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Welcome to The Frame Around!
We are Havertown's own Custom Frame Shop, conveniently located close to the Main Line. We provide top quality frames for any need.
Consult with experts and develop your own masterpiece or simply frame a whimsical keepsake. We offer personal service in an inviting atmosphere. If we are located near your town Upper Darby, PA, please stop in for a visit! For years we have been providing Custom Picture Framing services, with satisfied customers all over.
From Kids Art to Fine Art, We Frame It All
From keepsakes to uniforms, framing is an excellent way to display and preserve family heirlooms. Our dedicated staff will ensure that your project reflects your unique style.
We offer a wide range of framing choices and a large section of moulding from top moulding designers Larson Juhl and Omega as well as in stock inventory.
We offer a complete range of services including:
- Dry Mounting – which "glues" work such as posters to a foam core board to prevent waving which the big box stores will not do
- Repair Work
Budget Framing:
- Regular Glass, economy mats and backing
Conservation Framing:
- Ultra-Violet protection glass including TruVue® Museum Glass for optical clarity
- Archival Mounts, Mats and Backing


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Miguel Cabrera gets thrown out by a mile (GIF)
Miguel Cabrera, fresh off of his stolen base in Game 4 of the American League Championship Series, tried to score from second base on a two-out single by Jhonny Peralta in the bottom of the first inning of Game 5 on Thursday.
In case you need a reminder, Miguel Cabrera is not fast.
MORE: Follow ALCS Game 5 with SN's live scoreboard | ALCS in photos
You can imagine what happened.
(Via @TheNosebleeds)
You can see third base coach Tom Brookens wave Cabrera home as he gets toward third base. You can also see Brookens change his mind and decide to hold Cabrera.
(Via Guyism)
Unfortunately, the big man missed the sign and/or couldn't hit the brakes in time.

subset: commoncrawl


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By Carol Glatz and Cindy Wooden
Catholic News Service
VATICAN CITY (CNS) -- Saying he no longer has the strength to exercise ministry over the universal church, Pope Benedict XVI announced Feb. 11 that he would be resigning at the end of the month after an eight-year pontificate.
"After having repeatedly examined my conscience before God, I have come to the certainty that my strengths, due to an advanced age, are no longer suited to an adequate exercise of the Petrine ministry," the pope told cardinals gathered for an ordinary public consistory to approve the canonization of new saints.
Pope Benedict, who was elected in April 2005, will be the first pope to resign in more than 600 years.Q&A ON THE PAPAL TRANSITIONHe told the cardinals, "In today's world, subject to so many rapid changes and shaken by questions of deep relevance for the life of faith, in order to govern the bark of St. Peter and proclaim the Gospel, both strength of mind and body are necessary, strength which in the last few months, has deteriorated in me to the extent that I have had to recognize my incapacity to adequately fulfill the ministry entrusted to me."
Jesuit Father Federico Lombardi, Vatican spokesman, told journalists at a briefing that the pope's decision was not prompted by any medical illness, but was due to a natural "decline of strength" associated with old age.
Even though the announcement had caught almost everybody by surprise, it was not a snap decision, but rather one that "had matured over the past few months," Father Lombardi said.
The pope made his announcement in Latin from a pre-written text during a morning ordinary public consistory where a large number of cardinals were present.
When he delivered his announcement, the pope seemed very "composed, concentrated" and read "in a solemn manner" in keeping with the importance of what he was saying, Father Lombardi said.
Fulfilling the canonical requirement, Pope Benedict solemnly declared to the cardinals, "Well aware of the seriousness of this act, with full freedom I declare that I renounce the ministry of Bishop of Rome, Successor of St. Peter, entrusted to me by the cardinals on 19 April 2005, in such a way, that as from 28 February 2013, at 20:00 hours, the See of Rome, the See of St. Peter, will be vacant and a conclave to elect the new supreme pontiff will have to be convoked by those whose competence it is."
Father Lombardi said after the pope steps down, he will move to the papal villa in Castel Gandolfo outside of Rome. He will stay there until the renovation is completed of a cloister, set up by Blessed John Paul II, which is located inside the Vatican Gardens, he said.
The pope will then live in the cloister, called the Mater Ecclesia monastery, and dedicate his time to prayer and reflection, the Vatican spokesman said.
It was likely the pope would keep writing, he added, since the pope has mentioned many times that he has wanted to spend more time dedicated to study and prayer.
When asked if there would be any confusion over leadership or a schism were a possibility, Father Lombardi said he believes the pope "had no fear of this" happening because he clearly demonstrated his desire to step down and no longer be pope or retain any papal authority.
"I think in no way is there any risk of confusion or division" in this respect, he said.
The pope, who is past the age allowed a cardinal to vote for a new pope, will obviously not be part of the conclave that will convene to elect his successor, he added.
He is not likely to play any role in the "interregnum" or time between popes because "there is no role for a predecessor pope" during this period, the priest said.
The Jesuit priest said a "sede vacante" usually lasts less than a month, and that it was more than likely a new pope would be elected in time to lead the full schedule of Holy Week and Easter liturgies.
Cardinal Sodano, who was one of the many cardinals present during the pope's announcement, addressed the pope, telling him the news left them with "a sense of loss, almost completely incredulous."
However, it was obvious that his decision was based on a "great affection" for the well-being of the church, the cardinal said.
Father Lombardi said being a pope today is "much more fast-moving, more demanding" than it was in the past with an almost nonstop full schedule of public and private events and liturgical celebrations.
When asked why the pope chose Feb. 11, the feast of Our Lady of Lourdes, as the day to announce his stepping down, Father Lombardi said most likely the date was a coincidence, and that the pope instead chose an event -- the ordinary public consistory -- where a large number of cardinals would be present.
"The pope chose this significant occasion with the gathered cardinals" as the best moment to announce his plans, the Vatican spokesman said.
When asked whether the pope had any medical illnesses or bouts of depression that may have prompted his resignation, Father Lombardi said the pope was "absolutely not" depressed and possessed a remarkable "spiritual serenity" and composure despite the many difficult moments he has had to face as pope.
The Vatican spokesman also said he was not aware of any medical illness that would have caused the pope to step down, rather it was due to a "normal" deterioration of physical and mental strength that comes with old age.
The pope has increasingly had trouble walking in the past year, often using a cane and always being assisted getting up and down steps. However, the Vatican has never released medical information that would make it appear the pope suffers from anything other than joint pain connected to his age.
The option of a pope to resign is explicitly written into the Code of Canon Law. It says a pope may step down, but stipulates that the decision must be made freely and "duly manifested." No one needs to formally accept a pope's resignation for it to be valid.
The last pope to resign was Pope Gregory XII in 1415.
Pope Benedict had long said it would be appropriate for a pope to resign for the good of the church if the pontiff felt he were unable to physically bear the burden of the papacy.
In his book-length interview, "The Light of the World," with German journalist Peter Seewald, the pope said, "If a pope clearly realizes that he is no longer physically, psychologically and spiritually capable of handling the duties of his office, then he has a right and, under some circumstances, also an obligation to resign."
The pope told the author that it was important, however, that the pope "must not run away" and "must stand fast and endure" any difficult situations that are facing the church. For that reason, he was not thinking of resigning in 2010 -- the year the interviews were conducted.
"One can resign at a peaceful moment or when one simply cannot go on," the pope had said.
Before ending his remarks during the consistory, Pope Benedict told the cardinals: "I thank you most sincerely for all the love and work with which you have supported me in my ministry and I ask pardon for all my defects. And now, let us entrust the holy church to the care of our supreme pastor, our Lord Jesus Christ, and implore his holy Mother Mary, so that she may assist the cardinal fathers with her maternal solicitude, in electing a new supreme pontiff."
The pope said, "I wish to also devotedly serve the holy church of God in the future through a life dedicated to prayer."
Father Lombardi said he felt "great admiration" for the pope's "great courage" and "freedom of spirit" in making this decision. The spokesman said it shows the pope is not only fully aware of the great responsibilities involved in leading the universal church, but his hopes that "the ministry of the church be carried out the best way" possible.Copyright (c) 2013 Catholic News Service/U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops


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Available ebook formats: epub mobi pdf lrf pdb html
The third of two voices, Clarice Wynter is the alter ego of a multi-published paranormal and science fiction romance author.
She lives in New Jersey with her husband of twenty years, their two children and three cats. She's been writing since the age of ten [a long, long time ago] and looks forward to bringing many contemporary romances to her readers.


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The Financial Services Institute (FSI) has built a solid working relationship and dialogue with FINRA and its leadership over the years, constructively engaging on behalf of our members. We were pleased that FINRA CEO Rick Ketchum took part in our National Discussions last month, and his willingness to answer the top questions on the minds of our members. Our voice is also heard through 20 FSI members currently serving on FINRA District Committees around the country.
Part of our engagement with FINRA is also to let them know when they have gone too far. That is clearly the case with the substantial fee increases the organization recently proposed for broker-dealers and financial advisors—increases that would hit small firms the hardest.
FINRA's proposed fee hikes would impose significantly higher costs on broker-dealers for branch office registrations, new member applications, continuing membership applications and Central Registration Depository (CRD) filings, as well as for advertising and sales literature reviews.
As we made clear in our comment letter to the SEC on July 19 (and in an interview earlier this week with AdvisorOne), this is clearly not the right time to impose these higher fees. Many IBDs are struggling to stay afloat in today's weak economy, and FINRA's increased charges would come on top of recent increases in SIPC assessments, SEC fees, fidelity bond premiums, and errors and omissions (E&O) insurance premiums. Imposing further fees on broker-dealers at this time could threaten to drive many of them out of business.
Aside from the timing, the size and scope of these new proposed fees will collectively have a serious negative impact on IBDs, most of which already operate within razor-thin margins (from 2004 to 2009, the median profit margin for IBDs was 1.7 %, according to FSI's 2010 Broker-Dealer Financial Study).
This is especially true for IBDs, which predominantly serve Main Street American investors. If FINRA's new fee structure remains intact, much of the costs will be passed on to this group of investors, many of whom could be priced out of the market entirely as a result.
As Americans continue to struggle with high unemployment and looming retirement obligations, we should be doing everything we can to make professional financial advice more widely available to them. FINRA's proposed fee increases would undermine that goal.
We are also troubled by the lack of justification FINRA has offered for these fee hikes. Aside from a statement that the fees are necessary to ensure that FINRA is "sufficiently capitalized to meet its regulatory responsibilities," they have not offered an adequate explanation for imposing these increased costs.
As recently as August 2009, FINRA made similar statements regarding significant increases in its Personnel Assessments and Gross Income Assessments, saying that after the market downtown it needed the extra revenue to "stabilize its operating cash flows." Less than three years later, FINRA is already proposing additional fee increases.
Nearly every organization in the country has been affected by the financial downturn, including IBDs, many of which responded by cutting costs and increasing efficiency. It's time for FINRA to apply the same type of operational discipline to its own organization.
As I mentioned above, FSI enjoys a constructive working relationship with FINRA. No one, however, should construe this relationship as a blanket endorsement of everything FINRA does. We have long held that FINRA is an imperfect regulator, and that it needs to do a better job realizing the unintended consequences of its proposals. The burdens associated with these new fees offer them the opportunity to do just that.
The proposed increases would greatly inflate the cost of doing business for financial services firms, hitting smaller firms the hardest. Our mission is to create a healthier, more business-friendly regulatory environment for our members, so we are urging FINRA to reconsider these fees, and to be mindful of their potential impacts on small broker-dealers, financial advisors and the Main Street clients they serve so well.


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For the City of Frankfurt, providing support for the non-profit associations in the city was an important concern in the tender process. For this reason, the provisions relating to space used by several advertisers (advertising columns for event and cultural advertising) and to event advertising on switching and distribution cabinets have two special rebate systems.
Rebate system 1: 100% discount only against reimbursement of the technical costs
The first rebate system commits the concession holder to make available to Frankfurt's non-profit associations 10 % of the advertising space used by several advertisers, as well as 10 % of the entire event framework, together with a 100% discount on the media provided. Only the technical costs for installation and surveillance will be invoiced. These costs amount to three euros net per poster; It should be noted that the cost of printing is not included.
In order for all entitled associations, regardless of their size, to enjoy the same opportunities, the service is implemented by means of a communal event calendar. This is organized by Stadtverband der Frankfurter Vereinsringe, a body that represents the city's associations, and is currently being finalized. Interested and entitled associations can register on the data base under the tab "Veranstaltungen" (events) on the website www.stadtverband.de. The event will then be displayed on the Stadtverband website, as well as in future in the event calendar.
Rebate system 2: 50% discount on list prices
The contracts for the concession holder also contain the provision that for bookings of their own on these two types of advertising media (space used by several advertisers and frames on switching and distribution cabinets), non-profit associations in Frankfurt be granted a 50% discount on the list price. Should an association wish to make use of this service, it should contact Ströer Deutsche Städte Medien GmbH directly.
District posting
Independently of the abovementioned advertising options via DSM Deutsche Städte Medien GmbH, associations also have the option of inexpensively notifying people of events in "their" district in that district itself. The office to contact in this case is the City of Frankfurt's Department of Road-Building and Development (ASE). Associations may hang up to 30 posters. Individual posters must not exceed DIN A0 (84 cm x 119 cm) in size. No administrative costs are charged. The association is responsible only for the production costs of the posters, as well as their hanging and removal.
Should you opt for this service we request that you return the following form together with the location list via e-mail to email@example.com. Should you have any questions, ASE colleagues will also be happy to answer them at this address.
Contact partner(s)
Ms. Dr. Sandra Trawny
Telephone: +49 (0)69 212 33123
Fax: +49 (0)69 212 30731
Ms. Valentina Pawelka
Telephone: +49 (0)69 212 74695
Fax: +49 (0)69 212 30731


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JFK airport security flunks kayaker test
Two kayakers who found themselves up Jamaica Bay without a paddle emerged from the water at New York's John F. Kennedy Airport this weekend, drawing summonses for themselves and a bit of embarrassment for airport security.
The airport fancies itself among the safest in the world thanks in part to its Perimeter Intrusion Detection System, a $100 million-plus web of surveillance cameras and motion detectors designed to ensure that nobody breaches the 12-square-mile property in Queens undetected.
But for the second time in less than two years, the airport perimeter was breached by wayward boaters. Jordan Crooms, 21, told the New York Post that he and buddy Anthony Giglio, 21, had set out from a park across the bay. Things got shaky when their kayak flipped and two of their paddles disappeared in the confusion.
"We had one paddle left," Jordan Crooms told the Post. "We were going toward the closest spot to shore."
They washed up Saturday morning past the end of Kennedy's Runway 4L, undetected by security. It was the same runway where a man scaled an 8-foot fence and walked into the airport after his jet ski ran out of gas in August 2012. In both cases, the airport's detection system sounded no warnings.
Airport workers found the kayakers on a navigational pier at the end of a runway early Saturday morning. Port Authority Police said it issued them summonses.
The Post notes that Port Authority boat patrols around Kennedy were canceled last year to save money.
"Once again a perimeter security breach at JFK Airport raises serious concerns about the Port Authority's Perimeter Intrusion Detection System, a system the PAPBA believes is a failure," the Port Authority police union said in a statement. "The PA has the vessels, purchased with federal funds, and Coast Guard-certified marine police officers to perform a 24-hour marine perimeter patrol with rescue capability."
Contributing: Associated Press


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I'm a native Arizonan and while growing up, I would often write down notes about stories germinating in my head.
I was always interested in the fantasy genre, having been introduced to Anne McCaffrey's Riders of Pern book series (may she rest in peace) in elementary school. I devoured Piers Anthony, Raymond E. Feist, and later, Lord of the Rings.
In trying my hand at mysteries, I've found they are fickle things, like a knot in yarn. Instead of cutting it, try to work it out and once unraveled, have a straight line of yarn again.
I will some more books coming soon, so please enjoy the ones I have out now.
Reviews from readers:
The Fallen Angel
Review by: Gerty So on Jan. 20, 2013 :
Wow, what a story.... I loved it.... Please keep writing, you are great at it..... A Highly Recommended Read.....
The Fallen Angel
Review by: Anonymous (Barnes and Noble) on June 27, 2013:
Short and sweet...a happily ever after ending
The Fallen Angel
Review by Val Zykwa (Apple store)
It was ok...I wish it was longer!
A Pie for Papa
Review by: Gerty So on Jan. 20, 2013 :
Another great read......


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Spanish director Victor Garcia has been confirmed to direct the big screen adaptation of the graphic novel "Crawl To Me". The story follows a family living in a remote town during a harsh winter and the events that make them question their family ties. The series was created by Life of Agony bassist Alan Robert who I hold partially responsible for me not getting laid in High School so I plan on being pretty rough on this one. Oh god no one loves me.
I've always enjoyed Cliver Barker's "Nightbreed" but to be honest watching a 2 hour and 45 minute version of the film sounds like hell on earth. Still, people seem to go nuts for the film and cry out in anger at the thought of the hour shorter version that was in theaters and released on home video. Well thanks to the folks at Scream Factory the extended version, being called "Nightbreed: The Cabal Cut" will see the light of day sometime next year. Really I don't understand why in this day and age any move would be over an hour and 15 minutes.
Remember how awesome the original "Robocop" was? All the killing, blood and swearing? It was everything that was good about movies in the 80's. Well the makers of the remake are pushing for a PG-13 rating so it's not going to be awesome. In fact it's not going to have anything that made the original awesome. In fact, remember the "Robocop" cartoon? Picture that, but with less cool stuff.
A lot of people like that "Dead Space" game. I played the demo for 5 minutes and got confused so I refused to ever give it another go. That's a good story huh? Anyway EA is planning on making a big screen adaptation of the game. No real word on when or if the film is really going to happen but at one point John Carpenter had eyed leading the charge on the film. Of course at one point I though a Poison tattoo would be really cool so who knows how this will go.
You ever see a giant fireworks store on the side of the highway and think, "holy hell it would be super awesome if that place caught on fire"? Well a fireworks store in Rochester Indiana caught on fire, and it was awesome. Don't you wish you had been driving by?
Ever hear sounds in your head? Like a weird scratching noise now and then? Well this woman in London did and it turned out it was actually maggots that had crawled into her ear while she was on vacation in Peru. Good luck sleeping tonight.


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Pour yourself a cup of coffee... ...and ponder for a moment to intricate operations and supply chains that from verdant fields of coffee bean plants to the steaming hot cup in your hands. Someone has to manage this process, and this text will show you how it's done! The Sixth Edition unveils all the quantitative and qualitative aspects of operations and supply chain management that anyone involved in this process know. It features an ideal balance of managerial issues and quantitative techniques with an emphasis on supply chain management. The authors present the concepts clearly and logically, never losing sight of how operations management relates to the real world of business. Russell and Taylor also recognize that many students struggle with the quantitative material in their Operations Management course. That's why the Sixth Edition offers an extensive collection of exercises and solved problems along with interactive problem-solving support. Here's what's new in the Sixth Edition: New organization and content highlight supply chain management. The Supply Chain chapter has been divided into two chapters with more detailed content on supply chain strategy and design as well as global sourcing and logistics. In addition, a new chapter fully covers service design. All chapter-opening cases and in-text example boxes have been revised or replaced to more readily illustrate global, supply chain, and service issues. Examples include the success of supply chain design at Toyota and Honda, and supply chain management at Royal Caribbean. Each chapter begins with an example from Green Mountain Coffee Roasters to demonstrate how one company participates in all aspects of OM and SCM. Each chapter has been edited for conciseness, currency, and integration of supply chain coverage. The OM Tools Excel add-in has been redesigned to provide students with a robust tool for effective problem solving. At the instructor's discretion, this text is also available with WileyPLUS. WileyPLUS is a one-shop for students and instructors to access videos, tutorials, simulations, exercises, cases, and more. It links problems from the book to relevant sections in an online version of the text, while providing opportunities for more practice.Russell, Roberta S. is the author of 'Operations and Supply Chain Management', published 2007 under ISBN 9780470095157 and ISBN 0470095156.[read more]
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- #38449 -- $1,089,000 -- Acres
- 3 Bedrooms - 3 Full Bath - 1 Half Bath - 2408 Square Feet
- Location: Cooperstown NY
- Grand GREAT RM w/ 2 Fireplaces & Specacular OPEN KITCHEN
- MASTER SUITE FLOOR w/ Fireplace - Spa Bath & Sitting Rm w/ Fpc
- 2 LAKE-LEVEL GUEST SUITES and MEDIA AREA w/ Fireplace
- Private BOATHOUSE & Boat Dock w/ OWNER BOAT SLIPS
- Heated LAKESIDE SWIMMING POOL - SANDY BEACH
- Also Available for SHORT-TERM VACATION RENT - call Carol 845-664-4711
- LOCK & LEAVE Maintenance Plan: Landscaping, Snow Removal, Stacked Firewood
- Call or Text: (845) 664-4711 for more INFO
- OR.... EMAIL: firstname.lastname@example.com for more INFO
LAKEVIEW Adirondack Style GREAT CAMP
On 9-mile long Otsego Lake . . . a motorboat lake!
#38449 -- $1,089,000
7116 West Lake Road Unit 1-S, Cooperstown NY
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Adirondack Great-Camp Lodge Design with massive Douglas Fir Log . . . Post and Beam Construction!
Enjoy this home thru-out the year --- Generate up to $165,000 annual rental income! Listing price is BELOW RECENT APPRAISAL.
Turn-key RENTAL MANAGEMENT available.
ArrowHead Pointe on OTSEGO LAKE is an outstanding, private enclave of just seven post and beam condo-lodges nestled on the shores of the renowned 9 mile-long Otsego Lake. Located just minutes from the destination town of Cooperstown, these 3100 square foot duplex homes are handcrafted in British Columbia and feature 3 bedrooms and 3.5 baths on three dramatic levels.
Main Great Room Level features . . . a spectacular open chef's dream kitchen . . . soaring cathedral-ceiling living room, large dining area w/ adjoining seating corner with dramatic stone, wood-burning fireplace all surrounded by multiple double sliding doors to the wraparound deck and magnificent lake views AND a stunning signature Arrowhead Pointe half-bath.
Private Master Top Level Suite highlights . . . a separate lakeview sitting area with fireplace and private sunrise balcony, large master bedroom with fireplace and adjoining private balcony, and luxury spa bath with whirlpool, vessel sink detail and seamless door shower.
Lake Level Guest Quarters includes . . . 10' ceilings, 2 individual bedroom suites each with full baths, an open media sitting area with fireplace, sensational entertaining wet bar, and laundry - utility rooms.
All floors are connected with a breathtaking 42' polished maple tree, open winding staircase and skylight tower . . . as well as . . . PRIVATE ELEVATOR!
Outstanding lakefront amenities . . . private to residences only . . . including a lakeside heated free-form swimming pool, sandy beach and swim platform, adjoining twig gazebo, private boat dock with individual owner boat slip, fishing platform and . . . a two story handcrafted Post and Beam log BOATHOUSE with 3 fireplaces, lower level lounge with movie projector, interior Canoe/Kayak storage, and temperature controlled wine cellar with private locked wine bin! All on the extensive, stunning shoreline promenade owned by this one-of-a-kind year-round destination lakeside enclave!
The finest in construction technique, environmental sensitive site engineering and of course, the highest quality materials, craftsmanship, and details are all featured at ArrowHead Pointe. Ownership at ArrowHead Pointe provides an exclusive, lakefront resort lifestyle: from the sandy beach and private boat dock to the heated swimming pool and the fabulous 'Boathouse'. And, the AHP Lock and Leave Maintenance Plan, assures you time to celebrate life with friends and family: stacked firewood, full landscape and snow removal, even window washing are tasks not to be worried about.
Owner is a licensed real estate agent.
Available LODGES for purchase . . .
Lakeview . . . Cayuga South: $1,089,000 (3 bedrooms 3.5 baths . . . 3100 sq. ft)
Lakefront . . . Oneida North: $1,195,000 (4 bedrooms 3.5 baths . . . 3100 sq. ft)
Lakeview . . . Seneca North & South: $1,499,000 (6 bedrooms 6.5 baths . . . 6500 sq. ft)
Email me today for a complete list of: Design Features, Construction Quality Details, Site Plan, Floor Plans, MLS Client Detail Sheet, and Rental Opportunity Memo . . . I will also include a Cooperstown Area Info overview!
TEXT or CALL Carol: 845-664-4711
It's a great time to Buy . . . if you know where to look!
By appointment only . . . Call Carol: 845-664-4711


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William Cole, D.C., IFMCPFunctional Medicine Practitioner
Will Cole, D.C., IFMCP, is a leading functional-medicine expert and a Doctor of Chiropractic. He received his doctorate from Southern California University of Health Sciences and is currently based in Pittsburgh, PA. Dr. Cole specializes in clinically investigating underlying factors of chronic disease and customizing a functional medicine approach for thyroid issues, autoimmune conditions, hormonal imbalances, digestive disorders, and brain problems. He is the author of two books: "The Inflammation Spectrum" and "Ketotarian." His consultations are available locally in Pittsburgh, or nationwide via webcam.
What is your wellness philosophy?
You can't heal a body you hate. Self care is a form of self respect.
What brought you into wellness?
Both sides of my family have various forms of autoimmune-inflammation conditions. I, myself have the MTHFR methylation gene change, which basically means my body needs extra help detoxing and lowering inflammation. By using functional medicine tools first in my own life, I could not help but share what I knew with the ones closest to me, and now that has grown to the world. The majority of my patients are in other states and countries via webcam consults. For me, my family was a microcosm of our world: In need of direction, support and tools to reclaim their health. It is a humbling experience to be a part of someones sacred journey into wellness and I take that very seriously.
What does You. We. All. mean to you?
mindbodygreen has been my wellness family for a long time now, so for me it was always You.We.All. I think the difference now is that today, with the state of our society, we need to put that sense of unity out into the world, in a larger, more expansive way. We are all connected and as the voices of division and chaos grow louder, let our shouts be even stronger. Shouts of stillness and a firm foundation rooted in peace and inclusivity. This will be the light in the darkness.
What's your favorite ritual?
Tea in all it's various beautiful forms. Drinking tea is a sacred moment for me, and there are lots of sacred moments, let me tell you. I'm basically the wino of tea drinkers.


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Titleist T300 Ironsview other products
Titleist's brand new T300 irons offer exactly what the majority of golfers want: more forgiveness, longer distance and a higher launch from a beautiful looking iron.
The T300 irons feature high density tungsten weighting in the in the sole to lower the centre of gravity thus producing a higher launch. Coupled with the mid-sized cavity-back design and Max Impact Technology, forgiveness and distance are really pushed to the forefront in this iron.
Key features and benefits include:
- Max Impact Technology offers maximum speed and forgiveness evenly across the face
- High density tungsten weighting lowers CG for higher launch
- Silicone Polymer core and medallion assay in the mid-size head improves performance
- Thinner face helps promote faster ball speeds through impact
- Improved sole offers more bounce for easier shot making
The T300 irons are the ideal way to combine forgiveness and distance all in a set that is designed to help you ooze confidence. Book in to try them out today and see for yourself why we are such big fans.


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Almost Heaven
- Chris Fabry Author
- 2010 4 Nov
EDITOR'S NOTE: The following is an excerpt from Almost Heaven by Chris Fabry (Tyndale).
Part One
All My Memories
I suppose you can sum up a man's life with a few words. That's what the newspaper tries to do with an obituary. And it's what that reporter will try to do in her article. "Billy Allman . . . resident of Dogwood . . . lifelong dream to build a radio station . . ." She'll do a fine job, I'm sure. She seemed kindhearted and the type that will get her facts straight, but I know there will be a lot of my life that will fall through the cracks.
I believe every life has hidden songs that hang by twin threads of music and memory. I believe in the songs that have never been played for another soul. I believe they run between the rocks and along the creekbeds of our lives. These are songs that cannot be heard by anything but the soul. They sometimes run dry or spill over the banks until we find ourselves wading through them.
My life has been filled with my share of dirges and plainsongs. I would sing jaunty melodies of cotton candy and ice cream if I could, a top-40 three-minute-and-twenty-second tune, but the songs that have been given to me are played in A minor and are plagued with pauses and riffs that have no clear resolution. I ache for some major chord, a tonal shift that brings musical contentment. I do not know if I will find that.
Throughout my life I have dedicated myself to God. I told him early on that I would go anywhere and do anything he wanted. No holding back. But as time slipped and the conversation has become more one-sided, that plan has appeared haphazard at best. God has seemed massively indifferent to my devotion, if he has even heard my cries.
I suppose I need to put this story down in an ordered fashion to make sense of the silence and to fill in the missing places of my own. Or perhaps I will be able to convince the people who know me as a hermit that there was some reason for the pain. Our lives are judged by a few snapshots taken at vulnerable moments, and I have decided to set my hand to recording the flashes I can recall, the ones revealing my motivations. The look on that reporter's face as I showed her the disparate parts of my life made me want to put this down in my own words. But this is not really for those outside looking in. This is for me.
One of the neighbors described the morning of February 26, 1972, as a cold stillness. I woke up at the first sign of the overcast light. It was my tenth birthday, and as children will do, I did not want sleep to steal any of the good apportioned to me that day. I had invited three boys from my class to the first and last party my parents would ever offer. After that day, Mama never wanted to celebrate a thing, I guess. She had baked a cake the night before and I wanted a piece so bad I could taste it. I can still smell the cherry icing if I close my eyes and think hard enough.
I flipped on the TV to watch the only channel we got in the hollow. Too early for Johnny Quest or Scooby Doo, my favorites. It was some preacher talking about a prophecy of sudden destruction and how it would come like a thief in the night, like a woman's labor pains. We should be prepared. We should cry out to God now before that destruction came.
At ten, I hadn't committed many mortal sins, so there wasn't much reason for me to think that his message had bearing on my life. But after the fact I wondered if what happened was because I was too prideful or had asked for too many presents. Children will do that—make everything about them, as if some decision they make will change the course of history. If I had prayed right then and there, would things have been different? If I had cried out to God for mercy, would he have changed the course of Buffalo Creek?
I turned off the TV and went to the front window, where the beads of water streaked the awkwardly cut glass and drifted down to the softening wood that tried to hold it all together. In the wintertime the wind whistled through those panes and ice formed on the inside so thick you could scrape your name. Now the water soaked the window through, and streams flowed down the dirt driveway to the road, washing the mud across it. The sight of that misty morning ran cold through me. It was as if the leaves had known better. They had escaped and left the trees looking like sticks on the silent hillside.
Daddy had left the house in the evening to check on the creek because it was up to the top of its banks. He came back to tell us a bunch of people had already gone to the high school because they thought the dam was going to break. The fellow from the coal company had assured everyone up and down the valley that nothing was wrong. We should just stay in our houses. Ride out the rain.
"You think we ought to get over to the school?" Mama had said.
Daddy rubbed his chin. "I think we ought to wait it out and see." Daddy had faith in the company, but not as much as he had in God.
I noticed a muddy spot on the front porch that wasn't there the night before, so I could tell Daddy had been back, but now I figured he was checking the dam one more time. There wasn't much movement on the road, just a few cars spraying water as they passed. And then I saw him, moving faster than usual. My father had a gentleman's gait. He never seemed in a hurry, sort of like my idea of what Jesus must have been like walking along in dusty Israel. He always had time to reach down and give a dog a pat on the head or to pull me close to him with one of those big hands. Like other people who make their homes on the sides of mountains, he took things in stride. He believed that a person in haste usually missed out.
But my daddy walked straight inside the house that morning without taking his boots off. The mud was everywhere, and all I could do was stare at his feet and wonder what had happened because Mama would kill him when she saw it.
"Where's your mother?" he said.
"Still asleep," I said. "What's wrong?"
"Arlene!" he shouted. I heard the bedsprings creak, and he turned back to me before he walked down the hall. "Get dressed quick."
"Is it the dam?" I said.
"Yeah, it's the dam."
I threw on a pair of pants and a shirt over the T-shirt I'd slept in. Though they tried to speak softly, I could hear everything. I heard everything they said about me at the breakfast table each morning and everything they talked about in bed through the thin walls of that tiny house. At least everything I wanted to hear. Sometimes I didn't want to hear a word from them because of the pain it brought about Harless.
"I don't like the looks of it," he said. "Water is just about to the top. If that thing goes, it's going to wipe this whole valley out. And everybody with it."
Mama pulled on her robe and hurried down the hallway. "Is that what the company's saying?"
Daddy followed her in his muddy boots. Since the company had let us buy the house, he had taken such pride in keeping it clean and neat. He even planted trees and bushes in front.
"I don't trust Dasovich," Daddy said. "He went through again this morning telling us not to worry. That he was going to install another leak pipe. But the top of that dam is like a baby's soft spot. And if I'm right, there's enough water behind number three to stretch from there to the Guyandotte and back again and cover this whole valley."
Mama had the Folgers can out but she wasn't opening it. The cake she'd made sat on a white plate with wax paper over it.
Daddy looked at me. "Get your shoes on."
"Where are we going?" I said.
"Over to the school. Put some clothes in the basket yonder. Just in case. And take it to the car."
"What about the party?" As soon as I said it, I felt bad. The look on his face made me ashamed of being so selfish. But I couldn't help it. And the tears came.
"Your friends will probably be over there," he said. "It'll be one big party. Then when it's safe, we'll come back." He touched my shoulder and nodded toward my room. "Arlene, you get dressed and I'll grab a suitcase."
Mama put the cake in a hatbox, and I hurried to get the basket of clothes. I grabbed my Bible and Dad's mandolin and put them between the underwear and T-shirts and jeans, then walked out on the porch and down the cinder-block steps. Thunder was under there looking at me. He was our little beagle who slept outside. Daddy would take him rabbit hunting and he said he was the best, but I liked it when he curled up next to me while I watched TV. Mama would let me bring him in every so often as long as he wasn't wet and didn't come begging in the kitchen. I would scratch his back and watch his hind legs go to running. We called him Thunder because of that bellow of a bark.
I bent down and looked under the porch. "Come on, boy," I coaxed, but he kind of whined and his eyes darted left and right, like there was something beyond me that spelled trouble.
Daddy came out of the house with the old suitcase my papaw brought with him when he stayed with us before he died. My daddy was born in Omar, and Papaw was from Austria-Hungary, back before it was just Austria or Hungary. Papaw always said the West Virginia hills reminded him of his homeland. He took to mining like a duck to water, though I think he would have lived longer if he'd have just farmed.
Daddy brought out the suitcase in one hand, and in the other was a drawer from the desk with all of our pictures. On top of the drawer was a hatbox holding the cake Mama had made. "Open the door," he said, and when I didn't get to it fast enough, he grumbled and set the suitcase on the car and popped open the door and put everything inside. "Get in. Quick."
Mama came down the steps holding Harless's picture against her chest. He's my older brother. She had a look on her face that was pure worry. Mama was an uncommonly beautiful woman of the hills, with long hair that she cared for every evening with a pearl-handled brush her mother had given her. After she brushed it out, she braided it, and I remember it swinging down her back as she made breakfast in the morning. Daddy always said she had the hair of a Tuckahoe Indian maiden, and Mama would smile, but it was true. Her great-grandmother on her daddy's side had been from the tribe during the days when white people were offered money for Tuckahoe scalps.
Just as Mama made it to the car, there was a sound that echoed through the hills I will never forget. It was like hearing a car crash behind you; you knew exactly what it was, but you didn't want to turn your head and look because you knew there was going to be somebody dead back there. I heard stories later of the people who were higher up the creek and what they saw after the upper dam broke and overwhelmed the other two. Daddy had said the company didn't have engineers building the dam, just a drawing of what it should be, and they turned the guys with bulldozers loose. All the waste from the mines was piled up as high as they could get it, but not packed down like it should be. When all that rain mixed with the water used to clean the coal, it made a lake filled to overflowing—132 million gallons is what they said later on. That's what was coming toward us, but of course we didn't know that for sure right then.
Thunder barked and ran out from under the house. I jumped out and yelled for him, but Daddy grabbed my arm and slung me back. "Stay in there." He whistled for Thunder, the high-pitched whistle I could never do, and the dog turned and looked at him, then kept running toward the creek like he was after a rabbit.
Daddy hopped in the car and started it up.
"Don't leave him!" I shouted.
"He'll be okay, Billy. Calm down."
We made it to the blacktopped road and headed down the valley, but as soon as we did, Mama looked at Daddy and said, "Other, what about Dreama?"
Daddy gave her a stare that said she was asking too much.
"She brought those kids over last night," Mama said. "The car's right there by the house. She won't know."
Daddy turned our Chevy Impala onto a dirt road that was nothing but mud and slipped and slid up the embankment. Mama asked what he was doing and he wouldn't answer her until he reached the tree line and set the emergency brake. "I'll be right back."
For some reason I still don't understand, he reached back and squeezed my leg. "You be good," he said.
I didn't want him to go. But there was nothing I could do. I just watched him slip and slide down the hill, almost like he was trying to make us laugh, his one hand over his head, his other hand around the cigarette he was trying to keep dry.
"Lord, protect him," my mother said as she watched. She was always praying out loud like that. Just a sentence here or a sentence there that led to a running conversation with the Almighty on everything from baking banana bread to saving somebody's marriage. I imagined my daddy was doing exactly the same thing because he had the same kind of relationship with his Father in heaven.
The rain was still coming, running down the window, so I rolled mine down to get a better look, and that's when I saw Thunder coming up the creek bank barking and sniffing along the edge of the water. I yelled at Dad to get him, but he couldn't hear me. He kept sliding toward the house until he got to the porch. That's when we lost sight of him, but I guessed he was knocking on the door and trying to wake Miss Dreama up.
About that time a car came along honking its horn and that car was just going lickety-split. As the car raced on, I heard something upstream, and through the trees it looked like a semitrailer was moving fast along the road, except it was an actual house that was coming down the valley like a child will move a toy in the dirt. I stared at it, fix-eyed, my voice caught somewhere inside.
"Oh, Lordy, here it comes!" Mama opened the door as fast as she could and started hollering at the top of her lungs. "Other! The dam's busted! Get out of there!"
She took a step and fell flat on her behind in the mud and slid. I got out and tried to help her, and when I looked up, Miss Dreama's house was splintering from the wall of water that crashed down. It surged onto the other side of the hill carrying part of the town with it; then it switched back and that black sludge slammed into the side of Miss Dreama's place and lifted it right off its foundation, turning it a little. It was then I could see my father with a little one in each arm, trying to keep his balance. Miss Dreama screamed and Mama screamed and then I couldn't hear a thing. It was like some switch just turned off. I turned away because I couldn't bear to look and caught sight of Thunder just before the black water engulfed him.
My father's face was determined and stoic as he tried to step off the porch while the house moved, but it was swirling fast, like the house in The Wizard of Oz. It was all he could do to stay upright. And I thought if he could ride it out, maybe everything would be all right. Maybe if I closed my eyes and prayed, things would be okay and the whole crew of them would step off onto dry ground. But there was nothing dry in that West Virginia valley.
Mama got up and slipped and slid back to the car. When I just stayed there, watching, she picked me up by the arm and almost tossed me into the front seat with her. She started the car and held her foot on the brake as we slid backward toward the raging water, and then I heard my own screams. The car slipped sideways and she turned the wheel sharply so we drifted straight. Miss Dreama's house was moving faster now. I glanced at my mother; she was doing all she could to stop us but we were being drawn like a magnet down. Daddy had been right to put us up near the tree line and if we had stayed there, we would have been okay, but I never blamed her for what she did. She was doing it out of instinct, out of desperate love.
The car slid down and the water met us. I call it water but it wasn't really. It was as thick as gob and just as nasty. A black mix of mud and coal sludge and trees that had been ripped from the bank moving in a torrent that only God himself could've stopped. Once it was loosed from the number three, there was nothing that was going to stop it until it reached the Guyandotte.
The black mess was all over the window and coming in the backseat. Mama opened her door and tried to grab me, but she fell out and I was pulled back by another wave that swept over the car, caught fully in the weight of the water that treated houses and trailers like my toys. The car door closed and my birthday cake had fallen and mixed with the brackish water. I screamed for my mother, who ran along the bank—though it had been someone's backyard only a few minutes earlier. My breath came in fits, just gasps, and for a moment I thought about the preacher and the sudden destruction he had predicted.
"Help me. Help me. Mama! Help me!" I cried to God and Jesus and my mother and yelled for my daddy, but I couldn't see anymore and the coal sludge was filling up the car behind me.
The back of the car slammed into something that I later learned was a telephone pole that hadn't been swept away yet, and through the windshield I saw another house coming toward me, moving with the water like a boat. Then the car rose up like it wanted to stand on its trunk and I fell into the backseat and saw the open window. I knew right then this was my chance, my only chance to escape what was coming.
From that day to this one, when anyone asked how I survived, I have told them one story. That it was my birthday. That I didn't want to die. That something rose up inside of me that was equal to or greater than that flood, and that was the human instinct to survive. And not only did I jump out of that car into the swirling water and get to solid ground, but I grabbed my daddy's mandolin on the way out. Most people who heard me play never knew what that instrument went through. It was probably the only mandolin that survived the Buffalo Creek disaster, but I don't know that for a fact.
I was sitting in the mud, too close to the water that looked like cement, when Mama got to me. She hauled me back up the bank to safety and then collapsed in a heap, bawling and rocking back and forth and saying, "I thought I had lost you. I thought I had lost you. And I prayed that the Lord wouldn't take everything."
It wasn't long after I got out of the water that a trailer smashed into our car and took the telephone pole with it and all of it went rolling down the valley like dirt rolls off a car when it's washed. It was just gravity and force and pressure doing what God intended when he made this old world. I was an eyewitness to the whole thing.
The water went down in about three hours or so, and then everybody started looking for survivors and walking through the houses that weren't smashed. Mama and I moved back up to where our house was, thinking maybe Daddy had gone there and was waiting. We didn't find him or our house. It looked like somebody just took a hand and pushed everything away. There was nothing left.
The street was mud- and coal-covered, and people were walking here and there asking if we'd seen this person or that. Some of the bodies had been found, and men made stretchers to carry them to the temporary morgue. People said the National Guard had been called out but wouldn't arrive until the next day. But everybody pitched in and did what had to be done. Hill people are like that. We take care of our own.
People invited folks into their houses. Just flung open the doors wide without a care in the world how they would make it. Some brought others in for a meal or just to sit and tell their stories. I don't know that anything helped more than talking about what had happened. Where they were when the water hit. How their cousins looked the last time they saw them. And then there were the stories of people going by in houses, standing on roofs, just trying to survive the surge. Those were the hardest for me because I remembered my daddy.
We worked our way to the school, hoping to find him there. We passed what looked like our car raised up on a twenty-foot pile of debris. I could only see the underside of it and the top was smashed in. I couldn't tell if it was ours or not, and anyway it didn't make much sense to guess.
The two of us wandered into the school, and when Mama saw her friends, they just fell into each other's arms and cried. I stood back, watching and wondering what we were going to do. We didn't have a house. Our car was gone. We only had the clothes on our backs and that mandolin.
It was late that afternoon when we finally had something to eat put in front of us, but neither of us was hungry. Every time somebody walked in the front door, Mama would jump. Whoever it was got an earful of questions. She'd say Daddy's name and then repeat it: "Other Alexander Allman." She'd tell them the mine he worked in and that he had a tattoo of an eagle on his right shoulder.
We slept on cots in the gymnasium that night. There was a lot of coffee and talking until late at night, and then the crying started. Mothers crying for their babies. Husbands crying for their wives. Children crying for their parents. Just a whole mass of humanity trying to get through. One man was interviewed by the TV news, and he said he was sorry God had allowed him to live to see what he did.
A lot of people were coming in and out, exhausted from all the searching. I fell asleep and my father came to me in his miner's hat, his face black with coal dust. He had marks on his face and neck where he'd been hit by tree limbs and rocks.
"Where were you, Daddy?" I cried. "What happened?"
Just like that, he was gone and I woke up with the most awful feeling, crying out for him. Mama was there to hush me, saying it was okay. I looked around and others were staring. I just held on to her.
The next day the National Guard came, and they were pulling bodies out of the creek and out from under houses and even out of trees. It seems odd to say that, but the wall of water was that high. It lifted people right up into the trees and left them. There was a church that was moved off its foundation and plopped down a long way from where it used to be, and everybody said wasn't that like God to leave a house of worship alone. But what we didn't know was there was somebody underneath it they found a while later.
I knew my daddy was somewhere in that list of victims, just another body in a stack of people they brought in bags and on stretchers. I didn't want to see him that way. I wanted to keep thinking of him in the good way, him teaching me about the mandolin or holding my hand as we walked to the company store. But the picture that kept coming back was him on Miss Dreama's porch holding those kids and trying to get to safety.
We walked around like zombies all day, and then here came some trucks with clothes and blankets and big boxes filled with cans of Spam and other food and water. I lost all my appetite for Spam about then.
That night there was talk of when the funerals would start. Our pastor came and Mama hugged him and he was in just as bad a shape as we were.
"The Lord has a purpose in this," the pastor said. "For the life of me, I don't know what it is, but I know my redeemer liveth. And heaven is a more beautiful place because of all these good people who are there."
"Is my daddy there?" I asked.
The man's face was as wrinkled as a paper sack after lunch. "Billy, if your daddy got caught in the flood and died, I know for sure where he is. He's praising Jesus in the presence of God and the angels. You don't have to worry about that."
"Is that what happens when you die?" I said in a shaky voice. I was thinking about the kids in my class who wouldn't be there next week. "You don't go floating off somewhere and stay around in the air; you just go on to heaven?"
"Absent from the body is present with the Lord," he said. I could tell it was something he had memorized because it came out stiff and cold. I knew he couldn't help it. He was suffering right along with us.
When he started talking about Daddy and what a good man he was, that sent Mama into a fit of bawling, and I followed her. He said he was sorry, but Mama said not to be. That we needed to remember. And that there was still a chance, as long as he hadn't been found.
"They found one little baby stuck in a hole up the holler," the pastor said. "It's a plain miracle is what it is. And God ain't done yet, son."
I wished that baby were my father, but I was still glad for the little guy. The pastor asked us if we wanted to come back to the parsonage, that it hadn't been touched by the water, and Mama said it would be better for us to wait at the school, in case any word came.
After the pastor left, she went off in the corner to talk with some women and they'd get to crying and I didn't want to bother her, but I was scared to be alone. All night the trucks and machines rolled in, so we didn't get much sleep, but who can sleep when you have lost everything?
A man in uniform showed up about daybreak and asked in a big voice if there was an Arlene Allman staying there. She hurried to the door and next thing I saw, she was on the floor, on her knees, one hand raised up over her head like I've seen her do in church, just crying and saying, "Jesus, Jesus."
I had been praying to Jesus that Daddy would make it out somehow, but I knew in my heart right then that he was gone. A cold shiver shot down my soul that made me think of what it would be like living without him. I had it planned out that Mama would sleep in her room and I would stay in mine and we'd just go on like other people do when someone is killed in a mine explosion or a cave-in. Then I remembered that our house was gone and so was our car and we were wearing the only clothes we owned.
Mama stayed with the man a few minutes getting information on a sheet of paper, then collected herself and came over and knelt in front of my cot. The dam had burst on her and the tears just flowed and it didn't seem they were ever going to stop. Then I saw something in her face—a spark, I guess. Something that told me to hope.
"Billy, listen to me," she said. "Your daddy's alive. He's not dead; he's alive."
She kind of shook me because I guess my mouth was open and nothing came out. She said something about him being pulled out of the creek and taken to a hospital. Unconscious at first. Then he spoke up and gave them his wife's name and his son's name. She pointed at the paper that listed the name of the hospital. The Guard people were going to try and get us over there, but they were dealing with other injured people and all that came with the cleanup. And there was a lot of that to do.
"He's there waiting for us. They're going to get him all better, so you don't have to worry. Jesus was taking care of him all this time and we didn't even know it."
I managed to say something finally. "What happened?"
"We don't know. But somebody pulled him out of the mud and saved his life. Some good neighbor who was at the right place at the right time."
All I could do was hug her and hang on because even though it was good news, I didn't know whether to believe it or not. Until I could actually hold his big, calloused hand, there was part of me that couldn't believe.
"Your daddy is going to be so proud of you," Mama said.
I picked up the mandolin and held it tight to my chest, rubbing the front of it and hoping it was true and not some cruel joke. That news was like getting Lazarus back from the dead, and to this day I still remember the sight of him, wrapped up in bandages, his arm in a sling, gauze over the eye that got gouged out and scrapes all over his face, lying there in the hospital bed watching I Love Lucy, except he wasn't watching; it was the fellow next to him watching. I was still holding the mandolin when I hugged him, and the nurse had to pry me off there because she had to take blood or give him a shot or something.
"Thunder didn't make it, did he, Daddy?" I said.
"I reckon he didn't, Son. But he knew there was something coming, didn't he?"
I nodded.
"He was a faithful dog to the end, but that water was too much for him. But the Lord saw us through it."
"What happened to the people in Miss Dreama's house?" I said.
Mama looked kind of sad at me like I hadn't obeyed her, but I couldn't help it.
Daddy looked down at the covers and sort of smoothed out the sheet a little bit, and a big old tear formed in the one eye that wasn't covered. "It was just awful, Son. I don't expect I'll ever be able to take it all in. It's just tragical."
"Did they make it?" I choked. "Those two little girls?"
He shook his head and looked at Mama. "I don't see how they could have. When we got close to the bank, I jumped down into the sludge and the mess but I couldn't hold on. The current was too strong. I never should have made it out myself, but God must have something more for me to do, I reckon."
Mama's mouth started giving way, her chin puckering. "They found them in the creek, down past the railroad trestle. All of them together except the littlest one. They haven't found her yet."
She put her head down on the bed, and Daddy put his bandaged arm around her and tried to pat her. There with the people on the TV laughing at something Lucy said, my mother and father had their most honest conversation I ever heard.
"I didn't mean for you to get hurt," Mama said. "I just wanted Dreama to know. The last thing in the world I wanted to happen was to see you get hurt."
"Arlene, you listen to me. There wasn't nothing going to stop that water once it made up its mind to come down that valley. You were looking out for your neighbors as you would yourself. I'm just glad you stayed on high ground."
Mama looked up at me, and I knew we were going to keep our secret from him. I knew he was not in a state to hear the truth. So I kept quiet. It was some time before he heard about the car and how I was stuck in there alone. It liked to kill him when he saw how damaged it was, and it wasn't long after that we moved out of the creek.
But all of that time, from my tenth birthday until the day he died, I never told him what really happened in the car. I told Mama and Daddy what I have written here before, and that is, I just got up enough nerve to jump. But that is not the truth.
My first reaction was not to believe what happened. I was scared that I had made it up. In a little boy's mind it's possible to get the truth mixed up with the make-believe. After I decided I couldn't make up something like that, I was scared that people would think I was uppity. That they would figure I thought I was something special.
But if you want to know the truth about how I got out of that car, I'll tell you.
After Mama slipped out and I was by myself, it was like the world went into slow motion, like one of those old movies of the Kennedy assassination. The black water poured through the back window as a wave came over the car.
I cried out to my mama and to Jesus and my daddy. I had to tell myself to breathe because it was the scariest thing I've ever seen. We hit the telephone pole, and the windshield cleared enough for me to see another house coming toward me. That's when the car rose up and I fell into the backseat.
And this is where my story changes, because I did not see an open window and know this was my chance to escape. I did not pull myself up by any kind of courage or will. There was nothing that rose up in me that was greater than the floodwaters. Like the 125 others who died that day, I would have drowned or been crushed in that backseat if I had been left to my own devices. I did not jump out of that car and I certainly didn't grab my daddy's mandolin.
With the swirling waters around me, thick as a coal milk shake, I was lifted out of that car. By some force of nature or the supernatural. Or maybe it was love that lifted me like a helpless little baby out of that window and placed me on the ground where my mama found me. And right beside me was my daddy's mandolin.
Now that may sound far-fetched to you, and if you think I am touched in the head, you can stop all the speculating because I'm as sane as anybody. But I'm telling you, as sure as I sit here and write this, I had no hope of living and I went from the backseat of that car to being on the ground just as fast as you can blink your eyes. I was another dead body in a car about to be smashed. But by some miracle I wound up alive alongside a river of death. Me and an old mandolin. How can you make people understand a thing like that?
Almost Heaven
Copyright © 2010 by Chris Fabry. All rights reserved.
Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Chris Fabry is a 1982 graduate of the W. Page Pitt School of Journalism at Marshall University. He is heard on Chris Fabry Live! each weekday on Moody Radio, the Love Worth Finding broadcast, and other radio programs. Chris's first novel for adults, Dogwood, received the 2009 Christy Award in the Contemporary Standalone category. His last novel, June Bug, was released in July 2009. For more information, please visit www.chrisfabry.com.


text:
Schaghticoke Indian Tribe seeks federal recognition once again
KENT >> A Jan. 16 document sent to the Schaghticoke Indian Tribe (SIT) in Kent by the U.S. Department of the Interior details the many areas of documentation that must be satisfied if it is to succeed in obtaining federal recognition as a tribe.
The SIT, which first petitioned for federal recognition in 1981, has sought a renewed and expedited active consideration of its petition, which has languished since the Bureau of Indian Affairs denied the rival Schaghticoke Tribal Nation's (STN) bid for recognition in 2005. The STN has launched two unsuccessful appeals of the BIA's Reconsidered Final Determination since 2005 and is now taking the matter to court for a third time.
In a letter to Alan Russell and Gail Harrison-Donovan, now listed as chairman and vice chairman of the SIT, R. Lee Fleming, director of the Office of Federal Recognition, says he needs confirmation of three areas: the duly authorized leadership of the group; agreement of its governing council to SIT representation by attorney John A. Sarcone III, and that all requirements have been met for a valid request for active consideration of the petition.
Mr. Fleming also included a copy of federal guidelines regarding petitions where there are conflicting groups. That documents says, in part, that "conflicts within a petitioning group that result in multiple and conflicting claims to leadership hamper the ability of OFA to communicate and conduct its business with the group when OFA cannot identify a single governing body as the point of contact with the group. ... Disputes are matters that must be handled by the group. When OFA finds that conflicting claims of leadership interfere with its ability to conduct its business with the group, OFA should not devote its expertise and resources to the group's petition."
The Schaghticoke tribe has been riven by disagreements about its leadership since 1996-'97, when factions of the original tribe split apart. The Schaghticoke Tribal Nation, under the leadership of Chief Richard Velky, took most of the membership with him and launched a parallel petition for recognition that was backed by big money groups who wanted to see another gaming casino in Connecticut.
The right to operate such gaming operations is guaranteed to federally recognized tribes under the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act and the possibility of such a third such facility being established in Connecticut brought a wave of protest from both state officials and municipalities. Kent, where the Schaghticoke reservation is located, was particularly motivated as the tribe had filed a 1981 lawsuit against the Town, CL&P, Kent School and a sporting club seeking return of tribal lands the Schaghticokes asserted were sold in violation of the 1790 Nonintercourse Act. Prosecution of the lawsuit depended on federal recognition being granted.
The STN petition stumbled, however, because the Bureau of Indian Affairs determined the group had not shown continuous social cohesion and political authority during long periods of its history. Because the SIT's petition depended on the shared history of the two groups prior to 1997, its leadership claimed the documentation submitted by the STN as support for its own application and suffered for the same lack of documentation ascribed to the STN.
Some 30,000 documents were submitted by the STN and its genealogical researchers to substantiate the tribe's claims but the BIA determined that it did not document what the tribe did as a community from 1920-1967 and from 1997 to the present. In addition, it found that evidence of political authority was missing for much of 19th and 20th centuries.
In recent years, the SIT has been embroiled in its own internecine fight over leadership with both Mr. Russell and his sister claiming to lead the tribe. In his January letter, Mr. Fleming says it appears the group has resolved this disagreement, but said that the letter confirming this has to contain original signatures of all council members--not photocopies.
He said a Dec. 28, 2012 mailing included a photocopy of a Nov. 15, 2012 letter from Ms. Harrison-Donovan "that appears to demonstrate Mr. Russell and she have resolved their leadership disputes. But without a letter bearing Ms. Donovan's original signature, OFA cannot proceed. ... The above-requested letter is necessary given the history of internal leadership conflicts within this group and the evidence that other individuals claim to represent SIT," Mr. Fleming wrote.
Similarly, an original letter from the governing body, signed by all members, is needed for OFA to recognize the Sarcone law firm as its representative.
Lastly, he wrote, a request for an expedited review needs to come from the governing body, not Mr. Sarcone.
Mr. Fleming said a similar request for an expedited review had come in September 2010, signed by Ms. Donovan as chairman and by the governing body members. "Although the SIT stated that 'we believe that we have all the information in that is needed,' the materials SIT submitted did not respond to the deficiencies [previously noted]," he wrote, adding, "... [T]he SIT needs to resolve this third issue by informing the OFA of its intended course of action."
The SIT may withdraw its application, submit additional information or direct the Assistant Secretary of the Department of the Interior to proceed with the documentation already in hand. The group must also submit a certified "properly complete, accurate membership list.
Mr. Sarcone, spokesman for the SIT, could not be reached for comment at press time.


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Apache has been segfaulting when restarted for weekly log turnover every Sunday morning since the major upgrade on the server a couple of weeks ago.
PS the major outage a couple of weeks ago was a hugely necessary OS upgrade from FreeBSD 5.3 (pretty much what I installed three and a half years ago when I built the server, bar a few security upgrades) to FreeBSD 7.0. This upgrade became necessary as I could no longer apply security fixes to applications because FreeBSD 5.x became unsupported a few weeks ago.
I'm still monitoring little glitches like this Apache problem and will be dealing with them as soon as they're diagnosed.
Sorry for any inconvenience.


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Purchase applications fall despite a bond rally, hurting buildersBy Brent Nyitray, CFA, MBA
The MBA Purchase Index falls 2.8% for the week ending May 16
The MBA Purchase Index decreased 2.8% last week despite a strong bond market rally. More and more builders are noticing a drop in traffic, and the previously unaffected Lennar (LEN) and KB Home (KBH) recently disclosed drops in traffic during their first quarter earnings conference calls. Last quarter, PulteGroup (PHM) did note that the first-time homebuyer was pulling back due to higher rates. D.R. Horton (DHI) saw the same thing. Pulte and D.R. Horton are more geographically diversified than KB Home or Lennar, and they focus more on the first-time homebuyer.
Unlike the MBA Refinance Index, the MBA Purchase Index is driven by seasonal factors. The purchase index somewhat understates the true activity going on in the market, as professionals who are cash buyers have been responsible for a large chunk of the buying. The index won't count their activity. The real estate cycle starts picking up in late winter, and the selling season peaks in the summer, lasting until late fall. We're exiting the seasonally slow period. For mortgage bankers, this could be a tough season, as they won't have refinance activity to fall back on. Indeed, many of the big mortgage bankers have announced job cuts in their mortgage units.
Ever since rates bottomed last year, the MBA Purchase Index has declined much less than the refinance index. This steadiness is largely because homebuyers tend to be less interest rate–sensitive than refinances, which are 100% interest rate–driven. Higher interest rates aren't expected to impact purchase activity the way they affect refinance activity. Despite the rise in rates, housing remains highly affordable.
Implications for homebuilders
We're wrapping up earnings season for the builders, and so far, most have reported good earnings. Average selling prices are rising, but volumes are decreasing. That said, there's still restricted supply. While housing is rebounding, it's important to remember that these numbers are coming from an extremely depressed base. Prior to the housing bust, we only rarely observed a housing starts number below 1 million—usually at the lowest point of a recession. In November, the number rose above 1 million starts for the second time since 2008. The spring selling season is underway, and we hope to get more color on how things look when the builders start reporting in a few weeks.
Homebuilders like Lennar (LEN), D.R. Horton (DHI), Toll Brothers (TOL), PulteGroup (PHM), and Standard Pacific (SPF) have leveled off, but we're still very early in the housing recovery. This is because the first-time homebuyers have been absent due to tough credit conditions and a difficult labor market. As those circumstances change, the market will release a lot of pent-up demand, which should drive homebuilder earnings for quite some time. Investors interested in trading the builders as a sector should take a look at the S&P SPDR Homebuilder ETF (XHB).


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By Jamie Crawford
The United States sanctioned 29 Syrian government officials along with companies linked to Syrian proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, the Treasury Department said Wednesday.
In a news release, the Treasury Department said the officials included the Syrian ministers of finance and justice as well as the governor of the Central Bank and other members of President Bashar al-Assad's Cabinet who had not been designated.
"Today's actions reflect the unwavering commitment of the United States to pressure the Assad regime to end the carnage and relinquish power," said David S. Cohen, Treasury undersecretary for terrorism and financial intelligence. "As long as Assad stays in power, the bloodshed and instability in Syria will only mount, and we will continue working with our partners in the international community to ensure that the inevitable political transition occurs as rapidly as possible."
The United States has sanctioned more than 100 Syrian individuals and entities, including the entire government, its Central Bank and oil companies.
The five companies targeted in Wednesday's action include entities that work with Syria's Scientific Studies and Research Center, which is responsible for developing Syria's stockpiles of biological and missile systems, and the missile delivery systems that service those weapons.
The center is owned by al-Assad's cousin Rami Makhluf, a billionaire industrialist and al-Assad insider already subject to U.S. sanctions.
U.S. officials said last week that there was evidence the Syrian government was moving its supply of biological and chemical weapons around the country. The existence of the weapons has alarmed Western officials, who fear that they could fall into the hands of extremists if the government loses control of them.
"We have repeatedly made it clear that the Syrian government has a responsibility to safeguard its stockpiles of chemical weapons, and that the international community will hold accountable any Syrian officials who fail to meet that obligation," State Department spokeswoman Victoria Nuland said.
The actions taken Wednesday will freeze any assets of the designated individuals or entities hold in the United States and prohibit any individuals or companies from dealing with them.
Do sanctions really do anything..The Koch Brothers have been dealing with Iran for decades..Even with our US sanctions in place.....
Only when the chem weapons are in custody of nato will they be secure , until then nothing is secure .


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Next week, Gran Turismo 5 owners will get access to a load of new vehicles, some for money, some for free.
In addition to a $US4 car pack that includes a 2012 GT-R and some Volkswagens, there are bonus items for players who bought the last DLC and a free car (the Toyota FT-86) for everyone who downloads the upcoming 2.02 update.
More detailed info and pics at the link below.
Gran Turismo 5: New DLC and Update 2.02 Coming Next Week [PlayStation]


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The Supreme Court ruled today on its first indecency case in 30 years. In a 5-4 decision (PDF), the justices supported the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) sanctions against Fox for a pair of live Billboard Music Award broadcasts containing some, err, "colorful metaphors." The ruling supports the FCC's ability not only to ban floods of offensive words, but also to sanction broadcasters for "fleeting expletives" uttered at live events.
What fleeting expletives were involved in this case? The court itself is too squeamish to actually use the words upon which it is ruling hinges (Justice Scalia, who wrote the majority opinion, refers to them as the "S-Word" and the "F-Word"), but neither Cher nor Nicole Richie showed the same sensitivity during their respective time at the mic in 2002 and 2003.
The FCC has long regulated dirty words on broadcast networks, especially during hours when children are likely to be listening. The most famous case to date was 1978's FCC v. Pacifica Foundation in which a radio station played George Carlin's "seven dirty words" routine on the air. The case went to the Supreme Court, which said that the FCC was allowed to sanction the station.
But the FCC was, for the next 25 years, understood to have taken a hard line against only this sort of routine cursing; an occasional one-off cuss, especially if delivered during live broadcasting, wasn't a problem. This approach had been approved by some of the justices in the Pacifica ruling, who noted that the verdict there "does not speak to cases involving the isolated use of a potentially offensive word... as distinguished from the verbal shock treatment administered by respondent here."
The policy changed in 2006, when the FCC formally decided to censure Fox over a couple of curse words uttered on the air four years before. The move sparked a lawsuit, since the FCC had never said it was changing the rules; indeed, the agency doesn't publish any "rules" for fear of becoming a censor. Instead, it reacts after the fact, usually following complaints, in a way that critics charge is "arbitrary and capricious."
Justice Breyer confessed ignorance "about the prevalence of vulgarity in small towns."
Scalia and company disagreed. "The FCC's new policy and its order finding the broadcasts at issue actionably indecent were neither arbitrary nor capricious," says the ruling. "The agency's reasons for expanding its enforcement activity, moreover, were entirely rational. Even when used as an expletive, the F-Word's power to insult and offend derives from its sexual meaning. And the decision to look at the patent offensiveness of even isolated uses of sexual and excretory words fits with Pacifica's context-based approach. Because the FCC's prior safe-harbor-for-single-words approach would likely lead to more widespread use, and in light of technological advances reducing the costs of bleeping offending words, it was rational for the agency to step away from its old regime."
Wait, what's that about "bleeping"? Apparently, one of the big arguments against banning "fleeting expletives" has been that it's expensive for small stations (in particular) to do this on a real-time basis; Scalia argues that it's now cheap enough not to be an issue.
Justice Breyer, who wrote the main dissenting opinion, disagreed. Although he confessed ignorance "about the prevalence of vulgarity in small towns," Breyer did point to one station manager's testimony to the FCC as evidence that a ban on fleeting expletives could decimate small time, live coverage of news and events.
"As one local station manager told the FCC, '[t]o lessen the risk posed by the new legal framework... I have directed [the station's] news staff that [our station] may no longer provide live, direct-to-air cov�erage' of 'live events where crowds are present... unless they affect matters of public safety or conven�ience. Thus, news coverage by [my station] of live events where crowds are present essentially will be limited to civil emergencies.'"
In Breyer's view, "the Federal Communications Commission failed adequately to explain why it changed its indecency policy from a policy permitting a single 'fleeting use' of an expletive, to a policy that made no such exception."
Breyer sees an obvious difference between the Carlin routine ("a monologue that deliberately and repeatedly uttered the expletives here at issue more than 100 times in one hour at a time of day when children were likely to hear the broadcast") and fleeting expletives, but Justices Thomas, Scalia, Roberts, Alito, and Kennedy disagreed. TV stations now drop the F-bomb only at their peril.
"A safe haven for families" or a First Amendment killer?
Although the ruling against Fox was made under Republican Kevin Martin, acting FCC head Michael Copps (a Democrat) praised today's decision as "a big win for families."
"The Court recognized that when broadcasters are granted free and exclusive use of a valuable public resource, they incur enforceable public interest obligations," he said in a statement. "Although avoiding the broadcast of indecent language when children are likely to be watching is one of those core responsibilities, few can deny the blatant coarsening of programming in recent years. The Court's decision should reassure parents that their children can still be protected from indecent material on the nation's airwaves."
That puts Copps on the same side as the Parents Television Council, which today lauded the ruling as an "incredible victory for families." The group, which files most of the FCC complaints related to broadcasting, said that "broadcasters must abide by the terms of their licenses. They must not air indecent material before 10:00 p.m.—the hours when children are most likely to be in the viewing audience. We must put the well-being of children first and allow certain hours of the broadcast day to be a safe haven for families."
But critics had First Amendment concerns. Andrew Jay Schwartzman, head of the Media Access Project, called the ruling "extremely disappointing. We remain hopeful that the FCC's restrictive policies will ultimately be declared unconstitutional, but there will be several more years of uncertainty, and impaired artistic expression, while the lower courts address the First Amendment issues which the Court chose not to confront today."
The point was echoed by Adam Thierer of the Progress & Freedom Foundation, who said that the court's "failure to address the constitutional issues at stake will leave the First Amendment freedoms of both media creators and consumers in this country uncertain until another case winds its way up to the court, which could take years. Practically speaking, as Justice Thomas noted, what's the point of continuing to apply a censorship regime to one of the oldest mediums—broadcast TV and radio—when kids are flocking to unregulated mediums in large numbers? At this point, we're doing little more than protecting adults from themselves and destroying over-the-air broadcasting in the process."
So, in the end, broadcasters have more clarity about "fleeting expletives," live event coverage might be reduced, and [families have been saved/First Amendment rights have been damned]. But we still don't have the answer to Nicole Richie's probing question, "Have you ever tried to get cow shit out of a Prada purse?"


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Sorry to post a commercial as news, but this little Samsung USA ad about Tim Burton meeting a small iOS game company to make a movie based on their hit game Zombie Unicorn Apocalyse, was cute enough that we thought we could make an exception, what with its zombie unicorns and Tim Burtons and such. The sad truth is, if Burton did direct a movie about a Zombie Unicorn Apoclaypse, it would be more interesting than any movie he's actually made in years. What's even sadder: There's no way Burton didn't stand up at this meeting, fake though it is, and yell, "And we'll get Danny Elfman to do the score!"
[Via /Film]


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Man's search for 'pretty' mystery girl
A SIMPLE wave was all it took for one Brisbane man to go to great lengths to find the "beautiful" woman he spotted driving along the highway.
Ashley Day was driving along the M1 at the Gold Coast last Monday when he peered through the window of a black Ford Fiesta and saw the potential love of his life behind the wheel.
The 21-year-old described the woman as "very beautiful" and said they waved at each other a few times but she took an exit before he had a chance to get her details.
Heartbroken, he took to Facebook in the desperate hope that social media users would be able to help him track down his dream girl.
"This is a very strange post but today while driving home on the M1 northbound I saw a very beautiful girl in a black Ford Fiesta," Mr Day wrote on a Gold Coast community page.
"We waved back and forth a few times but unfortunately she took the Helensvale exit and I missed my chance to try and get some details off her."
He then asked the mystery woman to message him if she saw the post or for anyone who thinks they might know her to do the same.
"She was blonde and had a very pretty face, that and a black fiesta is about as much description I can give," he wrote.
Mr Day told the Gold Coast Bulletin that he wouldn't normally make a public post like this but he was so enamoured by the mystery girl he had to try.
"It's not something I normally do but we were driving along and I looked over and saw a blonde girl driving and I was just thinking that she is super pretty," he said.
"Then she looked up at me and her face just blew me away! So I waved at her."
Though he hasn't had any luck yet in finding her, he told the publication that he would love to take her on a date to dinner and the movies and would treat her like a gentleman.
People were very supportive of Mr Day's post, wishing him luck in finding his dream woman.
"Oh god I love this sort of stuff, good luck," one person wrote.
Another said: "This is too cute! Good luck and keep us posted."


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Gluten-Free Tuesday: Strawberry Shortcakes
Delicious, no-compromise recipes for those who need to live a gluten-free lifestyle, but don't want it to taste like it.
Get the Recipe
As always, there were too many hard-boiled eggs in my refrigerator after Easter. Unlike prior years, however, I knew what I wanted to do with them: I wanted to try a cookie recipe that used hard-boiled egg yolks, a technique I had once seen in a recipe. The recipe was in...wait. Where was that recipe?
I couldn't find the cookie recipe anywhere. But during my search, I managed to find another recipe that called for hard-boiled yolks: James Beard's strawberry shortcake.
With the exception of the hard-boiled eggs, the ingredients were fairly standard for shortcake (flour, butter, lots of baking powder), but the method intrigued me. It called for chilling the dough for an hour before baking—usually I whip it all together and pop it immediately into a hot oven.
The dough came together easily. In place of the flour Beard calls for, I used white rice flour and potato starch, cut the butter into the flour, and added the egg yolks and cream, as directed. Other than some small pieces of cooked yolk that speckled the dough, there wasn't a big difference between this dough and others I've made for shortcakes. So far, so good.
The shortcakes baked up light, tender, and rich (thanks to the generous amount of cream). The only problem? Those specks of yolk. Since I stirred the yolk into the batter along with the heavy cream, it didn't really incorporate evenly into the dough.
I doubted the shortcakes were supposed to be dotted with yolk the way chocolate chip cookies are dotted with chocolate chips, so I set out to fix the problem. For the next batch, I added the egg yolks earlier, working them when the butter was almost fully cut into the flour. Once the butter and yolk were incorporated, I added the heavy cream. This time, no more bits of egg yolk dotted the batter.
Once again, the biscuits baked up light, tender, and rich. But this batch was wonderfully sturdy, able to maintain its texture after being split and topped with macerated strawberries. These shortcakes, in fact, are so tasty that I ate some with no topping at all. Oh, and that cookie recipe? I finally found it. With both those recipes in-hand and strawberry season coming into full swing, I have a feeling my refrigerator will once again be filled with a whole lot of hard-boiled eggs.
Get the Recipe
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In my last post I wrote I mentioned a story I used to end the roundtable meeting. It was about two Boy Scouts who were best of friends and who had made a promise to each other, I promise they kept even after death. I am not sure were I found this story but it is a good one. Here it is for you to read and use within your own troop or pack.
"Tom and Paul were best friends. They went to the same schools, right from kindergarten. They were best friends right from the beginning. Tom was a little bigger, not afraid of anything. Paul was smart, inquisitive, and ready to try whatever Tom came up with.
Their families got used to seeing them together, more like brothers than friends. They were Cub Scouts in the same Den, and they both got their Arrow of Light at the same ceremony and crossed over into Boy Scouts together. They joined Troop 17, it met at the Methodist Church and had a reputation as a Troop that did a lot of camping.
They were active Scouts, picked up rank, went on almost all the camp outs. Tom was a Patrol Leader when he made Star, and Senior Patrol Leader as a Life Scout. Paul was Quartermaster the same year, 1965.
They weren't just Scouts, of course. They had school and girlfriends, family, part time jobs. Tom worked summers on his grandfather's farm. Paul lifeguarded at the community pool. The summer they graduated from high school, class of 1966, they both decided to work at Scout Camp. Tom got assigned to the Camp Quartermaster, drove the camp truck and worked maintenance jobs. Paul had his Red Cross certifications, and he worked at the waterfront.
They had a great summer, and promised each other they would come back the following year. Well, more than promised, really. They swore an oath, on their honor, that they would come back to camp together, that nothing, not girlfriends or jobs or anything, would prevent them from coming back to camp.
Promises like that are hard to keep.
Paul went to college in the fall, he had decided to study engineering, and joined Navy ROTC. It would help pay for school, and in those years, it meant he had a sure deferment from the draft.
Tom got drafted. He went to Army basic training and shipped out to Vietnam. He wrote letters home, even sent a couple to Paul. He had been there eight months, and his unit had seen a lot of action, when he sent on a patrol as part of a larger operation. His platoon got ambushed. The after action reports pretty much told the tale, they got hit hard, and in the effort to set up a defense and bring in the wounded, Tom had gone out under fire three times. On the way back that last time he was shot and fatally wounded.
There was a military funeral, and a small collection of ribbons, including a Silver Star. Paul spoke at the funeral, and told everyone of the promise they had made and how now it could not be kept, of their adventures, and the trouble they got into now and then, and what it was like to have a friend like Tom.
Paul graduated from college in 1970. He was commissioned as an Ensign in the Navy, and selected for flight school.
He wanted to be a fighter pilot, just like everyone who goes to flight school, and he came close, but didn't make the cut. He was assigned to A-6 Intruders, and excelled at that. He qualified for carriers, joined up with a Squadron and went to war. The Vietnam War was in it's final years, but there was still a lot of air support missions being flown, and his carrier was off the coast of Vietnam most of his first year at sea.
He was on a close air support mission, trying to protect South Vietnamese troops and their American advisors when his plane was hit. He came up off the target, but before he regained control, his plane crashed into the jungle. The plane burned, he and his copilot were never recovered.
Now that's just a sad story from the past, I suppose, two good men, two Eagle Scouts, both lost in the Vietnam War, but there's some more to this story. Because they had made a promise, an oath, on their honor, to spend at least one more summer at this camp, and they didn't give themselves an out just because they died.
The first I heard of it was in the 80's, an 8 year old Cub Scout on a family overnight got lost on the trail out to the Wilderness area. All the Scout troops in camp and the local Sheriff's department had started a search. A Scoutmaster found him walking out of the woods up on the hill by the horse barns. The kid said 2 adults in Scout uniforms had walked him up there, only when they asked him to describe what they looked like, he described the old green uniforms that were used in the 60s.
The next time was a Scout on wilderness survival overnight on the ridge. He had built his shelter and was bedded down when he saw 2 Scouts walking along together. Same description, young adults in old time uniforms. They looked over at him, but didn't stop, just continued their hike out on the ridge trail. He was pretty spooked by it, being alone overnight and trying to tell his Scoutmaster the next morning. That time the word got around and it turned out some of the Staff at camp said that they had seen them too.
Now, I never saw them, but the camp ranger says he did, winter before last, right after that big snow in February. He had walked into camp late in the day, going to the dining hall and the bath house to check the pipes. He said they were in front of him on the main trail, in those same uniforms, walking along like it was a summer day. He was bundled up against the cold, crunching through the snow, and started to speed up to catch them. He said he wasn't thinking about it too clearly, just wanted to know who the heck was in camp when they weren't supposed to be.
He stopped when they turned around. Because when he saw their faces, well, the camp ranger used to be a Boy Scout, too. A Boy Scout in Troop 17, and when he made First Class in 1965, his Senior Patrol Leader was named Tom and his Quartermaster was named Paul. He still had Troop pictures, but he wouldn't have forgotten what they looked liked, especially in their summer uniforms. He said they smiled, and Tom waved, and then they turned and hiked down the trail toward the waterfront like they were on patrol.
The night the ranger told me this, he didn't expect me to believe any of it, and I don't expect you to believe me, either. But he stood there for a few minutes as dusk gathered, and when he looked down, there weren't any tracks in the snow. He looked back and his footprints were right there in the snow, but only his, and none on the trail in front of him.
He told me he believed that they had kept their oath. That they were here in camp, and that they were content, that they had come back to the camp they had loved.
So when you're out on the trail in the evening tonight, or on an overnight somewhere remote in the Wilderness, remember those two Scouts and their promise, and how maybe, just maybe, they managed to keep it after all.
Good Night, Scouts."