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Below is a list of all poems written by poet
Debbie Guzzi. Please view and comment on the work of this PoetrySoup poet. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.
Read Poems by
Debbie Guzzi
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Deborah Guzzi travels for inspiration: China, Nepal [during the civil war], Japan, Egypt [two weeks before 'The Arab Spring'], and most recently Peru. First published at the age of sixteen, she writes articles for Massage and Aroma Therapy Magazines. Her poetry has been accepted in the Literary Journals of Western CT. University, Inclement Magazine, Pyrokinections, Jellyfish Whispers, Grey Wolf's Summer Legends Anthology, The Germ, Wilderness Literary Review, The Anthology Sweet Dreams & Night Terrors, Bitterzoet Magazine, haiku journal, Contemporary Haibun Online, Bella on line, The Autumn Sound, Eskimo Pie, and Ribbons, The Inwood Indiana Review, Five Poetry, Tanka Society of America Journal, and 50 haiku. She has published two illustrated volumes of poetry, The Healing Heart and Heaven and Hell in a Nutshell.


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RAB Lighting Outdoor Lighting
Westside Wholesale offers a wide range of outdoor lighting devices manufactured by RAB Lighting. The product line includes a variety of fixtures, which smart design and advanced specifications will meet the requirements of both business customers who primarily need great quality and design of lighting devices at affordable prices and private customers who would like to add some special appeal to their outdoor living area with modern, reliable and easy to install devices.
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How to Select
How to select Outdoor Lighting
Outdoor lighting fixtures, with their various types and specifications, are designed to create perfect illumination for your home and outdoor landscaping. The guidelines listed below will help you select the most suitable options for your home.
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The types of outdoor lighting can be divided into following categories: security, safety, task and decoration.
Security outdoor lighting usually consists of few lights that are directed towards certain areas of the house or property. Such lighting helps illuminate the areas that are not protected or represent an interest to intruders and uninvited people.
Safety outdoor lighting is different from the first type despite the fact that safety is related to security. Safety lighting is designed to provide safe passages to the house and through the property, especially when it has a large area. Such objects as pools, steps, bridges, water locations and simply tripping places should be illuminated during the night.
Task lighting fixtures provide proper illumination for outdoor locations where people gather often. Task lamps are used for patios, decks, sport courts, stairs, gazebos and other areas. If you want to be able to adjust the light beam or the fixture itself, task lamps are the best fixtures to provide you with such possibility.
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When you have specified the type and location of your future outdoor lighting, you need to calculate the operation cost of all the fixtures and set the budget accordingly. This may be a bit complicated step to complete, but it is absolutely necessary if you want to spend less energy and money for the outdoor illumination. Calculate the wattage of each fixture and replace the conventional light bulbs with LED ones where possible. In addition to that, equip your system with automatic timers that will ensure the proper operation of all of the outdoor fixtures.

subset: commoncrawl


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Added: 06/18/2010 17:48:11
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tuesDAY, JULY 30, 2013
sandusky scandal
IN DAUPHIN COUNTY COURT TODAY, THE PRELIMINARY HEARING CONTINUES FOR former Penn State OFFICIALS GRAHAM SPANIER, TIM CURLEY, AND GARY SCHULTZ. YESTERDAY FORMER ASSISTANT FOOTBALL COACH MIKE MCQUEARY TESTIFIED ABOUT THE CONVERSATIONS HE HAD WITH JOE PATERNO ABOUT Jerry Sandusky IN THE LOCKER ROOM SHOWER WITH A YOUNG BOY. MCQUEARY SAYS PATERNO TOLD HIM "OLD MAIN SCREWED IT UP" IN REFERENCE TO THE INVESTIGATION. ON NUMEROUS OCCASIONS, PATERNO REPORTEDLY CALLED SANDUSKY A SICK GUY.
DONATIONS ARE BEING ACCEPTED FOR THE BORING FAMILY OF WEST TAYLOR TOWNSHIP, CAMBRIA COUNTY. Saturday night, A FIRE destroyed THEIR home and killed SEVERAL pets. THE BLAZE BROKE OUT WHILE MISTY Boring'S husband was taking her to work. They just dropped off their 4 month old daughter at her GRANDPARENTS'.
Donations can be dropped off at Watson Insurance IN Johnstown. THE CAUSE OF THE FIRE IS STILL UNDER INVESTIGATION.
A late night fire in Johnstown damaged a duplex in the Moxham section of the city. It happened at about 10:30 along the 700 block of Park Avenue. Authorities say about a half dozen people lived in the duplex …but everyone got out OK.
Crash victim rescued
SOME HEROS IN HOWARD, CENTRE COUNTY, SUNDAY NIGHT. POLICE SAY A SPORT UTILITY VEHICLE AND A PICKUP COLLIDED head-on ALOnG State Route 150/North Eagle Valley Road. BEECH CREEK FIREFIGHTER DENNIS PACKER AND 2 OTHER VOLUNTEERS PULLED 23 YEAR OLD JOHN TRIMBLE OUT OF HIS VEHICLE AFTER A FIRE BROKE OUT AND DESTROYED THE INTERIOR. POLICE THINK Alcohol MAY have been a factor in the WRECK.
altoona's interim city manager
altoona city council LAST night aCCEPTED THE RESIGNATION OF CITY MANAGER JOE WEAKLAND WHO HAS SERVED IN THAT POST FOR 14 YEARS. finance/ personnel director omar strohm WAS APPOINTED THE interim city manager and he COULD BE ON THE JOB FOR 6 MONTHS TO A YEAR WHILE THE CITY IS under the STATE'S distressed municipalities program. COUNCIL ALSO APPROVED A ONE YEAR CONSULTANT'S CONTRACT WITH weakland WHO SAID HE'S STEPPING DOWN TO ATTEND TO FAMILY MATTERS.
Flags are being flown at half-staff across Pennsylvania in honor of the state's 38th governor. William Warren Scranton died of a brain hemorrhage at his home in Montecito, California. In addition to heading the Keystone State from 1963 to 1967, Scranton was a World War Two pilot and eventually served as U.S. ambassador to the United Nations. Governor Scranton was 96.
Pennsylvania Turnpike travelers WILL HAVE TO PAY MORE starting JANUARY 5TH. The Turnpike Commission approved a 2-PERCENT toll hike for E-Z pass customers, and a 12-PERCENT HIKE for those who PAY cash. OFFICIALS say the additional revenue will help fund the Turnpike's Capital Improvement Plan and be used to expand the toll road from 4 lanes to 6.
Single game tickets for this year's Penn State home football games go on sale today, but those wanting to see Nebraska or Michigan have to pay for 2 games. Under the new policy, If you buy tickets for the October 12th game against michigan, you also have to buy the same number of tickets for the September 7th Eastern Michigan game. Same dealfor the November 23rd game against Nebraska and the September 21st game against Kent State.


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For the second year in a row, an anonymous Bishop couple offered a generous cash award to encourage Eastern Sierra youth to participate in the outdoor-themed essay contest known as the Mary Austin Prize for Writing. And for the second year in a row, the assembled panel of judges – retired educators, writers, outdoor enthusiasts – had a difficult time narrowing the submissions to a group of finalists and was impressed with, inspired by and grateful for all of the offerings.
This year's winners –Tristan Blommer, Madison Pauly, Mary Rossi, Rachel Molina, Annakate Clemons and Evan Richman – are 12th-graders attending high school in Lee Vining, Bishop and Big Pine. Their essays reveal varied recreational interests but a shared and abiding admiration and respect for the Eastern Sierra outdoors. On behalf of the contest benefactors/creators and the judges, The Inyo Register offers its congratulations and thanks to the winners of the 2012 Mary Austin Prize for Writing.
Without further ado, here are the winning essays …
The Escape
By Tristan Blommer
People need an escape. A place to go or a thing to do that separates them from the world. A place where troubles cannot follow and the stress and worries of everyday life cease to exist.
Looking outside, I see the trees, static in motion. The stillness of the air is calming. I decide to submerge myself further into nature's tranquility, so I leave my house, bringing with me nothing more than a stand-up paddleboard and a paddle. My destination: the place where land meets water, the place where I can forget my worries and enjoy the feeling of absolute bliss – June Lake.
I arrive, and before long I find myself wading into the shallows, making the elemental transition from earth to water. The initial shock of the cold is uninviting; my body tenses, but I walk on. I feel the warmth begin to take effect as I adjust to the cold. The farther I stray from land, the more my thoughts and problems seem to lessen their grip. As I walk deeper and deeper and the water begins to rise, I feel lighter, as if more of my troubles are being freed. Once the depth is great enough, I mount my paddleboard and begin my adventure. As I stand, I feel an ever-so-slight breeze against my wet body. The gentle, cooling wind is countered by the motherly warmth of the summer sun. I feel her rays shining down upon me as if she is smiling at my peacefulness. I look around the perimeter of my board and see only the dark blue of the lake. There's something about standing on water with hardly a soul in sight that's relaxing.
As I row, I am blessed with the marvelous sights and sounds of nature. I hear the songs of the native birds and watch as they dance through the air, twisting and twirling with joy. I look to the shore and see squirrels in the trees, preparing themselves for the winter to come. As I circle around the lake, I pass through reeds and watch as schools of fish weave in and out of the underwater forest. I feel out of my own body, as if the unnatural world has halted, leaving only nature for me to experience. Everything I was concerned about before – every unsolved problem, every unfinished task – seems to have lost its power over me. I no longer feel troubled. I feel … free.
I lived in a city for the first 10 years of my life. While I was there, this feeling of peace was foreign to me. The sounds of birds replaced with the sounds of industry. Squirrels in trees replaced with machines. Schools of fish replaced with hoards of people. I have been fortunate enough to live in a place as beautiful and majestic as June Lake, and have learned a great deal about the world and myself in the process. I see how far humanity has come since its birth, and yet, I see how far it has strayed from its natural state. I feel that sometimes people need to stop, take a deep breath, and enjoy their surroundings without thinking or worrying or planning. I am thankful for the opportunity June Lake has given me to take in this deep breath, and I'm certain that I will continue to feel its effect even after I am away.
My name is Tristan Blommer. I'm a senior at Lee Vining High School. I was born in Santa Barbara, and moved to Mammoth Lakes when I was 10 years old. I later moved to June Lake, where I currently reside. My hobbies include music, photography, mountain biking, and paddle boarding. I plan on studying film in college.
Common Ground: A Story of Salvation and Generations
By Madison Pauly
My face turned red and I began to wail. In no way, shape, or form was I about to get back into those ski boots. My instructor tried to explain: I was in pain. I was stubborn. It was cold. He had done everything he could. But this man had never met my father. My dad effortlessly knew how to decipher the tactics of a three year old, and within fifteen minutes I was back outside with my snow boots rather than ski boots clipped into my bindings. Today, the minute my eyes meet the mountains carpeted in white, the tensions in my body slowly begin to ease, my lungs fill with bliss, and the blanketed mountains absorb my troubles.
I have my dad to thank, for pioneering my deep-set fixation with snow. My fascination developed as my trips into the mountains became more frequent. The Sierras became a common ground that served as the foundation for a stronger relationship between my father and me. Every time a storm began rolling in over Mt. Tom, and the sky gradually dimmed, an exchange of looks is all it took. With Santana or Aerosmith screeching out of the speakers and a truck in four-wheel drive, we'd make our way into the storm. I could always tell a good day by the temperature of my teeth, and the rawness in my lungs. Wind, snow, or shine, I never could keep a smile off of my face. The two of us would laugh at the sheer absurdity that we were perhaps the only people who'd be so desperate as to embark on a skiing venture in the middle of a white out. But that's the thing; we were desperate. Our chronic desire to seek out snow drove us to a point so pivotal that we couldn't contain ourselves. We'd throw our heads back and laugh out of pure contentment, looking up into the vast white cloud of sanctity, wishing moments like these could last forever.
It's as if some unspoken language exists between the snow, my dad, and me. The minute I looked into his eyes at the USC Orthopedic Center, I knew that this season things would be different. While my dad is no longer able to join me in my skiing endeavors, we still share a common bond with the mountains. The moment someone mentions talk of a large winter, his eyes light up and I know that our minds cross paths for that split second in time. Sometimes watching the clouds roll in over Mt. Tom I wonder why my dad's been challenged in such a way. I can see that this physical barrier eats away at him. Sitting in his stale, white, hospital room he leaned over and hoarsely murmured, "It's your turn." And he was right. I find resound comfort in the fact that his love for the mountains and life-long passion lives on through me. He fully matches my excitement to ski with his support. While our days on the hill are concluded, our mutual bond is as strong as ever.
In a time where people are most concerned about the latest Facebook update, or the trendiest pair of designer jeans, the mountains provide an escape, an escape from society, technology, materialism. The outdoors provide an education incomparable to that of a classroom setting. The Sierras gave me the opportunity to turn theory into application. They gave me the opportunity to kindle a life-long relationship with my father. Their unique ability to narrow the generation gap, and foster a sense of love, and common-passion, leaves me utterly awe-struck.
Madison Pauly is a Senior at Bishop Union High School. Outside of the classroom, she enjoys spending time outdoors, skiing, hiking, climbing, and volunteering in the community. Upon graduation, Madison plans to attend a four-year college or university majoring in Business.
Blossoms of Bodhi: The Alpine Flowers that Changed my Perception of Myself
By Rachel Molina
Mt. Whitney is 14,505 feet tall. The hike to its summit is 22 miles long. When one stands at its highest peak on a clear day, they can see where the vast, curving dome of the sky touches Utah. The alpine wind is as harsh and cold as the blade of a knife and there is melting ice near its pinnacle even during the summertime. Whitney is a challenge to its surrounding mountains and to those determined enough to climb it in its hugeness. It sports rocky, sun-scorched peaks from which all plant life is repelled. All plant life, that is, but a particular species of purple flower – the Sky Pilot – that clings to life in the vicinity of the base camp near Whitney's zenith.
When my father, my younger brother, and I made the trek up Mt. Whitney last summer, I might not have noticed the small clusters of pale purple and blue scattered along the rocky countryside had my slightly-out-of-breath father happily pointed them out to me. We paused to photograph them, the frigid air running its fingers through our hair and whistling piercingly in our ears.
The Sky Pilots are delicate and beautiful in the fragile way that fine china or crystal is delicate and beautiful. If I were to reach out and touch one of the pale petals trembling in the wind, it might have shattered. The face of each miniscule blossom peers between the sand-papery, dimly jade leaves of stems that seem to sustain the plant as much as they subdue it. Each twisted, yet inexplicably elegant knot of these flowers blooms from the mouth of a crack along the austere, craggy mountainside. They sprawl over russet and sand-colored stone in places where there is no shelter from the glare of the sun or the sting of the wind, but, despite their apparent fragility, they appear to be unfazed by their exposure. Each flower's dainty face is slightly upturned, perhaps in tacit defiance, as it refuses to budge from its rocky home, to bow to the harshness of its environment, to shrivel in the brilliance of the sun. They are not afraid to face their hardships, and they endure them with steadfastness and eloquence. If they had voices, these flowers might entertain the occasional passersby with tales of their youth, of their adversities, of the icy alpine wonderland about which they must know more than I or anyone else. They would tell jokes of an intelligent, dry flavor, and I would laugh. They would divulge the meanings of their personal existence, and I would listen. Every time one of these flowers sprouts it is a victory, and every time one meets its death, it is silently tragic.
Perhaps Sky Pilots are simply fortunate. Perhaps they bear nothing, have little to discuss, and even less of an ability to listen. Perhaps they are nothing but flowers. I, however, find that the minute, violet-petal'd flora dwelling between the rocks near Mt. Whitney's windswept summit are inspiring in their endurance and their strength. In a very subtle way, encountering those flowers changed my perception of myself; who I was, who I aspire to be. I figure that if those petite, seemingly-fragile flowers can survive in their environment, I can survive in mine.
Rachel Molina is a 17-year-old attending Bishop Union High School. She has lived in the Eastern Sierra for her entire life and currently resides in both Swall Meadows and Bishop. In her spare time, Rachel enjoys writing novels, conducting scientific experiments with the Earth to Sky group, and playing the violin, the viola, and the trombone. After high school, she hopes to major in astrophysics and music at UC Santa Cruz.
By Annakate Clemens
As I crossed the road across from the trailhead I felt anticipation for the hours ahead. The ground changed from pavement to an unbeaten path and the shade of the trees sheltered me from the hot summer sun. I felt where I belonged. However the distant rush of a passing car still reminded me that I wasn't where I longed to be, completely immersed in the natural world. I urged on away from the road; I passed under trees: jefferys, lodgepoles, sugarpines, and my personal favorite, aspens. A slight breeze caused the light green leaves to flicker under the sun's rays. They danced, creating a melody on the otherwise quiet trail. The slight rustle of the dancing leaves set my mind at ease, let me escape from the troubled world and just enjoy the serenity of such a simple sound. And suddenly it was gone. The trail had curved upwards, bringing me out of the song and dance of the aspens down below. The trail led steeply upwards, it was the mountain's equal, shaping to every contortion. My body ached as I pushed myself over the uneven surface. Eventually I stopped and turned, and the whole of June Lake was revealed to me. Off nestled in the mountains, houses turned into little boxes, their features blurred by sheer distance. Mono Lake sat past the hills, acting as an ocean to the much smaller lakes surrounding June. Taking one last sweep of the view, I turned and was met by the stark approach of the dark clouds ahead casting darkness as they gathered. They weren't ominous or threatening but hovered ahead promising rainfall. As they drifted lazily in from the north I set forward, determined to finish my journey. Over one more ridge, with an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction, I reached my destination: Fern Lake. The mountains embraced the lake in its arms and expanded outwards. I circled the lake until I found the perfect spot, a few rocks to rest, eat lunch, and bask in the beauty of nature. My muscles relaxed, my mind at ease, my goal achieved, nothing could be more perfect, until I felt a slight drop land on my arm. I gazed at the heavens and welcomed the cool rain falling as a mist of diamonds. I had escaped the bustling world and came to a rest in the natural world, the original world, the cleansed world. Off in the distance, I wondered at the raw, untouched land. Wishing I could disappear into the world God had made.
I had made my escape but, thinking back, even the trail that had led me here held the touches of mankind. I live in the most beautiful place in the world, yet hardly ever get to truly experience it. Most of us don't; we don't appreciate the world we live in. The people of Mono County have forests in their backyards that many travel hundreds of miles to explore. So why don't we take time every day to immerse ourselves in the surrounding landscape? Yes, we may be busy with day-to-day life in the so-called real world. However these tasks aren't the most important part of life. The real world is the natural world. It is untouched and untainted by society's greed for expansion and materialistic objects. The place we live in is special, and shouldn't be taken for granted. Disappearing into the natural world is one of the best things a human being can experience. Essentially, when we enter the forests of our country, we are returning home.
My name is Annakate Clemons and I attend Lee Vining High School. Coming from a rural school and community I always longed for the experience of a larger city. However, after working for the Forest Service's YCC program for a summer and exploring the Eastern Sierras more, I changed my mind and now fully appreciate the place where I grew up. I enjoy hiking in the summer and snowboarding in the winter. I enjoy long-distance equestrian riding and traveling. I plan on attending a university in California, preferably near or in Santa Barbara.
By Mary Rossi
When the baby won't sleep, many parents will try to soothe it by taking it for a ride in the car. My dad had a similar strategy, except his vehicle was just a little different. My mom would fill up my Barney bottle, my dad would saddle up his old bay horse, and we would go out on a trail ride until I would doze off, which worked like a charm every time.
The moment I got home from the hospital, my dad lifted me up and placed me on the back of his old bay. He got a fair bit of scolding for that from my mom, but I'm almost sure it's what ingrained my natural affinity for horses. When I was two, my dad had brought home every little girl's dream, a pony, which was gifted to him from his good friend, Garret Spoonhunter. I creatively named him Ponyboy, and we were almost inseparable. I would climb up on a stump that was in his corral, and jump on his back just to mosey around that little pasture until dinner time.
When I got a little older, vehicles with a little more umph had piqued my interest. When I was six, my dad would let me sit in his lap and steer the truck, an opportunity I would always seize to scare my mom as badly as possible. When I was nine, I was driving the truck myself while my dad would check his trap lines.
All along, I've seen some of the most beautiful parts of the country while exploring on horseback or in the truck. One adventure I will always remember took place on the way to my dad's secret fishing hole in the White Mountains with my cousin, Lisa, who stayed with us that summer. We were almost there when Lisa gasped and pointed all the way on top of a hill, where there was a Big Horned Sheep, who appeared to be posing just for us (at least that's how I remember it). Then I saw something move out of the corner of my eye, and suddenly there was an entire bunch of Big Horned Sheep crossing the road just behind us. There were two rams, many ewes, and even a few kids. I'll never forget the kids jumping from rock to rock under the watchful eyes of their mothers, not a care in the world. After watching them until they were out of sight, we kept driving until we arrived, at which point we saw a Red Tailed Hawk. Lisa is from the innercity, so this entire experience was absolutely world-rocking for her, so when she got her camera out to take a picture of him, he flew away – right over our heads, and she got the most perfect picture. That night, we dined on fresh-fried trout, which definitely topped off our day in the White Mountains.
I've been unbelievably blessed by being born and growing up in this valley. There are things here that are not comprehendible to people who have been born in a different environment. Our awe inspiring views often lure tourists to the side of the highway to take pictures of the Sierras, whereas my friends and I have grown up running around on the many trails they have to offer. Camping, trail riding, fishing, hiking, and everything that we've all done at least a hundred times has given us an appreciation for nature that is much harder to acquire differently. Nestled between the Sierra Nevadas and the White Mountains, the Owens Valley is one of the most interesting, beautiful places on the planet. So, in conclusion, I know how easy it is to take this place for granted, but when you think to, stop and take a minute to appreciate just how lucky we are to live here.
Mary Rossi is currently a senior at Big Pine Unified High School. She is very involved in the community through her various clubs and extra curriculars. Mary would like to acknowledge her father for being her major inspiration both in this writing and in everyday life.
By Evan Richman
Heart pounding, eyes wide and stomachs turning as the car pulls into the deserted parking lot. Doors slam, as the parking lot neighbors build anticipation, hollering, "Better get your snorkels out for this one, this powder is going to drown you." My breath comes in short rasps, my feet slide into the familiar orange molded casts called ski boots. Like well-trained soldiers, we're prepared, no screwing around, this is one of those rare powder days.
Bindings click, perhaps it's the euphoria of powder that is impairing our ability to speak, nothing but smiles and wild eyes scan the mountain. The chairlift creaks the corner, lifting us up towards the beginning of what will be nothing less than epic. Chaos unfolds as I exchange ideas of where the most untouched powder will be found with Sam. We plan to take full use of this untouched white substance. As if the skiing god himself gently sat on my shoulder whispering sweet nothings, we both knew what runs would produce the most epic sensory overloads. An eternity passes until the chairlift reaches the destination, final checks are performed; beacon clicked on, leashes attached, poles strapped up, and bodies prepared.
Standing motionless hanging over the edge, replaying the cliff drops, the rocks to avoid, like a veteran quarterback, we were born prepared. Two poles click, a quick glance at my friends, the music ambles on from my iPod, then what? Like bullets from a gun we fire out into the unknown. Gliding carefree turn after turn, mouths frosted, nothing but bliss courses through the veins. Disbelief ensues as the powder sprays deep into the refines of our clothes, this is skiing. Between the face shots the first cliff beacons for attention, the adrenaline kicks into overtime, no time for second guesses. The endless powder turns into nothing as the ground gives out beneath my trusted skis, 360 performed gives me a quick view of the conquered cliff. Stomped, like falling into a cloud, setting up the next turn as the air snakes up another mouthful of snow. My mind is on the verge of explosion, the utter jitters of my body is the result of sensory overload.
A burning sensation tingles from my thighs, begging for a quick break. A quick once over, find Sam, Kyle, Daniel, and make sure we are all in close proximity. The storm rages on, casting a deep gray color over the mountain while spewing more snow to the fortunate locals below. I am unable to comprehend how my tracks are already half filled. Finally, the four of us come screeching into the lift line. The red jacket, black beanie, colored backpacks are covered in whiteness. This is exactly what we dream of, half asleep in English, attempting to listen as the teacher rambles on. Uneasiness settles on the mountain, the wind calms to a light breeze, the snow falls straight down, a quick glance into the sky shows only white specks falling ever so gracefully to the ground. A quick breather on the lift, more idiotic ski gabble, and we are ready for run number two.
For the next few hours, your mind is carefree, nothing else matters but that next turn, that next cliff. Powder is my medicine. The locals screaming the classic skier lines in the air, the genuine smiles, the joy;nothing beats the experience of fresh tracks and good company.
My mouth wide open, frozen to the tongue, lets out a small chuckle. The experience of another great powder day is in the books. A perfect day, my sanity has been restored.
Hi my name is Evan Richman. I am currently completing my senior year at Bishop Union High School. I've lived in Bishop my whole life. I enjoy participating in multiple activities ranging from football and hockey, to hiking, backpacking, and skiing – while also, of course, keeping my grades up. After high school I plan to attend a four-year university that is close to epic skiing. And in the words of Warren Miller, "Gotta use your brain, it's the most important part of your equipment."
[1] mailto:firstname.lastname@example.com
[2] http://www.inyoregister.com/sites/default/files/contest winners.jpg
[3] http://www.inyoregister.com/category/entertainment/local-entertainment


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Read Richard III's "Now is the winter of our discontent" soliloquy below with modern English translation & analysis.
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now,–instead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,–
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I,–that am not shap'd for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;–
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun,
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore,–since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,–
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,–
About a prophecy which says that G
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul.
"Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent" Soliloquy Translation:
At last, our winter of troubled history has been transformed into glorious summer by my brother, King Edward, and all the clouds that had gathered threateningly above our house lie safely buried in the depths of the ocean. Now we're wearing the wreaths of victory and we've removed our battered armour and our weapons of war and hung them up as decorations. The blast of battlefield bugles have been usurped by the musical accompaniment to the dancing that's had taken the place of serious military marching. People now smile easily instead of wearing the grim frowns of war. Instead of putting the fear of God into the enemy by charging towards him on armoured horses we're charming ladies with dance steps to the tunes of seductive lutes.
That doesn't suit me. I'm the wrong type for sexual games; I wasn't cut out to admire myself in a mirror. I am badly shaped and lack the looks to feel at ease swaggering in front of a pretty, flighty girl. For me such activity has been curtailed. I've been cheated out of good looks by nature; deformed, not fully developed, because of the premature birth that sent me into the world barely half formed, and even then, badly. Nature has made me so ugly that dogs bark at me as I limp past them.
This weak, tedious period of peace bores me: I have nothing to do, unless I want to sing songs about my own deformity whenever I catch a glimpse of my shadow in the sunshine. And so, since I could never fill these beautiful days of peace by being a lover, I've made up my mind to be a villain and stir up these idle days of pleasure. Indeed, I've already used drunken prophesies, lies and dream interpretations to set dangerous plots in motion to turn my brothers – Clarence and the King – against each other. And if King Edward was as fair and even-handed as I am cunning, false and treacherous, Clarence is going to be locked up this very day because of a prophecy that says that "G" will murder Edward's children.
bumphus says:
Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent" Soliloquy Translation:
"At last, our winter of troubled history has been transformed into glorious summer by my brother, King Edward…"
Wrong, according to my junior year Shakespeare prof. at SCSU, whom I agree with, it means; "Now is the death (or short season, diminution) of our troubles because the heir of my father, the rightful king, sits on the throne…"
rosie says:
I thought about your interpretation and it makes sense that Shakespeare would use "winter" to mean death – he often does, but after reading the line again and again, and I have to say that grammatically, it doesn't make sense because clearly, "the winter of our discontent" is the subject and "make" is the verb. Rearranging but not changing the words makes it clearer – here's a modern word order version: "Now the winter of our discontent has been made (into) glorious summer by this sun of York." see what I mean?
paul says:
Apart from the dumbing down of the sex- which we all know to be integral- it's a good interpretation.
Kellie D. says:
I find this translation highly accurate in my opinion. I have just begun to read this, and so far this play intrigues me, and I believe this is an acute "translation" of the monologue that I have understood.
Katie says:
There is no analysis though…
None says:
I think the point is that his mind has been "made up" for him.
Michele Engel says:
Please note just a small indication of how rich Shakespeare's poetry is in the first two lines. He and his brother Edward were sons (as in children) of the House of York.
Zoe1951 says:
I can't believe the found the body under the car park
paul radwanski says:
Um…this translation is not very good. Not for nothing, but ole Rich here is making some serious sexual puns and using very sexual imagery. Grim'd visage war hath smoothed his wrinkled front!! C'mon…Capers nimbly in a lady's chamber. The army is getting it on now that there is peace!! why the whitewash??
Ramiro says:
Hello! I just discovered your web site: "Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent: Richard III Soliloquy Analysis when I was exploring reddit.com. It looks as though someone liked your site so much they decided to bookmark it. I'll surely be coming here more often.
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Al&Sharon wrote:just back froma brilliant weekend in freshwater camp ground cooloola nat park not far from here this looks a real nice place have to give this a go tks GL
mandy1 wrote:Hi - all these places sound great..... Does anyone know of bush camping with dogs further down the NSW coast - as the kids say less driving more camping.....
mandy1 wrote:I stumbled across Tony's Point Island in Foster on the weekend and after speaking with the caretaker - it sounds perfect (except its not on the coast) but surrond by lake. Will give this a try in November. Thank you for you help - the websites you suggested were very helpful.
Activity_Dept wrote:Good work gypsylady, I've got about another 2,800 parks that need to be called and details updated if you ever get a spare 3 months.
Or anyone eles for that matter, perhaps one in each state that would only mean about 400 each :grin: .
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Looking for Point-and-shoot Cameras?Start shopping
Point and Shoot Cameras in the Wild
Sometimes a smartphone isn't the smart choice
|Taken with a Panasonic point-and-shoot camera
There's been much speculation of late that the point-and-shoot camera is a dying breed. The culprit? That device we almost all carry in our pocket —- a cellphone or smartphone. They're always there, charged up and ready to go, and the picture quality has improved with each new generation of devices.
And smartphones, with their near-ubiquitous connectivity and sharing capabilities, have changed the way many of us share our photos, too. Take a picture and you can distribute it to your friends through your social media network (or email, if you're old-fashioned) without even being near a computer.
Plus, the ability to download a variety of apps to assist and enhance your photo sessions offers some cool opportunities for picture customization.
What's in the future for point-and-shoot cameras?
So what place is there for the point-and-shoot? One path forward is specialization. If a smartphone is the digital multi-tool of our time, point-and-shoots can find their own niches by being better for specific applications. And for me, there's one application where the right point-and-shoot camera makes a lot of sense.
When I'm not sitting at a desk, one of my favorite activities is backpacking. And putting together videos and slideshows from my trips is a great way to reminisce and share the experience with others. To document my experiences, I always use a waterproof point-and-shoot camera designed for rugged use.
Cameras like this Olympus TG-830 iHS are built for rough conditions and to take tough knocks.
Designed for outdoor conditions
The unpredictabliltiy of weather is a given in the great outdoors, so why not use something that's been designed to work in tough conditions? Any extended trip could see its share of rain or other precipitation and big temperature swings, particularly during early spring and late fall hikes.
Yet some of the most compelling photos and video can occur when conditions are bad. Why miss a shot because you're worrying about babying a valuable smartphone?
And consider this. Most waterproof point-and-shoot cameras have tough exteriors and are built to be shock-proof. So if you happen to drop your camera while leaning over a ledge for that perfect shot it'll probably take it. Your new smartphone? Probably not.
Storage capacity
I may take hundreds of pictures and several hours of video during a long trip. With a point-and-shoot, adding storage capacity is as simple and cheap as slipping in a new SD card.
Battery life
|A spare battery will keep you powered up for long trips.
Needless to say, I can't plug in my cell phone when I'm in the backcountry. Sure, there are solar chargers available, but I'm not a big fan of adding extra weight and gear to my pack if I don't need to. Besides, there's the problem of having to stop to recharge — that's an issue when you're trying to put in miles to the next destination.
But you can buy extra batteries for many point-and-shoot camera models. Charge one or two up before you go and you're all set for a long trip.
It's a camera, not a phone
But when you get right down to it, the best recommendation for a point-and-shoot built for outdoor conditions is that it's built to be a camera, nothing more, nothing less. You'll find options your smart phone probably won't have — things like timers, macro settings, greater optical zoom, exposure settings, attachments for tripods, HD video recording, GPS tagging, and much more.
The right tool for the right job
With a dedicated camera, you'll have more tools at your disposal than you're likely to find with a cellphone or smartphone. That's not to say you can't take good pictures with a smartphone, but why limit yourself? Get a good point-and-shoot and learn to use it — you'll be glad you did when you're putting together your trip documentary or video slideshow.
But by all means, take your phone with you when you hit the backcountry. Just keep it in your pack for when you may really need it — in an emergency. When it's vital to get in touch with the outside, you won't want your phone to have a battery that's run down from taking pictures and videos.
On the trail
Here's a little example of what you can do with a point-and-shoot and some editing software, from a recent trip following an early-season snow in the Virginia mountains. Shot with a Pansonic rugged point-and-shoot and edited with PowerDirector 8.


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I am still quite the newbie but if open source software is so great, why aren't GIMP and the AMD drivers kicking ass compared to their proprietary counterparts?
The reason no one wants to use them is they have to fight an uphill battle, and just haven't won on every front yet. Adobe & Autodesk pay for the spot-light position. No one is dumping millions of dollars into getting the OpenSource tools into schools, and internet ad campaigns, etc. But, just like Linux, they can't be stopped, and will continue gaining features and support support until the commercial competitors are dumping millions into their products for only a few unique features. At that point, it simply isn't profitable trying to compete, and new development (even commercial) will be put into expanding the "open standard" tools.
Much of the example work on my resume (http://reign-studios.com/philipwitte/) is made using open-source tools on Linux (Arch, GnomeShell).
Also, a few things I've made with open tools which aren't on my resume:
- Nimrod Language - New Web Design (Inkscape, Gimp)
- Paper Tanks (Inkscape, Gimp, MyPaint)
- Space Pizza Delivery (Blender, Inkscape, Gimp, MyPaint)
Last edited by F i L; 02-18-2013 at 09:54 PM.
As for the pirates... Idiots that deserve to get their box pwnt.
If you want to pirate a game pirate a Windows only title. As has been stated many times 90% of the Linux titles have or still are available DRM free either from their developer's sites or where part of a HIB.
Sure I pirate music all the time as well, but I actually go see most bands in concert which makes them far more then buying the album anyways and if their music is available through a site like Bandcamp I buy it in FLAC.
Thanks for all the responses, guys. I am just a curious newb; I wasn't trolling. I did try Gnome 3 but went back to Cinnamon, moilami. It didn't feel ready yet, plus some of the extensions I wanted to use weren't up to date and thus didn't work.


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Discussing: Cannot Locate Story
Cannot Locate Story
Message: 53035
04 Jan 10 5:21 AM
Original Post
General Audience
This one is interesting. I had uploaded, deleted and renumbered several chapters to a story without difficulty. Then I was updating the story overview portion of a story. So that would have been something like,
Author Toolbox >> Orcs In Hobbiton >> Story Summary >> Edit Story
But when I tried to save the edits (main characters, some rewriting on the story summary) I got a page saying "Cannot Locate Story. Sorry, we cannot locate this story." (Page title: "Cannot Locate Story - My Stories - My Stuff - Henneth Annun.") I tried going back and reediting a few times, always with the same results.
The funny thing is that the edits *did* save, as I discovered later when I checked my story separately and looked in the General Stories listing. So saving the edits to story overview worked but it took me to a page implying that it hadn't worked.
Re: Cannot Locate Story
Message: 53036
04 Jan 10 6:12 AM
Reply To: 53035
General Audience
Well, that is not a good way to start the morning, with a big fat hairy bug. Sorry!
I'm on my way out the door for work, so can't do any work on the issue, but it sounds like the story ID is not getting passed correctly. The update worked, but the hand-off back to the overview page did not, which threw the error.
I'll take a closer look when I'm home tonight.
EDIT - Yes, the story ID is not getting passed in because of some interference from the drop-down list in the Author Toolbox.


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John Walters
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