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Gatlinburg History
In a time when exploring the wilderness was a lonely and often frightening endeavor one woman bravely took her family to the land that her deceased husband had wished for her to go. Over two hundred years ago Martha Ogle went to this land in eastern Tennessee, the "land of paradise," with her two children and a few other family members and made a home there; this would eventually become the town known as Gatlinburg. Many more would follow in Ogle's footsteps to become the first settlers of this beautiful tract of land that still maintains traces of the natural beauty that Mr. Ogle had long been enamored of.
Yet it wasn't known as Gatlinburg; the original inhabitants of the land named it White Oak Flats for the abundance of the stately trees that seemed to surround them in the mountains. Surnames such as Whaley, McCarter, Trentham and Reagan began appearing around those parts as more people came to carve out a niche for themselves in the great forest. The man for whom the town is named, Radford Gatlin, was the proprietor of the second general store in the area yet was soon banished due to varying reasons. He was also a somewhat eccentric preacher and a democrat where the woods were known to breed Republicans. Nevertheless the town still carries his namesake into the 21st century and beyond.
Times were hard in the first hundred years but the mountain people were tough, even when war broke out all around them. Only a handful decided to join the cause and fight in the Civil War, most families preferred to remain neutral and endured the many raids of both the Union and Confederate soldiers. After everything had settled down the locals brought education to Gatlinburg in the form of subscription schools where parents were responsible for purchasing their child's education. Nearly a century later in 1912 the Pi Beta Phi Fraternity built the first public settlement school; this was responsible not only for educating Gatlinburg's children but also maintaining the thriving "cottage crafts industry" movement that had recently begun.
Between the great World Wars the US government created a program to provide employment and fulfill the dreams of President Roosevelt, an avid naturalist who had visions of maintaining the beauty of his country while providing work for its people. The Civilian Conservations Corp came to the Gatlinburg area and began its work in what would become the Great Smoky Mountains National Park; men labored to create over 800 miles of hiking trails, build small structures and other assorted duties necessary to help the newly established park. Pieces of their past are scattered throughout the GSMNP and can be seen on its trails, a vital part of not only Gatlinburg's but American history as well.
This effort helped bring more
people to the area that was quickly gaining
in interest; it also brought timber
companies in the early 1900's. While
most of the locals had made their living on
farms these companies saw the abundance of
strong, healthy trees as an asset that they
couldn't pass up. For a few decades
they brought their own men and enlisted some
of the Gatlinburg folk as well to hew the
tall trees, but changing economic times and
new areas to get timber lured them away from
the area. Evidence of their existence
in the Smokies can also be seen when hiking
some of its trails; cracked cement roads and
old buildings where these grisly men slept
tell another chapter in Gatlinburg's story.
Once these and the park jobs dried up many of the workers decided to make a home in Gatlinburg; to leave its natural beauty would be a shame after spending so many years in it. Slowly but surely a resort was built, hotels popped up, and stores lined the main street that would attract people from around the country. Now it is common to see visitors from all parts of the globe with a walking stick in hand, trekking around the woods and witnessing the glory of the Smokies with their own eyes. What was once a quaint mountain village settled by a fearless woman has become the "Gateway to the Smokies," where hints of the past mingle with touches of the present.


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Re: hey baconhead - thanks alot - you leave me here alone with all these "I UNDERSTAND YOUR PAIN - BEING PLANTED HERE TO DISRUPT"
LOL! "Disrupt" what, crusty? The daily primordial flow of bullcrap from RW loons like you. The cut-and-paste jobs culled from WingNutDrivel and Neal Babootz? The "chemtrails" YouTube videos from danny boy? The racist posts from Eddy and BB? The incoherent rants from "xhha?" The self-righteous lectures from Bo? The dyspeptic observations of oldandsenile? The "Jew Hater" tirades from SFB? Are THESE what we're supposedly trying to "disrupt?!" No f'ing way! The entertainment value of such rampant lunacy is much too high to even think of trying to disrupt it. Skewer it, yes; disrupt it, no.
return to message board, top of board |

subset: commoncrawl


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Hooked - (Stacia Naquin)
Updated: 10/11/2013 - I'm SO CLOSE to being able to do a pull-up. So my trainer introduced something new into my training.
When you get into your car in the morning, remember that an eye in the sky may catch you speeding.
Wednesday, Colorado State Patrol used an aircraft and extra troopers to catch speeders on Interstate 25 near Pueblo.
Troopers pulled over 21 cars in about two-and-a-half hours, and gave tickets to all but one of those drivers.
The typical speed of those drivers was between 10 and 19 miles over the speed limit.
The Colorado State Patrol tells us that they use a system where a plane flying overhead catches speeders and then radios ahead to troopers on the ground.
The plane then tracks the speeding car until a trooper catches up with them.
Troopers tell us that they use this method from time to time when the weather and workload permit them to.
KKTV firmly believes in freedom of speech for all and we are happy to provide this forum for the community to share opinions and facts. We ask that commenters keep it clean, keep it truthful, stay on topic and be responsible. Comments left here do not necessarily represent the viewpoint of KKTV 11 News.
If you believe that any of the comments on our site are inappropriate or offensive, please tell us by clicking "Report Abuse" and answering the questions that follow. We will review any reported comments promptly.
powered by DisqusUpdated: 10/11/2013 - I'm SO CLOSE to being able to do a pull-up. So my trainer introduced something new into my training.
Posted: 08/06/2013 - Even if you don't plan to workout on your vacation, you may be surprised at the calories you're burning without even trying!
Updated: 06/18/2013 - We did a quick helicopter tour of the Black Forest burn area. Someone asked why the video looks shaky.
Updated: 05/20/2013 - Two weekends left to catch one great show!
Updated: 05/14/2013 - I'm still focused on meeting my goal of doing a pull-up. And I'm almost there! But I'm always getting this question:


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Anthony Trollope
6 of 22 portraits of Anthony Trollope
Anthony Trollope
after (George) Herbert Watkins
albumen carte-de-visite, 1860s
3 1/2 in. x 2 1/4 in. (89 mm x 57 mm) image size
Given by Phyllis Cunnington, 1962
Photographs Collection
NPG Ax18372
Click on the links below to find out more:
Artistback to top
- (George) Herbert Watkins (1828-after 1901), Photographer. Artist associated with 257 portraits, Sitter in 1 portrait.


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Right now I am up wide awake. Not just because I feel the urge to tinkle, what feels like, every 30 minutes but also because I continue to struggle with the impact pregnancy has had on my body. As I struggle to breathe because I feel like my insides are being squished I can't help but wonder how I'm going to get through these next two months. It has been a journey, each day a battle. I honestly can't recall the last time I've physically felt good.
I keep reminding myself of a visit during which my doctor reminded me that I've done this before so she knew I had it in me. I also know that once I meet our little angel the pain and discomfort I've endured for these weeks will pale in comparison to the joy I will feel knowing God has blessed us with another precious little one.
Right now our Littlest Miss is moving all over the place and although her wiggles tend to hurt a little I do find comfort in them. I remember on my birthday laying in the ER bed terrified that something was wrong. Thankfully we made it through that day and the next and now here we are -30 weeks and pretty soon our eyes will meet and I will fall more deeply in love than I already am now.
My to-do list is growing longer by the minute and each day I eagerly hope that I will wake up feeling good. Although my body feels ready a part of me worries how I will handle life with two little loves.
This morning the Mr., Little Miss and I went in for a well baby exam. I watched my child's face light up as our midwife asked her if she could hear her sisters heart beat. She nodded and talked to me about it all the way to her Gana's house. I smiled and carried the joy that moment brought me throughout my day.
Tonight as I laid in bed feeling sick I remember awakening to little hands rubbing my belly. "I just want to be close to you", were my daughter's words. It's amazing how much love that little heart holds.
By nature I'm a worrier but I also know by experience I'm an overcomer too. I am sure life with two will have its share of challenges but at the same time, as I have said before, I believe that it will be twice as sweet.
I don't want to be the grumpy miserable emotional pregnant lady but for me, the reality is that pregnancy is tough. For the most part physically I feel terrible. I am constantly texting my husband and my mom venting and they are constantly on the other end encouraging me. I am not trying to be a downer nor am I ungrateful but I'm human. I'm simply trying to get through and allow the moments of joy that I do get to experience along the way along with God's grace and the support of my family and friends to carry me through…
I feel like I'm rambling now and even if I made no sense at all it felt good to write :)
Now for some TUMS…


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Principles and Guidelines Governing Democratic Elections." As a member of SADC, Zimbabwe was a signatory to these benchmark principles, and therefore
it is entirely fitting that Zimbabwe's performance in relation to the future elections be measured against these principles and guidelines.
The Electoral Institute for the Sustainability of Democracy in Africa presents a brief overview of Zimbabwe's electoral system on their website.
SADC principles for conducting democratic elections:


text:
Article Preview
The Eight-Hour Labor Movement In Chicago.
The eight-hour labor movement is already producing unpleasant results among employers and employes. In a large number of manufacturing and other business establishments operations have been wholly or partially suspended, the men employed in them insisting on the new system as to the number of hours which will constitute a legal day's work, while the employes refuse to make any such change.


text:
Michael Ballack is being heavily linked with new A-League franchise Western Sydney Wanderers.
The 35-year old German midfielder is available as a free agent after departing Bayer Leverkusen at the end of last season with reports suggesting that he is being targeted by the Wanderers who are coached by ex-Crystal Palace defender Tony Popovic.
Ballack, who has previously starred for Bayern Munich and Chelsea, also has offers from clubs in the Middle East according to reports but could soon hold talks with West Sydney who are preparing for their debut season in Australia's top flight.


text:
Intelligent Desktop Virtualization
- Eliminate the compromise between
IT and users
Desktop Virtualization
Content Spotlight
- Desktop virtualization vision paper
- IT manager discussion: desktop virtualization
- Whitepaper: understanding desktop virtualization
- Best practices from Intel's global IT department
Related IT Topics
Industry Content
Desktop Virtualization Go-To Resources
- Infographic
- Planning Guide
- Vision Paper
- CaseBuilder Toolkit: IDV
- Technical Animation
- Vendor Round Table
- Peer Research Report
Based on the experience of Intel's IT department, this guide covers the four steps in planning a desktop virtualization implementation.
View the infographic >Based on the experience of Intel's IT department, this guide covers the four steps in planning a desktop virtualization implementation.
View the planning guide >Intelligent Desktop Virtualization is the evolution of desktop management, based on three key tenets: Maintain central control and use the local compute resources, create layered images for customization, and use device-native management.
Discover intelligent desktop virtualization >Use this Intelligent Desktop Virtualization toolkit from IDG to build the right strategy in your organization with a series of videos, business case articles and step-by-step guides.
Build the business case for intelligent desktop virtualization >Technical animation on Intelligent Desktop Virtualization from Intel, which is based on three key tenets: Manage centrally and execute locally, deliver layered images intelligently, and use device-native management and security.
See examples, benefits of intelligent desktop virtualization >Vendor Round Table: Desktop Virtualization: Desktop virtualization comparison from Intel. This document enables you to compare top ISVs' answers to common IT questions about their solutions.
Compare vendor answers to IT's questionsPeer Research Report: Desktop Virtualization: Survey of IT professionals that provides benchmarking data IT organizations can use in planning their own desktop virtualization solutions.
See what your peers are doing with desktop virtualization >Desktop Virtualization in Action
- Case Study: Swisscom IT
- Case Study: FMC
- Inside IT Radio
- MokaFive on Intelligent Desktop Virtualization
- Wanova Solution Brief
- Virtual Computer White Paper
From DeskTop to SmarTop*
White Paper: Swisscom IT Services SmarTop* workplace solution, with XenClient Enterprise* and Intel® Core™ vPro™ processors, provides both cost-effective service standardization and customization.
Ready the case study >
Virtualization at FMC
FMC explores client-side virtualization for its mobile users to improve security and drive productivity while avoiding server-side drawbacks.
Find out how FMC virtualizes to drive productivity >
IT Desktop Virtualization
Podcast talks with Ed Jimison about Intel desktop virtualization technology: moving toward a "user-centric" model and away from a "device-centric" model, managing applications and services at the end points, and its associated challenges.
Listen to the podcast on desktop virtualization >
MokaFive on IDV
MokaFive's Purnima Padmanabhan discusses Intel's vision of Intelligent Desktop Virtualization, and how a flexible solution from MokaFive can deliver a great user experience while enhancing IT control.
Watch the video >
Wanova's Power of One
This white paper from Wanova and Intel discusses Intelligent Desktop Virtualization with the "Power of One" approach.
View the joint solution brief from Wanova and Intel >
Smarter Desktop Virtualization
This white paper from The Virtualization Practice illustrates Intel's Intelligent Desktop Virtualization, featuring Virtual Computer as the market leader.
Read the white paper from Virtual Computer and Intel >
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White Paper: Proactively react to IT consumerization to prevent unpredictability, boost productivity.
Vision Paper: Intelligent Desktop Virtualization
Intelligent Desktop Virtualization solution brief.
Understanding Desktop Virtualization
Driven by ever-increasing pressures some IT managers are considering desktop virtualization models.
Aligning Virtualization with Business Needs
Freeform Dynamics, factors to consider when defining a client computer desktop virtualization strategy.
Desktop Virtualization Use Models
VP of Intel Architecture Group on desktop virtualization use models, Intel® Core™ vPro™ processors.
Desktop Virtualization Benefits
Embracing Desktop Virtualization
SAP and VMware: Virtualizing Applications
Proof of concept testing shows virtualization gives SAP applications excellent performance and scalability.
Exploring Desktop Virtualization Benefits at Purdue
Purdue explores desktop virtualization benefits, piloting Intel® vPro™ technology for flexibility.
Given URL cannot be resolved.
Desktop Virtualization Animation
PCs with Intel® Core™ vPro™ technology deliver hardware-assisted virtualization technology built in.
A Solid Decision for Improving Business Agility
FICO virtualizes data center, desktop environments with Intel® Xeon® processor 5500 series, Intel® Core™ vPro™ processor.
Two-, Four-Socket Server Platforms
Analysis of virtualization deployment
Intel® Core™ vPro™: Virtual Computer
NxTop*, Virtual Computer, 2nd generation Intel® Core™ vPro™ processors work to deliver desktop virtualization solution.
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Wanova Mirage* desktop virtualization uses Intel® Core™ vPro™ processor, delivers centralized manageability.
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Intel® vPro™ technology is used to remotely upgrade SSD software and reset an encryption password. (3:30)
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I have recently been using mesobolin but it hadn't improved my strength much.... I need help finding a supplement that will make me huge!! Any suggestions?
5'10 230lbs and u want to be huge? look in the mirror
Lol yea but I can't get any bigger that's the problem
I've never checked my body fat %


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Pelvic Inflammatory Disease - Symptoms
Symptoms of pelvic inflammatory disease (PID) range from none at all to severe.
It's common to think that PID symptoms are a sign of something less serious. Many women who have pelvic organ damage caused by PID report that they've never been diagnosed with PID. This is particularly true of PID that is caused by chlamydia, which may cause no symptoms.
PID symptoms often do not appear until infection and inflammation have spread to the fallopian tubes or the lining of the abdomen (peritoneum). Symptoms of PID tend to be more noticeable during menstrual bleeding and sometimes in the week following.
The main symptom of PID is lower abdominal pain, usually described as crampy or as constant and dull. This pain may get worse during bowel movements, sexual intercourse, or urination. You may also have one or more other symptoms, including:
- A sense of pressure in the pelvis.
- Low back pain. Sometimes this pain spreads down one or both legs.
- Abnormal discharge-such as yellow-, brown-, or green-colored discharge-or an increased amount of discharge from the vagina.
- Fever [usually over 101°F (38.33°C)]. But you can have PID without fever.
- A vague feeling of body weakness or discomfort (malaise).
- Headache.
- Nausea or vomiting.
- Pain during sex (dyspareunia).
- Irregular menstrual bleeding.
- Urinary symptoms, such as burning or pain with urination.
Be sure to see your doctor when you have any of the above symptoms, because PID and several other conditions with similar symptoms require prompt treatment.
WebMD Medical Reference from Healthwise


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Nice Geof,
I would love to have a GT-20, very nicely laid out shop as well, lots of room, clean, well lit and lots of Haas
First impression? It is small. But it packs a large spindle bore of almost 3". We got the 8 tool turret option but went for the manual 8" chuck, slightly bored out for 2-1/4" bar work and will be adapting a 10" chuck to it for parting off discs from 2-3/4" leaded. Working area is nicely accessible for loading except impossible to use a chuck key in the conventional above the chuck position. A bracket bolted to the headstock with a hole to align the chuck key and hold it horizontal solved that problem. It is not going to look this clean for very long.
Nice Geof,
I would love to have a GT-20, very nicely laid out shop as well, lots of room, clean, well lit and lots of Haas
Nice shop man!
I havn't been keeping up on the newer Haas's! I haven't even heard of the Gt-20.
By the way what is all the air conditioner like ducting for? Fume control?
Michael T.
"If you don't stand for something, chances are, you'll fall for anything!"
The GT came out last year. Yes ducting is central mist collector system.
I did say it would not stay clean for long. This machine was purchased for mostly very mundane operations; parting discs off leaded steel round bar. Being small it is only possible to have a 5" length out from the chuck and it handles the parting out at the end perfectly. Six discs; faced, chamfered, drilled and parted in just less than 6 minutes.
Determined that the spindle bore is indeed less than 3"; 2.996" to be precise. I suppose the "spindle bore 3.00 inches" on the Haas website is technically correct; 3.00 implies +/-0.01 so they are within spec. We will have to be creative to get 3" round bar through the spindle.
Only glitch so far is the red alarm light; which lights up and stays lit up constantly no matter what the machine is doing.
Since I got back into race cars I havent even looked at new machine stuff in quite a while. But that little dude might just be perfect for some parts I run. That sucks about the bore size though. I do like that little bracket for the key though, cant leave the key in by accident
That problem will be solved but don't tell anyone. The purists will be horrified at the thought of taking a long boring bar to the machine spindle bore. It will wait until the warranty expires though.Originally Posted by Kool Parts
Except that it would require a special built tool. Couldn't you basically gun drill with the turret doing the work?
I was going to rig up something equivalent to a line boring setup. One end held in the turret the other end supported by a bearing mounted on the big flange on the end of the spindle. I want to take out something like 0.008, maybe a bit more.Originally Posted by JPMach
I had thought about a big hone but I have this thing about getting abrasive particles around my machines.
We had to do something like that a long time ago. We mounted a pilot about .002 under the hole on the end of a long bar. We the cross drilled a hole through the far end of the pilot and mounted a brazed carbide TSE style tool in the hole with cross set screws. We let the tool protrode out of the pilot the desired amount. We secured the bar to the crossslde and turned on the spindle (very slow to start) We engaged the power feed and pulled the pilot with the tool protruding through the bore and rebored the bore to the new size. This worked on bronze material. I don't know how hard your spindle is so this might not work for you. We actual rebored a 105" long bar .062 per side in one pass. Not a very practical thing to do but we saved an account.
The chips stayed in the bore behind the pilot and were not a problem.
I used a 10" Bison on an aluminum adapter plate. The adapter plate bolts onto the mounting flange for the 8" Bison Set Tru chuck.
This setup is used for machining 2-3/4" down to 2-5/8" so really good chuck accuracy is not important. I machined the adapter plate to the final spigot size for the 10" chuck on the machine and the chuck is running better than 5 thou TIR.
The spindle spends a bit longer accelerating and stopping but this has not caused any problems.


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NP Rank:
Live Score Delhi Vs Punjab, DD vs KXIP IPL T20 Live Streaming
Live Score Delhi Vs Punjab, DD vs KXIP IPL T20 Live Streaming
20 overs Kings XI Punjab 136 for 8 (Hussey 40*, Yadav 3-21, Aaron 2-19) v Delhi Daredevils
Watch free video highlights of DD vs KXIP match online for free.
Delhi Daredevils unleashed three extremely quick bowlers, supported by an ace fielding unit, on Kings XI Punjab at the Kotla, the first meeting between these sides in the season's 64th game. A steady fall of wickets ensued, while the resilient David Hussey cried out for a reliable partner, but did not find one. The upshot was a middling total, one that Daredevils will back themselves to chase and secure the victory that will guarantee a top-four finish in the league.
Kings XI Punjab, on the other hand, need to win this match and the next two games to keep ownership of their playoff chances. To pull this off they will have to beat the record for the lowest total successfully defended in Delhi - 144.
Click Here to Watch the Live Score of Delhi Daredevils vs Kings XI Punjab Live Score - 64th IPL T20 Match!!
Click Here to Watch the Live Streaming of Delhi Daredevils vs Kings XI Punjab - 64th IPL T20 Match!!
The leading lights in Daredevils' performance were Varun Aaron and Umesh Yadav, who found bounce and movement in the Kotla pitch. Kings XI had made a brisk start - 24 for 0 in three overs - but Aaron ended that with his first ball: Shaun Marsh caught glancing down the leg side. In his second over, Aaron had the free-swinging Mandeep Singh caught at midwicket, where Virender Sehwag dived forward to take a low catch.
Kings XI were still progressing well and reached 50 for 2 in 6.2 overs. Yadav was the fifth bowler introduced, in the eighth over, and it took him two balls to strike. Nitin Saini drove loosely at a pacy outswinger, and Sehwag stooped forward at first slip to complete Daredevils' third wicket.
David Miller was caught short by a direct hit from Pawan Negi at mid-on and Azhar Mahmood, the last of Kings XI's proper batsmen, was in as early as the 10th over. He stayed until the 12th, and soon after pulling Yadav for four, he hoisted towards long-off, where Irfan Pathan back-pedalled and caught the ball over his right shoulder on the edge of the boundary.


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London Olympics AA Q&A: Elfi Schlegel
With the highly anticipated women's gymnastics team final tonight on NBC, we talk to one of NBC's lead gymnastics analysts, Elfi Schlegel. Along with partner Tim Daggett, Elfi has been a fixture in the gymnastics booth for a generation. We talk with Elfi about her experience as an announcer and what being such a pivotal part of NBC's Olympic team has meant to her.
Q: You've been such an integral part of NBC's gymnastics coverage, did you imagine still being a part of the Games in this capacity as an athlete?
A: When you're competing, your life revolves around doing what you do best. When the U.S. boycotted the 1980 Olympics, I couldn't do what I did best. When that chance was ripped away from me, all I could think about was that one day, I would go to the Olympics and really experience it. I did that in 1988 working with CBC in Canada. I was eight years removed from the moment that was supposed to be mine, but I welcomed the new path I was taking. It was emotional.
Q: What's your chemistry like in the booth with Al & Tim working the Olympics with them once again?
A: Fantastic. I mean that sincerely. Tim and I work well together. We like each other. People tell us we seem like an old married couple, which is what it's like up there in the booth. I will always know him after our broadcast days are over. And when Al joined us, we all gelled. We really enjoyed working together, and Al wanted to hang out with us and really get to know our personalities.
Q: What aspect of the competition are you most looking forward to this year?
A: I really look forward to telling the athletes' stories. You have this preconceived idea of how the Olympics should be before you get there, and then you are reminded that anything can happen. It's moments like that, that I remember. Standing in the arena, feeling the passion, being able to say "I was a part of that moment." It's not just about the gold medal. It's about the work these athletes did to get to where they are now—what it took to call themselves an Olympian.
Q: What are the biggest challenges in preparing for calling an Olympic sport and during the event itself?
A: My friends always ask me before an Olympics, "Have you started to study?" It might seem like a challenge to learn all the names and stats, but I'm so involved in the gymnastics world that I'm never not going to know what's going on. The challenge lies in relaying that information to the audience. You have to make them understand the sport, understand how it's judged, and the difference between a winning and losing routine. Gymnastics is so subjective and there's a challenge in that.
Q: How much of the Olympics are you able to take in as a fan? What else will you try and take part in outside the booth in London?
A: Not much. My first priority here is my job, and I take that seriously. My father taught me to work first, then play. I've grown up with those values. I'm such a lucky person to be able to enjoy my work and witness such greatness at each Olympics. Toward the end of the Games, my family is coming to London, which will be fun. I'll go sightseeing with them.
Q: How do the Games in London compare to other Olympic Games?
A: You know, I don't like to compare. It's always new. I always go into each Olympics ready for a new experience and always try to take a little something away from those experiences. Mostly it's the people, the athletes. They've worked so hard. It's hard every four years when you see the team you're cheering for not make it, for them not to fully achieve their dream. You just have to look forward. You have to hope that they will have their Olympic moment.


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2006-10-19 / Island Life
Pumpkin delivery
Port Aransas Family Center IGA co-owner Mike Hall, right, unloads a pickup truck full of pumpkins at Trinity-by-the-Sea Day School on Tuesday, Oct. 17. Assisting was John Ward, IGA's direct store delivery manager. At left is Nana Ward (no relation to John), director of the day school. The grocery store donated the pumpkins for use in the day school's pumpkin patch, which will be held tomorrow and Saturday, Oct. 20 and 21 outside the day school, which is part of Trinity-by-the-Sea Episcopal Church, 433 Trojan Dr.


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October 26, 2011
Obama Administration Trying To Speed up Transmission Line Approvals
October 26, 2011–As part of its push to improve the nation's power system, the Obama administration is trying to expedite construction of 7 transmission lines, in various stages of planning and design, spanning 3,100 miles in 12 states.August 17, 2011
Projects in 6 States Selected To Help Pioneer 3 Biofuels
August 17, 2011–USDA continues to expand its Biomass Crop Assistance Program that provides financial incentives for producers of various biomass products with the latest selected project areas for growing camelina in CA, OR, WA, and MT, poplar trees in OR, and switchgrass in KS and OK.Voluntary Sage-Grouse Protection Efforts Awarded $71 Million
August 17, 2011–Greater sage-grouse are at just 3% of their historical numbers, and warrant protection, according to the Bureau of Land Management. But since other species are in even more dire straits, the birds haven't been declared a threatened or endangered species. The US Dept. of Agriculture money is a work-around aimed at saving the birds and their habitat.August 3, 2011
FWS Proposes To Expand Hunting at 10 Wildlife Refuges
August 3, 2011–Hunting, under certain conditions, is already allowed at more than 300 of the 553 sites in the National Wildlife Refuge System. Contact local environmental, animal rights, and hunting groups for opinions for or against these proposals that would allow additional species to be killed at 10 refuges in 8 states.May 25, 2011
USFS Releases Court-Ordered EIS for Fire Retardants
May 25, 2011–Information sessions and webinars on possible health and environmental effects of aerial-applied chemicals used to fight wildfires will be held in various locations around the country during the 45-day public comment period that ends June 27, 2011.May 11, 2011
BUREC Predicts Climate Impacts on Western Waters
May 11, 2011–The Bureau of Reclamation report says major changes often are expected, with the magnitude varying substantially by location. The data and information provided allow you to dig into the details to some degree for the watersheds of interest to your audience.April 27, 2011
BLM Invites More Public Comment for New Oil Shale PEIS
April 27, 2011–Public meetings in Colorado, Utah and Wyoming from April 26 to May 5, 2011 will likely be newsy events, with advocates and critics representing industry, environmentalists, local governments, and other interested groups and individuals voicing their opinions.March 9, 2011
Utah Governor Signs Controversial Bill Cutting Public Access to Info
March 9, 2011–Former National Freedom of Information director Coalition Charles N. Davis said the bill "puts Utah in a class of one, alone in an anti-democratic zone in which the governors enjoy almost carte blanche over what information they deign to share with the rabble."February 23, 2011
Photojournalist Asks Court for Access to Wild Horse Operations
February 23, 2011–A wild horse journalist, photojournalist and correspondent for Horseback Magazine is petitioning the US Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals in San Francisco to redress the inaction of a federal district court in Nevada on her request that restrictions on her access to the roundups and warehouses be lifted.February 2, 2011
Meetings Set for Getting Public Feedback on Solar Sites
February 2, 2011–The federal government has released its draft Programmatic Environmental Impact Statement for identifying and evaluating the best areas on public lands for building utility-scale solar plants. A 90-day public comment period ends March 17, 2011, preceded by 14 meetings in 6 Western states and Washington, D.C.
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ends thursday at noon MST*see details
**Valid on 2 Day Air shipping method only. Not valid on any other shipping method. Offer subject to change without notice. Limited time offer.
Order deadlines for delivery by 12/24*
Shipping Method | Order Deadline |
FedEx 2 Day | December 19th, Noon MST |
FedEx Overnight | December 20th, Noon MST |
Crocs™ Work Shoes
Work shoes from Crocs™ have been designed with comfort, style, and functionality in mind. Built for your job with the comfort of our patented Croslite™ material, Crocs work shoes help support your feet for those long hour shifts. Most Crocs work shoes come with our proprietary Crocs Lock™ technology that increases slip resistance for those slippery surfaces in the restaurant or hospital. As if this wasn't enough! These work shoes are also easy to clean and odor-resistant for even the messiest of jobs, just use soap & water. Whether you're a bartender, waiter, chef, or host, these shoes are comfortable and stylish enough to weather the toughest of shifts. Not in the food service industry? Use Crocs™ as comfortable nurse shoes, doctor shoes, and more. Don't miss what plenty of other service professionals are taking advantage of in their work shoes from Crocs!


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Einhell Petrol Hedge Trimmer BH-PH 2250
Catalogue Number: 206-9369
This requires an adult to sign upon delivery
Age restrictions for product
- 25cc Power
- 41cm Cutting Width
- Vibration absorbing front handle
Product Details
This Einhell 25cc hedge trimmer is ideal for use on larger hedges or allotments, or where no electricity is available. This high performance, robust hedge trimmer has a 50cm cutting length with a 2cm cutting capacity and features a vibration absorbing front handle. The petrol tank holds 0.7L. For spare parts for this hedge trimmer please see catalogue number 210-6958. This product can only be returned to a store - unless our suppliers delivered them directly to your home.
back to topProduct specifications
Key Information | |
Type | Petrol hedge trimmer |
Power | |
Power | 25cc |
Features | |
Adjustable Cutting Head | N |
Edging Facility | N |
Extendable Shaft | N |
Safety Switch | N |
Telescopic Handle | N |
Dimensions | |
Cutting Width (cm) | 41 |
Product Height | 26.0 Centimetre |
Product Width | 22.0 Centimetre |
Product Depth | 105.0 Centimetre |
Product Weight | 5.6 Kilogram |
Buy from Trove
- £167.05
- 167 Clubcard points
- in stock
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Yingluck: Find cause of South blackout
- Published: 22 May 2013 at 10.29
- Online news: Local News
Prime Minister Yingluck Shinawatra has ordered an investigation into the causes of the massive power blackout in 14 southern provinces on Tuesday night, and the preparation of contingency plans to ensure it does not happen again.
A family eats their dinner by candlelight.
The blackout occurred about 6.30pm and lasted at least two hours, affecting most provinces in the South of the country.
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- January 5, 2011
- 9:34 p.m.
- Suggest removal
- Reply to this post
cooldad writes:
i thought that was a bullet proof vest he was wearing . all drug dealers should get one of them
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If it's crap ... We'll tell you
Welcome to
The Spill Movie Community
Hi. As some of you might now there's a rumor running around that Chloe might be considered for the leading role in the next Star Wars. We want to make a push for it and we're calling on the support of all her fans to spread the #chloe4starwars hashtag on twitter and maybe the people involved in making the movie will take notice (directly or indirectly).
We've already started tweeting it and there's no reason for any Chloe fan not to want her to get the role, so please join our efforts and tweet/retweet #chloe4starwars
We also have a gallery of related pictures which you can use in your tweets: http://imgbox.com/g/10x1o0TjJ6 (and we'll upload more as we go along)
She deserves to get the part and we should whatever we can to help her.
I want Chloe Moretz to be in GOOD movies thank you very much, not some bullshit ass Star Wars cash grab directed by one of the most aggressively generic & boring directors in Hollywood today...
....and for the love of God, stop being such fucking creepers with this girl already.
@english: There's already a rumor about Vaughn proposing her as the leading lady plus there were other rumors about the main character being a young female so based on that it makes sense to want here in the movie.
"wouldn't fit in Star wars."
Sure she would. Give me one good reason why you think she wouldn't.
No, she doesn't deserve it. She's already got an on going franchise(Kick-ass) is still getting tons of roles and wouldn't fit in Star wars.
@Dr. Detfink: rich? Here I was thinking we were talking about movies and picking good actors for the roles.
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Oct 11, 2009
Janet Forbes Images
Janet Forbes, daughter of Fred Forbes, the founder of the Blackstone settlement. Janet has been working with the natural colours, ochres and whites and her works come across with a sense of reverence for her country. Hidden amongst the white tips of the spinifex grass you may make out a goanna, sacred obects, hunting tools, and special sites. A circle depicts a claypan, the zigzags and squares make the ridges of the Blackstone ranges, other markings depicts the people gathering for a ceremony. Blackstone is littered with purposeful places and hidden secrets. Janet marks out these places, often 'rubbing out' an area and starting over if she is not happy with their placement, a true perfectionist. A work is not complete untill it passes over Janet's discerning eye and when she is ready, she will set the knowledge free into the market place. Papulankutja's secrets are in safe hands with Janets watchfull eye.
Oct 5, 2009
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Dec 10, 2013
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Borrowing While PoorPosted on Apr 20, 2010
By Moshe Adler Congress is in the midst of investigating why Alan Greenspan and the Federal Reserve did not prevent the subprime fiasco, and now the SEC is suing Goldman Sachs for fraud. But neither the investigation nor the suit addresses the most repugnant aspect of subprime lending, which is the fact that poor people are charged higher interest rates than rich people when they purchase homes, and that this is perfectly legal. Although income discrimination is similar in some ways to racial discrimination, the remedies must be radically different. Under anti-racial-discrimination laws, a lender is not guilty of discrimination if her decision not to lend to a particular individual is motivated by economic considerations. But while it's legitimate to use the level of a borrower's income to determine whether that borrower is creditworthy, it should not determine the level of the interest rate she is charged. Advertisement Previous item: 4.5 Steps to Building a Better Filibuster Next item: The World Prefers Obama's America New and Improved CommentsIf you have trouble leaving a comment, review this help page. Still having problems? Let us know. If you find yourself moderated, take a moment to review our comment policy.
By Dave, April 23, 2010 at 8:12 am Link to this comment I found the article cogent and thought provoking. The comments on the other
By Garbage collector, April 22, 2010 at 3:36 pm Link to this comment Complete rubbish. Life isn't fair. Get over it.
By are you kidding, April 21, 2010 at 11:18 am Link to this comment stupid article. take an economics class and shut up
By joker, April 21, 2010 at 10:01 am Link to this comment You almost get to the problem. After the millions of words published about this economic collapse, no one has called out the FICO juggernaut. This black box of deception should be transparent. |


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Not Just Another Place: Aruni Kashyap
My Deuta never wrote to me before. Or, precisely, Indian fathers usually don't write letters to their sons. I don't know if Manu made that law, as he made many laws for women. Our Jethai followed some of Manu's laws carefully. She always wore white. Never stepped on the ground with bare feet during her periods lest the ground get contaminated, didn't touch us, didn't enter the kitchen. She'd have just one meal a day. Rice heated in an iron pan till the grains cracked – with low sounds like ticks losing their lives, crushed between two fingers – with raw salted cucumber and ripe bananas. Sometimes she drank a glass of milk.
Maybe it was not Manu who made the law that said an Indian father shouldn't tell his son he loves him. I had heard Jethai shouting at Deuta, "Can't you find out what's wrong with your son?" Jethai would never deviate from Manu's laws even though she had never read the Manusmriti – only heard about it from elders.
Nothing was wrong with me.
I don't remember what happened. Such expressions moved around the house so often, like pigeons in the courtyard, that I don't remember the details. It could be because Ma had scolded me for having soiled my new clothes, or hit me with a cane because I didn't "behave well" with guests, or because said I was older when she tried to hide my correct age – an embarrassment to her. During such days, I would not eat, and Ma would say, "The whole world is dying without food and here at home we have children who refuse steaming hot food, cooked with such care by this old woman." (We were not given further details of that world tour.)
That was Ma. She was an "old woman" when we didn't behave well or didn't listen to her or when she was sad. But once – when one of her childhood friends said to her, "Anupoma, what's wrong with you? You have lost that pink hue" – she came back home and asked me, "Dhunu, have I become ugly?"
I was pretty old then. I could fall in love with girls. And I had also read about the Oedipus complex and had discussed it with my Ma. She had said she never felt like marrying her father and I had said I never felt like marrying her. We had laughed.
I replied, "No, Ma. Who said so?"
My widowed Jethai came out to the drawing room. She sat down on the floor on her haunches, started peeling a large maldohi mango and said, "No son finds his mother ugly. Even if she is the ugliest woman in the world, he'll consider her the most beautiful."
The three of us laughed. But I soon found Ma with a face-pack on, talking coquettishly to Deuta. "Have I become ugly? Dhonti thinks I'm still beautiful."
Deuta was reading a newspaper in the quintessential image of an Indian father – paper-reading, tea-sipping, expressionless, detached, angry, terrifying. One who'd never write a personal letter to his son and create ripples in his life, changing it forever. I heard him reply, "If your son says you are still beautiful, what can I say? Maybe you are."
Ma laughed. It was one of those rare moments when they flirted. Otherwise they were so busy with books, teaching, dealing with their students' lives, with the loans taken to build our house in Panjabari and the ancestral land back home which needed frequent care. Where Deuta wanted to start a fishery and an orchid garden after his retirement, where he would take his whole library and write books on Assamese culture, history and anthropology. "I never get time to write. This wretched life, this wretched office, this wretched job of making ends meet and, to top it all, the demands of my children."
There were four of us. Two daughters. Two sons. And he had to meet our various demands that changed as the years went by – from dolls to chocolates, from magic pens to motorbikes, branded clothes and increasing demands of money as we hopped from one class to another to finally leave the state.
My sisters were much older than me – five and seven years older. People said Ma miscarried, accounting for the large gap between Jun Ba, my second elder sister, and me. Jethai talked about blood in the bathroom, silently, to relatives who visited after many years. But she refused to give me the details when I asked since I was "young" and, needless to say, I remained "young" for a very long time. Did she lose her "pink hue" because of that miscarriage? I had never seen her "pink hue."
But it could be an accumulation of all that Deuta hated that made him dream of a life amidst blooming orchids, books, a fishery with fish showing their tails like river dolphins in the Brahmaputra, and lots of coniferous trees – devadarus and pine – around the house. He wanted to build a house where he could live after his retirement or, rather, "after both my sons drive me out of the house."
Usually, I dreaded the idea of leaving my parents in an old-age home. When I grew up, knew, and spoke openly about the Oedipus complex with Ma, I was prompt in replying, "Wow, that would be a classic Assamese version of the story where the couple served food to their old parents in a wooden bowl and their child carved a wooden bowl for his parents too." My Deuta wouldn't react as usually did. Somehow, I felt such sarcastic statements – yes, they waited for such statements, in whatever form they came – negated their worst fears.
So they usually made us listen, my brother Puna and me, to stories of couples who were left in old-age homes, but ending with, "We won't see such days." I knew that were not praising me or my brother. They meant that they would receive pension, that Deuta had a general provident fund, that they were secure. And I would go back to my usual sarcastic mode, "I know, I know. Both of you are pretty rich. Buy me a motorbike, then. I have been crying hoarse for one for so long now!"
"Look at him, so jealous of our money," Ma would retort. I always knew it was joke – a joke that only Ma and I understood. Like those jokes, really poor ones, that she would whisper in my ears during serious meetings where austere people spoke. "Look at that man. What the hell is he saying? What do you think he'll do if I go and slap him across the face?" It was a joke. Between Ma and me. Others would take offence. Others would say that such words, such behavior were not expected of a professor at the oldest college of North East India, the most prestigious college – Cotton College.
Sometimes, I disliked that. Too many people swarmed about the house at all times. The evenings would no more be the evenings with the smell of pakodas and hot steaming Assam-tea leaves boiled in milk, thick and sweet. "No need to add sugar," Ma would instruct our maid, "just pound a small piece of ginger and boil it along with the leaves."
"Look at the bright, reddish-brown color!" Ma would say as if she was advertising "Yeh hai Golaghat chai!" I always wondered why advertisements always sounded like real advertisements only when the dialogues were in English or Hindi.
"There is no place for fat models," Puna would comment.
"Listen to him! Can I slap him for his impudence?" She'd squeal, trying to suppress her laughter.
We would drink tea.
As we grew up, the tea-evenings were invaded by her students seeking different kinds of help. From problems of love to elopement to marriage to depression to exam-induced tension. She would deal with all of them patiently.
How old was I when I left for Delhi?
Ma told me, much later, over the phone, "Your Deuta cried all night the day you left. I have never seen him crying like that. I shook him again and again. He sat up and said, Ei je, he has gone. He'll never come back again. This is just the beginning…"
I knew what the rest of the conversation would have been like.
She would say, "Do you really want him to come back?"
He would say, "No, I don't. What will he do here, in Assam? There is no future here."
"It was us who wanted him to go to Delhi. Did he want to go on his own?"
"Yes, yes, it was I who told him to. I had met Bordoloi's son and Bordoloini at Kalpataru Silk House while shopping for Deepa's wedding gift. They told me that it was not so difficult to have our son live in Delhi. Five thousand rupees a month is enough. He was in class nine then."
"We bought him magazines, prospectuses. We brought Bordoloi's son home to speak to him. And he said how lovely it was to be in Delhi." Bordoloi's son spoke of red brick buildings and neem trees.
"Though we threatened him all the time that, if he didn't score well, he'd be made to study here, would we have let him study here?"
Then, after a long silence, "There is no future here."
Standing in that Connaught Place bookstore in Delhi, I shuddered. Assam had changed my Deuta. Assam had changed our fates. I felt it was not because of my parents' dreams that I wanted to study in Delhi. It was because their dreams of Assam didn't fit with the current reality of the state. And, like many other mothers and fathers, they too felt the need to send their children to a place that fit their dreams. So they acted accordingly. They didn't know what it was like to live in Delhi or Bombay but they wanted me to leave Assam. At least, in those places there were no insurgent organizations that demanded a sovereign state of Assam, a sovereign state of Bodo tribes carved out of Assam, an autonomous council of Bodos that was antithetical to the idea of a sovereign state of Bodoland carved out of Assam that both the Bodo outfits forgot about their common enemy – the Indian government – and fought amongst themselves. There were more: Kuki insurgents that killed Karbis, Karbi insurgents that killed Kukis, Dimasa insurgents… All of them wanted autonomy. A lot of them wanted states based on ethnicity. And we, the blades of grass, caught between insurgents and governments. Two big buffaloes, in whose fight we were trampled and scattered like silk-cotton during the windy, chilly, lunatic phagun months. But there was no joy in that dispersal. There was no beauty in it. And it had changed my father. My father. Paper-reading, tea-sipping, who'd never write a letter to his son.
So selfish. How could you even think of writing me such a letter?
I wanted to hate him, but I couldn't. I didn't buy any books.
As I came out of the bookstore, the fat storekeeper said to me, "Things are not working out here. We are immigrating to London."
I wished I had a ticket, like him, to leave. Not for home. For London or Los Angeles or Lagos. Not alone. With my parents. But I knew they would never come. Like my grandmother – who left the comfort of her daughter-in-law's meals, massages and loving talk in Guwahati, to die in the place where her husband had brought her – my father would prefer to die where he had built his home.
Amidst orchids and barking dogs. Amidst birds that came to peck at guavas in the night. Amidst honking geese, ugly and beautiful ducklings, swans and Chinese ducks with tiny red plumes, tadpoles, fish…
But he was still looking for a break from his wretched life. And I didn't want to be a part of his wretchedness.
When did I start thinking in terms of mine or his? My Deuta never liked the idea of referring to Ma as "my Ma." She was always "our mother." Like our dictionary, our house, our God. Silly things. Silly rules. My silly Deuta… And unlike my grandmother, my silly Deuta wouldn't furnish the silly reason of "booking a place in Heaven by dying where she was married off to," as he laughed at her. He'd say, "Somewhere, in this village, my umbilical cord is buried. How can I leave this place?" But only if he was in the mood for proverbs, in the mood to show off his wisdom with the authority of a tradition he had better access to than I. Otherwise, he'd just say, "Because I want to die here, not in some strange country which is not mine, living there as a second-class citizen."
I don't know who gave him that idea, but my idea of London or Los Angeles was limited too, when I received his letter and thought of going to Latvia or London, since I hadn't traveled or lived abroad.
But I knew. He'd be adamant. He'd be childish. He'd be fatherly. Someone who wouldn't like to be countered, argued or reasoned with. Someone who wouldn't ever write a letter to his eldest son, his third child. Someone who knew that his son loved jalebis and would bring them but never say that he had bought the jalebis for him. He'd just leave them on the dining table. He knew how much money I needed. He'd leave a grand on the table during the first week of each month and say, "Take the money before it gets misplaced." If I asked for more money later, he'd grumble that he had brought up a nawab's son in his beggar's house. The miserable nawab's son always found the money on his table the next morning.
When the nawab's son asked the beggar to tell the story of how his grandfather went on a treasure-hunt and how a large bird came out of a pond and killed one of the men assisting him, the beggar who'd never write a letter wouldn't refuse, wouldn't say anything, but just keep quiet. And the nawab's son who wanted to listen to the story again, though he was old enough to understand and talk about the Oedipus complex, would wait till the beggar started telling the story, looking away from him as if the story was written in the air, on the wall, in the sky.
When Chum Ba eloped with Brajen, I thought he would write her a long emotional letter.
She had studied medicine in Dibrugarh Medical College. She usually didn't call up Deuta after that incident, though we were one of the very few families in Jalukbari who had phones then. Maybe she just didn't dare to, after what she had done.
It was she who had forced us to buy the phone – something which Deuta thought was unnecessary. We had been living without a telephone till then, he reasoned, so it was absolutely fine not to have one.
But Chum Ba was adamant. Just like her father, as Jethai always complained. She had many reasons. She didn't like waiting in our landlord's house for her friends' calls. And it was trouble for them too. And, above all, there were five boys in the landlord's house. It was not a statement that furnished facts. It was a statement that demanded to be understood and responded to.
"They are like your brothers," Deuta would say.
But Ma screamed at Deuta, "Brothers? Brothers from which birth? Which mother? Being seven, eight years older than her doesn't turn them into her brothers. I'm not supporting the idea of a phone – it's just another added expenditure – but just saying that! You can't remain as simple as Shiva. Desot ki ghotise khobor rakhiba."
Keep track of what's happening in the country.
Country. Didn't Chum Ba know what was happening in the country? Country, for Ma or me or anyone else, was Assam. Not India. Not the United States. Not London or Latvia. News from Delhi, Bombay, Calcutta, Madras did reach us through papers, but we always felt that we didn't belong to that country called India. We were in a different country. We felt it, or were made to feel it. When there was a bomb blast in Delhi, we would read about it in all the newspapers but we would not find reports of bomb blasts that happened in Assam even if more people died than in Delhi, Amritsar or Patna. The Telegraph, the national newspaper published from Calcutta, reached us a day late since, like all other national newspapers, they didn't publish an edition from any city in the North East, despite the fact that English was one of the most-used languages there. Chum Ba knew all this. She knew, better than me, that the nationalist Assam Agitation was a big mistake. And I often heard her talking about some really serious things like the Nellie massacre in '83 when lots of allegedly illegal Bangladeshi migrants were killed, or why the ULFA was formed, or how the Congress government encouraged illegal Bangladeshi migration and gave them voter cards so that they always remained in power, or how a new breed of men and women – especially men – was created after the Assam Agitation and after the formation of the ULFA.
Shouldn't Chum Ba, who knew so much more, have thought twice before eloping with Brajen?
She never wrote about him in the letters. And she wrote long letters. She, who had asked my terrifying Deuta when she was young what the meaning of 'penis' was while reading an English novel, who wrote long letters about how she was ragged, how 'sexy' some of the guys in her class were but were so dumb that you wouldn't even look at them again once you heard them speak, how she watched a porn film with her friends and retched and vowed that she'd never watch one again – she didn't write about Brajen to her Deuta. She knew that Deuta would never allow that marriage.
While listening to Ma and Deuta talk of Chum Ba all the time, I learnt many things.
How old was I then? I think I was studying in the seventh standard when she eloped with Brajen. When Pranjol Mama called up to tell us, we thought he was speaking about some other Chum. Not our Chum Ba, who said she would accompany Deuta to our ancestral village after his retirement, marry a cowherd and work for the village by opening a hospital there. How could she do this?
"Dada, that's not my daughter you are speaking about," Deuta told him flatly.
Eleven days later, we washed all our clothes, we washed our pressure cookers, our cooking pans, sprinkled holy gangajal in the kitchen with a tulsi leaf and called a brahmin to perform the funeral rites for the eldest daughter of the house. Funeral rites of Dhritinayana Sharma alias Chum. Of course, no one came for the rites. No one was expected to. Ma cried all day. Jethai held her in her arms and said, "What to do Buwari? You've got it written on your forehead. Bear as much you can bear, it's good for you."
It was so hot that day that children didn't go out with their bats to the field to play in the afternoon and mothers were bad-tempered from having to do the household chores under a fan that spewed hot air and made the room hotter. Ma sat in the sun and cried until Jethai dragged her home. I don't know why Ma didn't want to come inside. But since Jethai called out for help, Puna and I helped her drag Ma home. Inside, Ma kept crying. Jethai kept saying, "She is a high blood pressure patient. Don't let her sit in the sun. She might suffer a stroke." Jethai was a homeopath. We listened to her. After all, even Deuta listened to her since she was his elder sister.
Many days later we heard that Chum Ba had been in our colony that day. She sat in a neighbor's house and cried while Ma wept, sitting under the sun accepting, agreeing, through the Vedic rituals, that her eldest daughter, for whom she had cried hoarse in the dingy, dirty labor room of Guwahati Medical College Hospital was no more. At least, not for us.
Now I realize why we thought that it could not be our Chum Ba. Because we knew Brajen. Because we saw him whenever we went to Dibrugarh, sitting at the roadside tea-stall at Bhutiya Bozaar. Because we'd heard that Brajen had beaten up ten men in the bazaar because one of them had asked him to keep away from the girls in the city. Because Pranjol Mama always spoke with regret about the bright student Brajen, who topped the state and went on to participate in the Assamese-nationalistic Assam Agitation, became disillusioned with it, went and joined the ULFA and returned as a SULFA after surrendering his arms under Hiteshar Saikia's regime.
Brajen was about fifteen years older than Chum Ba. Our Chum Ba, who wrote such lovely letters in green ink. Sometimes she drew flowers on the borders. Decorated them with red dots, yellow dots and little triangles hovering over the flowers in glowing ink. She always wrote 'Om' at the top of each letter. She wrote letters only to Deuta, and Ma would read them and keep them away from me and Jun Ba since we were not old enough. She'd say, "I cried hoarse for a night to give birth to her. Now this man has taken her away! Okay, I relinquish all claims to her! This child of ours is yours!" Both of them laughed. Deuta laughed too. One of his rare moments of laughter. The pride of fatherhood glistening on his face. Pride, because his daughter was a friend who could discuss crushes and sex with him.
Yet he didn't write a letter to her when she betrayed him.
But Chum Ba came back. By then, Jun Ba had already slashed her wrists, had been sent to Bombay to study and no longer demanded branded shoes, branded jeans, clothes, low-waist jeans which Ma didn't approve of but Deuta thought were okay though I knew her demands added to some sort of wretchedness in his life… We just did not hear from her anymore, and she'd never receive calls.
When I was in Delhi, she sent me a birthday present. Just once. A lovely notebook of handmade paper, and a Parker pen.
Then, suddenly, during the final year of my M.A., she landed in Delhi one day and called me up. "Dhon, are you around?"
Nobody else would call me Dhon. Ma called me Dhunu. Deuta called me Dhonti – he'd never shorten my name, never soften his voice while calling me, however much he loved me. Chum Ba called me Kesuwa and, most of the time, it was shortened into Kesu. My existence shuttled between 'Kesuwa', meaning infant, and 'Kesu', earthworm, depending on her mood, depending on how much she loved me at that moment. But unlike me, Puna had only one name. I don't know if that pointed to anything. To his status of being the youngest, or that all the love was over, that all enthusiasm to be named with a name loved by the one who called out was extinguished.
Jun Ba was the only one who called me Dhon. Wealth.
"Yes! When did you land here? This is a Delhi number!" I tried to sound normal. I tried to sound as if we spoke everyday, that we were not speaking to each other after many years, after many, many days.
"I came on official work. This is my Delhi SIM-card. Just bought it today. Save it. Now I'll keep coming to Delhi." How could she sound so normal? Was she also trying to sound normal?
"That's wonderful. I'm coming to meet you. Where are you putting up?"
How much I had shuddered after saying that. She could refuse, I knew. Jun Ba, who would not receive any calls from home.
How many years had it been? She had planted a kodom tree in the plot of land that father bought in the village to build a school and plant orchids, a month before she slashed her wrists. We found her in the bathroom in a pool of blood. That kodom tree bore chrome yellow flowers this summer, for the first time. Almost five years. We thought she wouldn't live. But like all parents and brothers, we had thought maybe the doctors would say something soothing, calming. But even they disappointed us. "Serious case. Ki hoy kobo nuwarim."
We can't say anything.
We took her to the Railway Hospital in Maligaon. I think it was during the monsoons. It didn't rain. There was no traffic jam. Three in the morning. The morning-birds dropped from the trees they'd perched on for the night on the Guwahati University Road.
We didn't face any difficulty reaching the hospital and the junior doctors were cooperative. It could be because Jun Ba was a beautiful girl with large Bengali eyes not seen often among Assamese, and Deuta, who wore my jeans (which was the source of frequent discontent between me and him), looked younger than his age and smart, from a class which they all were trying to reach or be recognized as part of, and Ma wore a cream-colored nightie that Mukuta Mama got her from London ("Didn't you find anything else to get me in all of London?" she complained), which a middle-class mother from a 'respectable' family wouldn't wear out but an upper-class woman would. I spoke English in a British accent to show that I was smart too, that I was educated enough and exposed to the luxuries of life enough to speak in a British accent. So things worked. A less beautiful face, a sari, a loongi, and any other language wouldn't have worked. Wouldn't have streamlined the process.
Ma told me later that I'd screamed at the receptionist too. Where the fuck are the fucking doctors?
"How could you scream using such language in front of your father? I know it was a moment of life or death, but it shows the kind of language you usually use. Is that what you've learnt even after going to an English medium school?" But that was many weeks later. After Jun Ba was sent to Bombay. But "fuck" worked. "Fuck" in a British accent worked even better. They came running to us. We didn't face a lot of problems. But still, it couldn't have been worse. That night couldn't have been worse.
She had turned pale. But she looked absolutely at peace. And maybe because of that peaceful face I didn't want to disturb her in the coming years. Sometimes, when the urge was overwhelming, I called. She usually didn't reply. I was old enough to understand that she was running away from something horrific. Something she wanted to discard, forget and keep at bay. Something, the roots of which lay in the small family who fought over small things, or in the ancestral house from where she had come back, distraught.
Small things. We were small people so we couldn't fight over big things. We thought about small things, too – doing well in secondary school and college, earning marks, getting a job, earning enough money to travel to London or Los Angeles if not enough to live there. To reach that level, we fought over small things like bringing a telephone home and how much it would cost us each month. But we never thought twice before buying a book, however much it cost. We got four Assamese dailies, one national newspaper (The Telegraph, even though it came a day late), two weeklies (one Assamese, one English), one fortnightly literary magazine in Assamese and one monthly literary magazine. Even though we cut down on our consumption of cheese, meat, packed fish, Maggi, chocolate sauce, cocoa butter (to make face-packs and get Ma's lost pink hue back), sweets, sausages, packed juice (Jethai always thought fresh juice was safer, better, cheaper), tissue-paper ("What are gamusas woven for then? If Assamese don't use gamusas, who will?") – we didn't cut down on our luxurious reading habits. Those pages stored dreams for us. They assured us we were not alone. The Palmolive advertisement on the front page of the Assamese daily was not for us since none of us used that soap. It was for someone who used it, would like to use it. And yet they were similar to us, since they read the same daily, found dreams stored on its pages, were assured they were not alone.
We were smaller than people who didn't have a tin roof, didn't have an education, didn't have enough to eat and drink. And we didn't like to accept that. They could dream bigger dreams than us. They could go to libraries and read so much that they'd take apart the policies of the government and point fingers at loopholes. When they couldn't get themselves heard, they could take up arms. They didn't want to go to the States or the United Kingdom. They wanted to change their country. They thought of ways to make it better. Unlike us.
But Jun Ba didn't know about what was happening as much as Chum Ba. She was busy with parties and picnics with friends, or reading books when she was home. So she was unaware. And, perhaps because she was unaware, she went to see the plot of land her father had bought. The plot of land where Deuta wanted to build a house, plant orchids and lead a life away from wretchedness. She went to the village without telling us, to see the place where Chum Ba promised Deuta she'd build a hospital and live forever and marry a cowherd who'd come home and be happy with a meal of burnt fish, potato-mush and green chilies. I don't know if Deuta's melancholy face bothered Jun Ba. That he kept telling Ma his plans for Chum Ba. That he kept reading out Chum Ba's letters aloud to Ma after they thought we'd all slept. We never slept soundly after Chum Ba left.
Did Jun Ba feel jealous? Did she feel insecure? Did she think Deuta loved her less for being so different? A party-going girl who wanted only branded outfits and costly make-up – things that Chum Ba didn't ever demand.
But Jun Ba had always been like that. And Deuta never complained. When she was nine years old, she saw in a TV ad, a girl with nails painted in three different colors – yellow, green and black. She didn't eat. She didn't speak. Just cried, "Even I want yellow, green, black nail polish to paint my nails like a tiger." Deuta went out at four in the afternoon when he learnt that all efforts to console her would be answered with another broken showpiece in the drawing room. He set off on his Bajaj scooter to the market and came back at ten in the night with yellow, green and black nail polish bottles. She accepted them with three kisses on Deuta's cheeks and forehead, and inaugurated them by painting Deuta's fingernails in three different colors. She stayed awake all night and, by morning, she had finished the three bottles painting hideous designs on her nails.
So Deuta knew her. Though, as Ma says, he let her paint his nails without a single smile, without any encouraging gesture. He didn't like her demands but always fulfilled them despite Ma's protests. "We brought them to this world. We have to look after their demands."
Jun Ba didn't know much. Not that Chum Ba knew everything. She didn't know, for instance, that each time when we were sent to grandma's village, Deuta always called up Komol Da to ask if there was an army operation going on, if insurgents were troubling common people for food and shelter. Our grandma's village was an idyllic landscape of brooks, rivers, paddy fields, forests and nice people who lived happily with cows and dogs and cats and pigeons and without any sorrow.
I was in the eleventh standard when Deuta called me up from his office telling me to ask Komol Da or Jethai if "everything was fine," and I answered, "Whatever that means!"
We were planning to go there the next day.
"Don't be silly! Don't you know what's happening in the country? You are a grown-up boy now, so ask if everything is fine. This time, when you go there, ask your Jethai what it means."
I did ask. Certain things became clear. Hazy images of olive green dresses, my petrified cousins – even the one with whom I went to look at women bathing in the village stream – and Aaeni Khuri cooking duck-meat with a sad face.
That night she wept. "I thought I'd sell those ducks in the Sunday market and earn some money."
Jethai told her, "At least you are alive."
She didn't stop weeping. "Alive? Now some jealous person will inform the army and they'll soon come and drag us all to the camp. What do we know? Why do they come? Aren't we already independent from the white sahibs? Who wants to be more independent?"
When I asked, they just kept quiet. We were taken away by Deuta the next morning. He brought our car. The driver Biren was at the wheel – Deuta never learnt how to drive. The whole matter seemed pretty serious. Still, I told him, "Deuta, I'm yet to see so many places. Have to visit so many people. My vacation is not over. Why are you taking me home?" I got a loud "shut up" in reply.
But that month, the month when Jun Ba planted the kodom plant, the month when we took her to the Railway Hospital, there was no such enquiry. She just called Ma on her way saying she wanted to spend the weekend at 'Home'. Ma always referred to our ancestral house as 'Home'.
I now know why Deuta was worried. He kept asking, "What was she wearing today? Jeans? T-shirt?" He knew how visibly different Jun Ba would be in her urban dresses, with her threaded eyebrows and outlined, blue eye-shadowed eyes.
She came back the next day with Komol Da. No one knew what happened. And she wouldn't speak about what happened.
"We found her crying near the village stream."
She looked devastated. I slept beside her that night. Kept asking, "Jun Ba, what's wrong with you? Why are you crying?"
She wouldn't say anything. A month later, she slashed her wrists. When she was released from the hospital, she refused to speak to any counselor. For a long time, she was not released because she refused to say anything except, "I won't do this again." As if repeating the line from the undertaking she signed for the police officer.
We continued to take her to the counselor and one day she said, "I want to study law. Send me to Bangalore. Or Bombay. Or Madras. Anywhere."
She went to Bombay with Deuta. I came to Delhi alone for my admissions. We shifted from Jalukbari to Panjabari.
Ma didn't cry at all. Perhaps she didn't know whom to cry for.
Orchids were yet to bloom in the plot of land Deuta had bought. Now, the kodom tree she planted has grown up with a thick mane around it. It is greener than the other trees. Its wood softer than other wood. Its flowers like tennis balls with a soft coating of wool. Chrome-yellow flowers…
After about a year, Ma called, as she always did when something significant happened. "Dhunu, Chum came today."
Unexpected. She arrived without appointment like the wind, rain and hail. She arrived without taking permission, like bad dreams. Like Deuta's letter came to me eight months before I'd complete my M.A.
Jun Ba hugged me and kissed me on my cheeks. I felt awkward because of my stubble. Because I had rushed without changing my sweater. Because I hadn't taken a bath. Hadn't shaved. Hadn't changed my briefs which I'd been wearing since the day before.
"You have become so big!" she said. And she had become so thin and dark. She was badly suntanned, had dark circles around her eyes and I could no longer tease her, "Dhepi". Fatso.
At first, we talked of random things. Bad landlords in Delhi. Mughlai food at Karimz. The cheap beef at Majnu ka Tila. Chinese food in Kamla Nagar. Midnight traffic jams in Bombay. Public transport in Delhi. Good teachers and bad teachers. Bad classes and good classes. Classes that I bunked. We knew there was no point talking about all these things, but I don't know why we did. We shouldn't have.
Then I told her about Puna. He had been insignificant to both of us, actually. He was about seven years younger than me. He suddenly became important to me only when he started doing those strange things – taking off his clothes and running naked into the streets, waking up at midnight screaming, speaking to himself, counting guavas in the tree during the day and stars during the night so that Ma had to sit with him all night, afraid he might jump off the terrace.
"I didn't know all this!" Jun Ba's eyes filled with tears. "It's all my fault. I just wanted to forget everything. Be myself. Oh, I'm such a bad daughter! Such a bad sister!"
She wept. I didn't ask her what she was running away from.
Sometimes I felt Puna's birth was an accident. Unlike the three of us, he was too quiet. He never fared well and, whenever Deuta scolded him, he'd just keep quiet with a guilt-ridden face. So you couldn't go on shouting at him. For us, he was a baby and remained one. We didn't know when he walked out of the cradle, turned seventeen and went to the tallest building in Panjabari and jumped off it. We didn't expect that from him. He couldn't walk anymore. He had no sense of time or place or what to say.
"It has changed my life, hasn't it, Jun Ba?"
"I can't tell you anything. I shrugged off the duties of an elder sister for so long, I have no right to advise you now. It's your decision. But always remember – our parents have never asked us for anything. They have only given. Yes, you can say like all parents do. But we also know they are not like other parents."
Deuta? Not like other fathers? Who are you? Where are you from? He never asked the name, address, father's name, mother's name, designation of girls calling me up at home or guys who came home, called home to talk to and meet Jun Ba and Chum Ba. He was never harsh – except the day Chum Ba came back with a child in her lap because Brajen had left her for another woman.
"How could you say that Ma?" I demanded. "She was so helpless! How could you do that to her?"
"Not only because I'm always with your father, but because this isn't what we taught our children. We expected her at least to tell us." It was a different voice, a different tone – not my mother's. Suddenly she had introduced me, over the phone, to Mrs. Anupoma Dutta Devi, who had lost her pink hue long ago.
"You will get a monthly allowance and some land that you deserve from the property. That's all. You can do whatever you want with it."
Deuta's words. Written in stone.
How could he say that to the daughter to whom he was so close I imagined he'd write a letter to her when she eloped with Brajen?
How could he write such a letter to me? No addressal, no Dear Dhonti. Just a sudden chaotic, unconventional, addressal-less beginning. There was nothing else at the beginning of the letter except the paralyzing feeling which must have produced that letter. There was nothing else, except the paralyzing force that the letter meted out from itself so forcefully that it made no difference to me for a while whether it was intentional or unintentional.
This is not an order. This is a request, Dhonti.
Order. An order contained the possibilities of disobedience. A request was a hand outstretched. If you refuse, you will feel ashamed of yourself for the rest of your life.
Deuta's words. I couldn't believe those were his words on the letter. Bad handwriting. Like crow's legs.
When I called up, Ma just said, "Puna's misfortune has turned him mad."
I never imagined that it could happen. Initially I thought Puna's abnormal behavior – remaining silent, refusing to speak, getting startled by the slightest movement – was the aftershock of seeing a man being sieved by bullets right before his eyes in Chandmari one evening. We grew up amidst violence. We grew up reading about mutilated bodies. We are the generation for whom the previous one has left only blood. How could he not withstand that? Why?
He started behaving strangely after that. He didn't talk about the man who cried and screamed and howled like a goat, a cat, a dog, with red fountains spouting from his chest and stomach. But, by next morning, everyone knew that the famous surrendered militant, Ghono Bora, was killed in Panjabari Market by unidentified gunmen in broad daylight. Puna took the four dailies we subscribed to in his hand and howled and screamed and cried like a dog, a cat, a goat. It was then that Ma realized he must have seen something. She told Deuta, "No wonder he didn't eat anything last night."
He changed. Gradually. As slowly as the blossoming of a flower.
And, with him, Deuta changed too.
"He cries so often now. And pretty loudly. You would be surprised. In the last seven months, I haven't cried even once. I think your father has cried more than seventy times." She was laughing. "We have been married for nearly thirty years now. I had never seen him crying before, not even when your grandma died. Your kandura Deuta!" Kandura. A child who cries all the time.
After meeting Jun Ba, I was back in my room. Alone.
It was autumn break in Delhi University. The smell of eucalyptus flowers inundated the college campus. So strong, that you'd feel giddy if you went near the trees. But the flowers were so small, you could never see them. I was holding Deuta's letter.
"Come back home to Guwahati after you complete your studies next year. We need you here. I'm not scared of dying alone – that nobody will be here to give me a few drops of water in my mouth before I die – but I dread living alone till then. You have done so well. Maybe you can work here in Guwahati University or Cotton College. We need you."
Going back. Going back where?
I felt angry, but I also felt very small and calm because I knew that there was nothing unusual about what had happened to our family.
Before I left, Jun Ba had kissed me on my forehead and I wondered when she had become so motherly. As if she has gone through the pain of childbirth. Mothers are like that, always – they kiss your forehead and calm you down. "Good or bad, violent or peaceful, we love Assam, don't we Dhon?" New clothes during Bihu. The sweet dishes of Puja. Strolls on the banks of Brahmaputra. And a house surrounded by honking geese and orchids.
As I was walking towards the road, she had called out, "Dhon! We can have dinner together once again tomorrow. Shall we?"
"Sure. See you at seven?"
"Right. That sounds good. Seven in the evening, pakka na?"
Before parting, we just extracted a small, insignificant promise from each other.


text:
When you arrive at the Lazaros apartments and Breeze Bar, you are made to feel as welcome as though it was your own family who own the place. Dennis will make you so relaxed with his friendly, helpful nature and approach. The place is kept very well, clean and offers a range of options during the high season. We just... More
- Also Known As:
- Lazaros Hotel Apartments Zakynthos/Tsilivi
- Official Description (provided by the hotel):
- Located in the resort of Tsilivi, the complex consists of three buildings surrounded by palm trees and colourful gardens and is just 200m away from the beautiful sandy beach of Tsilivi. ... more less
- Reservation Options:
- TripAdvisor is proud to partner with Expedia, Booking.com, Priceline, Travelocity, HostelBookers, Hotels.com and Tingo so you can book your Lazaros Hotel Apartments reservations with confidence. We help millions of travelers each month to find the perfect hotel for both vacation and business trips, always with the best discounts and special offers.


text:
You can say that WebRTC is a kind of a hobby for me. I am not "practicing" it at work, where VoIP is far from my daily tasks, but it does intrigue me in an intellectual level – probably because of my days at RADVISION. This is why I decided to write a series of posts about WebRTC, and this is the place where it all comes together: most of the posts are in this blog, but there are some that "roam" in other places, where I guest posted about it.
- Michel Gutierrez
CEO of Jocly - Will Mitchell
Lead Developer at OnSIP - Magnus Thor
Co-Founder at XSockets.NET - David Cohn
Co-founder at Regroup Therapy
My posts elsewhere
- Video indecition
To wait or not to wait? - 2 Misconceptions
Quality and Service are misunderstood - Amazon Mayday
And its potential effect on contact centers - My paper on WebRTC
Overview of it by Rachel Ramsey
Recent posts
- On XMPP, Federation and URLs in Emails
- What if Microsoft was Really Serious about WebRTC
- The Death of IMS and the Rise of the Internet
- Why we will Continue to Hate SDP in WebRTC for Years to Come
- IMS, I'm breaking up with you
- WebRTC for Business People: the Q&A
- 3 Routes to WebRTC Federation
- The Week that was: WebRTC Conference & Expo III
- Jocly and WebRTC: An Interview With Michel Gutierrez - Gaming meets WebRTC
- WebRTC Fallback: Flash or Plugin?


text:
Despite some of the negative reviews, we decided to stay for 5 nights during the weeklong baseball tournament at Sports at the Beach. We did not experience a single problem. The room (110) was clean, the breakfast bar was great, the employees were super, the AC worked great during a hot week (one time it seemed to stop, so I... More
- Also Known As:
- Comfort Hotel
- Comfort Inn And Suites
- Comfort Hotel Georgetown
- Comfort Inn Georgetown
- Georgetown Comfort Inn
- Reservation Options:
- TripAdvisor is proud to partner with Booking.com, Cheap Tickets, Orbitz, Choice Hotels, Expedia, Travelocity, Hotels.com, Priceline, Venere and Tingo so you can book your Comfort Inn & Suites reservations with confidence. We help millions of travellers each month to find the perfect hotel for both holiday and business trips, always with the best discounts and special offers.


text:
Mark Slavit is the Columbia Bureau chief and the Mid-Missouri Traveler.
The judge's decision does not guarantee Jeff Anderson will keep his job.
ASHLAND -- Update: October 23, 2013, 4:52 p.m.
A suspended Ashland alderman is back on the job.
A judge decided today the Ashland Board of Alderman denied Jeff Anderson his right to due process by suspending him.
The judge's decision does not guarantee Anderson will keep his job.
Boone County Judge Gary Oxenhandler ruled in favor of Anderson, but Anderson is back in his seat until city leaders decide to impeach him.
The judge's ruling gives Anderson all of the rights and privileges of an Ashland alderman including access to government documents and his e-mail account. Anderson could lose those rights and privileges again, because city leaders are expected set an impeachment hearing for November 11. That's when the reason behind the impeachment could be made public. City leaders hired attorney David Bandre to oversee the impeachment process. Bandre said those with complaints about Ashland's city government should run for office.
Bandre said, "We have a lot of complaints about the people who have chosen to serve and who volunteered their time. It's a difficult process. Get involved. My hope is that whatever way this process finishes up that things will settle down a little bit."
Ashland city government has seen its share of problems this year with a mayor and 2 aldermen resigning and the loss of a city administrator, city attorney and police chief. Those positions have been filled except for the city attorney job.
Mayor Gene Rhorer said, "I am bound to follow the direction of the board. Compromise and openmindedness are two words we must follow."
Third Ward Alderman Tony Taggart said, "The citizens of Ward 2 have 2 representatives as they deserve. Hopefully, the drama in Ashland will settle down."
Mayor Rhorer is checking to see if Anderson's suspension had an impact on any recent votes at city hall.
If it did, Rhorer plans to reschedule any questionable votes made by the Board of Aldermen.
Original Story:
Boone County Judge Gary Oxenhandler ruled in favor of Ashland alderman Jeff Anderson on Wednesday.
Effective immediately, Anderson is reinstated as alderman of Ashland's 2nd Ward.
According to his lawyer, the Ashland Board of Aldermen suspended him without due process at a Sept. 16 meeting.
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