text:
Author: Schreiner, Olive, 1855-1920
Title: Dream Life and Real Life; a little African story
Publisher: Project Gutenberg
Tag(s): woman; rocks
Contributor(s): Power, Patrick, 1862-1951 [Translator]
Versions: original; local mirror; HTML (this file); printable
Services: find in a library; evaluate using concordance
Rights: GNU General Public License
Size: 9,609 words (really short) Grade range: 6-8 (grade school) Readability score: 75 (easy)
Identifier: etext1458
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Project Gutenberg Etext of Dream Life and Real Life by Schreiner #5 in our series by Olive Schreiner Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! Please take a look at the important information in this header. We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. **Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** **Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** *These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and further information is included below. We need your donations. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* This etext was prepared by Sue Asscher <firstname.lastname@example.com> Dream Life and Real Life A Little African Story by Olive Schreiner Author of "The Story of an African Farm" and "Dreams" Dedication. To My Brother Fred, For whose little school magazine the first of these tiny stories--one of the first I ever made--was written out many long years ago. O.S. New College, Eastbourne, Sept. 29, 1893. Contents. I. Dream Life and Real Life; a Little African Story. II. The Woman's Rose. III. "The Policy in Favour of Protection--". Kopjes - In the karoo, are hillocks of stones, that rise up singly or in clusters, here and there; presenting sometimes the fantastic appearance of old ruined castles or giant graves, the work of human hands. Kraal - A sheepfold. Krantz - A precipice. Sluit - A deep fissure, generally dry, in which the superfluous torrents of water are carried from the karoo plains after thunderstorms. Stoep - A porch. I. DREAM LIFE AND REAL LIFE; A LITTLE AFRICAN STORY. Little Jannita sat alone beside a milk-bush. Before her and behind her stretched the plain, covered with red sand and thorny karoo bushes; and here and there a milk-bush, looking like a bundle of pale green rods tied together. Not a tree was to be seen anywhere, except on the banks of the river, and that was far away, and the sun beat on her head. Round her fed the Angora goats she was herding; pretty things, especially the little ones, with white silky curls that touched the ground. But Jannita sat crying. If an angel should gather up in his cup all the tears that have been shed, I think the bitterest would be those of children. By and by she was so tired, and the sun was so hot, she laid her head against the milk-bush, and dropped asleep. She dreamed a beautiful dream. She thought that when she went back to the farmhouse in the evening, the walls were covered with vines and roses, and the kraals were not made of red stone, but of lilac trees full of blossom. And the fat old Boer smiled at her; and the stick he held across the door, for the goats to jump over, was a lily rod with seven blossoms at the end. When she went to the house her mistress gave her a whole roaster-cake for her supper, and the mistress's daughter had stuck a rose in the cake; and her mistress's son-in-law said, "Thank you!" when she pulled off his boots, and did not kick her. It was a beautiful dream. While she lay thus dreaming, one of the little kids came and licked her on her cheek, because of the salt from her dried-up tears. And in her dream she was not a poor indentured child any more, living with Boers. It was her father who kissed her. He said he had only been asleep--that day when he lay down under the thorn-bush; he had not really died. He felt her hair, and said it was grown long and silky, and he said they would go back to Denmark now. He asked her why her feet were bare, and what the marks on her back were. Then he put her head on his shoulder, and picked her up, and carried her away, away! She laughed--she could feel her face against his brown beard. His arms were so strong. As she lay there dreaming, with the ants running over her naked feet, and with her brown curls lying in the sand, a Hottentot came up to her. He was dressed in ragged yellow trousers, and a dirty shirt, and torn jacket. He had a red handkerchief round his head, and a felt hat above that. His nose was flat, his eyes like slits, and the wool on his head was gathered into little round balls. He came to the milk-bush, and looked at the little girl lying in the hot sun. Then he walked off, and caught one of the fattest little Angora goats, and held its mouth fast, as he stuck it under his arm. He looked back to see that she was still sleeping, and jumped down into one of the sluits. He walked down the bed of the sluit a little way and came to an overhanging bank, under which, sitting on the red sand, were two men. One was a tiny, ragged, old bushman, four feet high; the other was an English navvy, in a dark blue blouse. They cut the kid's throat with the navvy's long knife, and covered up the blood with sand, and buried the entrails and skin. Then they talked, and quarrelled a little; and then they talked quietly again. The Hottentot man put a leg of the kid under his coat and left the rest of the meat for the two in the sluit, and walked away. When little Jannita awoke it was almost sunset. She sat up very frightened, but her goats were all about her. She began to drive them home. "I do not think there are any lost," she said. Dirk, the Hottentot, had brought his flock home already, and stood at the kraal door with his ragged yellow trousers. The fat old Boer put his stick across the door, and let Jannita's goats jump over, one by one. He counted them. When the last jumped over: "Have you been to sleep today?" he said; "there is one missing." Then little Jannita knew what was coming, and she said, in a low voice, "No." And then she felt in her heart that deadly sickness that you feel when you tell a lie; and again she said, "Yes." "Do you think you will have any supper this evening?" said the Boer. "No," said Jannita. "What do you think you will have?" "I don't know," said Jannita. "Give me your whip," said the Boer to Dirk, the Hottentot. ... The moon was all but full that night. Oh, but its light was beautiful! The little girl crept to the door of the outhouse where she slept, and looked at it. When you are hungry, and very, very sore, you do not cry. She leaned her chin on one hand, and looked, with her great dove's eyes-- the other hand was cut open, so she wrapped it in her pinafore. She looked across the plain at the sand and the low karoo-bushes, with the moonlight on them. Presently, there came slowly, from far away, a wild springbuck. It came close to the house, and stood looking at it in wonder, while the moonlight glinted on its horns, and in its great eyes. It stood wondering at the red brick walls, and the girl watched it. Then, suddenly, as if it scorned it all, it curved its beautiful back and turned; and away it fled over the bushes and sand, like a sheeny streak of white lightning. She stood up to watch it. So free, so free! Away, away! She watched, till she could see it no more on the wide plain. Her heart swelled, larger, larger, larger: she uttered a low cry; and without waiting, pausing, thinking, she followed on its track. Away, away, away! "I--I also!" she said, "I--I also!" When at last her legs began to tremble under her, and she stopped to breathe, the house was a speck behind her. She dropped on the earth, and held her panting sides. She began to think now. If she stayed on the plain they would trace her footsteps in the morning and catch her; but if she waded in the water in the bed of the river they would not be able to find her footmarks; and she would hide, there where the rocks and the kopjes were. So she stood up and walked towards the river. The water in the river was low; just a line of silver in the broad bed of sand, here and there broadening into a pool. She stepped into it, and bathed her feet in the delicious cold water. Up and up the stream she walked, where it rattled over the pebbles, and past where the farmhouse lay; and where the rocks were large she leaped from one to the other. The night wind in her face made her strong--she laughed. She had never felt such night wind before. So the night smells to the wild bucks, because they are free! A free thing feels as a chained thing never can. At last she came to a place where the willows grew on each side of the river, and trailed their long branches on the sandy bed. She could not tell why, she could not tell the reason, but a feeling of fear came over her. On the left bank rose a chain of kopjes and a precipice of rocks. Between the precipice and the river bank there was a narrow path covered by the fragments of fallen rock. And upon the summit of the precipice a kippersol tree grew, whose palm-like leaves were clearly cut out against the night sky. The rocks cast a deep shadow, and the willow trees, on either side of the river. She paused, looked up and about her, and then ran on, fearful. "What was I afraid of? How foolish I have been!" she said, when she came to a place where the trees were not so close together. And she stood still and looked back and shivered. At last her steps grew wearier and wearier. She was very sleepy now, she could scarcely lift her feet. She stepped out of the river-bed. She only saw that the rocks about her were wild, as though many little kopjes had been broken up and strewn upon the ground, lay down at the foot of an aloe, and fell asleep. ... But, in the morning, she saw what a glorious place it was. The rocks were piled on one another, and tossed this way and that. Prickly pears grew among them, and there were no less than six kippersol trees scattered here and there among the broken kopjes. In the rocks there were hundreds of homes for the conies, and from the crevices wild asparagus hung down. She ran to the river, bathed in the clear cold water, and tossed it over her head. She sang aloud. All the songs she knew were sad, so she could not sing them now, she was glad, she was so free; but she sang the notes without the words, as the cock-o-veets do. Singing and jumping all the way, she went back, and took a sharp stone, and cut at the root of a kippersol, and got out a large piece, as long as her arm, and sat to chew it. Two conies came out on the rock above her head and peeped at her. She held them out a piece, but they did not want it, and ran away. It was very delicious to her. Kippersol is like raw quince, when it is very green; but she liked it. When good food is thrown at you by other people, strange to say, it is very bitter; but whatever you find yourself is sweet! When she had finished she dug out another piece, and went to look for a pantry to put it in. At the top of a heap of rocks up which she clambered she found that some large stones stood apart but met at the top, making a room. "Oh, this is my little home!" she said. At the top and all round it was closed, only in the front it was open. There was a beautiful shelf in the wall for the kippersol, and she scrambled down again. She brought a great bunch of prickly pear, and stuck it in a crevice before the door, and hung wild asparagus over it, till it looked as though it grew there. No one could see that there was a room there, for she left only a tiny opening, and hung a branch of feathery asparagus over it. Then she crept in to see how it looked. There was a glorious soft green light. Then she went out and picked some of those purple little ground flowers--you know them--those that keep their faces close to the ground, but when you turn them up and look at them they are deep blue eyes looking into yours! She took them with a little earth, and put them in the crevices between the rocks; and so the room was quite furnished. Afterwards she went down to the river and brought her arms full of willow, and made a lovely bed; and, because the weather was very hot, she lay down to rest upon it. She went to sleep soon, and slept long, for she was very weak. Late in the afternoon she was awakened by a few cold drops falling on her face. She sat up. A great and fierce thunderstorm had been raging, and a few of the cool drops had fallen through the crevice in the rocks. She pushed the asparagus branch aside, and looked out, with her little hands folded about her knees. She heard the thunder rolling, and saw the red torrents rush among the stones on their way to the river. She heard the roar of the river as it now rolled, angry and red, bearing away stumps and trees on its muddy water. She listened and smiled, and pressed closer to the rock that took care of her. She pressed the palm of her hand against it. When you have no one to love you, you love the dumb things very much. When the sun set, it cleared up. Then the little girl ate some kippersol, and lay down again to sleep. She thought there was nothing so nice as to sleep. When one has had no food but kippersol juice for two days, one doesn't feel strong. "It is so nice here," she thought as she went to sleep, "I will stay here always." Afterwards the moon rose. The sky was very clear now, there was not a cloud anywhere; and the moon shone in through the bushes in the door, and made a lattice-work of light on her face. She was dreaming a beautiful dream. The loveliest dreams of all are dreamed when you are hungry. She thought she was walking in a beautiful place, holding her father's hand, and they both had crowns on their heads, crowns of wild asparagus. The people whom they passed smiled and kissed her; some gave her flowers, and some gave her food, and the sunlight was everywhere. She dreamed the same dream over and over, and it grew more and more beautiful; till, suddenly, it seemed as though she were standing quite alone. She looked up: on one side of her was the high precipice, on the other was the river, with the willow trees, drooping their branches into the water; and the moonlight was over all. Up, against the night sky the pointed leaves of the kippersol trees were clearly marked, and the rocks and the willow trees cast dark shadows. In her sleep she shivered, and half awoke. "Ah, I am not there, I am here," she said; and she crept closer to the rock, and kissed it, and went to sleep again. It must have been about three o'clock, for the moon had begun to sink towards the western sky, when she woke, with a violent start. She sat up, and pressed her hand against her heart. "What can it be? A cony must surely have run across my feet and frightened me!" she said, and she turned to lie down again; but soon she sat up. Outside, there was the distinct sound of thorns crackling in a fire. She crept to the door and made an opening in the branches with her fingers. A large fire was blazing in the shadow, at the foot of the rocks. A little Bushman sat over some burning coals that had been raked from it, cooking meat. Stretched on the ground was an Englishman, dressed in a blouse, and with a heavy, sullen face. On the stone beside him was Dirk, the Hottentot, sharpening a bowie knife. She held her breath. Not a cony in all the rocks was so still. "They can never find me here," she said; and she knelt, and listened to every word they said. She could hear it all. "You may have all the money," said the Bushman; "but I want the cask of brandy. I will set the roof alight in six places, for a Dutchman burnt my mother once alive in a hut, with three children." "You are sure there is no one else on the farm?" said the navvy. "No, I have told you till I am tired," said Dirk; "The two Kaffirs have gone with the son to town; and the maids have gone to a dance; there is only the old man and the two women left." "But suppose," said the navvy, "he should have the gun at his bedside, and loaded!" "He never has," said Dirk; "it hangs in the passage, and the cartridges too. He never thought when he bought it what work it was for! I only wish the little white girl was there still," said Dirk; "but she is drowned. We traced her footmarks to the great pool that has no bottom." She listened to every word, and they talked on. Afterwards, the little Bushman, who crouched over the fire, sat up suddenly, listening. "Ha! what is that?" he said. A Bushman is like a dog: his ear is so fine he knows a jackal's tread from a wild dog's. "I heard nothing," said the navvy. "I heard," said the Hottentot; "but it was only a cony on the rocks." "No cony, no cony," said the Bushman; "see, what is that there moving in the shade round the point?" "Nothing, you idiot!" said the navvy. "Finish your meat; we must start now." There were two roads to the homestead. One went along the open plain, and was by far the shortest; but you might be seen half a mile off. The other ran along the river bank, where there were rocks, and holes, and willow trees to hide among. And all down the river bank ran a little figure. The river was swollen by the storm full to its banks, and the willow trees dipped their half-drowned branches into its water. Wherever there was a gap between them, you could see it flow, red and muddy, with the stumps upon it. But the little figure ran on and on; never looking, never thinking; panting, panting! There, where the rocks were the thickest; there, where on the open space the moonlight shone; there, where the prickly pears were tangled, and the rocks cast shadows, on it ran; the little hands clinched, the little heart beating, the eyes fixed always ahead. It was not far to run now. Only the narrow path between the high rocks and the river. At last she came to the end of it, and stood for an instant. Before her lay the plain, and the red farmhouse, so near, that if persons had been walking there you might have seen them in the moonlight. She clasped her hands. "Yes, I will tell them, I will tell them!" she said; "I am almost there!" She ran forward again, then hesitated. She shaded her eyes from the moonlight, and looked. Between her and the farmhouse there were three figures moving over the low bushes. In the sheeny moonlight you could see how they moved on, slowly and furtively; the short one, and the one in light clothes, and the one in dark. "I cannot help them now!" she cried, and sank down on the ground, with her little hands clasped before her. ... "Awake, awake!" said the farmer's wife; "I hear a strange noise; something calling, calling, calling!" The man rose, and went to the window. "I hear it also," he said; "surely some jackal's at the sheep. I will load my gun and go and see." "It sounds to me like the cry of no jackal," said the woman; and when he was gone she woke her daughter. "Come, let us go and make a fire, I can sleep no more," she said; "I have heard a strange thing tonight. Your father said it was a jackal's cry, but no jackal cries so. It was a child's voice, and it cried, 'Master, master, wake!'" The women looked at each other; then they went to the kitchen, and made a great fire; and they sang psalms all the while. At last the man came back; and they asked him, "What have you seen?" "Nothing," he said, "but the sheep asleep in their kraals, and the moonlight on the walls. And yet, it did seem to me," he added, "that far away near the krantz by the river, I saw three figures moving. And afterwards--it might have been fancy--I thought I heard the cry again; but since that, all has been still there." ... Next day a navvy had returned to the railway works. "Where have you been so long?" his comrades asked. "He keeps looking over his shoulder," said one, "as though he thought he should see something there." "When he drank his grog today," said another, "he let it fall, and looked round." Next day, a small old Bushman, and a Hottentot, in ragged yellow trousers, were at a wayside canteen. When the Bushman had had brandy, he began to tell how something (he did not say whether it was man, woman, or child) had lifted up its hands and cried for mercy; had kissed a white man's hands, and cried to him to help it. Then the Hottentot took the Bushman by the throat, and dragged him out. Next night, the moon rose up, and mounted the quiet sky. She was full now, and looked in at the little home; at the purple flowers stuck about the room, and the kippersol on the shelf. Her light fell on the willow trees, and on the high rocks, and on a little new-made heap of earth and round stones. Three men knew what was under it; and no one else ever will. Lily Kloof, South Africa. II. THE WOMAN'S ROSE. I have an old, brown carved box; the lid is broken and tied with a string. In it I keep little squares of paper, with hair inside, and a little picture which hung over my brother's bed when we were children, and other things as small. I have in it a rose. Other women also have such boxes where they keep such trifles, but no one has my rose. When my eye is dim, and my heart grows faint, and my faith in woman flickers, and her present is an agony to me, and her future a despair, the scent of that dead rose, withered for twelve years, comes back to me. I know there will be spring; as surely as the birds know it when they see above the snow two tiny, quivering green leaves. Spring cannot fail us. There were other flowers in the box once; a bunch of white acacia flowers, gathered by the strong hand of a man, as we passed down a village street on a sultry afternoon, when it had rained, and the drops fell on us from the leaves of the acacia trees. The flowers were damp; they made mildew marks on the paper I folded them in. After many years I threw them away. There is nothing of them left in the box now, but a faint, strong smell of dried acacia, that recalls that sultry summer afternoon; but the rose is in the box still. It is many years ago now; I was a girl of fifteen, and I went to visit in a small up-country town. It was young in those days, and two days' journey from the nearest village; the population consisted mainly of men. A few were married, and had their wives and children, but most were single. There was only one young girl there when I came. She was about seventeen, fair, and rather fully-fleshed; she had large dreamy blue eyes, and wavy light hair; full, rather heavy lips, until she smiled; then her face broke into dimples, and all her white teeth shone. The hotel-keeper may have had a daughter, and the farmer in the outskirts had two, but we never saw them. She reigned alone. All the men worshipped her. She was the only woman they had to think of. They talked of her on the stoep, at the market, at the hotel; they watched for her at street corners; they hated the man she bowed to or walked with down the street. They brought flowers to the front door; they offered her their horses; they begged her to marry them when they dared. Partly, there was something noble and heroic in this devotion of men to the best woman they knew; partly there was something natural in it, that these men, shut off from the world, should pour at the feet of one woman the worship that otherwise would have been given to twenty; and partly there was something mean in their envy of one another. If she had raised her little finger, I suppose, she might have married any one out of twenty of them. Then I came. I do not think I was prettier; I do not think I was so pretty as she was. I was certainly not as handsome. But I was vital, and I was new, and she was old--they all forsook her and followed me. They worshipped me. It was to my door that the flowers came; it was I had twenty horses offered me when I could only ride one; it was for me they waited at street corners; it was what I said and did that they talked of. Partly I liked it. I had lived alone all my life; no one ever had told me I was beautiful and a woman. I believed them. I did not know it was simply a fashion, which one man had set and the rest followed unreasoningly. I liked them to ask me to marry them, and to say, No. I despised them. The mother heart had not swelled in me yet; I did not know all men were my children, as the large woman knows when her heart is grown. I was too small to be tender. I liked my power. I was like a child with a new whip, which it goes about cracking everywhere, not caring against what. I could not wind it up and put it away. Men were curious creatures, who liked me, I could never tell why. Only one thing took from my pleasure; I could not bear that they had deserted her for me. I liked her great dreamy blue eyes, I liked her slow walk and drawl; when I saw her sitting among men, she seemed to me much too good to be among them; I would have given all their compliments if she would once have smiled at me as she smiled at them, with all her face breaking into radiance, with her dimples and flashing teeth. But I knew it never could be; I felt sure she hated me; that she wished I was dead; that she wished I had never come to the village. She did not know, when we went out riding, and a man who had always ridden beside her came to ride beside me, that I sent him away; that once when a man thought to win my favour by ridiculing her slow drawl before me I turned on him so fiercely that he never dared come before me again. I knew she knew that at the hotel men had made a bet as to which was the prettier, she or I, and had asked each man who came in, and that the one who had staked on me won. I hated them for it, but I would not let her see that I cared about what she felt towards me. She and I never spoke to each other. If we met in the village street we bowed and passed on; when we shook hands we did so silently, and did not look at each other. But I thought she felt my presence in a room just as I felt hers. At last the time for my going came. I was to leave the next day. Some one I knew gave a party in my honour, to which all the village was invited. It was midwinter. There was nothing in the gardens but a few dahlias and chrysanthemums, and I suppose that for two hundred miles round there was not a rose to be bought for love or money. Only in the garden of a friend of mine, in a sunny corner between the oven and the brick wall, there was a rose tree growing which had on it one bud. It was white, and it had been promised to the fair haired girl to wear at the party. The evening came; when I arrived and went to the waiting-room, to take off my mantle, I found the girl there already. She was dressed in pure white, with her great white arms and shoulders showing, and her bright hair glittering in the candle-light, and the white rose fastened at her breast. She looked like a queen. I said "Good-evening," and turned away quickly to the glass to arrange my old black scarf across my old black dress. Then I felt a hand touch my hair. "Stand still," she said. I looked in the glass. She had taken the white rose from her breast, and was fastening it in my hair. "How nice dark hair is; it sets off flowers so." She stepped back and looked at me. "It looks much better there!" I turned round. "You are so beautiful to me," I said. "Y-e-s," she said, with her slow Colonial drawl; "I'm so glad." We stood looking at each other. Then they came in and swept us away to dance. All the evening we did not come near to each other. Only once, as she passed, she smiled at me. The next morning I left the town. I never saw her again. Years afterwards I heard she had married and gone to America; it may or may not be so--but the rose--the rose is in the box still! When my faith in woman grows dim, and it seems that for want of love and magnanimity she can play no part in any future heaven; then the scent of that small withered thing comes back:--spring cannot fail us. Matjesfontein, South Africa. III. "THE POLICY IN FAVOUR OF PROTECTION--". Was it Right?--Was it Wrong? A woman sat at her desk in the corner of a room; behind her a fire burnt brightly. Presently a servant came in and gave her a card. "Say I am busy and can see no one now. I have to finish this article by two o'clock." The servant came back. The caller said she would only keep her a moment: it was necessary she should see her. The woman rose from her desk. "Tell the boy to wait. Ask the lady to come in." A young woman in a silk dress, with a cloak reaching to her feet, entered. She was tall and slight, with fair hair. "I knew you would not mind. I wished to see you so!" The woman offered her a seat by the fire. "May I loosen your cloak?--the room is warm." "I wanted so to come and see you. You are the only person in the world who could help me! I know you are so large, and generous, and kind to other women!" She sat down. Tears stood in her large blue eyes: she was pulling off her little gloves unconsciously. "You know Mr.--" (she mentioned the name of a well-known writer): "I know you meet him often in your work. I want you to do something for me!" The woman on the hearth-rug looked down at her. "I couldn't tell my father or my mother, or any one else; but I can tell you, though I know so little of you. You know, last summer he came and stayed with us a month. I saw a great deal of him. I don't know if he liked me; I know he liked my singing, and we rode together--I liked him more than any man I have ever seen. Oh, you know it isn't true that a woman can only like a man when he likes her; and I thought, perhaps, he liked me a little. Since we have been in town we have asked, but he has never come to see us. Perhaps people have been saying something to him about me. You know him, you are always meeting him, couldn't you say or do anything for me?" She looked up with her lips white and drawn. "I feel sometimes as if I were going mad! Oh, it is so terrible to be a woman!" The woman looked down at her. "Now I hear he likes another woman. I don't know who she is, but they say she is so clever, and writes. Oh, it is so terrible, I can't bear it." The woman leaned her elbow against the mantelpiece, and her face against her hand. She looked down into the fire. Then she turned and looked at the younger woman. "Yes," she said, "it is a very terrible thing to be a woman." She was silent. She said with some difficulty: "Are you sure you love him? Are you sure it is not only the feeling a young girl has for an older man who is celebrated, and of whom every one is talking?" "I have been nearly mad. I haven't slept for weeks!" She knit her little hands together, till the jewelled rings almost cut into the fingers. "He is everything to me; there is nothing else in the world. You, who are so great, and strong, and clever, and who care only for your work, and for men as your friends, you cannot understand what it is when one person is everything to you, when there is nothing else in the world!" "And what do you want me to do?" "Oh, I don't know!" She looked up. "A woman knows what she can do. Don't tell him that I love him." She looked up again. "Just say something to him. Oh, it's so terrible to be a woman; I can't do anything. You won't tell him exactly that I love him? That's the thing that makes a man hate a woman, if you tell it him plainly." "If I speak to him I must speak openly. He is my friend. I cannot fence with him. I have never fenced with him in my own affairs." She moved as though she were going away from the fireplace, then she turned and said: "Have you thought of what love is between a man and a woman when it means marriage? That long, long life together, day after day, stripped of all romance and distance, living face to face: seeing each other as a man sees his own soul? Do you realize that the end of marriage is to make the man and woman stronger than they were; and that if you cannot, when you are an old man and woman and sit by the fire, say, 'Life has been a braver and a freer thing for us, because we passed it hand in hand, than if we had passed through it alone,' it has failed? Do you care for him enough to live for him, not tomorrow, but when he is an old, faded man, and you an old, faded woman? Can you forgive him his sins and his weaknesses, when they hurt you most? If he were to lie a querulous invalid for twenty years, would you be able to fold him in your arms all that time, and comfort him, as a mother comforts her little child?" The woman drew her breath heavily. "Oh, I love him absolutely! I would be glad to die, if only I could once know that he loved me better than anything in the world!" The woman stood looking down at her. "Have you never thought of that other woman; whether she could not perhaps make his life as perfect as you?" she asked, slowly. "Oh, no woman ever could be to him what I would be. I would live for him. He belongs to me." She bent herself forward, not crying, but her shoulders moving. "It is such a terrible thing to be a woman, to be able to do nothing and say nothing!" The woman put her hand on her shoulder; the younger woman looked up into her face; then the elder turned away and stood looking into the fire. There was such quiet, you could hear the clock tick above the writing- table. The woman said: "There is one thing I can do for you. I do not know if it will be of any use--I will do it." She turned away. "Oh, you are so great and good, so beautiful, so different from other women, who are always thinking only of themselves! Thank you so much. I know I can trust you. I couldn't have told my mother, or any one but you." "Now you must go; I have my work to finish." The younger woman put her arms round her. "Oh, you are so good and beautiful!" The silk dress and the fur cloak rustled out of the room. The woman who was left alone walked up and down, at last faster and faster, till the drops stood on her forehead. After a time she went up to the table; there was written illegibly in a man's hand on a fragment of manuscript paper: "Can I come to see you this afternoon?" Near it was a closed and addressed envelope. She opened it. In it were written the words: "Yes, please, come." She tore it across and wrote the words: "No, I shall not be at liberty." She closed them in an envelope and addressed them. Then she rolled up the manuscript on the table and rang the bell. She gave it to the servant. "Tell the boy to give this to his master, and say the article ends rather abruptly; they must state it is to be continued; I will finish it tomorrow. As he passes No. 20 let him leave this note there." The servant went out. She walked up and down with her hands folded above her head. ... Two months after, the older woman stood before the fire. The door opened suddenly, and the younger woman came in. "I had to come--I couldn't wait. You have heard, he was married this morning? Oh, do you think it is true? Do help me!" She put out her hands. "Sit down. Yes, it is quite true." "Oh, it is so terrible, and I didn't know anything! Did you ever say anything to him?" She caught the woman's hands. "I never saw him again after the day you were here,--so I could not speak to him,--but I did what I could." She stood looking passively into the fire. "And they say she is quite a child, only eighteen. They say he only saw her three times before he proposed to her. Do you think it is true?" "Yes, it is quite true." "He can't love her. They say he's only marrying her for her rank and her money." The woman turned quickly. "What right have you to say that? No one but I know him. What need has he of any one's rank or wealth? He is greater than them all! Older women may have failed him; he has needed to turn to her beautiful, fresh, young life to compensate him. She is a woman whom any man might have loved, so young and beautiful; her family are famed for their intellect. If he trains her, she may make him a better wife than any other woman would have done." "Oh, but I can't bear it--I can't bear it!" The younger woman sat down in the chair. "She will be his wife, and have his children." "Yes." The elder woman moved quickly. "One wants to have the child, and lay its head on one's breast and feed it." She moved quickly. "It would not matter if another woman bore it, if one had it to take care of." She moved restlessly. "Oh, no, I couldn't bear it to be hers. When I think of her I feel as if I were dying; all my fingers turn cold; I feel dead. Oh, you were only his friend; you don't know!" The older spoke softly and quickly, "Don't you feel a little gentle to her when you think she's going to be his wife and the mother of his child? I would like to put my arms round her and touch her once, if she would let me. She is so beautiful, they say." "Oh, I could never bear to see her; it would kill me. And they are so happy together today! He is loving her so!" "Don't you want him to be happy?" The older woman looked down at her. "Have you never loved him, at all?" The younger woman's face was covered with her hands. "Oh, it's so terrible, so dark! and I shall go on living year after year, always in this awful pain! Oh, if I could only die!" The older woman stood looking into the fire; then slowly and measuredly she said, "There are times, in life, when everything seems dark, when the brain reels, and we cannot see that there is anything but death. But, if we wait long enough, after long, long years, calm comes. It may be we cannot say it was well; but we are contented, we accept the past. The struggle is ended. That day may come for you, perhaps sooner than you think." She spoke slowly and with difficulty. "No, it can never come for me. If once I have loved a thing, I love it for ever. I can never forget." "Love is not the only end in life. There are other things to live for." "Oh, yes, for you! To me love is everything!" "Now, you must go, dear." The younger woman stood up. "It has been such a comfort to talk to you. I think I should have killed myself if I had not come. You help me so. I shall always be grateful to you." The older woman took her hand. "I want to ask something of you." "What is it?" "I cannot quite explain to you. You will not understand. But there are times when something more terrible can come into a life than it should lose what it loves. If you have had a dream of what life ought to be, and you try to make it real, and you fail; and something you have killed out in your heart for long years wakes up and cries, 'Let each man play his own game, and care nothing for the hand of his fellow! Each man for himself. So the game must be played!' and you doubt all you have lived for, and the ground seems washing out under your feet--." She paused. "Such a time has come to me now. If you would promise me that if ever another woman comes to seek your help, you will give it to her, and try to love her for my sake, I think it will help me. I think I should be able to keep my faith." "Oh, I will do anything you ask me to. You are so good and great." "Oh, good and great!--if you knew! Now go, dear." "I have not kept you from your work, have I?" "No; I have not been working lately. Good-by, dear." The younger woman went; and the elder knelt down by the chair, and wailed like a little child when you have struck it and it does not dare to cry loud. A year after; it was early spring again. The woman sat at her desk writing; behind her the fire burnt brightly. She was writing a leading article on the causes which in differing peoples lead to the adoption of Free Trade or Protectionist principles. The woman wrote on quickly. After a while the servant entered and laid a pile of letters on the table. "Tell the boy I shall have done in fifteen minutes." She wrote on. Then she caught sight of the writing on one of the letters. She put down her pen, and opened it. It ran so:-- "Dear Friend,--I am writing to you, because I know you will rejoice to hear of my great happiness. Do you remember how you told me that day by the fire to wait, and after long, long years I should see that all was for the best? That time has come sooner than we hoped. Last week in Rome I was married to the best, noblest, most large-hearted of men. We are now in Florence together. You don't know how beautiful all life is to me. I know now that the old passion was only a girl's foolish dream. My husband is the first man I have ever truly loved. He loves me and understands me as no other man ever could. I am thankful that my dream was broken; God had better things in store for me. I don't hate that woman any more; I love every one! How are you, dear? We shall come and see you as soon as we arrive in England. I always think of you so happy in your great work and helping other people. I don't think now it is terrible to be a woman; it is lovely. "I hope you are enjoying this beautiful spring weather. "Yours, always full of gratitude and love, "E--." The woman read the letter: then she stood up and walked towards the fire. She did not re-read it, but stood with it open in her hand, looking down into the blaze. Her lips were drawn in at the corners. Presently she tore the letter up slowly, and watched the bits floating down one by one into the grate. Then she went back to her desk, and began to write, with her mouth still drawn in at the corners. After a while she laid her arm on the paper and her head on her arm, and seemed to go to sleep there. Presently the servant knocked; the boy was waiting. "Tell him to wait ten minutes more." She took up her pen--"The Policy of the Australian Colonies in favour of Protection is easily understood--" she waited--"when one considers the fact--the fact--;" then she finished the article. Cape Town, South Africa, 1892. End of Project Gutenberg Etext of Dream Life and Real Life by Schreiner


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Catering in Boston & the North Shore
Marty´s Caterers is one of the largest caterers in New England. Located just North of Boston on the North Shore in Stoneham, MA. Its menu boasts everything from platters to boxed lunches to full barbecues and clam bakes. We cater all types of events from casual buffet catering to fine dining and can also assist you in finding the ideal venue for any type of function imaginable. What´s more, Marty´s mottos is "our place or yours" that is because Marty not only owns and operates his busy catering company but he also owns and operates The Montvale Plaza - the elegant function facility which has several room choices and can accommodate parties up to a maximum capacity of 450 people.
If you want your event to be unsurpassed with our experience and personal touch that is often not seen today, call us so we can take care of all your needs. Our experienced chefs, waitstaff and event coordinators can take your event to the next level. We can assist you with every aspect of your event from beginning to end; our experienced and professional event planners are committed to assisting you with every detail.

subset: commoncrawl


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Carla Banks, secretary for the University Police Department, was installed June 10 as president of the Amarillo Chapter of International Association of Administrative Professionals (IAAP). The chapter treasurer is Sue Kile, secretary for WTAMU's Office of Communication and Marketing, and Tracee Post, WTAMU's executive assistant to the president, is serving as secretary. IAAP vice president is Chris Lyles of the Amarillo Economic Development Corporation. IAAP is a not-for-profit professional association with approximately 40,000 members and affiliates and nearly 600 chapters worldwide. The Amarillo chapter has 31 members who meet the second Thurday of each month. Dr. Leigh Browning, associate professor of mass communication, has been named a member of the Dallas Producers Association (DPA). DPA is a professional organization that promotes advocacy, education and networking for its membership. Membership to the association is open to those in North Texas who have managerial, budgetary or creative control for the production of moving visual media. Browning's one-year membership term began in July. Greg Crowley, microsystems analyst, was named the 2009-2010 Employee of the Year by the WTAMU Staff Council at a special reception July 26 on campus. Crowley was one of 12 employees recognized during the year as an Employee of the Month and was selected for the Employee of the Year honor by an earlier vote of staff members across campus. In addition to Crowley, the other 11 monthly honorees include Debi Adams, Tiffany Davis, Cheryle Dill, Bryan Glenn, Vicki Horton, Lynette Lough, Trish McCormick, Lana Stevenson, Linda Washington, Carl Welch and Carrah Sparks.
Susan L. Dennis, director of Alternative Certification and certification officer, was appointed to the Texas Education Agency Educator Standards Advisory Committee during the June 18 Texas State Board for Educator Certification meeting. "The Educator Standards Advisory Committee meets periodically to give suggestions and feedback to the Division of Educator Standards on various initiatives. Their integrity and hard work contribute greatly to improving teacher preparation throughout the state." (Educator Preparation Newsletter, Division of Educator Standards, Texas Education Agency, 1:1, 8/1/2010) Dr. Emily Hunt, assistant professor of mechanical engineering, has received a Young Investigator Award from the Defense Threat Reduction Agency, a part of the Department of Defense and the U.S. Strategic Command. She received the 2010 award for her project on "Energetic Nano-Materials for Bio-Agent Defeat" and will receive $150,000 a year for two years to continue the project. Dr. J. Dirk Nelson has joined the WTAMU faculty as the new dean of the College of Nursing and Health Sciences. His appointment to the position was approved by The Texas A&M University System Board of Regents at its May meeting, and Nelson began his duties July 1. He comes to WTAMU from the University of Central Missouri, where he served as professor and chair of the Department of Kinesiology and the Department of Nutrition. Dr. Susan Nix, associate professor of education, is the author of an article published in the summer 2010 edition of The Social Studies Texan, a publication of the Texas Council for the Social Studies. Her article is titled "The Panhandle Plains Historical Museum: Canyon." Dr. J. Patrick O'Brien, University president, has been elected as the vice chair of the Division II Presidents Council and will replace Beverly Pitts, president of the University of Indianapolis, on Sept. 1. As vice chair, O'Brien's duties will include filling in for the Presidents Council chair as needed, reporting to the Division II membership at the annual conventions on the financial affairs of the division and serving as a member of the NCAA executive committee. He also will serve as chair of the Division II budget and finance committee and as a member of the NCAA executive committee budget subcommittee. He also was asked to chair the newly formed Division II Long-Range Budget Projections Task Force.


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Charlevoix Condo Rental Photos and Description
1 bedroom lakefront condo Foster Boat Works Inn
Foster Boat Works one bedroom condominium with a kitchenette. This unit is a one bedroom with queen bed, sofa bed and efficency kitchen. All condominiums extend to private patios or balconies overlooking beautiful Lake Charlevoix and Northwest Marina. Transient slips are available through Eric at Northwest Marina (231) 547-5552 or www.nwmyc.com. A heated outdoor pool, clubhouse with coin operated laundry facilities, charcoal grills and picnic tables are all on the premises for your use. A public swimming beach is just less than 50 yards away, which includes basketball courts, sand court volleyball, horseshoe pits, swings, slides and snack bar.
We are not a hotel, but a condominium complex that allows its owners to rent their homes. All condominiums are privately owned and individually decorated; therefore no two are the same. All condominiums are furnished with cable television, VCR or DVD, air conditioners, telephone, linens, bath & kitchen towels, dishes, silverware and dishes. All rentals are non-smoking and absolutely no pets are allowed.
Weekly Rentals Only - 7 day minimum rental only
- Suitability:
- children welcome
- non smoking only
- pets not allowed
- suitable for elderly or infirm


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Thursday, February 24, 2011
Slow Down to Love
Yesterday morning I was walking my daughter to school as I do each day. We are often rushing, so this usually more closely resembles me nearly jogging as I pull her in tow than a leisurely walk. But I saw something today that caused me to put my breaks on--a man walking with his wife. The young woman was slightly bent over, walking extremely slowly and wincing in pain with every step. Immediately I was convicted and halted in my hasty steps. Looking up at me Sael asked, "What Mommy, what happened?" I felt a thought coagulating. My daughter is not ill or disabled, but she is a little person with much shorter legs than I have. Perhaps I should slow down. I then realized that this was not the first, but second time that I had encountered this same couple walking. The first time I held the apartment complex gate open as they slowly approached. She looked grateful in spite of her obvious discomfort. This time as I glance at them, he with briefcase in hand and patience in his countenance (her struggling to do a thing that nearly each of us takes for granted) I considered the fact that he must have had to give himself an extra half hour to an hour to make sure that he had adequate time to walk alongside his wife without making himself late for work. In that instant as I stood immobilized I saw this man as the epitome of devotion, patience and love.
I began to walk again. This time at Sael's pace. I told her nothing at all was wrong and that I loved her. I let her pick up flowers and leaves, I answered her questions with care and detail and when we arrived at her school I reveled in my hug, kiss goodbye and, "I love you Mommy!"
Nowadays after dropping Sael off for school I go for a run. During my morning run I finally got it! Learning to slow down is learning to love better. This applies also to self-love. When I am taking my time, ordering my steps and creating peaceful spaces in my life through prayer, meditation, exercise and even making time to check up on family and friends, I am practicing love. When I take the time to prepare my food from scratch instead of eating out I am loving myself and my body rewards me by looking and feeling better. When I slow down enough to consider what I am about to say before I say it or think about the ways in which I may be at fault before being quick to place blame, I am loving others. When I allow my daughter to see that I have enough patience to let her take steps at her own pace, whether it is her learning process, letting her help me cook or leaving enough time for us to walk to school at a pace that is comfortable for her, I am loving her. I am grateful that God can allow a couple walking along my path to teach me a more direct and healthy path to giving love. I am grateful for the lesson that sometimes we must slow down to love.
Posted by Nelle du Jour at 10:30 AM
Labels: life and love
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Flat out style at Office
What can we say? These fun flatties from Office have made our day, and have reminded us that awesome, quirky design does exist in the high street shops. These shoes pick up on so many key A/W 2012 trends, but they have a real personality of their own that's bound to elicit a few 'you got them where!?' comments from friends and admirers.
The Exclusive Toe Cap is a really cute take on the masculine trend that's been with us for a few seasons now as well as fashion's current little obsession with the capped, pointy toe. Where others have used metallics, Office's use of rose pink glitter injects a whole load of fun into this style, and we love the way it's picked up in the jagged trim and set off by the contrast created using midnight black suede.


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Devils rookie Reece Scarlett talks about training for his first professional season and how his first preseason game went.
2013 Training Camp: Rick Kowalsky
Head Coach Rick Kowalsky talks about the Devil's first preseason game, a 4-3 shootout win at Hartford.
Kowalsky: 'It Really Was a Torrid Pace'
The Devils returned to the ice Friday after a fast-paced contest at Hartford the night before.
Newcomers Help Devils to Shootout Win
A pair of Albany Devils newcomers made a big impact in their preseason debuts. Artem Demkov registered a goal, a shootout goal and an assist and Dmitry Goldenkov netted the shootout winner in the Devils, 4-3, victory against the Hartford Wolf Pack Thursday at XL Center.
2013 Training Camp: Rick Kowalsky
Head Coach Rick Kowalsky talks about training camp and what he expects in the first preseason game.
2013 Training Camp: Maxime Clermont
Maxime Clermont talks about training camp and getting ready for the season.
Young and Full of Potential
Head Coach Rick Kowalsky sees a youthful team filled with many young prospects.
2013 Training Camp: Riley Boychuk
Riley Boychuk talks about joining the Devils organization.
2013 Training Camp: Darcy Zajac
Darcy Zajac is taking a lead-by-example approach during Albany camp. Also he hopes to get back to New Jersey where he made an appearance this preseason.
Darcy Zajac Is Leading By Example
Now in his fourth season, Darcy Zajac finds himself as one of the older players at camp.


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Women's gymnastics start. Look for Americans Mary Lou Retton and Julianne McNamara and for a surprise package of gymnasts from mainland China, competing in its first Summer Olympics since 1948. For fans of the obscure, there's the "small-bore rifle English match," not a likely candidate for prime time.
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1/4 Photos of Outrageous Boston Cream Pie Cupcakes!
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Sometimes when a craving hits, you don't have time to make the full blown version of an outrageous Boston-Cream-Pie ... so this is the next best thing! My son recently craving my Boston Cream Cake settled for this a less time consuming version. Although you start with a cake mix for the cupcakes, the pastry cream and ganache make these little baby's a perfect individual dessert to serve! Family Favorite ;)
Serves: 14
Units: US | Metric
Serving Size: 1 (120 g)
Servings Per Recipe: 14
Make this season merry, bright and manageable with our easy ideas.


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With the iPhone 5 Apple introduced a "bigger" screen. My English teacher always said to start any argumentative writing with the opposition's argument. Apple introduced the iPhone 5 with a 4″ screen, however instead of truly making the screen bigger they just added a few pixels to the top of the screen. The question now is, will Apple ever make a bigger iPhone?
Why Do I Want A Bigger iPhone?
I want a bigger iPhone because I want it to be as easy to type on an iPhone as it is on an Android device. So Apple made the screen bigger last year, what they didn't do was make it easier to type. To do that they would have had to make the screen wider, which they didn't want to do because it would have caused even more inconvenience for developers.
My first big screened device was the Motorola Atrix. It, like the iPhone, had a 4 inch screen. Unlike the iPhone, the 4 inches was used to make the device both wider and longer. This made it a dream to type on. I thought at that point that I had found the perfect size for a phone. I could reach all four corners with my man hands, and it was awesome to type on. After that phone I took out a Galaxy S II, it had a 4.5 inch screen. It was even more awesome to type on, though it was a tad too big. I got the 4.3″ version from AT&T and that was the perfect size. Not only could I still reach all four corners, but it was the best typing experience I had ever had on a phone.
To my mind 4.3″ is the exact perfect size for a smartphone. Currently I have a 4.8″ Galaxy S III and I like it a lot, but it is a little too big. I don't mind too big, but most people do.
What would a 4.3″ iPhone feel like? It would be a pleasure to type on, it would have extra screen real estate both up and down, and still wouldn't be much wider or taller than the current iPhone 5. In addition the slightly added width and length could be used to increase the amount of battery.
Who Would it Piss off?
A bigger iPhone would piss off people with small hands. That's why Apple needs to make two different iPhones. One with the current 4 inch screen and one with a bigger screen.Whether that is my 4.3″ suggestion or a 1080p toting 5″ monster that some people would drool over. Or somewhere in between. The days of Apple being able to offer a one-size-fits-all solution are over.
App developers would cry foul as well, though I think they get over it pretty fast. The reason is, if Apple decided to go about making a significantly bigger screened device, they would also come up with an awesome software solution to scale apps to any size screen. There are enough pixels in any retina-enabled app to allow Apple to do something with them.
Google has this type of solution for their tablet apps. It sucks. I would expect that Apple could and would do a much better job. Besides, Apple would not be scaling up an app designed for a 4″ phone to a 7″ inch tablet. They'd be scaling an app for a 4″ phone up to 4.3″ or so. Software wise, this doesn't sound like that big an obstacle.
What Would this mean for iOS7?
iOS is getting stale. Besides the bigger screen issue, it is the main reason why I left using iOS as my smartphone platform. iOS needs a huge revamp. It is becoming harder and harder for Apple apologists to argue that iOS is great when both Android and Windows Phone are innovating in UI, while Apple is stuck in the last decade.
If Apple decided to go to a bigger screen and introduce a lineup of iPhones instead of their current one device strategy, it could be their opportunity to introduce a lot of different and new concepts to iOS. Whether this is total redesign or just a lot of awesome new features and a new coat of paint, Apple could use the opportunity to change or alter their design language.
Now that Jony Ive is in charge of UI design, we can hope that he is at least considering something new and fresh.
I think this is important for Apple. I know, in my heart, that even if Apple doesn't do this they will continue to sell a ton of iPhones each quarter. However, I think that they will continue to have the reputation of a company that doesn't innovate anymore and is stuck with the same old software year in and year out. This will mean that Android will continue to increase in mind share until Apple is left in their little corner, wishing they had done something. They have done this before with the Mac back in the late 80s/early 90s. They had a substantial market share lead, and got comfortable. Microsoft came in with a cheaper product that wasn't as good, but improved quickly, and Apple was left in the dust.
I beg you, Apple. Don't let this happen again.
[myo_poll poll = 31235 type = "box"]


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Session: 2011/2012
Date: Wednesday, 04 April 2012
Venue: Room 30, Parliament Buildings
The meeting commenced at 2.00 p.m. in public session.
1. Apologies
Apologies noted above.
2. Evidence session on RQIA Interim Report on Pseudomonas Outbreak
The Committee took evidence from:
Professor Pat Troop Chair of the Independent Review Team
Dr Michael Kelsey Independent Review Team member
Dr David Stewart Independent Review Team member
A question and answer session ensued. The Chairperson thanked the witnesses for attending.
3.18pm Meeting adjourned.
3.20pm Meeting resumed.
Mr Edwin Poots MLA Minister for Health, Social Services and Public Safety
Dr Andrew McCormick Permanent Secretary, DHSSPS
The Committee agreed to seek an update on the action plan on the recommendations in 4 week's time.
3. Any Other Business
No other business was discussed.
4. Date, time and place of next meeting
The next Committee meeting will be on Wednesday 18th April 2012 at 2.00pm in room 29, Parliament Buildings.
The Chairperson adjourned the meeting at 4.14pm.
Dr Kathryn Bell (Clerk)Mr Craig Mealey (Clerical Officer)Ms Michelle McDowell (Clerical Officer)
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text:
To begin with, critics of the Internet may change their mind
My Personal Patriot Primer
Little Miss Memorial Day, blythe spirit, firstborn of idealists, gifted and talented, my life had been Arts and caregiving, but always an occasional rescue, and a sense that it would get challenging, through some of it, before it was done. Years later, I realized that "halcyon days" and "special and good insights" were a delightful burden, and strive to share their gifts well. My siblings, younger brother and sister, are happy matches and friends I am proud to know.
My late husband's family were very wealthy and diplomats before the crash of'29, and his Father had been a Federal Agent for the Treasury Department, and his Mother, Catholic "Silver Spoon", worked for Saint Francis Hospital for twenty-five years as dietician. Half their six chidren were caregiving personalities, and the other half natural "Feds", whatever their actual occupations. My Late Mother-in-Law was a "mighty mite", her four-foot-ten frame never stopped, and she delivered all six children a little prematurely..."unsinkable Molly Brown" reborn, I am told, in her ways.
Did she know that half of them would die too young, like she did? I'll never know. I never met her. Her second son was an accountant, and on her deathbed, she asked him to refrain from "taking it into law enforcement",in his Father's footsteps, to minimize the health hazards she feared were threats for him and his siblings. However, when the entire USA "hit the bricks" in jogging shoes, my brother-in-law broke his promise to his Mother, and became a Federal Agent, too.
My husband, his Big Brother, simply said to me, " I won't be as long-lived" I blanched...his motives were the highest, personally and professionally, I adored him helplessly and saluted him, felt brave and noble, at 23, " in harness", our son on one hip, and newborn daughter on the other...I'd loved my Nancy Drew, as well as my art, and thought we were Emma Peele and Steed....cool, delicious secrets,and I got to do it in heels, and feel so smart, dedicated and loving...no bored and boring housewife, me! The chores flew along , with this added demand.... to make the perfect home and family circle, anyway, and moreso...i.e., I loved it!
My own husband was no slacker, a leader in school and sports and scouts in childhood, a partner in show co -ord in college, where he majored in Chemistry, but "opted-out" of Chem.Warfare, on moral grounds had served in VietNam and honorably, with USArmy Corps of Engineers as a commissioned officer, and come home intact. Both of us were outrageousy happy to have been able to weather it, and with his new work, on our own in another part of the country, it was a sunshiny day.
My husband's team had finished building the plant, and were manufacturing digitalis and unguents, and our children were in the best stage for fun and travel after work, so we had a finer-than-average time of it during the Bi-Centennial visits to Washington DC. As a girl I visited on arts trips, and USACE Officers' Training was just South, so we weekended with other romantic couples in Georgetown...and when I resumed arts studies, again visited for the Arts...at ODS, my ARC workstops included NHQ there...a favorite place, and happy to be planning another visit soon.
But there was a fee. Our offstage habits were hot cocoa and Lord Of The Rings hobbits around the fireplace, in winter, with our pets and the children two new good readers, so I was shocked and concerned, and wondered what it could be, when ,on a "ladyvisit" to my married but childless sister back home, her husband served the pot, after the pots and pans. Pot's illegal...we don't do illegal in our family...snow in August..... I said nothing, but found myself giving the nod to my husband, pointedly, upon my return. Another visit was arranged with my sister, without her husband, at the home of her boss. She was house-sitting, as a favor, while her Boss' family, Reuger firearms family, were off on vacation.
The greetings done, and fun supper and tour of the estate and horses, and we settled in to the den. I will never forget it, because I almost laughed aloud...the room was shady and shuttered, like a spy scene in "Casablanca"...I looked around, expecting Sydney Greenstreet, but when he did not appear, I settled into the classic comfy corduroy den sofa with coffee, and beside my Sister, and looked at her just once.
"I'm scared.",she said. "They (her Boss and his wife) are vacationing too far...she brings home lots of "certain copper pots". On my last business trip with _________(my boss)," she went on," he kept looking over his shoulder. When I finally asked him what it was about, he said that the Middle Easterners were pestering him to sell them weapons, and when he refused, they put out a contract on him. He feared for his life."
I shared a room, in childhood, with my Fairfield girl sister. We are good, we are "fair maidens", we are cool...so I expected " something of the sort" of what she had to say, and did not faint.
I returned to home and husband, told him, my personal hero...he told his people, and the situation was "corrected". As usual, discretely, justly, without a shot having been fired. My sister, an" accidental double-agent", left the position, divorced the previously perfect husband, for his own redemption, moved to USVI and remarried a "mid-lifed-up" handsome sea captain, who had been happy in youth to extinguish fires on offshore oil rigs.
The story found the headlines briefly and nicely , and went its way. With all at peace again, that meant that my security duties in it were done.
"That was fun, and cool ! Let's do it again sometime !"...not too soon, though!...... and my Handsome Prince and I did dinner at Rive Gauche in Washington DC, again a Romantic, not political spot.... and, then home, and took the children on an outing.
Unfortunately, such goings on were only beginning......(to be continued).


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Aug 11th 2010 By Stefanie Demas
How a Month on an Ayurvedic Diet Changed My Life
Here, we view it as an alternative medicine, perhaps because it is really more preventative than, well, reactionary. At its most basic, Ayurveda is the study of the energy that controls the body and what we can do to keep it in balance. Felicia Marie Tomasako is an Ayurvedic practitioner who has been studying Ayurveda for 17 years, and she kindly volunteered to put me on an Ayurvedic plan for a month.
First, Felicia tells me, we need to have a consultation. The only catch is that she's in L.A. and I'm in Brooklyn, so our first meeting is on Skype. Our later consultations will be over the phone, but for the first one, it's important, she says, to see what I look like. It's an hour-and-a-half meeting at 8 a.m. my time, which makes it 5 a.m. for her, but Felicia doesn't blink.
"I'm a morning person," she chirps cheerfully. Maybe that's the Ayurveda talking.
I, on the other hand, have no idea what to expect. I imagine I'll come away from this month knowing more about myself -- mind and body -- but I'm also nervous before this consultation, as though somehow over the computer, Felicia is going to peer deep into my soul and find me way out of whack karmically.
On my computer screen, I expect an image of sunny California to pop up, but instead, the screen is comfortingly darkened. Felicia is wearing a fleece and sipping on hot water. Her cats walk to and fro across her keyboard. Within the first five minutes, she's telling me about her favorite non-dairy ice cream. "If you like ice cream," she adds.
Yeah, I like ice cream. This just might work.
In our conversation Felicia proves extremely friendly, surprisingly scientific and, best of all, everything she says is very logical. Her basic point is that food is medicine -- if you're not eating the food that's right for you, no amount of medicine will make you feel better. And despite the early hour, I find I'm hanging on her every word.
First, Felicia describes the basics: how Ayurveda deals with energies, and how the "doshas" -- three categories that every human falls into, according to the Ayurvedic system -- are controlled by different elements: water, fire, earth, air and ether. There are three doshas: kapha, pitta and vata. Each person has a dominant dosha (though often people have two prevalent doshas or, less frequently, are tri-doshic), and it is important to keep this energy balanced.
Based on what I tell her and my physical appearance, Felicia tells me that my prominent dosha is "vata." (You can take a quiz and find out your dosha here.) The "vata" dosha represents the elements air and ether, and has very drying qualities. This explains not only external dryness (hair and skin) but also internal issues such as a constant thirst and a slow, bloated digestion, as well as a flighty demeanor with a tendency to find routine difficult. Let's just say I can relate.
Felicia describes digestion as a fire we need to stoke. You don't want to let the fire burn out, she says, but you don't want to smother it with too much either. That's why you feel uncomfortable eating a lot of food at once -- it puts out the flame. She makes sense. She seems confident in that nothing that I say surprises her, but she's not so certain as to appear cocky. Everyone's different, she says, and no one knows what works for you until you try it. Still, though, I'm skeptical.
Week 1: Falling in Love With ... Ginger
Felicia gives me easy changes to start out with. Otherwise, she says, we get overwhelmed and these changes will never take. What's important is to shift the mind's identification. This lifestyle, she explains, concentrates on listening to the feedback of our bodies.
She asks about my usual diet and lifestyle, and I explain that I'm already vegan (due in part to lactose-intolerance), that I tend to have stomach pains, and that I practice yoga regularly, which helps my stomach.
She gives me six changes:
1) Reduce my soy intake and limit it to soy products that are less processed and easier to digest, such as miso and tempeh.
2) Eat more minerals which will help me absorb water and not be so thirsty (this consists of squeezing lemon or lime into my water, even a splash of juice for the electrolytes, and having salts -- not table salt, but rather mineral and sea salts.
3) Cut back on the coffee and green tea, instead starting each morning with hot water and lemon, and making a cumin, coriander, and fennel tea to help balance my digestive fire.
4) Eat ginger, either as tea, pickled, or grated, before every meal.
5) Add different kinds of oils to my diet. (Olive oil is good, she says, but others, such as walnut, flax and avocado, have more Omega-3, which are necessary in the development of neurotransmitters.)
6) Increase my yoga practice, and any sort of movement or exercise, especially kinds that incorporate twisting and stretching.
After our Skype chat, I don't finish my green tea. I squeeze lime into my water and I eat a small bowl of steel cut oats with flax, raisins, walnuts and a pinch of sea salt. Later, at a cafe, instead of an iced coffee or soy latte, I get a fresh-squeezed orange juice. I love ginger, I think, though I eat it most often in the form of a chewy candy or a sushi accompaniment. But really, ginger? It seems quaint. Felicia tells me to grate ginger, squeeze lemon juice on it, add some sea salt, and have a teaspoon before meals. So, before dinner, I dutifully make and eat the ginger mixture. Light my fire! it's delicious, and I can feel it cleaning and warming me as I eat. Even just this first day, I feel better, and less bloated, than I have after eating in a very long time. After two days, I already know that from now on I will begin every day with a mug of hot water with lemon, and eat grated ginger before every meal. Who am I?
Week 2: The Art of Dry Brushing ... and Self-Massage
During our second conversation, I tell Felicia that the small changes have been working well for me. I don't feel perfect, and I do feel a little more tired than usual (possibly due to lack of caffeine), but, overall, I feel good. She tells me to keep it up and give myself time to become accustomed to them. She also adds a few non-food suggestions to my repertoire -- namely, daily oil self-massages and dry-brushing before showering.
That night, I find some sesame oil in my kitchen cabinet and I rub it into my feet before I get into bed. This is supposed to help me feel grounded and fall asleep easily. I had forgotten about the strong smell until I actually poured the oil into my hands. After a few moments, though, the smell dissipates. I put on socks to avoid getting oil all over my sheets, but it does absorb fairly quickly -- or maybe my "vata" feet are just particularly dry. Felicia told me that sesame oil is naturally warming and I feel this warmth on my feet as I try to sleep. It is a surprisingly cold night in May, and the warmth is comforting for my perpetually cold feet and hands. I fall asleep quickly. Felicia suggests using the naturally cooling coconut oil for hot summer nights.
Dry-brushing takes a little more getting used to. I need Felicia to explain it to me, because it's difficult for me to grasp the concept. Really, though, it's pretty basic. Before you get in the shower, you stand naked in your bathroom and rub a dry shower brush over your skin in circular motions. She says this will help to stimulate and purify the body. Immediately, its effects are not discernable. I feel foolish and am really glad this is a private activity.
Meanwhile, I confess to Felicia that I have a very sporadic appetite. Sometimes I'm starving as soon as I wake up and other times I can go the entire day without really ever getting hungry. She tells me to start by trying to eat one meal at approximately the same time every day. She says breakfast is important but only if I'm hungry. Lunch, she said, in Ayurveda, is the most important meal, because it's at this time that your digestion is the strongest. Make sure you try to have something for lunch every day, she says. Even if it's something really small, like some tea and ginger. Throughout the week, it's surprisingly difficult for me to stick to any kind of schedule. I really do try, but for me, routine is more elusive than I had imagined.
Week 3: Why Kale Goes Well With Pale Ale
This week, Felicia tells me to think about how we actually incorporate practices into our lifestyles that will make us feel better. Shifting our bodies from one thing to another takes practice. Different things work for different people, and the only way to know is to try it for yourself. Cut things out of your diet to see the effects it has on you. There are no hard fast rules or lists, we must ask ourselves questions and take things deeper than a trend diet. I continue with all the dietary tips Felicia suggested, as well as the self-massages and dry-brushing, and an attempt at finding a routine. The dietary guidelines still make me feel good, though my shock at the initial changes wears off and I now feel stable. I still cannot wrap my mind around dry-brushing. It doesn't feel bad -- it's actually kind of an interesting feeling -- but it's not really helpful, either. And routine, sadly, remains very difficult.
I ask Felicia about the Ayurvedic perspective on alcohol, and I assume that it won't be a good one. Surprisingly, though, she says it's not bad. In Ayurveda there is a tradition of medicinal wines. She suggests making wine your first choice, and beer, depending on your ability to digest it, isn't all that bad either. What she says to bear in mind that they are moderately dehydrating and are digestive stimulants. Any dark leafy greens are good antidotes to have with alcohol because they nourish the liver and prevent us from overtaxing.
Week 4: Getting "Cleansed"
Finally, Felicia puts me on a week-long cleanse -- no, not a fast.
Fasting, Felicia tells me, is considered very harsh and jarring for the body. This week, I realize, is not meant to be a total departure from my normal diet -- this is probably the way I should always eat. The only difference is that this week, I am to consciously avoid what I would usually consider an indulgence. Besides the meat and dairy, I don't eat normally, wheat, yeast, caffeine, alcohol, soy, refined sugars and processed foods are all off the list.
For breakfast I am to have congee. Congee is a sort of rice porridge -- one cup of rice simmered in nine cups of water. For either lunch or dinner or both, I have kitcheree -- a thick soup of basmati rice and mung beans, with whatever spices and seasonal vegetables I choose to add. For the other meal, if I choose, I can have a vegetable soup, just rice with some cooked veggies, or a salad with an oil dressing. Felicia tells me that I can also substitute other grains for the rice if I'd like (i.e., barley, amaranth, oats, buckwheat, etc.).
When I begin, I'm still thinking of it my cleanse as some trend diet kick-off week, and I fear I'm not supposed to have fruit because of the natural sugar content or something. When I ask Felicia, she tells me of course I can have fruit, just to eat it separately from other foods because it digests quickly. I am relieved I can eat the six kiwis, three mangoes, a bunch of grapes, and three different kinds of berries in my possession. The week is looking better now, especially since my To Do list also includes "pamper myself." That I can handle.
Ayurvedic pampering means I should be outside, feel the sun on my face and walk barefoot through nature. I should practice daily meditation, yoga, dry-brushing and self-massage. I need to get plenty of sleep. I should eliminate ice because it inhibits digestion and instead sip herbal teas and water with lemon throughout the day.
The food becomes almost comforting, and yet I change it enough to keep it interesting. Who knew kitcheree could have a different flavor every night of the week? Though it is a little difficult at times. I go out to eat with friends and order ... a tea. It's definitely a socially limiting diet. I also feel tired throughout the day, which I attribute to my lack of caffeine and my limited caloric intake.
Toward the end, I stop wanting to spend an hour cooking breakfast, so I just skip it, and go most of the day without eating anything. This is definitely a stupid move, and makes me feel weak and tired. Done properly, though, the cleanse is comforting and nourishing, and at the end of the week I feel more balanced than I had at the beginning.
Life After an Ayurvedic Intervention
-- Since my experiment, I've had time to see what changes I've stuck with -- and which I deep-sixed. Routine is still difficult, but it's nice to be able to attribute that to my scatterbrained vata dosha, which I seem to fit into uncannily.
-- I left dry-brushing behind, but my love affair with ginger lives on. Because I felt the effects of the dietary changes most immediately, those were the easiest to stick with. Today, I keep a Tupperware of the ginger puree in my fridge at all times, as well as some ginger tea bags in my purse.
-- I drink hot water with lemon throughout the day, rather than coffee or caffeinated tea.
-- I cook with a variety of oils now, and I still make some version of kitcheree fairly often. Grains, beans and veggies help me to feel grounded and comforted, especially when my diet's been a bit erratic.
-- I've realized that everyday will not be perfect. I will inevitably eat or drink things that I know I will not make me feel good -- but I know how to balance myself, how to get myself back on track, and to look at how each small action impacts my well-being as a whole.
Stefanie Demas graduated from Skidmore College in 2009. Her most recent article was published in the New York Press. She lives in Brooklyn, N.Y., and is starting a Ginger fan page on Facebook. Just kidding. Kind of.
Felicia Marie Tomasko RN, E-RYT 500, inspires people to follow the path to personal freedom and vibrant health through yoga and Ayurveda. Her practice includes teaching yoga in studios, teacher trainings and conferences as well as a private practice in the healing tradition of Ayurveda, a system of holistic and integrative medicine native to India. Ayurveda shares the same philosophy and ways of approaching the body, mind and spirit as yoga and emphasizes our connection with nature. The dual systems of yoga and Ayurveda, while seemingly ancient and esoteric, hold vital lessons for us to learn how to live with intent and address the needs of living in the modern world. She is currently the editor-in-chief of LA YOGA Ayurveda and Health magazine, serves on the editorial board of the Light on Ayurveda Journal and serves on the board of directors of the National Ayurvedic Medical Association, the Academic Consortium for Complementary and Alternative Health Care and is the current president of the California Association of Ayurvedic Medicine. Follow her on Twitter here or here.
From Our Partners
Wednesday 11 August
By Kavita
Your habits sound a lot like mine and according to the quiz i'm also a vata. Maybe I'll try the ginger paste thing.
p.s. Yay skidmore :)
Sunday 15 August
By Robbie
I don't even know what mung is, but if it's as tasty as some of these other things sound, I'll probably be willing to try it.
A lot of what Stefanie says sounds really good, and I intend to try some of it. Without a time line to go by, it seems that she has had plenty of time to get over her caffeine dependency, but doesn't realize (or won't accept) that that is not why she still feels tired. What she needs to do is to incorporate a little more sugar into her diet (in moderation, no harm done), and start eating meat, fish, and poultry. As a famed dietician once said, it's very hard for an adult (and IMPOSSIBLE for a child!) to adequately subsist on a vegetarian (to say nothing of vegan!) diet.
Tuesday 17 August
By vestahaya
I was a vata too until I became a vajajay
Friday 13 August
By Katy Bowman
Finding ayurveda changed my life! It has been about three years since adopting an ayurveda-based mindset but I recommend that everyone find an ayurveda practitioner and at least adopt the basic (simple-to-do) changes like adding oils, etc. And man, I do love Mung...glorious mung!
Saturday 14 August
By wendy
maybe I'll try the ginger paste thing too
Saturday 14 August
By Oliver
So Many Suckers Will Believe In Anything.
Saturday 14 August
By Sarah
Too many suckers believe in nothing.
If it makes you feel better, can have no adverse effects on your health, and costs you nothing extra why bash it?
Sunday 15 August
By I Love India
Hey Mr. Cynical! Let me help you with the math. Let's see, about 18% of the world's population are Indian; over a billion people.
Ayurvedic medicine, as noted in the article, is the main modality used by this culture, and has been for 5,000 years.
5,000 years ago my northern european forbearers were living in caves, dressing in bear skins, and living a hard, filthy and dangerous life. All this while the Indians were developing one of the major world cultures in art, religion, music, and yes "Mr. Everybody Who Doesn't Agree With Me Is a Sucker", medicine.
Please explain to me how in the world you decided, based on thin air, that this ancient, complex, useful, and beautiful practice that addresses the whole person is somehow a carnival trick for losers.
Have you every tried it? No, I'll bet you haven't. You're too busy trying to puff yourself up to compensate for your lack of self-esteem.
So a billion people and 5,000 years means nothing to you. 'Cause, hey - you're nobody's fool, right tough guy?
Our so called American "civilization", which is falling apart after barely 400 years, is apparently so superior to other cultures that you dare not take an open minded look at new information.
I thought the article was good. Balanced. She tried it with an open mind. She overcame her fear. Some things worked for her; she kept them. The stuff that didn't suit her, she let go.
That process, of actually learning to be in the moment, and to learn and grow, was probably just as good, positive, and healthy for her as the actual medical practice.
Her attitude improved, and so her health did too.
But all that doesn't mean anything to you. You're all set. You have all the answers. You've got it all figured out.
Maybe you'd be more comfy with a bear skin, a club, and a cave?
And oh yeah, there was nothing anti-American in her story. You right wing-nuts could turn a cookie recipe into a terrorist threat, just as long as you could trash somebody in the process.
You make me sick! I think I'll try the sesame oil!
Sunday 15 August
By socaldave613
OK While I am not against eating well, and holistic. The attack and drink the coolaid attitude displayed by I LOVE INDIA shows a person not looking aat some basic facts of diet and cause and effect. While the 79 year old life expectancy is not tops, it beats the crap out of 62 year life expectancy in INDIA > 63 in Russia check it out for yourself. Sorry but I am not buying that idea of a perfect diet in a place they die for lack of protein. I am 59 weigh 148 at 5' 7" exercise at least 15 min a day but stretch for at least 10 . I feel like a 20 year old, but i can't find one willing. I want to be as healthy as I can but I want to enjoy myself also. My best friend is dietary moderation and portion control. My biggest challenge is over abundence. Self control and a bit of pride help also.
Monday 16 August
By Bob
So many foolish people! Don't believe in anything!!
Tuesday 17 August
By NYS
the real suck*** are the ignorant ones ... Oliver - open your eyes - you seem to be a frog in a well
Saturday 14 August
By PONYGIRL
im a PITTA so i wonder what that means..
Saturday 14 August
By Joni
Sounds like a lot of common sense. I believe that a healthy diet with No caffiene, very limited sugar, salt, dairy, lots of green veg, fresh fruit, good grains, no processed foods, fish (omega-3) and yes, some other protiens as well, in a limited amount, will get one the same results (good health and energy, great skin) .
This Ayurvedic diet sounds extreme or limited in the range of enjoying food. I agree with any kind of exfoliation routine. Doesn't have to be dry , you can get the same results while wet, in the shower with a scrub brush. I know, I have been doing this routine from the the age of 23 til now ) age 46 and my skin is soft, clear healthy, pink, alive.
I read this with and open mind but only ended up turned off. I will get some ginger tea though! Forgot about that!
Saturday 14 August
By Norb
..."gives herself a massage" that's got to be code for something
Sunday 15 August
By Yooo--llleeeeiiii-he-he
Good One! hahahaha
Sunday 15 August
By Yoga Granny
I just tried some Ayurvedic dishes in June while visiting friends in Michigan.
Since I got home I have been constantly visiting here and there and so have not really given the life style a chance. I have been doing Yoga since I was 69, for over eleven years, and feel it has contributed so much to my health and spiritual and mental well-being. It will be difficult for me to give up caffeine, but I mostly drink 1/2 caff or de-caf so I will give it a try. I eat very little red meat and no processed food; I prefer to prepare my own soups and meals with fresh food. I am lucky to have a couple of Farmer's Market's/produce stands near by..
Saturday 14 August
By terry
I was very interested in this topic but I stopped reading after the first few paragraphs because the author just HAD to get in a few shots at American culture and had to insinuate that the rest of the world is superior to Us Stupid "reactionary" Americans. These people are never satisfied America sucks because we elected George Bush so okay, then we elected Obama and the democrats so we'll stop sucking but GUESS WHAT?? we STILL suck and in their mind we're going to suck no matter what we do unless we all become like them. I'm sure it's a nice article this Ayruvedic stuff sounds great and I believe there's something to it when combined with normal health practices but the author has a political bias and I don't need to read about it in an article that has to do with health and is not really supposed to be poltical
Saturday 14 August
By Sarah
Wow... Calm down, Terry. You know very well that Americans are the most obese people in the world. We die from preventable illnesses... I didn't read a political bias here.
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