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Chapter 028
Peregrin Took shuffled his feet as he walked sleepily along the wide, empty corridor. He could still hear the noise from the Great Hall – the sounds of merriment, laughter, drinking and song. He guessed they would continue until daybreak. The corridor before him, lined with torches and statues of the Kings of Old, stretched out in solemn darkness. Pippin walked diagonally, dizzied slightly by the heady wine, to the glass-paneled doors which opened out onto the Courtyards. The moonlight streamed in through the warped glass, its soft beams splayed against the stone floor in intricate webs of blue-white light. One of the doors was left ajar, and Pippin guessed immediately who stood outside.
As he approached, he saw the silhouette of a tall Man leaning against the balcony railing. He could hear the Man muttering to himself. Boromir, Pippin thought sadly and took care not to make any sound as he neared the doors. His friend was staring out over the wide plains of the Pelennor Fields, towards the dark gloom of what-was-Mordor. Pippin recalled how only months before he too had gazed east and seen the ominous fires and smoke. Yet now all was quiet in the Dark Land. Where there had been fire and smoke, now there hung only a fine mist, like the steam from boiling water splashing against cold stone.
Pippin opened the door carefully and stepped outside. Boromir did not turn, but rather continued speaking to himself in low tones. A breeze passed over the Court, and he swayed with it. Pippin approached, letting his footfalls echo over the silence in order to announce his coming, yet the Man did not turn. For a moment, Pippin was unsure whether to leave him alone or make his presence known.
Finally, when he was nearly at Boromir's elbow, he cleared his throat loudly.
Boromir spun around so suddenly that Pippin nearly yelped, but not before the Man swung his hand back and knocked the hobbit to the ground. Pippin cried out in pain and fell heavily on his side. He strove to stand, but all at once something cold and hard pressed against his throat. Boromir was before him, his eyes wild and unseeing, the thick odor of alcohol lingering about his person. Pippin struggled in vain against the Man's strength.
"It's Pippin! No, stop! I'm your friend!"
Boromir pushed the knife further, nearly pricking Pippin's skin, and the hobbit sobbed hysterically:
"It's Pippin! Pippin the halfling!"
The darkness in Boromir's eyes faded slowly and he let the knife fall away. He then stood quickly, breathing hard, his face twisted in the pain of recognition. Pippin got to his feet as well, keeping his eyes on the Man, though his knees trembled and his heart pounded. His fingers grazed where the knife had been, the skin was not broken.
The change in Boromir was startling. Where moments before he had been uncontrollable, violent, he now cowered before Pippin as if it had been the hobbit to attack and not he. Pippin took a step forward, and Boromir put up his hands in defense. Neither would speak for the tension which hung in the air.
"I'll go," Pippin muttered and turned to leave.
"Nay," Boromir called. "Forgive me, Master Hobbit. I did not see…"
His shoulders sank and he ran a shaky hand over his unkempt beard. He added softly: "It seems I cannot tell friend from foe anymore. I did not mean to strike you." His gaze flickered nervously to the ground, to somewhere behind Pippin, to anywhere but the hobbit's eyes. "Will you stay?"
Pippin rubbed his aching jaw uneasily. He did not take a step forward but also felt he could not leave. After standing uncertainly for a few moments, he thrust out his hand. Boromir understood and, with visible embarrassment, handed over the dagger. The Man then turned away to face the Pelennor again. Pippin sheathed the dagger and also moved to the railing, maintaining a safe distance between he and Boromir.
He placed his chin in his hands and watched the nighttime landscape before him. Directly below them, the seven circles of Minas Tirith curled around in dim blue uniformity. Beyond the city walls, wide fields – nearly black in the moonlight – stretched far into the east. And looming on the horizon, the mountains of Ithilien and the jagged peaks leading into what-was-Mordor. Pippin sighed audibly.
"Well?" Boromir asked.
Pippin held his breath, unsure as to whether the Man's mind was with him or not, and whether the edge in his voice meant another attack. Pippin suddenly wondered if it was wise to linger in Boromir's company. He thought of Merry's warning only hours before: "He's not himself, Pip, and he won't ever be the same. They say the prisoners of Sauron go mad, and if you ask me, Boromir left a good bit of his mind back in Barad-dûr. You be careful around him."
"You do not seem one to leave a party early," the Man's voice was soft, friendly, it wanted to please, and Pippin felt a shudder of relief pass through his body.
In truth, it pained the hobbit every time he met with his friend. For at times, Boromir was every bit his old self – proud, collected, strong, even with an acerbic wit. But most of the time, his friend was a different person – cowering from any who touched him, lashing out with unexpected violence at those who meant to help him, brooding, unapproachable, unrecognizable. Tonight, it seemed the drink had relaxed Boromir – if only slightly. But Pippin knew that the effects were temporary, even artificial.
"I wanted some fresh air," Pippin replied and burrowed his chin further into his arms.
Boromir leaned against the railing, reeling forward unevenly, and murmured, "Aye…"
"Did you enjoy the reveling?" Pippin asked.
Boromir shrugged and did not answer.
"You drank quite a bit."
Boromir smiled – a rare thing – and turned to the hobbit. He clasped Pippin's shoulder – another rarity – and said, "It seems you nearly kept up with me, my little friend."
Pippin chuckled. Indeed, he had lost count of how many times he had refilled his goblet, but judging by how loud the Green Dragon song had gotten towards the end of the meal, he presumed it was a lot. Come to think of it, he realized, Sam fell off his chair twice, at least. He smiled at the memory and glanced back at the Man beside him.
In the moonlight, as Boromir swayed with each breeze and looked down at him with kind, drowsy eyes, Pippin felt a sudden sympathy for the Man. Yes, this was his old friend. Perhaps the exterior had changed, but the smiling, sleepy gaze was vividly familiar…
The barrel of pipe-weed is near twice and a half the size of Pippin. Its fragrance wafts around him, intoxicating and familiar and sweet. Thank the Valar! He is about to clamber up to the top of the barrel and stuff his pipe with the beautiful weed when a large hand clamps down on his shoulder and shakes roughly.
The dream quickly dissolves, and his mind wails with grief. Why is it always the good dreams that are interrupted?
Pippin pushes the hand away and tugs at his blanket. He buries himself deep into his pillow and lets his mind slip once more into the Shire, where the summer berries are coming in season and preparation for the Summer Solstice has already begun…
Again, the hand on his shoulder, shaking.
"Awake, little one," a familiar voice whispers. "It is your turn to watch the night."
Pippin groans as his mind adjusts to the cold reality of sleeping outside. No, he is not in the Shire. It is not even summer. It is winter. And there is no ten-foot-tall barrel of pipe-weed. Actually, as Pippin's senses return, he realizes that he smoked the last of the pipe-weed two days ago. He groans again. A shivering, wintry watch without even a pipe to smoke is the last thing he wants.
"You do it, Boromir," Pippin grumbles and pulls the blanket over his head. "I'm tired…"
The hand tugs at the blanket and shakes Pippin's shoulder again. Irritated, Pippin opens his eyes and, squinting in the dim light of the nearby fire, sees Boromir bending over him. The Man is visibly drained. He seems almost desperate in his attempt to wake Pippin and get the other watch started so that he can collapse into his own blanket. With a tiny pang of guilt, Pippin recalls how Boromir and Aragorn defended the company from a pack of wargs only hours ago. Yet while Strider sleeps now, Boromir is still dragging on since dawn.
"Come now, Master Took, it is your turn."
But Pippin was never one to dwell on guilty feelings…
"No, go away."
Pippin mumbles something about hobbits needing more sleep than Men and turns on his other side. For this, he receives a sharp poke in his ribs. He chooses to ignore it and feign sleep. Boromir pokes him again, harder this time, and Pippin shoos him away.
A few moments pass, and finally he hears Boromir straighten with a sigh.
"Very well. Sleep on, Master Hobbit."
Pippin twists around.
The Man turns and, looking down at Pippin with kind, drowsy eyes, nods. Without a word, he turns back to the fire and takes a seat on the log beside it. Pippin smiles in thanks, and he receives a sleepy smile in return. Without further thought, he lets his eyelids sink and drifts back to his adventures with the pipe-weed.
"Boromir?" Pippin asked.
The Man arched an eyebrow.
"Remember the night after the warg attack when you took my watch and did double for yourself?"
Boromir's brow creased. "Nay."
"Well, no matter. I just wanted to say thank you for that, I appreciated it."
Boromir laughed. He landed a heavy hand on Pippin's curls and ruffled clumsily. "You're welcome, my little friend."
Pippin smiled to himself. Yes, this was the old Boromir. Perhaps the change everyone spoke of was only temporary. Maybe… Hopefully.
Unexpectedly, Pippin's throat closed. Again, he felt as he had felt the day he brought Boromir to the Houses of Healing. For surely Boromir heard the rumors of his madness, noticed the caution and discomfort his presence caused. Was this the desired peace? Was this the reward after years of War? To linger around one's home as a ghost, an unwanted reminder of darker times? With old nightmares that could never be shared, with disappearing friends and a body too torn and wounded to be of any use?
Pippin sighed. Well, if Boromir still had one friend in Minas Tirith, it was he. And if anyone could help the Man, maybe by just lending an ear, he would try.
"Boromir, may I ask you something?"
"What happened exactly in Barad-dûr?"
Boromir stiffened immediately. His knuckles grew white with strain.
"I am condemned to find no peace this evening!" he hissed, and already his breath shook and his eyes darted frantically away from Pippin. "And what manner of vile questioning is this?"
"I'm sorry. I thought it would ease the burden if you spoke of it…"
"There is nothing to speak of!"
Pippin, thoroughly unsettled, decided not to press further. He did not dare move, did not dare glance at Boromir who know rhythmically tightened and released his brutal grip on the railing. Instead, Pippin stood, frozen, with his chin in his arms, hoping that some interruption would ease the tension. Stupid, Pippin! He could hear Boromir again whispering to himself – yet he could understand only snatches of his mumbled speech. And when Pippin thought to excuse himself with a quick apology and farewell, Boromir suddenly turned to him.
"You want to know the torment of Barad-dûr?" he snapped, his entire frame vibrating. "Are you curious, halfling, about the evils that lurk in the Dark Tower?"
"Nay! I just – I thought, if you wanted to speak of…"
"And why should I speak of it? Because it haunts my every waking thought and tortures my night? Does this intrigue you? Or do you simply wonder what could drive both father and son to madness? For surely you too think me mad?"
"Nay!" Pippin lied, taking a step back.
"Then why do you recoil? You have my weapon, and yet you still fear me! Call to Faramir, Pippin, he shall save you!"
"Peace, Boromir!" Pippin pleaded. "I don't fear you! I'm your friend!"
Boromir turned away from him sharply.
"My friend," he grunted.
"Aye, your friend. Truly."
Boromir did not speak as he stood with his back to Pippin. For several long moments, Pippin watched the rage fade as the Man's shoulders dropped, yet the tension remained. He waited. Finally, Boromir spoke, and his voice had lost all trace of anger. He spoke so low that Pippin had to lean in to hear.
"My friend?"
"And if I am truly mad?"
"Then you are my deranged friend. It wouldn't be a big change."
Boromir snorted with soft laughter, and Pippin felt a nervous chuckle escape him as well. A few moments passed, and Pippin waited for Boromir to speak. He watched as the Man leaned heavily against the railing as if it was the only thing which kept him standing.
Finally, Pippin tried again: "What happened, Boromir?"
Boromir looked at him, smiled slightly, a twisted, weary, empty smile, looked away.
"'Tis an evil tale."
"I know."
A sigh.
"And you wish to speak of it?"
"I – I don't know, it… I just want to help."
Boromir smiled again, and this time with over-bright eyes, and Pippin watched as he half-sputtered, half-chuckled, and turned quickly away, burying his face into his shoulder. There passed a few moments, and Pippin watched out of the corner of his eye, he watched Boromir remain very still and taut and silent. And Pippin was sure the Man was weeping, and so he felt his own knot forming in his chest, throat, and he felt his own eyes begin to burn. And he did not know what to do or say, so he just stood there, frozen, waiting.
Eventually, Boromir wiped his eyes quickly with one hand, turned to Pippin and ruffled the hobbit's hair. In the moonlight, the hobbit could see the glistening eyes, the thin, pale lines against the cheeks.
And Boromir grinned crookedly, sucked in one congested snort, but soon that grin faded, and he looked ahead.
"I struck Faramir."
Pippin blinked.
"I struck Faramir earlier, as he was telling me of our father. And they tell me I struck Merry," he grunted, ran a weary hand over his face, "aye… he has the bruise to prove it. And now I have struck you…"
"You didn't strike me."
Pippin looked away. Boromir leaned forward, never quite straightening his legs.
"And you ask me of Barad-dûr…" he swallowed. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper, his gaze flickering back and forth. "I would tell you, Pippin. I would tell you. If I could. I cannot. 'Tis impossible… 'tis all… 'tis impossible. I looked into a mirror the other day, and I did not recognize myself. And all of these…" he ran his fingers over his face, over the prick marks at his temple. "I know what these are. This was the mask."
Pippin stood absolutely still. So still, staring ahead, his eyes watered. The sound of rushing blood in his ears.
"This was the mask," Boromir repeated, tracing his brow and temple. "I could not breathe in it… And then there are scars I do not recognize, I do not understand. And when I see them, Pippin, I cannot look at myself in the evenings. There is the leg, it is ruined, and they… I know not what they intended to do, but…" he shuddered violently, abruptly, a passing wave which faded as soon as it began. "The memories I have, I would forget, Pippin… Do not ask me what happened in Barad-dûr…"
His voice trailed and he fell silent.
Pippin absorbed the words. He did not know what to say, so he just stood. Part of him wanted to reach out with a kind word, a consolation, something, anything. But he did not know what to say. So he waited, feeling useless and frightened.
Finally, Boromir let out a weak breath. Pippin watched, out of the corner of his eye, as the Man retrieved a slim flask from his doublet and drank. But Pippin pretended not to notice and let Boromir slip the flask back into his doublet without explanation.
"I'm sorry, Boromir," he eventually whispered.
The Man did not respond but rather turned and slid into a sitting position beside Pippin, his back against the balcony railing. He straightened his long legs with a groan, leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. After crossing his arms and shifting his weight, his expression fell into a deep scowl of concentration, as if he were forcing his mind back from the depths into which it would instinctively settle. In the moonlight, his age and exhaustion were etched into every deep crease, every black scar, and Pippin shuddered. For the countless time, he wished to have his old friend back, and not this tortured ghost.
After a few moments of silence, Boromir's expression eased.
"Tell me of the Ents, Pippin."
"I've told that story at least ten times tonight!"
"Then tell me of the Shire."
Pippin took a seat beside Boromir, feeling the cool stone against his back and legs and the warm air of an early summer night ruffle his curls. He drew up his knees and leaned his head back.
"Well, what do you want to know?"
"Anything. I would desire a peaceful memory to ease my mind into sleep tonight. Or no memory at all."
"What? You want to sleep out here?"
"My legs will not carry me to a bed, I am so loaded with drink."
The hobbit laughed.
"Well, here's a happy one, then. I'll let you borrow it for a while, but you must promise to give it back."
"Very well, I promise. Now tell me the memory ere I doze on the spot."
And Pippin spoke of the first time he and Merry had stolen crops from Farmer Maggot's farm. It was a happy memory, something that, surprisingly, had helped him in the darkest hours of the War. The mix of excitement and fear – the way his belly ached after laughing so hard while running away – the dog that ripped off Merry's favorite yellow vest. He told of how the sun glinted off the golden sea of crops, how they dropped most of the carrots and cabbages by the time they reached the safe side of the fence, how Pippin bit into a dirt-covered radish once they were on the road back to Hobbiton…
As he lost himself in the old memory, he glanced back at Boromir. The Man's head lolled against the wall, and his mouth hung open as he slept. Pippin finished his tale – just the last bit where Merry had decided to go back and get his yellow vest – and then decided he too was ready for bed. As he stood slowly, careful not to nudge the sleeping Boromir, he heard noise coming from within the corridor.
Three familiar voices, drunk and giggly, approached. Merry, Frodo and Sam arrived, stumbling in the doorway. Merry and Frodo were carrying a very green Sam between them, and while Merry laughed red-faced, Frodo was considerably more solemn – ever since coming back from Mordor, Pippin thought. Sam appeared very near losing consciousness.
"Hey, Pip!" Merry slurred. "There you are!"
"What's this?" Pippin asked, indicating Sam.
"Sam was teased into a drinking contest with Gimli," Merry laughed. "As you can imagine, he lost."
"No I didn'… me ol' gaffer…" Sam grumbled.
"What were you doing out here?" Frodo asked, slightly suspicious. "You left the feast more than an hour ago."
Pippin hesitated. "I was talking to Boromir."
This sobered all three hobbits. Frodo in particular lost any trace of mirth and acquired his usual grim expression. Pippin jabbed his thumb in the direction of the sleeping Man and the three hobbits leaned out onto the balcony to look. Boromir was lying, rather awkwardly, with his head against his slowly rising and falling chest. In the dark, he seemed only an indiscernible shadow.
Merry shifted his weight, adjusting Sam's arm around his shoulder, and muttered: "Do you think we should wake him? He can't sleep outside."
"I'm not waking him."
Merry nodded, understanding, but seemed reluctant to leave.
"Let's go," Frodo said, pulling Sam in his direction, away from the balcony.
"Aye…" Merry's voice trailed softly as his eyes lingered on Boromir. "Come on, Pip."
Pippin nodded and entered the corridor. He closed the glass doors behind him – catching a glance at Boromir, who was still fast asleep – and followed the others back down the hallway and towards their rooms. The noise from the celebration had died down, and they passed a few tired revelers shuffling off to bed. Pippin did not see any others of the Fellowship, and silently hoped none would come down this way. For he knew that Boromir's sleep was a precariously light one, and perhaps for once an untroubled one, so that waking him on this night would be a cruel act.
A warm breeze. Distant banners snapping in the wind. As Boromir awakened, a rhythmic throbbing filled his head. He lay for a moment, disoriented, wondering why his head ached and his back was sore. He shifted his torso - feeling the cool stone beneath him; this was no bed - and moaned at the dull pain which blossomed in his stomach. A flash: low growling black face pulling an arrow, creaking bow, arching it back back back and letting go, the breath slamming out disappearing legs and a stomach on fire and one worry, one question, one thought of the little ones behind him, where are they, where will they go…
Boromir groaned, peeling his tongue away from the rough roof of his mouth. Screams screams echoed screams Third One is calling out to Boromir for help.
The familiar nausea and stale taste of alcohol immediately recalled the night before. Oh yes. Yesterday had been the crowning of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, as King Elessar. The first day of May in the year 3019 of the Third Age. The celebrating had surely lasted well into the second of May, though Boromir, naturally, did not remember any of it. He recalled only feelings of embarrassment and then a fierce hurt. Pippin. Pippin had been present, it had something to do with Pippin. What had they spoken of?
"Some would find it unseemly for a Prince of the White City to sleep outside."
Boromir's eyes flew open and he sat up with a start. After a few dizzying seconds, his vision cleared and he saw Aragorn, seated upon a nearby bench. The King sat low against the bench with his arms crossed, his expression relaxed as he watched the sunrise. Thoroughly embarrassed, Boromir staggered back to his feet, keeping a firm grip on the railing to steady himself. He bowed his head.
"Forgive me, my lord."
Aragorn smiled, his grey eyes thin slits as he squinted in the dawn sunlight.
"Nay, Boromir, we are brothers and friends, let us speak informally," he said. "And I was jesting. You are not the first late-night reveler I find asleep in the halls of the Citadel during my early morning walk. You are, however, the first one I find outside."
Boromir felt his face heat.
"Will you join me? These are our final moments of peace before the new day begins. And hectic days are these to come…" he added softly.
Boromir looked away, still suffering from chagrin, and waited for Aragorn to rise from his bench. The latter stretched his arms with a satisfied sigh and motioned for Boromir to follow him down the southern way which wrapped around the Citadel and towards the shadow of the mountain. The sun had not yet risen fully, it loomed as only a rosy fire in the east, and a fine mist still clung to the city. As they walked slowly around the balcony, passing tall windows and airy galleries, they encountered no one. It seemed all had enjoyed the festivities until mere hours before daybreak, and so the city was still fast asleep.
Boromir silently longed for sleep as well, for the dreamless, untouched reality that only drink could induce. Iron mask clogging nose breath spit bile, iron mask hiding the fair Captain of Gondor. Ha ha ha! He had come to rely on his flask as a means of pushing away the black thoughts and blocking the vile memories of Barad-dûr which threatened to creep in from all sides, grab him by arms and legs and throat, and pull him into the depths of madness. Thankfully, this night had been an empty repose, one in which he desired to someday lose himself.
Aragorn walked beside him, surveying the circles of Minas Tirith below them. He did not speak, and yet his silence was a relaxed, comfortable one. There was no tension in his face but for the faint creases around his piercing eyes. His worries were eased this morning, in the early hours of the first day of his reign, and Boromir envied him. Not for his title – no, Boromir had long ago lost any fragment of ambition – but for his serenity.
"Did you sleep well?" Aragorn asked, hiding the shadow of a smile.
Boromir grunted and gazed at the jagged mountain façade which stretched out from the city walls.
"I have not slept well in a long time."
Aragorn's smile disappeared.
"That is understandable. Yet the War has ended, and a new life begins. Look to the coming years, Boromir. Look towards peace."
"Peace?" Boromir bit the word.
They had arrived by the very edge of the mountain, where thin precipices gave way to a sharp, sudden decline. The southern lands glowed gold and pink in the morning sun, and, as the day was clear, one could see endless plains of grass and wood stretching out onto the horizon. Boromir rested his arms against the thick railing of stone and let the sun warm his face. He felt Aragorn take a similar position to his left.
"Your friends worry for you, Boromir. Your brother worries for you."
"My brother? Faramir sees me only as an obstacle."
"Nay, you judge him too harshly. He would have you find relief. As would I."
Boromir barked a laugh. What did they know of his relief? What could Aragorn understand? With the Man's endless, irritating, false tranquility – his ceaseless badgering and thinly veiled orders. Aye, for Aragorn spoke as a friend, but his words were commands. Boromir knew. He knew what they thought of him. They were embarrassed, disgusted, afraid. He saw it in every countenance, in the way the Fellowship acknowledged his presence with forced welcomes and forced smiles. He had heard the Citadel whispers ever since the evening with Merry – Boromir the Mad, they called him.
And what of madness? Mayhap when keeping the echoed screams from escaping his lips was an hourly battle – aye, that was madness, but an honorable madness. When the icy torrents of desperation flooded his veins and reminded him only of Barad-dûr. For life before Barad-dûr no longer existed, just as life after it was a half-life, a grey torment in itself. What did Aragorn know of the constant fight Boromir waged with himself, just to keep his fingers from curling around a dagger and ending everything, just to keep himself from losing control completely?
With such an end, then truly would he be Boromir the Mad, truly his father's son…
"Where did you hear that name?"
Boromir was jolted back to reality as he realized he had spoken his thoughts aloud. Aragorn watched him intently, waiting for an answer. After swallowing his embarrassment, Boromir confessed:
"I have heard the passing servants use it."
"They have no respect for their Prince," Aragorn lowered his voice, visibly angered. "You have spent a lifetime protecting them. Where was it spoken? Do you remember?"
"I do not remember, and in truth, it matters not."
The older Man's anger gave way to genuine concern. He seemed as if he wanted to place a hand on Boromir's arm, but decided against it. They stood in silence for several moments. Instinctively, Boromir's hand searched within his doublet and retrieved the flask. He was slowly unscrewing it when he caught Aragorn's eye.
"And this?" Aragorn asked.
"What of it?" Boromir muttered, sounding more hostile than he intended.
"'Tis early for such a drink. And you ate nothing from last night's feast. Was it not to your liking?"
"My stomach churns at the very sight of food."
"And does this," Aragorn indicated the flask, "help?"
Boromir smirked humorlessly. "Somewhat."
"'Tis a poor medicine."
Boromir did not speak, and instead took a lengthy drink. Akrum, glu-bûb, akrum!
The effects were immediate – the warm liquid spread through his limbs, calming the various aches and easing his sore muscles. First One falling under the sword falling falling still falling and he never touches the ground, he just floats. It disappeared around his ruined stomach, leaving only a numb reminder of warmth. What do they know of my relief? Boromir thought bitterly. This is relief.
"Boromir," Aragorn said, his tone turning formal. "The hobbits will be returning to the Shire soon."
Boromir nodded, took another pull.
"I wish to send an escort with them."
"See you any danger?"
"Nay, but one never knows what villains lurk in the shadows. I have yet to tell them, and I expect they will argue with me. They will say they need no escort."
"Perhaps they are right."
"But they will agree once they discover the identity of their fellow travelers."
"Aye. Gandalf will accompany them. Also, another. A Man. For I overheard Pippin once, long ago, telling Merry how deeply he desired his friend Boromir of Gondor to visit the Shire at least once, after the War…"
Boromir, who had been taking his third sip, choked momentarily, sending the drink into his beard, and jerked around towards Aragorn. The King watched the Captain shrewdly for reaction. He continued, still with that penetrating gaze.
"Master Took has feared telling his friend of this, for even though he had extended the invitation during their travels as a Fellowship, he knows not whether Boromir will come. For his friend is much changed."
"I am changed…"
Aragorn waited for Boromir to continue. The latter was tugging nervously at his beard. The Shire! Although Boromir longed to leave the city, to simply walk away from all who knew him, this was not what he imagined. His relationship with Pippin was strong – indeed, Pippin was perhaps his only true remaining friend – but he knew the other hobbits and Gandalf would be reluctant to accept his companionship. And ever since the inadvertent scuffle days ago, Merry had drifted away, his demeanor becoming more and more formal. Merry is wise, Boromir thought dejectedly. He sees Boromir the Mad.
"Nay, my lord," Boromir mumbled. "Do not ask this of me."
"I am unfit for such a task."
"Unfit?" Aragorn's eyes glinted as he asked dryly, "And why unfit? Are you too old? Too wounded? Too mad?"
Boromir twisted around violently: "Do not make sport of me!"
Aragorn's hands shot up in a sign of peace and he smiled. Boromir's anger quickly dissipated upon registering his King's humor. He half-smiled.
"My friend, I know you are neither old, nor wounded, nor mad. Those who see you so are the easily swayed, the unappreciative. Do not let their words pierce you. They are traitors that call you by foul names. Nay, you are a hero of the War, and you command the respect and love of all who fought with you. Did you not hear the songs last night? They glorified you."
Boromir looked away.
"Much in those songs was invented."
"And would you have them sing the truth?"
Silence. Boromir leaned against the railing, picking absent-mindedly at the small rocks and pebbles imbedded in the finely carved marble.
"Nay," he whispered. "The songs do well to invent. Let them sing of victory and honor. Let our children know these years as happy times, when the city was revived and all was peace in Gondor."
His chest tightened.
"Let them never know despair, nor fear," and his voice failed him.
As he clenched his teeth in an attempt to stifle the treacherous emotion that threatened to push against his throat and pour out like an open wound, Boromir found a firm hand against his shoulder. He flinched and turned to see Aragorn watching him. Yet he did not feel embarrassed, for his King's eyes glistened in the morning sun with their own unshed tears.
"Aye," Aragorn spoke in a rough murmur. He gave his shoulder a squeeze. "That is what we fought for."
Boromir cleared his throat, forced the emotion from his voice and shook himself free of Aragorn's hand, "And why have I been chosen for this escort?"
"The hobbits much desire for you to visit the Shire."
Boromir snorted.
"Nay, that is not true. You send me for you see that I am restless with disuse."
"I have been little troubled by affairs of the state. Indeed, I have been little troubled by anything of late, save my own company and my own thoughts. And it seems I will be little troubled from now on."
Aragorn remained silent, cautious.
Before Boromir could stop himself, he seethed: "How have I been cast aside so easily? Was I not the heir apparent of Gondor's stewardship?"
"Do you question my decision?"
Boromir turned away, shook his head silently.
"Faramir is a strong and just leader," Aragorn continued. "He is wise, and he will be a good Steward. But neither he, nor I, would have his position disappoint you. Do you not understand the reasons for my decision?"
Boromir made a disgruntled snort.
"Aye, of course I understand. For who would have a madman as Steward?"
Aragorn's eyes narrowed. "'Tis unseemly to hear such self-pity, my friend."
"Well, is it not true?" Boromir barked suddenly, his voice rising. "Why then has my right been usurped?"
"Upon my ascension to the throne, son of Denethor, it was no longer your right," Aragorn said, his voice edged with warning. "It was a choice, left to the King."
Boromir stifled his rage, visibly chastised. A few moments passed. Finally, his shoulders sank, and he dropped his gaze.
"Forgive me, my lord."
Aragorn exhaled sharply.
"Nay, do not apologize." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Forgive me instead…" He sighed. "Boromir, truly, I need your blessing for all to go well. I shall call a council the coming fortnight, and there will we discuss the Stewardship of Gondor. For now, Faramir shall act as Steward. And you… My friend…" Aragorn lowered his voice, softened it, "I know the sting of old wounds… and the lingering torment, how it leeches the mind. Let your brother take the responsibilities of Gondor, and give yourself time to heal."
"How?" Boromir asked suddenly, almost desperately. "My lord, how can idleness cure a stagnant mind? 'Tis impossible! And there is no need to conceal what I know all too well – what everyone does think of me."
"That is not true. You see ill will where there is none."
"I have ears."
"Come, Boromir, enough. You should not dwell. 'Tis a difficult time… I understand. But think that you have been recovered, and you will recover, and all shall be well."
"And the Guard? What of the Guard?"
Aragorn hesitated.
"That title as well?" Boromir asked miserably.
"Young Beregond has captained the Guard since your departure, Boromir, and he will continue to do so."
"Neither Steward nor Captain-General nor… nor – nor anything," Boromir exhaled, smiled slightly, strangely. "I am nothing."
Aragorn responded with his own twisted grin. Again, he placed a hand on Boromir's shoulder.
"Take time to heal, Boromir. You are still a Prince of the White City, a hero of your people. I understand you must accustom yourself to this new change, but trust in your King… all shall be well."


text:
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subset: commoncrawl


text:
Stults baffles Giants to earn first win of '14
Lefty allows one run on three hits over six innings
SAN DIEGO -- Another game and another pitching gem from a Padres' starting pitcher, though this time it wasn't Andrew Cashner throwing darts by hitters or Tyson Ross tying opposing hitters in knots with a slider that looks like it belongs in a video game.
No, Eric Stults' skill set rates as a polar opposite from others in the Padres' rotation, though his left arm is still capable of doing some big things, albeit at a slower rate of speed.
"With a guy like me, I need to live on the corners," Stults said.
Stults allowed one run over six innings on Saturday and the bullpen sufficiently covered the final three innings as the Padres edged the Giants, 3-1, before a sold-out crowd of 43,405.
The victory not only allowed the Padres (9-9) to reach the .500 mark for the very first time this season, but the quartet of Stults, Nick Vincent, Dale Thayer and Joaquin Benoit did their part to lower the club's ERA during this homestand to 2.11 after nine games.
"These guys are pitching to expectation," said Padres manager Bud Black. "… Right now, we're in a nice run of starting pitching."
Stults (1-2) allowed three hits, didn't walk a batter and struck out two. The only run he allowed came on one swing, a solo home run by Michael Morse to start the fifth inning. It was a 412-foot moon shot that landed beyond the center field fence, kicking up sand on unsuspecting fans.
"He kept the ball down, kept mixing his pitches really well," Morse said of Stults.
From there, it was the Padres' pitchers essentially kicking sand in the faces of the Giants (10-9), who had four hits. After Stults left, Vincent struck out the side in the seventh, first getting Buster Posey on a cut-fastball, and then high fastballs to Morse and Pablo Sandoval.
Thayer took care of the eighth inning and Benoit earned his first save with the Padres, covering the ninth inning for Huston Street, who got a night off after throwing 31 pitches in earning a save on Friday.
"Facing the heart of their lineup … that's where you want to be," said Vincent, who hasn't allowed a hit in his last six outings. "After I got Posey, I took a deep breath. Then I did the same when against Morse and Sandoval."
He needed to, mostly because the Padres found themselves in another tight game, as Giants pitcher Tim Hudson (2-1) was sharp, allowing two runs on eight hits with four strikeouts. He got 12 ground-ball outs.
As for Stults, who counts more on his secondary pitches and not velocity to get outs, he was able to get inside and on the hands of the right-handed hitters in the Giants' lineup.
"They're an aggressive team and I had a hunch they would swing early," Stults said. "It's important for me to keep guys honest and keep them from diving out over the plate. For the most part, I was able to stay away from the heart of the plate."
Black, who was also a left-hander who didn't rely on plus-velocity to get hitters out, said there's any number of ways to get outs. For Stults, it means being able to get inside.
"In theory, the lesser velocity you have the more proficient you have to be," Black said. "They [hitters] have to respect the inside strike."
As has been the case this season, offense was hard to come by for the Padres, who scored first when Yonder Alonso knocked in his first run since April 6 on an RBI single in the second inning off Hudson. That scored Seth Smith, who started the inning with a single.
The Padres took a 2-1 lead in the fifth inning as Alexi Amarista singled and advanced to third base on a single by Will Venable. Everth Cabrera then lined a run-scoring triple to the gap in right-center field.
Chris Denorfia provided San Diego with an insurance run in the eighth inning by laying down a perfect squeeze-bunt to plate Venable.
"It's an exciting play because it doesn't happen very often," Black said of the squeeze.


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We are all so overwhelmed by everyone's generosity and support in sending this great group to represent North Dakota in Orlando. Words cannot express how appreciative we are! Thanks again to all of you who have donated. Special thanks to Marsha Enget for all her hard work in preparing the excellent meal and allowing us […]
Burke Central School Board has one position up for election this year. The position is an at-large position currently held by Kurt Koppelsloen. Any patron that wishes to be listed on the ballot for the June election, must have their letter of intent turned in to the school office by April 8, 2019 at 4:00pm. […]
Burke Central Elementary Students (K-6) and families are invited to attend Math and Reading Night on Thursday, March 28th. We will kick things off at 5:00pm and conclude at 7:30pm. Dinner will be served free of charge. Come out and enjoy and evening of games, prizes and door prizes with your children. Questions? Call 701-933-2821
Visit the following link to view available items! https://squareup.com/store/honkers-baseball-fundraiser
Attention Parents: Students in the eleventh grade at Burke Central will take the ACT test this school year (2018-2019) in lieu of the North Dakota State Assessment Test. If you have any questions or concerns you may contact Mr. Rick Lindblad at 701-933-2821.
BC Flyer


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Chapter One
"Last night, I died for the third time this week," the 17-year-old boy said. "I'm in a place that looks like Madison Square Garden, only it isn't. I'm playing in a championship ice hockey game, and the whole arena is sold-out. I score with a perfectly executed slapper in the last seconds of the third period, and my team wins. Then I hear an immense thunderclap. Glass shatters and people scream. My ears start ringing and everything slows way down. It's like I'm an insect caught in amber staring out at the world through a lens. I see a bullet flying over the ice, Kat. Only how is that even possible? Then it explodes into my right arm, I slam into the ice, and my blood gushes over the rink."
"How do you know the bullet is intended for you?"
"I just do," he said. His eyes, normally a robin's egg blue, looked dark and haunted.
"These aren't premonitions," Kathy said, shaking her head. She glanced up from her smartphone in an attempt to seem less distracted. "If I had to guess... I'd say it's something else just bubbling into your subconscious while you're sleeping. Everyone has nightmares, Jordan."
He groaned as they waited on the empty sidewalk. Every time he tried telling her about his vivid dreams, Kathy blew him off. And they haunted him, growing worse with each passing night. Jordan didn't know what to do, so he spoke with her and hoped that eventually, she might listen or at least pretend that she cared.
"I get what you're saying, but trust me. It's not like this," he insisted. "It feels real, Kat. And the arena... I feel like I should know where it is, but I've looked for it with internet searches and found nothing. I can even tell you where there's a dent the size of my fist on one of the Zambonis. But that's only part of it. There are other sections of the same dream that I haven't told you about."
"Like what?" she asked, tapping on the screen.
"Sometimes, I see a basalt tower enclosed on all sides by an ocean of ice. It's in a place where sunlight doesn't reach, but I have a feeling that it wasn't always like that. The tower is primordial, and it looks alien. However, before I can explore, the dream shifts. I find myself in an executive office, but the person that uses it has done a lot of terrible things. There are unspeakable objects kept in glass specimen jars within a secret alcove. And I'm not alone. There's someone else with me-a girl. She has long brown hair and is very sad. She's also naked save for a striped dinner jacket, and I know without a doubt that it's mine only I don't even own a fucking suit. As if that weren't strange enough, I think I know her name only I can't recall it for the life of me. I look to the door. I hear growls coming from behind it. She urges me to flee. But I have nowhere to run except to leap from out a shattered window a half-mile above the city. As I'm falling, that's when I wake up... "
"Screaming," she finished for him. "I heard you last night, but it's not real. Shit Jordan, you need a fucking shrink, I swear."
Jordan frowned, and she knew that she'd crossed the line and hurt his feelings. At that moment, she admitted to herself that he sounded desperate, that this might be a cry for help.
"I think I know why you're having these dreams," she said, "but, you need to let it go. They aren't coming back."
"What're you talking about?" The tone of his voice lay somewhere south of resignation.
"I'm talking about mom and dad. It's not your fault that they're gone. Stop tormenting yourself, and maybe you'll be able to sleep again. It's that simple."
He attached the earbuds to his smartphone. "I wish for once that you could just listen to what I'm saying. This has nothing to do with that."
"I'm sorry," she said, but he ignored her. She sighed. "You're acting childish." He still didn't look at her. "Okay... so you expect me to believe that you're somehow seeing something that's going to happen in the future?" Kathy threw up her hands in frustration and almost tossed her phone. "Out of the two of us, you've always been the one with his feet firmly planted on the ground. What does all that science and math mean if you don't use it? And for the record, tell me why I should believe something as crazy as this? And even if I did believe you, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?" Jordan just stared straight forward with his hands in his pockets. After a long, awkward silence, she decided it best to let him sulk, and she resumed her game of Angry Birds.
"I do miss mom and dad," he said after some time. "I guess I'm jealous of everyone at school that has real parents. Do I sometimes feel incomplete? Yeah, almost like a half person. What I don't get is how you seem to be all right with it."
Kathy frowned. "The difference between me and you is I hide it better. We were abandoned, Jordy. That's the only story I know. So until someone says anything different, I'm sticking to that story without remorse."
He remained silent for a moment, chewing on her words. "Do you think I look anything like dad?"
"Why does it matter?" But she knew that it just did.
She regarded him with a skeptical eye-hooded pullover complete with kangaroo pocket, skater jeans; blond hair gelled into a spike and tried to imagine her father wearing the same thing. Kathy didn't know why, but she had always pictured her father as the kind of man that played a concert piano and listened to Chopin more than Owl City. "Ummm, no," she replied after some time.
"Thanks, for nothing." He scowled but his attempt at "mad" fell flat.
"You're welcome." She detected a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "By the way, are you working this weekend?" The schedule on the wall of the manager's office flashed in Jordan's mind. "You didn't write it down, did you?" she asked.
He glared at her like he always did when she pointed out his shortcomings. "Of course I did. I just don't have it on me right now. I think I'm expected on Saturday night." Jordan and others from his high school swim team dove from indoor cliffs as part of a water show at the Mayan Adventure restaurant. Handsome didn't even begin to describe him at almost six-feet tall, thin, and covered in flawless, cream-colored skin common in those of Scandinavian lineage. The lone exception lay on the sole of his left foot-a birthmark in the shape of a monarch butterfly. It embarrassed Jordan, and he took precautions to hide it even from his sister. In fact, to his knowledge, she'd never seen it. He went so far as to view it as a deformity. However, despite this flaw Jordan remained a popular choice for jobs that required a Speedo and little else.
"You're going to have to quit when ice hockey season is in full swing," she said, "There's no way you can do both. Not that you'd want to."
"Yeah-it sucks too because I need the money."
High school, hockey, and a part-time job made for a precarious balancing act. Sometimes, Jordan felt angry that he had to work. He knew kids his age that didn't have jobs. They stayed at home and played video games. It made him resentful. He could understand why kids quit school, sold drugs, or did tricks for married men who indulged their homosexuality through hook-ups on Craig's Lists. They made enough in a couple hours work to pay for an entire week of expenses. One time outside a 7-Eleven, a guy offered him two-hundred dollars to consent to a few photos back at his place. That money sounded awfully good right now.
A chirp from a bird perched in a tree with yellow leaves brought Jordan's mind back into focus. But it also reminded him that the last days of summer had arrived. "Only one week until fall, Kat," he said. The morose tone in his voice reflected an inner need to shift topics in a different direction.
"Why do you hate this time of year so much? I personally love it," she said. "Everything is cool, you don't have to run the air conditioner constantly, and your clothes aren't all sticky with sweat."
"Well, most things die in the winter, you know." She didn't respond to his statement, and Jordan stared at the street in silence for almost half a minute. "But aside from that, I hate saying goodbye to summer," he finished.
"It's only for a couple of weeks, and your first game is coming up soon, so I'd try to snap out of it. Once that starts, you'll be off having fun with the other jocks. For the record, I hate most of your teammates, and the sluts they date." She glanced up from her iPhone and said, "Something's on your mind. Why don't you just spit it out?"
"Nothing's on my mind," Jordan scoffed.
"Whatever. You've been brooding on something for the last hour. When your eyes become frosty, I always suspect you're up to something."
"I'm not up to anything," Jordan snapped.
"As if you could tell when I'm lying," he said. But in the off chance that she could, Jordan feigned a sudden interest in the traffic. Jordan wished she didn't read so many psychology books. Earlier that day, Robbie Hart, his only real friend since middle school, had asked him if he wanted to get high. Rob had gotten his hands on some crystal and wanted to try it out. Jordan had told him no, but there had been little soul in the rejection. In truth, Rob wouldn't have to push very hard for him to say yes, but he wasn't about to let Kathy in on this. He'd hear no end to the nagging that would come from a confession like that.
How can she see that in my eyes though? he wondered.
A cool breeze that held just a kiss of winter blew down off the mountain. It ruffled his blond hair. Jordan turned his gaze slightly upward and narrowed his eyes to shield them from the bright sunlight. He saw bursts of color everywhere. In the east, he saw angry purple storm clouds gathering at the base of the Wasatch Mountains. In the west, yellow sunlight clear and unhindered fell over a valley choking with urban sprawl.
Behind him, the afternoon bell sounded off followed by the gentle roar of hundreds of teenage feet. The distant clang of locker doors as they slammed shut filled the air. A traffic jam soon formed in the parking lot. It spilled out onto the street in front of East High School as students boarded buses or drove off in cars comprised of the most affordable "out-of-warranty" automobiles belonging to the prestigious German Car Club-Volkswagen, Audi, and BMW. Privilege, had its hallmark.
Adjacent to him, Kathy texted Dustin, the boy she'd been seeing for almost a week. She was a natural in using a small digital keyboard and could probably type the Declaration of Independence in a text message faster than Jordan could lace up a hockey skate. Jordan admonished her with a shake of his head and pressed the orange iPod application at the bottom of the screen. He loved Eminem, and the rapper's latest album began just as their ride pulled up to the curb in a sporty black BMW X5.
Kathy walked to the driver's side and hopped into the backseat. Jordan peeked in through the passenger window and noticed Wayne's yoga mat rolled up on the front seat and decided to hop into the back as well. Despite being several years old, the interior of the BMW still had that pristine smell. Each seat had been upholstered in black leather and complemented by a highly polished tortoise shell dashboard. Wayne looked sharply dressed in an Armani Exchange t-shirt, gray utility shorts, and sandals. Michael Buble played on the satellite radio.
"How was school?" Wayne asked. Jordan watched him angle his head to the left to check for an opening in the traffic. He had broad shoulders and a slim build, the kind that tapered to a narrow waist that wore designer clothes rather well. He had brown, thinning hair.
"I'm just glad that it's finally Friday," Jordan said. "I'm a little tired."
"You've been getting up early every morning to go in for practice at the rink. If you're tired, go to bed a little earlier and cut back on your practice days."
"That's not why I'm tired," he said, then realized too late that he'd just opened a can of worms.
"Why, then?"
Should I tell Wayne about the nightmares? He thought about this for a moment and decided to stay silent. Instead, he moved the conversation in a different direction. "There's just this big game coming up the first week of October in Park City. It'd be nice if we win; if we take State again this year, it'll be something I can add to my college application." Jordan possessed natural athletic ability in buckets and probably could give up a few precious hours on the rink in exchange for more sleep. The thought seemed doable on paper, but Jordan knew he would never follow through with it. He loved playing ice hockey and wanted to start for a college that had a respected athletics program. This would never happen if he snoozed until 7 a.m.
Wayne stepped on the gas and merged into the traffic with the skill of someone that has done it for years. It always amazed Jordan that Wayne seemed to be able to get around so well in the flow of rush hour traffic. In driver's education, he'd been nervous while driving on the interstate and oftentimes ended up getting into the right lane several miles ahead of his exit to avoid having to merge. Wayne didn't do that. He drove in the left lane for miles and then flipped his blinkers on and forced his way into the right lane just before he needed the ramp. "Have you thought of where you're going to college?" Wayne asked him, putting his signal on to change lanes.
"Not really," Jordan replied. Between him and his sister, they had numerous options as both had been National Merit Finalists. Being an athlete rounded the package while his sister did a lot of extra-curricular clubs. "I'd like to go to Cornell."
Kathy looked up from her smartphone with enough exuberance that her blond hair flicked over the ear as if she were in a shampoo commercial. Jordan immediately sensed a subject change. "Dustin wants me go over to his house tonight and watch a movie with him," she said.
"Are you going?" Wayne asked.
"I haven't decided yet." She tried to hold back her excitement and stifle it into an androgynous monotone.
"You're going," Jordan said. "Stop lying, you're not any good at it."
"And you are?"
Kathy looked crosswise at him, then, half playfully, half mad, punched his arm when he scowled at her. Then his expression changed and it frightened her. Jordan seemed transfixed with the flow of traffic just outside the window. "What's wrong?" It was the last thing she said as she plunged into the longest twenty seconds of her life.
Neurologists have studied the remarkable layering of memories that the brain does during times of stress. This is why some people claim that your whole life flashes before your eyes at the moment of death. The phenomenon is also responsible for the alteration in the perception of time flow. With each passing second, the brain encodes dense layers of information, tracking the movement of a person's environment at the moment one's life is threatened. This was one of those instants. Time slowed to a crawl and horror erupted all around them.
An intense bright gleam from the polished grill of a semi blinded Jordan. Then his ears rang from the awful caterwaul of twisting metal. Shrapnel exploded into the entire cabin of the vehicle. He heard his sister scream and the piercing shatter of glass. The world turned upside down. Somewhere in all the chaos he heard a resounding boom as the airbags deployed and his body hit something hard and unforgiving. Pain shot through him as debris from the car struck his head. His vision turned black. He wanted to cry out, but he felt himself pulled into a suffocating darkness.


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If you run into issues with gnome-shell then gnome-shell should allow you to disable all the plugins and get the gnome-shell. But since gnome-shell is still evolving, you might run into issue where the shell does not come up. What to do in that case. You can set the shell to start in fallback mode, where there are more chances that it will come up.
Alas, but you don't have a shell or desktop session to do that. Simple, start the gnome-shell and before it is killed, do this:
gsettings set org.gnome.desktop.session session-name 'gnome-fallback'
And to do this from one of the virtual terminals, you would need the terminal to be able to attach to the running session. You can get the script to do that from the gnome website in How to debug gnome-shell or copy the script below:
gnome_session=$(pgrep -u $USER gnome-session) eval export $(sed 's/\o000/\n/g;' < /proc/$gnome_session/environ | grep DISPLAY) eval export $(sed 's/\o000/\n/g;' < /proc/$gnome_session/environ | grep XAUTHORITY) eval export $(sed 's/\o000/\n/g;' < /proc/$gnome_session/environ | grep DBUS_SESSION_BUS_ADDRESS)
Related articles
- 5 Alternatives To Unity For Ubuntu Users [Linux] (makeuseof.com)
- Linux Mint Aims to Take Gnome Beyond MGSE, Planning a New Desktop Environment Called Calls Cinnamon (techie-buzz.com)
- Try Out GNOME's Upcoming Browser Right Now [Linux] (makeuseof.com)


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This is a list of addresses and locations in , Jamaica. Find real estate, view map, find business places
and lots more about the areas bellow using our map search.
Jamaica real estate portal
Mobile website for Jamaican smart phone users. BlackBerry, iPhone, Android etc.
Provided by the national land agency of Jamaica
Provided by the visitJamaica.com with hotels and attractions
Privided by Jamaica Promotions Corporation (JAMPRO)
A scanned copy of an ESSO Road Map


text:
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Offense musters just one run in walk-off loss
Price fans eight, but Rays go 0-for-11 with runners in scoring position
BOSTON -- The much-anticipated pitching matchup between David Price and Jon Lester lived up to the hype, only neither southpaw could finish the job.
That left the fate of Saturday's Rays-Red Sox contest up to the ballclub's respective bullpens, and Boston won that battle en route to a 2-1 win in 10 innings at Fenway Park with 33,039 watching.
With one out in the 10th, Jacoby Ellsbury singled off Brandon Gomes, stole second and took third when catcher Jose Lobaton's wild throw sailed into the outfield.
Manager Joe Maddon opted to play a five-man infield, moving Matt Joyce from left field to third base.
"We were just trying to set them up in the right place," Maddon said. "Matt was the only option. I just wanted him to stand on the bag to shorten the lead, which he did."
Upon moving to the hot corner, Joyce allowed that "it was a different view I haven't had in a while."
"The game's a lot closer, that's for sure," Joyce said.
Joyce's positioning did not factor into what happened next.
Shane Victorino threaded a ball between shortstop Yunel Escobar, who was shifted to the right side of the infield, and second baseman Ben Zobrist. Escobar dove to knock the ball down, but nothing could be done at that point. Ellsbury raced home to give the Red Sox the walk-off win.
"You bisect two guys on the same side of the infield, and then furthermore, the right speed," said Maddon about Victorino's hit. "It's just very unfortunate for us."
The loss moved Tampa Bay to 4-6 on the season and was particularly frustrating given the fact it had a runner in scoring position with no outs in the ninth and the 10th innings but failed to score. The Rays were 0-for-11 with runners in scoring position, and overall are hitless in their last 17 at-bats with runners in scoring position.
In the ninth, Joel Hanrahan walked Evan Longoria and Zobrist to start the inning. That earned the Red Sox closer a quick hook and a showering of boos by the Fenway faithful.
Koji Uehara took over to face pinch-hitter James Loney, who watched a called third strike for the first out. Escobar then popped out to shallow right field before Ryan Roberts popped out to second to end the threat.
"Loney was the best shot there," said Maddon when asked why he did not bunt Longoria over to third. "Loney has an ability to get a base hit and drive in the run. Again, the guys hitting [after Loney] are not really tearing the ball up right now. … If James had gotten a base hit, it was the right move."
Jose Molina led off the 10th with a hustling double to right off Junichi Tazawa that concluded with a barrel-roll slide into second. Kelly Johnson was brought in to pinch-run, but two outs later, Sam Fuld grounded out to first to end the threat.
"I had an opportunity earlier in the game to drive a run in," Longoria said. "Later in the game we had a couple of runners on second, nobody out that we didn't even give anybody else a chance to get a guy to third base with less than two outs. We didn't do a whole lot offensively today."
What happened late felt preordained given the way the game began. Desmond Jennings led off by hitting what appeared to be a single off Will Middlebrooks' glove at third, but instead of the ball continuing toward left field, it ricocheted in the air to shortstop Steve Drew for the first out of the game.
"I've never seen anything happen like that," Maddon said.
Jennings singled to lead off the third and scored from first when Sean Rodriguez doubled to left off Lester to give the Rays a 1-0 lead. David Ross answered for the Red Sox with a two-out homer in the fifth when he hit a 3-2 changeup from Price over the Green Monster to tie the score at 1.
"Watching a lot of video, he doesn't throw many changeups," Ross said. "He threw more today than most. I've only faced him one time before, but he usually throws a lot more cutter-fast, cutter-sinker. He was definitely throwing that changeup over.
"It was just one of those things I reacted to. I definitely wasn't sitting on changeup. I was sitting on fastball. A guy throwing that hard, it's hard to look anything other than fastball. … That changeup, it just was a four-seamer. I think he was trying to make a better pitch than he did."
Ross' homer was the fourth Price has surrendered in three starts this season. Nevertheless, the reigning American League Cy Young Award winner looked more like he did in 2012 on Saturday while holding the Red Sox to one run over six innings, striking out eight en route to a no-decision.
Lester matched Price's excellence by allowing one run in seven innings to also earn a no-decision.
Clearly, pitching is not the Rays' problem at this early juncture of the season.
"They have a good pitching staff," Longoria said of the Red Sox. "You have to give some credit to them, but if we're going to want to compete in this division, and this season in general, we're going to have to find a way to push across more than one run."


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Our fresh dough, rolled and topped with chocolate sauce and finished with chocolate pieces
Single Portion, £5.49
The best thing you'll eat this week – trust us. Our fresh dough rolled with sweet cinnamon and drizzled with icing
A new and improved recipe straight from Papa John's kitchen. With extra chocolate for a richer taste. Delivered warm and perfect for sharing
Improved with extra chocolate chips, cut into eight slices and delivered warm
Sharing Portion, £4.99
Caramel ice cream with cookie swirls, cookie dough and chocolatey chunks. Non-dairy and Vegan
Large tub, £5.99
Caramel Ice Cream with a Caramel Swirl and Chocolatey Covered Caramel Chunks
Chocolate ice cream with chocolate brownie pieces
Vanilla ice cream with chocolate chip cookie dough
To help protect customers and staff from the spread of COVID-19, we have put the following measures in place:


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Faux Blue Berries
Sold out
1 stalk of artificial blue berries.
Our silk flowers are carefully sourced from China and Hong Kong. These are gorgeous, realistic-looking blooms (ie not tacky at all!). They are fuss-free and will last for a long time - simply dust the petals off with a feather duster occasionally to keep them looking great!
For self-collection:
Please select "Self-Collection" upon checkout. You will be able to choose your self-collection date and timeslot. No additional fees will be added to your total.
For delivery:
Please select "Delivery" upon checkout. You will be able to choose your delivery date and timeslot. A delivery fee of $15 and up will be added to your total.


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FRP Tank Description
Made from the high quality corrosion resistant resin and continuous fiber winding without alkali, filament winding FRP tank possesses the characteristics of lightness, high strength, distinguished corrosion resistance and expedient installation and maintenance etc.,
FRP tanks were applied widely in the oil-field system of sewage treatment, electrical plant water circulation, water pipe with electric magma and projects of chemical engineering, metallurgy, and medicine processing etc.
This FRP tank has been tested and well-operated till now in the oil-field of Zhongyuan, Shengli, Daqing, Jianghan and Liaohe long distance conveying pipeline and the system of sewage treatment and Tibet Yangbajing Electrical Plant, Pakistan Feisalamade & Keteli Electrical Plant and Qinshan Nuclear Power Station, and therefore enjoyed the applause of the customers.
Main Features of the FRP Tank
Light, high strength
Corrosion and waterresistance
Heat preservation
Little liquid of resistance.
FRP Tank Images
FRP Tank Specification
diameter: DN300-4000
stiffiness: SN2500-10000
standard length:1m,3m,6m,12m
execute standard:Q/320700QB06
FAQ of FRP Tank
Q: What is fiberglass composite?
A: Fiberglass composite is a laminate made from glass fibers or filaments and thermosetting resin. It is commonly known as RTRP, RTMP, FRP, GRP, GRE and GRV.
Q: Are fiberglass tanks fragile?
A: Due to the elastic nature of the resin which holds the clothlike glass fibers together, fiberglass is strong and flexible. FPI products meet the rigorous "Impact Test" requirements of the international standard e.g. BS, API, ...
Q: Are fiberglass tanks an 'off the shelf' item?
A: No. FPI's fiberglass pipes are bespoke products engineered to the highest international standards and specifications.
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Guidance for incoming students to US / Foreign countries
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Order threads in...
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Conference Report Card: Big EastPosted by Brian Goodman on April 19th, 2011
Brian Otskey is an RTC contributor. We will be publishing a series of conference report cards over the next week for conferences that got multiple NCAA bids to recap the conference, grade the teams, and look at the future for the conference.
Conference Recap
- College basketball has never witnessed a season like this year's Big East. The conference destroyed its own record of eight NCAA bids by placing 11 clubs in the Big Dance this year and also claimed the national champion with Connecticut, which spent most of the season in the middle of the pack in the Big East. The Huskies also gave the conference its first title since the Huskies last did the trick in 2004. While there was not a truly great team in the Big East (including Connecticut), the league was better than any other from top to bottom. Of the five teams that failed to make the NCAA Tournament, only South Florida and DePaul were truly uncompetitive. Rutgers showed signs of improvement while Seton Hall managed to win seven league games and gave some good teams a major scare in the process. Even Providence, which finished 4-14, knocked off Louisville and Villanova in consecutive games back in January. Despite the lackluster NCAA showing by most Big East members, it says here the conference boasted the best player in the nation (sorry, Jimmer) and a deserving national champion. Additionally, ten Big East teams were ranked in the AP Top 25 at some point this season. Say what you want about its postseason performance (it's certainly fair to bash the league in that regard), but this was by far the best conference in the nation this year.
Team-by-Team (teams are in order of finish, but grades are based on performance vs. expectations):
- Pittsburgh (28-6, 15-3): The regular season was terrific once again for Jamie Dixon and the Panthers but, as has become common over the years, they fell short of their goal–getting to the Final Four. Pittsburgh lost four of their final eight games after starting the season 24-2. A mid-season injury to Ashton Gibbs was thought to bring them down a peg, but Pitt responded with wins at West Virginia and Villanova without him to quiet any doubters. That turned out to be their peak. Dixon did not really test his team out of conference except for two games at Madison Square Garden against Maryland and Texas back in November as part of the 2K Sports Coaches vs. Cancer event and a "home" game (in Pittsburgh) against Tennessee, which they lost. Looking back, one theory could be that an average non-conference schedule did not adequately prepare this team for the NCAA Tournament which is all about match-ups and teams you haven't seen before from other leagues. While Big East coaches love to use the strength of the league as a crutch when questioned about a lack of non-conference heft to their schedule, I think this is a theory that has to be taken into consideration. Big East play is obviously rough and tumble every night but that can actually be a detriment come tournament time when games are officiated tighter and you don't have as much time to prepare for an opponent who you likely don't know very well, if at all. Pitt will lose Gilbert Brown, Brad Wanamaker, and Gary McGhee to graduation while Gibbs tests the NBA waters. I expect Gibbs to come back to join a very good recruiting class led by five-star forward Khem Birch. Despite the loss of three senior leaders, look for Pitt to be in the thick of the Big East race yet again next season. Dixon has established a culture of winning and I have learned never to doubt him after witnessing the 2009-10 campaign, a season that certified Dixon as one of the best basketball minds in the country. While this year was a great success during the regular season, Pitt's inability to get to the Sweet Sixteen and eventually the Final Four renders this year a disappointment. GRADE: B- Read the rest of this entry »


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I Want You
Label: Bonzai Progressive
Release date: 2013-11-04
Catalog number: BP3232013
Back and refreshed from his last release, the hugely popular "Don't You Know" (with Junior J), Chantola delivers another fine slice of house driven beats jacked up with a dose of progressive. "I Want You" also comes packed with a very impressive collection of remixes to suit any venue.
The Original Mix constructs a well balanced house groove with its thumpy kicks and crispy percussions giving good rhythm. A very cool bass rips through the track and is further enhanced with some very nifty synth work, the house vibes are ramped up to funky proportions with a great and catchy vocal sample which is coupled with real smooth guitar licks. One hell of a floorfiller on offer and one to watch for sure.
House producer Tero steps up for his first remix on Bonzai with a truly wonderful display of house beats with a sprinkling of deep funk thrown in. Tero has an impressive release count under his belt on labels like Club 86 Recordings and Bullbeat Recordings. From the off the vibe oozes with the pleasures of funky keys which soon build into full on house mode. Perfect drum arrangements give the track a cool bounce, the added vocal samples solidifies the sound while the bass works wonders on the rhythms. Awesome piano work gives this track an all round feel and makes it a must have in any box!
No Chantola release would be complete without the Johny S treatment. This is his sixth remix for Henrik and we can see why he keeps coming back for more. Johny's own tracks have been on labels like Club 86 Recordings, Bullbeat Recordings and 4 Play Trax to name a few. Here we get into a much more progressive vibe with a super tight arrangement on the drums and percussions. A very cool retro sounding synth does most of the work here as it draws you right into its groove while the deep bass keeps the rhythm flowing. Nice vocal samples come through and on the break the guitar and melodies transform the track before crashing back. Top notch prog house and sure to feature in many sets no doubt.
Another remix debut, this time from Finnish DJ and producer Jesse Suosalmi aka FunkyDee. Jesse too has seen releases on Club 86 and Bullbeat. If you're after a big floor tune then you've come to the right place. The smooth grooves of the original have been taken and ramped up into a party pumping house masterpiece. The funk has certainly been injected here and for those of us who like our music with an oldskool flair then be prepared for a trip that will have you throwing your hands in the air. Absolutely stunning remix and a cert to be featured many times on playlists all over!!


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The Institute for Supply Management's non-manufacturing index increased to 58.6 from 56 the prior month, a report showed today. A measure of employment in non-manufacturing industries rose to 57 from 53.2 in July. Jobless claims declined by 9,000 to 323,000 in the week ended Aug. 31, less than the lowest forecast. The market now awaits the key jobs report, which will be issued tomorrow morning.
Equities: The SEP13 E-mini SP 500 (CME:ESU13) is almost at unchanged levels today, after highly upbeat economic data released this morning pertaining to jobs as well as manufacturing. The market is hovering near its 200-day EMA on a short term chart, and we believe that the market might try to make a run higher on a potential strong jobs number tomorrow. However, if this big jobs number happens tomorrow, the market might interpret this as bearish news as it may push the Fed to officially announce a tapering plan later this month. We believe this market will be higher than it is now by this time next year, but in the short term the market may oscillate sideways as the tapering gets digested. Our key medium term level to watch is 1684. If the market can't stay above there, then we will continue to believe in the sideways trade.
Bonds: The SEP13 U.S. 30-year bonds (CBOT:ZBU13) are down 1 point once again! Today they are trading down to 128'27 on highly upbeat data from the U.S. economy today. We discussed the 126 level yesterday, and if we see a big jobs number tomorrow, this level could very well be approached. For now we have 130'14 as a key resistance level.
Commodities: Both gold and silver are down today on a stronger U.S. dollar, which is due to the strong U.S. economic data this morning. DEC13 gold (COMEX:GCZ13) is down $20 to $1,369, and is approaching its short term 200-EMA at $1,340. DEC13 corn is down again today, this time down $.095 to $4.60. We believe this contract will head to at least $4.45, possibly lower to $4.25. DEC13 cocoa futures continue to show strength, even after yesterday's big rally, trading up $61 to $2,556. We believe this market could head much higher over the next several months.
Currencies: The SEP13 Swiss franc is the big loser in today's FX markets, with the Franc/USD trading down 96 ticks to 105.87. We believe this market will head lower to the gap at 104.50, especially if we see a big jobs number tomorrow. As the economy heats up in Europe, China, and U.S. investors may be less likely to seek safe havens such as gold and Swiss franc. The SEP13 Aussie dollar is having a pullback today, trading down 36 ticks to 91.26. We still believe this currency could head higher to our key level of 92.60. The SEP13 USD is blasting higher today to 82.66, and we believe this index will gradually head to its yearly high of 85.


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This is an independent fansite and is maintained by R.B.Araki, a Michael Schenker fan, for the benefit of all Michael Schenker fans, and with the support of Michael Schenker fans worldwide. Neither R.B.Araki nor this fansite have any association with the Michael Schenker Himself website.
R.B. Araki gratefully appreciates the support he has received throughout the years from all Michael's fans around the world, without which this site could not have developed - and this much-valued support is the fuel for him to keep running the site.
Special thanks to: Peter Mondria, Stuart W., Magnus Beronius, Batttttty, Stefan T., Hans A., Akio, Timmy Oz, John M.S., Graham W., Rog, Edward, Mike Albers., Tom J., Richard G., Kristina R., Bret Dunham., Cory W., Al, Phil Jahn, Robert Knowles., Jeff K., Rick, Ted, Elaine, Yuki, Dice J., John M, Mark S., Cutler Robinson., William Gordon, Micael H, Toru, Brian M., Makoto, Dean D., Nancy Lewis, Jean-Pascal C., Skid Rowe, Wilson C., Roger G., Karri H., Neil H., Gillo, John L., Tristan Greatrex, Kobayashi-san, Willie R., Ryou, Tom W., David M.C., Havoc, Kuni, Yoshio, MASA, Ruby L., Alex Vlahopoulos, Graham M., Adrian-TheMadAxeman, Steve F., Fulvio T., Sarah D., Keith and Kristen Capolino, James, Dave C., Gareth Rennick., Steve Faurot, Mattias Sjogren, John, Andy Greig, Roger Bleck, Axe, Amy Schugar, Siggi Schwarz, Arto Laine, Rev Jones, Wayne Findlay, Pete Holmes, Jari Tiura, Bodo Schopf, Franky Rummler and everybody who supports this website.
|MSG-EBE Guitar Picks: 3 White Medium picks 71mm & 3 Glow Medium picks 71mm (6 picks minimum) @ $3.00 each US$ plus $4.00 Shipping & Handling, total $22.00 US$. I will ship worldwide. Accepted payments, Visa, MasterCard, American Express, Pay Pal, US Money Order or US$ Cash! Email: email@example.com. Or mail to: David Khinoo, 2281 Drew Ave., Turlock, CA 95382 USA.


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Time Clock Company
Time & Attendance Specialists
Welcome to Central Time Clock, Inc., your full service time tracking solutions provider.
Expert sales, support, and mechanical staff with generations of experience serving the New York Metropolitan area. Our goal is to assist you and your business in deciding which solution would best suit your company's needs.
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Maintaining quality of service and remaining knowledgable in the industry is something to be expected when dealing with Central Time Clock. You will always have your call answered by a human being, and not a recorded voice. We help control your labor costs by providing high quality products backed with superior customer support.
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Detex Security Guard Systems
The ProxiPen is compact, lightweight and easy to handle because it recognizes RFID tags and other transponders automatically without any operating elements on the reader.
GCS TopGuard Patrol communication and evaluation software is easy to use and requires only basic computer knowledge.


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Broccoli and Carrot Cheese Bake
Total TimePrep: 25 min. Bake: 30 min. + standing
Makes9 servings
- 2 cups thinly sliced fresh carrots
- 2 cups fresh broccoli florets
- 3 large eggs
- 2 cups 2% milk
- 1/4 cup butter, melted
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
- 1/4 teaspoon pepper
- 1-1/2 cups (6 ounces) grated Gruyere or Swiss cheese, divided
- 6 cups cubed egg bread
- Place carrots and broccoli in a steamer basket; place in a large saucepan over 1 in. of water. Bring to a boil; cover and steam 3-4 minutes or until crisp-tender.
- Preheat oven to 325°. In a large bowl, whisk eggs, milk, butter, salt, nutmeg and pepper. Stir in vegetables and 1 cup cheese. Gently stir in bread.
- Transfer to a greased 11x7-in. baking dish; sprinkle with remaining cheese. Bake, uncovered, 30-35 minutes or until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. Let stand 10 minutes before serving.
Nutrition Facts1 piece: 261 calories, 16g fat (8g saturated fat), 122mg cholesterol, 428mg sodium, 18g carbohydrate (5g sugars, 2g fiber), 13g protein.
Recommended Video
Apr 20, 2014
I took this to an Easter potluck today and it was well-received. It was a nice change from the standard plain veggie dish. I like the fact that the two main vegetables are not seasonal and that the ingredients are pretty standard. I microwaved the carrots/broccoli mixture to save time and I used skim instead of 2% milk. I think that you could reduce the amount of butter slightly and save calories without sacrificing taste. I wasn't able to find egg bread so I just used a dense Vienna-type bread. I would like to try using whole wheat bread next time to make it a little healthier. If I could find a Swiss cheese that was a reduced fat variety I might try that to lighten up the fat and calorie count a little. Taste was very good; the nutmeg added a different taste and didn't overpower the dish. While I used it as a side dish; it could be a very filling meatless main dish, paired with a green salad and some fresh fruit for dessert.


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We can establish that our pure consciousness is not the following components;
our body/bodily sensations
our feelings
our desires and/or preferences
our thoughts (including memories, opinions and images)
All these components change continually and it's so easy to get sucked up and attached to these components in that we lose our true identity.
So in effect we are a pure centre of consciousness................. but there's more. We have a "passive witness" or "observer" of these components and consciousness.
Is this "passive observer" the Briatic HGA or is the HGA even beyond the "passive observer"?
With regards to spiritual communication i.e the actual K&C of HGA, anyone who is in asana or alert/relaxed can conjoin with this passive witness, it would only take 5 or so minutes to do this; to slowly and carefully peel away and dis-identify with each component one by one. What remainis is shhhhhh, a silent knowing.
I accept that pre Tipareth the Anima (for males) takes up the role of HGA in our dreams. I have heard that the HGA speaks to us in symbols and correspondences but I don't know if mine is particularly interested in cabbalsitic gematria. Divination sure, that's a channel as are syncronicities but I have not learnt masses and masses of TOL correspondences. I suspect that this will not hinder my K&C. Am I deluded?
There are certain number synchronicities that are very important for my HGA connection but not in a gematria related way.
Is K&C literally like an auditory answer to our questions or would I be taking it too literally in thinking that?


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I just updated to the Maverick beta (actually it's a fresh install, and not an upgrade of 10.04). But now "Ubuntu One" doesn't show up in my me-menu thing. In addition, when I go to Ubuntu One from System->Preferences and attempt to log in from there it will sometimes look like it works, but other times it won't do anything. When I go to the command line and type u1sdtool -s it will either say something like "doing auth dance" or "auth failed" and often it has never even prompted me to log in or try to get a new password (even though I know it's correct).
Anyway, this is the main hangup I have with the Maverick beta. I can't get to my ubuntu one account from the native client.
Is this a widespread issue? Is there something I can do to fix this?


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SYRACUSE, N.Y. (AP) Michael Carter-Williams had 11 points and 11 assists, freshman Jerami Grant had a season-high 11 points and two blocks, and No. 4 Syracuse beat Eastern Michigan 84-48 on Monday night.
Syracuse (6-0) has won 48 straight nonconference games and boosted its home winning streak to 26 games.
Eastern Michigan (5-2) and the Orange had met just twice before, the last time also an 84-48 Syracuse victory a year ago in the Carrier Dome. EMU coach Rob Murphy spent seven seasons as an assistant coach under Jim Boeheim at Syracuse before taking the job with the Eagles two years ago.
Carter-Williams, who led the nation in assists at 9.2 per game, had an erratic first half and finished with six of Syracuse's 18 turnovers. Eastern Michigan had 24 turnovers and was outscored 31-9 on the miscues.
Freshman Dajuan Coleman had a season-high 14 points and Brandon Triche finished with 12 for the Orange. James Southerland, who had a career-high 35 points and matched a school record with nine 3-pointers in Friday night's win at Arkansas, finished with four points.
Trevor Cooney, mired in an awful slump - he was 0 for 11 in the three previous games - missed his first five from beyond the arc against the Eagles before finally making one with 8:09 left. Still, he finished with a season-high 11 points.
Derek Thompson led Eastern Michigan with 18 points and Glenn Bryant had 16. Da'Shonte Riley, a 7-foot center who transferred from Syracuse to EMU after spending two seasons with the Orange, had a not-so-memorable homecoming in a game he was anticipating, finishing with three points on 1-of-8 shooting but collecting six blocks, one off his career high.
Defensively, the Eagles were holding opponents to 36.3 percent shooting, tied for 27th in the country, and the Orange had trouble coping at the outset.
Syracuse missed 10 of its first 12 shots, including three lobs, and committed five turnovers in the opening minutes. Fortunately for the Orange, the Eagles weren't much better, going 4 of 11 and losing the ball five times.
But after Bryant hit two free throws to give Eastern Michigan a 10-3 lead at 14:59, the Orange responded with a 13-2 spurt to gain its first lead and begin to take control.
C.J. Fair scored two straight baskets to start the rally and Southerland finished it with a one-handed baseline runner and a pullup jumper from the wing.
Thompson's layup at 7:04 was Eastern Michigan's final basket of the first half as Syracuse closed the period with a 19-3 run that erased any thoughts of an upset.
The Eagles had 17 turnovers that led to 18 points for the Orange and were 6 of 22 (27.3 percent) shooting in the first half, missing all six 3-pointers they attempted. Syracuse hit 9 of its final 19 shots to take a 35-17 halftime lead despite 1-for-10 shooting from beyond the arc.
A 3-pointer from the top of the key by Thompson cut the imposing lead to 37-20 in the first minute of the second half. That was the closest the Eagles came the rest of the game.
Syracuse entered the game averaging 80.2 points per game and was the epitome of consistency scoring inside in the first five games - the Orange registered 44, 44, 42, 42, and 40 points in the paint - and finished with a 48-22 edge there against EMU.


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Last week, Nick Vucic, Government Affairs Associate, and Sara Miller, Communications and Public Affairs Specialist, flew across the country for a trip to Helena, Montana for a two-day on-site advocacy training.
The training began with some ice breakers and an overview of advocacy vs. lobbying followed up with a couple of hours of updates from the federal level. The team talked about CCDBG, the Proposed Rule from HHS, the Government Shutdown, Sequester, and more. After many questions and answers, the room moved into breakout groups to discuss goals and barriers the state of Montana is facing in the early childhood community.
Each group then presented their goals and barriers and the group ended the day playing a rousing version of Advocacy Jeopardy.
The following morning, the training started earlier than planned and with coffee in hand, for another day of learning about advocacy.
Sara led everyone through the Child Care Aware® of America website pointing out resources and ways that the organization is here to help members in the states and parent engagement, which was a great way to transition into a discussion about social media.
We discussed Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and how to make all forms of social media help advocacy efforts. There were a few questions and then we moved into the final portion of the day: takeaways and next steps.
We were excited to see that many advocates in Montana were excited to learn about all of the great movement going on at the federal level and to gain more knowledge about making social media work for them.


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Painted engineered wood flooring is understandably a really popular wood flooring choice. Offering a whole range of colour options from natural wood shades through to brilliant whites and jet blacks, there truly is something for everyone in this range of flooring. One of the greatest things about painted engineered wood flooring is that it can be fitted in any room in the home including bathrooms and kitchens and, if you choose the right option, you can even fit it over under floor heating.
When you're choosing your engineered wood flooring it's important to take time and consider all your options. Things like species of wood, finish, board width and board thickness are all important. But then there are details like thickness of the lamella or top layer of the board and the construction of the core board. At Wood and Beyond we have solutions that suit every situation and we can help you make the very best choice for your project.
If you're interested in finding out more about this solution, why not ask us to pop a free sample in the post for you or come down to our London studio to check it out for yourself?


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cbridge necesitaba un nuevo diseño de otro y lanzó un concurso de diseño en 99designs.
Un ganador ha sido elegido entre 21 diseños de 7 diseñadores freelance.
Technical Response Planning
Technical Response Planning provides emergency response planning solutions that help corporations to become better prepared for emergency incidents, reducing their risk of injury, fatality or asset loss while reducing risk of liability and/or regulatory fines in regulated industries. TRP solutions include web-based planning systems, consulting, training and exercise development services.
TRP works with corporations, schools and other organizations but their specialty is working in the oil & gas industry developing Oil Spill Response Plans, SPCC, facility plans, pre-fire and other types of response plans across the enterprise.
The target audience is typically the following roles at fairly large corporations/facilities or campuses. Roles include: Emergency managers, Environmental Health & Safety Managers, Plant Managers, Fire Chiefs, Emergency Response Coordinators and other emergency management personnel. We also want this to be appealing for executives at major corporations. This is a B2B market.
We want to create a header graphic that helps to engage visitors and inform them as to what TRP does and how they can help. This can be either a single graphic or a series of graphics that can be turned into a rotating banner. We are currently thinking the graphic(s) would highlight the following points:
• Improve response plan access and usability
• Reduce the risk of regulatory fines and penalties
• Lower your costs of plan maintenance
• Provide consistency across your organization
The current site and graphics can be found at http://www.emergency-response-planning.com. We are currently thinking of trading out the graphic that currently says "Leading the Industry". But we are open to any design ideas that might include the entire site header. The style and color scheme need to integrate well with the current logo.
Some website banners that demonstrate the type of concept we are after:
If any building photos or images are used, it would be best to use refinery or plant-type buildings. You can find different header graphics under each navigation menu item on the current site. Feel free to play with any of these, provide new ones or we can provide additional images if needed. There are also other images in the website if useful.


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As part of the Kraft Fight Hunger Bowl, players from Illinois spent two and half hours feeding the homeless at St. Anthony's Dining Room in San Francisco. They also spent at least two minutes and eleven seconds breaking it down with this wheelchair-bound gentleman. Look at that guy go!
I feel like my heart grew three sizes today.
h/t Charlie


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"Nobody could have written this book except Dean Faulkner Wells. It is not only charming, poignant and witty, it is a priceless contribution to America's rich literary history."—Winston Groom, author, Forrest Gump
"Dean Faulkner Wells has written a memorable family story, full of the intimacies of place and cherished connections, that not incidentally sheds unexpected, humanizing light on her august uncle, William Faulkner."–Thomas McGuane
"A funny, extremely readable, incredibly likable memoir of what it was like to grow up with the great man….A wonderful book."–Mark Childress, author of Crazy in Alabama
"Read Every Day by the Sun, then read Go Down Moses, The Hamlet, The Town, The Mansion, and you will feel you have been on an archaeological dig with a master. Dean Faulkner Wells knows where the gold is buried, where the heart strings sang, where the understanding and love were engendered….Burn the deconstructionists' texts. Every day By The Sun is all you need."—Ellen Gilchrist
"I can't recall the last time I enjoyed a book as much as Every Day By The Sun. Dean Faulkner Wells has performed a miracle: She's brought a great man back to life, and in doing so she's summoned a time and a place that now seem too far gone. I love her clean, sharp, unpretentious prose, the well-hewn stories piled one on top of the other, the intimate revelations about a family that belongs to all of us but belonged to her first. William Faulkner is a fascinating character indeed, but it is Wells herself whom I found most captivating. She's somebody to fall in love with and never get over."–John Ed Bradley, author, Tupelo Nights
"A fresh, affectionate view of 'Pappy,' the great and difficult writer."–Roy Blount, Jr.
"Part biography, part memoir, Wells' work does much to humanize the man who is often remembered only for his words. A must-read for Faulkner-philes."–Kirkus
"Marvelously evocative, intimate, and deeply moving."
–John Berendt