Milton Dohoney, says the police department will focus on five areas of change, following a two-month independent audit of the agency. WNKU's Steve Hirschberg reports.
Most Cincinnatians were very happy to hear the news that their hometown was named one of the top three travel spots by LonelyPlanet.com.
The Cincinnati Museum Center has given reporters a glimpse at artifacts uncovered when excavators began work on The Banks development on the city's central riverfront. The items were found in what used to be the basements of homes near the 19th century public landing. WNKU's Steve Hirschberg talked about the finds with Bob Genheimer, the Museum Center's Curator of Archeology.
Northern Kentucky University's College of Informatics will play a significant role in UpTech. It is a newly-announced initiative designed to transform our region into a world-class, high-tech hub that will spawn informatics companies and create high-paying jobs. WNKU's Steve Hirschberg reports.


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*Prints may not be reproduced!
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