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Wednesday, January 20, 2010
China Bound! And Shipping Containers.
No, not me. But I have two lucky friends who are about to make the move!
First, there's Julie, my friend from France. She and her Michelin Man are headed to Shenyang. Next there's Linda Crispell, my blogging buddy, who's moving over with her two kids and her husband. What fun awaits them! What interesting food! What opportunities for cultural enlightenment! What opportunities for humiliating yourself in a brand new language!
Or maybe that's just my family.
Can't I come too? If I hold my breath and make myself tiny?
I'm absolutely thrilled for them. We got the chance to live our expat dream and loved every minute of it. Now I know how life changing a move like that can be. How precious the time.
Isn't it funny how life works? Now that I've tamed my fridge and planted the blueberry bushes of my dreams, I've got the traveling bug again.
Too bad for me. Tant pis.
And how funny that my husband is about to make a trip back to Clermont Ferrand for a week's worth of good eating without me. He says he's going to work too, but the food! The puys! The lovely but unsmiling people! MY FRENCH HOMELAND! I'll be here in Greer, pining away.
Todd promises he won't eat any pains aux raisins or confit de canard while he's in France. Nor will he drink a single café au lait. Sure, sure. What shall we bet that he'll have slurped down two grands before he even leaves Charles de Gaulle? I told him, "Go ahead! Live it up!"
I'd want to, if I had the chance to go.
Let's change the sujet just un peu.
While we're talking moving, let's talk containers.
No, not the Tupperware kind. The kind they put all your stuff in before you fly across the ocean and start your life anew. This kind.
Ah yes. There they are, loading our container with all our worldly possessions before our big move.
Thanks for letting me get nostalgic for a moment. All this moving talk has me reminiscing about the days before we waved goodbye to South Carolina. Days when my college girl looked like this.
And my 11 year old was eight months old, apparently drunk on love.
Anyway, back to containers.
Look at what ingenious folks in Mexico have made with them...
Photo by trendhunter.com
Housing out of shipping containers. It's a container city!
Photo by trendhunter.com
I've read that there's a container city in London, too.
London. Hmm. Now that would be fun.
What do you think? I'd give container living a try, especially if it was some place interesting. Would you?
Have a great Wednesday, y'all!
Love, Becky
PS. I still would love to go to China, Michelin people, if you're listening.
Who wouldn't want to see this?
17 comments:
- Linda Crispell said...
You don't need the fine peeps from Michelin to send you to China, you are welcome anytime in the Crispell home!
Your Pal,
- January 20, 2010 at 9:26 AM
- Renee said...
Living the life Becky. Living the life.
I love the picture of your daughter and son, look how adorable they are.
I haven't travelled in so long. I need to get away from myself.
- January 20, 2010 at 9:48 AM
- Susan said...
I'm not adventuresome enough to travel the world, or live in a container. I'll leave that to the youngsters. Fun and interesting post and what a cute picture.
- January 20, 2010 at 10:32 AM
- puna said...
I'm very jealous. And the chairs in the container house are cool. I would love a couple for my porch.
- January 20, 2010 at 11:14 AM
- Green Girl in Wisconsin said...
I have wanderlust in a bad way too, right now. It is torture.
Those container houses make me think of the guy who made a house out of a farm silo--I think it's in N. Dakota.
Whatever works, right?
- January 20, 2010 at 11:20 AM
- lotusgirl said...
I'd love to visit China, but I wouldn't want to live there. You can send me back to France any time. The problem is that my husband isn't interested in living there. The week we spent in Paris was enough for him. Alas. He just doesn't get the French. Oh well.
- January 20, 2010 at 11:55 AM
- Kat said...
Ahhh. To travel again. What might that be like? Someday. ;)
Living in a container. Hmmm. That might not be such a great idea in WI. It gets mighty cold here. ;)
- January 20, 2010 at 3:28 PM
- Ronnie said...
I thought of you when I saw this today. While Todd is away take a look...
- January 20, 2010 at 4:33 PM
- Marilyn said...
It seems like the more we travel the more we want to travel. I loved France last fall, but now I want to see Asia too. I hope you have your opportunity to go to China and write another story.
- January 21, 2010 at 12:21 PM
- ParisBreakfasts said...
Gorgeous kiddies!
wnder if I would need to fill a container to move..more like a wheel barrow.
- January 21, 2010 at 12:35 PM
- Rosemary said...
That is a faraway place to move.
Don't think I could do it.
Maybe France though.
- January 21, 2010 at 1:20 PM
- CC said...
well, I really don' t want to MOVE to China but I sooooooooo want to go visit. It's been my husband's dream too as everyone in his family (up until his sister and himself) were born in China. With his chronic condition, however, we're having to re-think our life dreams. I do hope that this one can come true. One day.
- January 21, 2010 at 2:27 PM
- Renee said...
I wonder if the mirrors had something to do with the dead being scared by not seeing their reflections.
- January 21, 2010 at 3:56 PM
- Federica said...
Thank you for entered my giveaway.
Good luck!
- January 22, 2010 at 5:53 AM
I don't think France ever leaves the heart once it's in there. Oh how I would love to go back for more and more ... so much to do and see and eat! An old friend from N.C. is going to pick up his business and move it to Lyon, France in a few months. And not doing it necessarily for more business, but because he loves it there, and of course is bringing his family with him to share the fun. He told me he would stay for 1 or 2 years or possibly the rest of his life. It truly is a place you can fall in love with forever.
- January 23, 2010 at 9:57 PM
- Rebecca Ramsey said...
So true, Randy!
- January 30, 2010 at 8:48 AM
I've been to that container city! It was in my lovely Mexican city of Puebla, right down from my house. I do miss it!
- February 10, 2010 at 7:55 AM


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I've been out of college for about 5 years now and my workout regime is like a roller coaster... I hired a personal trainer when I graduated which kept me motivated considering I was paying for it, but let to my own devises I tend to loose site until I look at a photo and think "Man my arms look small" then exert a bit more effort. I would definitely classify myself as a "Hollywood Lifter" the guys at the gym that only lift their chest and biceps. Yep, thats me...
Inspiration: Arnold Schwarzenegger
Goal: Lift all major muscle groups at least 3 times a week and abs at home everyday!!
Problem: I get home late from work and tend to be lazy on the weekend.
Inspiration: Arnold Schwarzenegger
Chest Sunday, Legs & Back Tuesday, Arms Friday. Try to fit in a couple klicks after to get the heart rate up a little. We'll see how that goes... No Hollywoods!!

subset: commoncrawl


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Ecosystems are being transformed as lakes in Ontario, Canada are filling with jellies. The chemistry of the water is not changing, but the microbiological diversity in the lakes is being altered due to environmental conditions. The change of tiny organisms at the base of the food chain may wreak havoc on the entire ecosystem.
A team of scientists published their study, "The Jellification of North Temperate Lake," on November 19. They found that calcium levels in the lakes across North America and Europe have dropped due to industrial pollution. The lakes have "aquatic osteoporosis." Organisms with exoskeletons rely on a calcium-rich habitat. The decrease in calcium has made the jellies less healthy and more susceptible to predators.
The biologists collected field data from many sources and concluded that the calcium decrease is "precipitating a dramatic change in Canadian lakes." The dominant pelagic herbivore in the lakes has been the water flea, or Daphnia. Daphnia are tiny animals (~1mm) that feast on algae and diatoms. They are an essential link for passing the sun's energy up through the food web. Daphnia are also phosphorus rich organisms. As such, they provide plenty of nutrition for organisms higher up on the food chain and their predators have evolved to crunch through the Daphnia's exoskeleton. Daphnia require a calcium-rich environment in order to grow, strengthen their exoskeletons and keep their populations stable.
As water calcium levels drop, the Daphnia are being replaced with Holopedium glacialis. These microorganisms are clad with a jelly-like substance rather than an exoskeleton. They thrive in the calcium-poor waters and out-compete the Daphnia for food and resources. Their jelly coating makes them impervious to many predators, so the weakened populations of Daphnia still provide the only food source for larger organisms. The jellies are taking over the lakes and the daphniids are in danger of disappearing.
The study researchers have identified two main negative effects caused by the increase in jellies. First, as the Holopedium replaces other zooplankton, the amount of nutrients available to the food web decreases. Second, "greater absolute abundances may pose long-term problems to water users." Changing the natural ecosystems of fresh-water lakes could impact the quality of drinking water for communities around the lakes.
The populations of Holopedium have more than doubled in the decades between the mid-1980s and the mid-2000s. If the increase continues, the researchers worry that the organisms will clog filtration systems that provide clean water to residents living in these areas. Currently in Ontario, 20 percent of drinking water comes from calcium-depleted lakes. The jellies could impede extraction of the lake water for residential, agricultural and industrial use. In addition, fish stocks will decline as the nutrient-rich Daphnia are dislodged.
Investigating the history of the lakes, the researchers found that calcium depletion began in the 1850s with the rise of industrialization. It occurred rapidly through the 1900s as acid deposits displaced calcium from the soil. Pollution controls have stopped acid deposition, but calcium levels in the soil may take thousands of years to return to pre-industrial levels. The water flea also has some other human-caused problems. An invasive species from Europe, the spiny water flea preys on the Daphnia and is growing in numbers. Also, climate change is causing oxygen depletion in the lakes. The reduced oxygen levels provide a better habitat for larval midges which are the main predators of Daphnia.
Study co-author Dr. Andrew Tanentzap, from the University of Cambridge, says, "We may have pushed these lakes into an entirely new ecological state." Human activity began the change in the lakes and now people may be powerless to stop it. Ecosystems are being transformed as lakes in Ontario, Canada are filling with jellies. Residents may have to learn to adapt to changing conditions and find their fish and drinking water elsewhere.
By: Rebecca Savastio
Science Daily


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ENZO MACCARINELLI should see off the challenge of Estonian Andrei Kiarsten and keep his WBU cruiserweight title at the Newport Centre tonight.
But the 23-year-old Swansea man, who climbed off the canvas to knock out veteran Bruce Scott when he won the belt at Cardiff International Arena in June, will not find it easy.
Kiarsten's last visit to Britain was also a thriller. He decked unbeaten Tony Oakey twice, but was floored twice himself before losing on points.
That fight, however, like most of the Baltic fighter's career, was at light-heavyweight. Stepping up to cruiserweight - a stone heavier - will be tough, especially as the lanky Maccarinelli is a good five inches taller.
Three unbeaten Welsh amateur stars, Pembroke Dock heavyweight Scott Gammer, Cwmbran light Jamie Arthur and Pontypool welter Tony Doherty, all feature on a six-fight undercard. The first bell rings at 6.30pm.


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1Cup1Coffee.com > Physics > Magnetic Rush
Magnetic Rush
Date added: Dec 08, 2010
- You are the master of the magnetic force! Use it gently to control magnets and navigate them through each level of this very dynamic puzzle.
- Up arrow to attract magnets.
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One comment for Magnetic Rush
davon morrison on
February 25th, 2011 1:04 PM
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text:
Responding to Farhat Taj — I
Farhat Taj, a PhD Research Fellow at the University of Oslo, haswritten an article in Daily Times which takes up issue with what Iwrote in this space on March 13. Although she has chosen to cast aspersions on me by saying that I have "been providing misleading information about the Pakhtuns", which implies that I might be doing so at someone's behest, a calumnious and libellous statement, I will stick to the issues she has raised and avoid the low cut and thrust.
There are two sets of observations she makes. One set relates to the more abstract question of whether Pakhtun tribal society has undergone some changes, the second to a few specific incidents from the Orakzai and Kurram Agencies. There is a third set also, allegations against the army and the Inter-Services Intelligence Directorate, which are easy to make but difficult to prove. They are generally made partially because we can rightly trace many of our current troubles to the military's policies, the original sin, and partly because army bashing, instead of offering issue-based criticism, is now the vogue and finds many buyers on all sides.
I intend, in this space, to pick up a few of her concrete observations and leave the rest to subsequent articles.
Firstly, Ms Taj is wrong in conflating my article with Brigadier Asad Munir's piece because I specifically took up issue with some observations made by the brigadier. Just because I concur with the brigadier on one point does not mean I endorse what he wrote by penning a sequel to his piece.
Ms Taj says I made some observations on the basis of my visit to Hangu 12 years ago. I quoted that visit because some things on that visit struck me as odd; it does not mean that I have stayed away from that area or Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa or the Federally Administered Tribal Areas since then. Heavily invested in the region over many years, I have made several trips there. But I was not filling out a form listing the number of visits I have made to that area; I was making a point and mentioned that visit to do so.
Now to the issue of the Alikhel, Ferozekhel and Stoorykhel tribes in Orakzai, starting with the Alikhel. The tribe has five tappas or branches, out of which the panjam is half Shia and half Sunni. The Shia branch is called Babanamasi. Contrary to what Ms Taj says about the Alikhel Sunnis and Shias fighting the Taliban together, the Shia branch left the area before the conflict with the Taliban began in the Agency. This fact can be corroborated from the IDP camps in Kohat. Some of them returned to their homes after the political agent held a jirga and issued a warning to the Taliban through the Alikhel lashkar led by a former JCO, Subedar Momin Khan.
The other four tappas allied to resist the Taliban. The army was stretched, military operations were not popular, this being before the public buy-in came and resulted in Operation Rah-e-Raast in Malakand and Frontier Corps' Operation Black Thunder in Lower Dir and Buner. The operations that had been conducted in South and North Waziristan were weak in the higher direction of this war and generally consisted of extraction operations and snap actions.
(NB: Trouble had been brewing in the agency for quite sometime, the provincial governor from May 2006-January 2008 was Lt-Gen Ali Jan Orakzai (retd). He belonged to the area, and became known for opposing military operations against the Taliban, a stand generally popular with both the right and the left wings.)
Alikhel resisted until their jirga was attacked by a suicide bomber. The attack killed Momin Khan along with more than 100 others, while over 300 tribesmen were injured. Interestingly, not one Shia was killed in this attack, which would not have been possible if the Shia branch were part of the anti-Taliban lashkar. This was the Taliban warning to the Sunni Alikhel for raising a lashkar against them, a campaign which was duly supported by the then political administration of the Agency.
Momin Khan was awarded Sitara-e-Shujaat posthumously. The dead were given Rs300,000 in compensation while the injured got Rs100,000.
The story of the Ferozkhel tribe is even more interesting. They raised a lashkar and their initial campaigns against the Taliban were very successful. Ms Taj mentions that the Ferozkhel captured six Taliban who were handed over to the political administration, which released them after a week. This is amazing disinformation. The Ferozkhel, in fact, captured 14 Taliban (I can give to Ms Taj the names, domiciles and other information on these people) from the Gwin checkpoint in central Orakzai. After this, the lashkar also cleared the Chhapri Ferozkhel area bordering Bara in Khyber Agency. The pressure got the Taliban to start negotiating with the Ferozkhel. They gave the Ferozkhel guarantees that they would not operate in the area and, as a goodwill gesture, the Ferozkhel should release the captured men.
Four Maliks of Ferozkhel, Adil Khan Ferozkhel, Sardar Ferozkhel, Abdur Raheem and Bismillah Ferozkhel allowed the release of these men. Three of these four have since been killed. Bismillah was killed on Oblan Road that goes from Hangu to Kohat; Adil Khan killed in Meerobak; and Abdur Raheem recently killed in Peshawar.
But before this, and after the release of their men, the Taliban attacked and killed seven Ferozkhel Maliks in an ambush, sending a warning to the tribe to stay clear of them and not interfere with their campaign against the government.
The Stoorikhel also raised a lashkar. The tribe has one branch which is Sunni and one that is Shia. The government supporting the effort asked the Shia branch to leave the area to avoid the Taliban painting this in sectarian terms. The Sunni Stoorikhel gathered under the banner of Malik Waris Khan and fought the Taliban for 10 days or so before being defeated. Waris Khan was killed, as were personnel of Levies. Sepoy Qismat Khan was awarded the Sitara-e-Shujaat and Rs800,000 posthumously, while Waris Khan was given the Tamgha-e Imtiaz.
The compensations and awards would not have come if the tribes were fighting the Taliban against the wishes of the government and the security forces. What I have narrated here is a bird's-eye view of complex details. There is a sectarian dimension in the area that goes back into deep past and to which is now added the Taliban factor. There's more to it which I shall try and touch upon in the follow up to this.
Published in The Express Tribune, April 11th, 2011.


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Here is a brief synopsis: The Poksu Conspiracy
Now that I've got your interest, Chester has sent along two chapters for me to offer you. Here they are.
The Poksu Conspiracy
The Korean peninsula, by some quirk of geologic fate, was carved out of a triangle formed by the three major Far Eastern powers—China, Japan and Russia. During the latter part of the nineteenth century,
's larger, more populous and
more advanced neighbors successively battled each other for hegemony in the
region. By 1905, Korea
emerged the victor and with ruthless determination proceeded to subjugate the
seemingly misnamed "Land of the Morning Calm" until the final,
cataclysmic blasts of World War II. Japan
Despite Japanese attempts to obliterate their culture through such outrages as forbidding use of their native language, the Korean people showed remarkable resilience. They steadfastly refused to kowtow to the Emperor. In
1919, a group of patriots
banded together in a non-violent crusade for Korean independence, which became
known as the March First Movement. On that date, a declaration of independence
was read to the assembled crowd in 's
Seoul . Japanese police and troops
massacred scores of peaceful demonstrators. The movement's leadership was
virtually annihilated. Pagoda Park
One of them, an enterprising young merchant, escaped with his wife and went into hiding for a year until a determined Japanese police major flushed him out like a hapless quail from a friend's country home east of the capital. His death sentence was as inevitable as the snows on
. Mt.
The execution took place in April, exactly five months before the night his wife gave birth to a sturdy baby boy. Her pregnancy had likely saved her from an equally harsh fate. From the start he was a husky, healthy, bright-eyed youngster, and at an early age he came to realize that his friends possessed something vital that he lacked—a father.
The boy's mother believed her son should know the grisly truth. She chose a cold, wintry morning when the elements seemed as inhospitable as their foreign masters. As a blustery wind swept down out of
ruffling the frigid waters of the Yellow Sea
like an irritable Manchu spirit, she sat him down in her parents' small living room
and explained why and how his father had died.
The boy sat with legs crossed, hands clasped in front of him. The look on his face mirrored his confusion. "But if he did nothing wrong, why did the Japanese kill him?"
"What he did wrong," she said with the passion of a Buddhist priest instructing a postulant, "was insist that
should be free again, that
our people should be able to live as they please, not as dictated by
outsiders." Korea
"That is what I will do," said the boy, determination in his eyes. "I will tell them to go back to
and leave us alone." Japan
She fixed him with a stern gaze, but with pride in her heart. "No, my son. Not now. Perhaps one of these days, when you are older and understand more of the Japanese ways. Maybe then you can join with others as your father did and help rid
of these usurpers. For now you must keep silent. To do otherwise could endanger
our whole family." Korea
The youngster kept his silence, but he frequently brooded over his father's death and nurtured a deep hatred for the Japanese. When
launched its war against Japan in 1937,
the occupation authorities pressured young Koreans to volunteer for duty in the
Japanese army. The boy heard a different drum beat and marched down a path of
resistance. At the end of the summer when he was barely seventeen, he left a
note of explanation for his mother and joined a friend named Ahn Wi-jong on the
journey north to the China , where they crossed
into Yalu
River Manchuria. To their surprise, they
discovered many areas of the mountainous countryside more Korean than Chinese.
They had little difficulty in linking up with other expatriates who had joined
the Chinese to form the Northeast Anti-Japanese United Army.
The camp was located along a broad stream in an almost inaccessible ravine of the rugged Changbaik mountains, a range with peaks that towered up to
9,000 feet along the
Korean border. The ragtag band comprised half of a division, although they
numbered no more than a hundred men. When the young recruits arrived, they were
assigned to the Third Detachment, led by a grizzled veteran named Yi Ki-baik.
Yi was a short, wiry man with narrowed eyes that held the distracted, faraway
look of a warrior not yet finished with yesterday's battles but already at work
on tomorrow's. Yi gave them captured Japanese Arisaka rifles and ammunition
belts and began their instruction in the not-so-gentle ways of Taekwondo, the
Korean martial art.
The fall weather was crisp and cold in the mountains, the gathering gray clouds a harbinger of an early snowfall. Relaxing around the warmth of a campfire at the close of that first day, Yi briefed his young charges in the ways of partisan warfare.
"We don't fight like soldiers," he said, tilting his peaked cap back at a jaunty angle, eyes appearing as narrow slits in the flickering firelight. "We fight like tigers. Stealth is our weapon. We track our enemy silently. When the time is right, we strike with sudden fury." He pounded the edge of one hand against the open palm of the other. "Then we withdraw just as quickly."
"What do you do if he sees you?" a wide-eyed Ahn asked. Ahn was smaller than his friend, and a bit less self-assured. But he'd had the guts to run away from a life in a Buddhist monastery that his parents had chosen for him.
Yi shrugged. "If he does, and his numbers are superior to ours, we disappear." He threw his arms up suddenly. "Poof! Like shadows. We wait for another day. The Japanese have us vastly outnumbered. So we must fight only on our own terms."
"What if they should find this camp?" inquired the martyr's son, a strapping youth who was rapidly maturing into a tall, muscular young man.
Yi laughed. "Don't worry, they will. Soon. Then we move on. That's probably why we're called the First Route Army. We're always en route to some place else." He studied the lanky teenager, eyes almost closed. "You say you come from a well-to-do family in
?" Seoul
"Yes, sir."
"Then we must give you a new name. That way, if the Japanese learn about you, they won't be able to retaliate against your family. Many of our men have changed their names. Our division commander was born near
as Kim Song-ju. Now he is known as
Kim Il-sung. Since most of our countrymen are named Han, Lee or Park, which
would you prefer?" Pyongyang
The youth grinned. "Lee," he said promptly. He had no particular reason but was always quick with a reply.
"Very well, you shall be Lee Horangi-chelmun."
Young Tiger Lee.
As it soon developed, the name fit him like a glove. Horangi-chelmun proved to be a ferocious fighter. Whether the weapon was firearms or fists and feet, he learned quickly and used his knowledge with deadly accuracy. By the time he was nineteen, he had been given command of his own detachment. He was a tightly wound spring, a bundle of pent-up energy, a grenade ready to explode. Despite the bitter cold of the snow-blanketed winters, shortages of food and ammunition, even clothing, he led his marauding partisans through southern and southeastern
Manchuria, creating havoc for the Japanese army and
police forces. Their official records came to include more than a few
references to fierce encounters with one Lee Horangi-chelmun.
Early in his service with the Northeast Anti-Japanese United Army, Lee learned that it had been organized and was directed by Chinese and Korean communists. Each Route Army had its political commissar, and the major unit commanders were as dedicated to communism as to harrassing the Japanese. As for Lee, he had come from a merchant class background and found calls for workers to arise about as useful as telling oxen to climb trees. His only interest was in fighting the Japanese invaders. As the campaign moved into the forties, he became ever more restless, anxious to battle the hated enemy on his own turf rather than here in
In March of 1940, Kim Il-sung's harried guerrillas ambushed and wiped out a Japanese Special Police force that had been tracking them. It enraged Major General Nozoe Shotoku. He singled out Kim's division for a redoubled effort, and as summer faded into fall, their plight took on the rapidly deteriorating look of oak leaves that had flashed in glorious splendor only to turn a dusty brown and drop from the trees. An increasing number of defectors surrendered, and it soon resembled a game show, with cash prizes doled out to those who answered questions that divulged their fellow partisans' hiding places.
Early in 1941, their plight became intolerable and Kim decided it was time to cut his losses. He called his detachment leaders together for a final pow-wow.
"Our mission here is finished," a sober-faced Kim acknowledged. "The deserters are killing us. If you suspect anyone of considering defection, shoot him. Bring the rest of your men and we'll make our way through Hunchun prefecture. We can cross into the
Soviet Union
west of .
The Russians will help us reorganize and re-equip. Then we can plan what action
to take in the future." Vladivostok
The other leaders nodded their agreement, but Lee demurred.
"If that's your judgment, so be it," he said. "You can take most of my men with you. But I will pick a few to go with me back across the Yalu. I intend to raise some hell in our fatherland before I'm finished."
Kim eyed him critically. He was famous for detesting dissent. "The Japanese might capture you, force you to reveal our escape plans."
That brought a chuckle from Lee. "They would kill me on sight."
"But what about your men? One of them could talk."
"Forgive me, commander," said Lee, "but I intend to take only three. They will know nothing of your plans. With our small group, I can assure you the Japanese will never even see us."
Kim displayed a gloomy frown. Lee knew his action bordered on insubordination, and Kim was known to end such discussions with a bullet through the dissenter's head. But Lee held his rifle at the ready. After a few tense moments, Kim dismissed him with a sweep of his hand, as though brushing off a troublesome insect. "Do as you wish. I intend to make my stand another day, in another way."
Lee went back to his detachment and picked his three best fighters, including Ahn Wi-jong. They were young men who had no interest in communism, only a deep commitment to make the Japanese pay for terrorizing their homeland. They took the name "Vengeance" and identified each other by number. Lee was known as Poksu-il—"Vengeance One."
During the next four years, they haunted the length and breadth of
like a ghostly band, faceless
demons who caused more than one high-ranking Japanese official to choose hara
kiri as the only solution to the ignominy of a glaring defeat at the hands of
these Korean "bandits." After one of the Emperor's besieged
emissaries took his life rather than surrender to a threatening Lee, the Young
Tiger brashly claimed the ceremonial short sword as a trophy. Korea
The group maintained absolute secrecy concerning their real identities. However, the hangul script for Poksu, drawn inside a square, appeared often enough at the scene of bombings and assassinations to create a legend around the Vengeance team.
Shortly before the end of the war, disaster struck. They had planned a simple assault on a postal facility at
about halfway between Taejon
and the southern Seoul . The intention
was to raise a small amount of cash for new ventures, but unknown to the team,
the Japanese were in the process of making a major shipment of funds at the
time. Extra police had been assigned to guard the facility. The result was an
unexpected shootout. Lee and his friend Ahn managed to escape, but their two
accomplices died in a hail of gunfire from the waiting police. port
of Pusan
After the Japanese surrender in
a few weeks later,
Lee turned up in Tokyo
using his real name for the first time in years. He told how he had joined the
Anti-Japanese Army in Seoul Manchuria but explained
that he had left it because of disagreement with its communist leadership. He
declined to talk about his combat experiences, taking pains to emphasize his
opposition to communism. The "temporary" partition of with
Soviet responsibility for the north and American occupation of the south
convinced him that a record of participation with the communist partisans would
not enhance his future in Korea .
Silently he thanked Yi Ki-baik, long since killed in battle, for giving him a
false identity when he had joined the guerrillas. But it wasn't until a few
years later, when the Russians announced their choice of Kim Il-sung as premier
of their puppet regime in the north, that he fully realized how correct his
assessment had been. Seoul
By the spring of 1950, he had graduated from college and become an officer in the
. He acquired an impressive
chest-full of decorations during the war with the North Koreans and the
Chinese, fighting at times alongside the Americans. After the uneasy truce was
established along the DMZ at the end of the active phase of the war, he
continued his climb to the rank of colonel in the ROK army, gaining respect as
an officer who showed a ruthless zeal for carrying out tough assignments. At
the same time, he gained a bit of notoriety for his uncompromising support of
efforts to modernize Republic of Korea Army 's economy. High-ranking military
officers dominated the government, and his views were actively solicited. He
was a man of immense confidence and pride, both in his own abilities and in the
future of this former " South
Korea ," which, by
the spring of 1963, was just beginning to flex its emerging economic muscles. Hermit
Over several months, a persistent line of thought had churned in the back of the Colonel's mind, nebulous at first, gradually becoming more focused. His mother's recent death gave it more urgency, shaping it into something of a mission every bit as pivotal as the one he had pursued with his Poksu comrades. When he read a newspaper account about a young Korean-American boy whose mother was killed in a hideous incident ridiculously ruled as accidental, his thoughts were quickly fused into a flesh and blood crusade.
The boy was named Kim Vickers, the son of a World War II U.S. Army sergeant who had married a Korean girl during the early postwar occupation. The sergeant suffered from a malaria-like jungle fever that he had contracted in a Japanese prison camp where his captors had refused him treatment. Fortunately, the disease had soon gone into remission, but in later years it came back to plague him time and again, finally resulting in his death in the fall of 1962. His widow had brought her fifteen-year-old son home to
, where they lived with her
parents. Korea
It was a chilling, gusty morning in late March when the Colonel approached Kim Vickers outside his grandparents' home in
the port city west of Inchon .
The boy was rather small, with almond-shaped hazel eyes and a typically Korean
oval face and high cheekbones. His only non-Eastern feature was the unruly
shock of light brown hair bequeathed by his father, which lent him something of
a caricaturish flair. Seoul
Since his mother's "accident," he had more or less withdrawn from the world. He was reduced to being little more than a statistic, an anonymous blip on the radar screen of lost souls. He should have been in school, of course, but his grandparents were unsure of how to cope with this virtually silent, brooding boy. They decided not to push him, hoping their patience and concern would one day soon coax him out of that impenetrable shell.
Approaching the youth outside his grandparents' home, the Colonel smiled and introduced himself.
"An-nyeng haseyo," Kim replied.
"You speak the language well," said the officer.
"My mother taught me."
"She was a school teacher?"
He shook his head sadly. "No, sir. But she wanted to be a teacher."
The colonel nodded. "And you, what do you want to be?"
The boy averted his eyes, looking down at his dusty sneakers. He offered no reply.
"Come now. You have grown up in
Surely you have some lofty ambition?" America
Kim had never seen this man before. How did he know where I grew up, he wondered?
And then it happened. Quite suddenly. As it had so many times since that fateful day. He tried to shut the distressing picture out of his mind, but, as always, failed. It flashed unbidden before his eyes, a scene as vivid as any on a movie screen. His mother standing beside him as they waited to cross the street outside the
the old railroad station that was one of the few major structures to survive
the devastation of war. They were in the city for a shopping trip. Out of the
corner of his eye, he saw the group of Japanese tourists stroll up. His mother
looked around at the stocky, bespectacled man in the stylish gray topcoat.
Then, without warning, she bristled, began to tremble. And as he watched,
transfixed, she stepped toward the man and began to pummel him with her fists,
screaming almost incoherently. The words had been seared into Kim's brain as
though inscribed by a torch. "It's you...you bastard! Monster!
Savage!" seoul
What happened next was like watching freeze frames etched in horror. As Kim looked on, the man shoved his mother into the street. He saw the bus rushing toward the curb, heard her piercing scream and the screech of brakes, the brutal crunch of metal colliding with flesh and bone.
The Colonel saw the boy blinking, as though the wind had blown something into his eye. But when the soldier stooped down, he saw the tears welling up. He handed Kim a handkerchief.
"I'm sorry, son. I read in the newspapers what happened to your mother."
The story told how she had recognized the former Japanese soldier who had raped her in a secluded area of a
park back in the early days of World War II. She had stopped to gawk at the
flowers and became lost from her friends. The occupying authorities had
predictably dismissed her charge against the soldier. During the thirties, the
Japanese had rounded up Korean women to serve as prostitutes for their troops.
They threatened to send her off to the camps unless she kept her mouth shut and
stopped "fabricating" such inflammatory charges. Seoul
The ex-soldier was now a businessman in
making his first trip back since the war. Heavily into its first Five-Year
Economic Plan, the government of General Park Chung-hee had no desire for any
incidents that might impede its efforts at cultivating export markets. With a
little pressure from the executive mansion, known as the Blue House, the authorities
declined to charge the Japanese visitor with murder, ruling that his actions
had been provoked and were taken in self defense. It would have been easier to
raise the dead than to resurrect the rape charge from twenty years ago. Tokyo
Standing beside the cluttered, windswept back street in
his imposing frame towering over the slight teenager, the Colonel spoke in a
firm but persuasive voice. "You may have been born half-American, Kim
Vickers, but believe me you are going to grow up a one-hundred-percent proud
Korean. I have a mission for you to accomplish for us. But, first, we need to
get you into a good school." Inchon
Fall 1993
Chapter 1
September seemed an ideal time for Burke Hill to take his wife Lori on a long-delayed honeymoon trip to
When they were married the previous December, the demands of his new job made
leisure travel impossible. The visit to Hungary
would be a strange sort of homecoming for the former Lorelei Quinn. She'd vowed
to dig as deep as it took to uncover her hidden roots. Budapest
By now the summer sultriness had mellowed into warm days and cool nights, a pleasant interlude the imaginative Magyars referred to as "old women's summer." It was Lori's first trip back since a near disaster at the hands of the communist-era secret police a decade ago. And though the recent demise of the Cold War soon convinced her of a renewed sense of vibrancy among the people in this onetime "
of the East," an incident at the airport terminal seemed disturbingly
reminiscent of the bad old days. Paris
While she stood to one side waiting for Burke to claim their luggage, she noticed a man across the way watching him. He was swarthily handsome, with wavy black hair and a trim build. As he looked around, Lori averted her gaze to avoid any show of interest. When she looked back, his eyes were again locked on Burke. It took her back several years to her somewhat abbreviated career in the CIA, when that sort of surveillance presaged dire consequences.
A few minutes later, Burke walked toward her pulling their two bags. She wanted to tell him about the watcher, but a tall redheaded man accompanied him.
"John Dahlgren, meet my wife, Lori," he said. "As you can see, she's great with child."
Lori grinned as she patted her rounded tummy. She was six months pregnant. "The ultrasound confirmed twins," she said. "This trip had to be taken now or delayed indefinitely. Dr. Bracken wasn't too happy about my traveling now, but I insisted."
"Nice to meet you," Dahlgren said with a slight bow of his head. "I was a twin myself. Some people say it's double trouble, but I'm sure yours will be a delight."
"John was on our flight," Burke said. "He's from
. He's also staying at the
Duna-Intercontinental, so I invited him to share a cab." New York
Lori looked back before they left the terminal, but the muscular man with the persistent stare had disappeared.
As soon as they reached their hotel room, she told Burke about the apparent surveillance.
He stared at her, hands on his hips. "Who the devil could it have been? This is strictly a pleasure trip. Nobody should suspect I'm anything but a public relations company official on vacation."
While Worldwide Communications Consultants, the firm he served as chief financial officer, was a legitimate international PR counselor, it had a black operations side that reported to the Central Intelligence Agency. Burke directed its activities in
Europe, Asia, the Middle East and Far East.
"I don't have any idea who he was," Lori said, "but he was sure giving you the once-over. I suggest we keep an eye out for any other signs of interest."
By the afternoon of their second day, despite constant vigilance, they had spotted nothing out of the ordinary. Lori sat quietly in the back seat of an aging Zsiguli taxi, one of countless relics that persisted as the city struggled with its bootstraps. It rumbled noisily through the cobbled streets. Seated beside her, Burke studied his wife's troubled frown. It marred an attractive face with dark eyes and long dark hair that normally wreathed an intriguingly mysterious smile. Now past fifty-five, he was twenty years her senior. He still marveled at his incredibly good fortune in managing to win the love of this bright, vivacious young woman. But, at the moment, he grappled with a growing concern over her dark mood.
He didn't need to be told the reason for it. "I hope you're prepared for disappointment in case things don't turn out the way you'd like," he said, a warning note in his voice. "There are plenty of reasons why people aren't always overjoyed at being confronted by a relative they never knew existed or hadn't seen in years."
Their first day had been spent mostly at the American Embassy and the Justice Ministry, where they searched records of the old AVO, the hated state security police, for clues to the fate of Istvan Szabo, a young economist who had taken up the cause of his students during the ill-fated 1956 revolution known as the "Hungarian uprising." The files had likely been tampered with. At the very least, they were incomplete. What they did manage to learn was the name and address of his mother, Margit Szabo. Now nearing ninety, she had been one of
's best
loved actresses during her performing years. Hungary
"I have my fingers crossed," Lori said, managing a weak smile.
The cab crossed the glistening
Danube via the picturesque
Chain Bridge and soon turned onto Budakeszi
Avenue, once a quiet residential street in the
Buda hills. Now it was crowded with cars, trucks and buses. Where open green
spaces had formerly separated the genteel old homes, newer, unimaginative flats
dotted the landscape. It was one more indication of the internal struggle was undergoing
as it sought to be progressively modern and yet hold onto its Budapest Old
World charm.
Lori took a firm grip on Burke's hand as the taxi turned in between two lofty chestnuts and stopped before an ancient iron gate. The driver got out and checked it, found it unlocked. He pushed the gate open, triggering a harsh metallic squeak, then drove onto a driveway that led back to a mercilessly weathered old garage. Beside it stood a large two-story house that seemed almost a living thing, cloaked as it was with a thick green coat of ivy.
Burke paid the driver, and they walked slowly up to the front door. They were met by a short, shapeless woman in a simple peasant dress. She had obviously been alerted by the protesting screech of the gate. She eyed them with caution.
"I'm Lorelei Hill and this is my husband, Burke," Lori said, unsure if the woman could understand her. They knew from the Hungarian clerk at the Embassy that Mrs. Szabo could speak English quite well, though with a pronounced accent, possibly the result of long disuse.
The small woman, obviously a housekeeper, said nothing, but motioned them inside. They followed her into a large room that seemed foreboding in its gloomy darkness. Although the sun shone brightly outside, little of its glow penetrated the heavy curtains that shrouded the windows. A polished wooden table bearing old photographs of an actress costumed for various roles, pictures of a man and two boys, and other memorabilia of times long past sat at one side of the room. The opposite wall was hung with faded tapestries.
And then Lori saw her, the aging figure of Margit Szabo, once the darling of the
stage. She sat
in a large chair in one corner of the room. The housekeeper ushered them toward
her. Despite her years, she sat stifly erect. She was dressed all in black. A
large gold pendant hung from a chain draped around the spare flesh of her neck.
Her hair was white but carefully groomed. She had the look of a piece of fine
antique china, elegant features that could only have been fashioned by an
accomplished artist, ostensibly delicate, but possessed of an inner strength
that showed through the thin outer shell. Budapest
"Please have a seat," Margit Szabo said in a surprisingly strong voice, gesturing toward the sofa across from her chair. "My voice and my hearing have not failed me, though I can't say as much for these old eyes. Tell me what it is you wish to speak with me about. I did not fully understand from your embassy."
Lori knew the Embassy clerk had mentioned their visit concerned her son, Istvan Szabo. Since he had died in the failed revolution of November 1956, after Russian tanks poured into the streets of
just mentioning his name was bound to bring back agonizing memories. Budapest
"My name is Lorelei Hill," she began, then paused somewhat awkwardly, conscious that Mrs. Szabo was well aware of who she was. "What I mean is, that was the name my dad...uh, actually, my stepfather..."
It wasn't going at all as she had intended. She had gone over in her mind a hundred times what she wanted to say at this moment. But now her tongue was stumbling all over the words. She had planned to lead up gently to the key revelation, not wanting it to come as a sudden shock. Instead, it tumbled out in a heedless rush of words.
"What I'm trying to say, Mrs. Szabo, I believe I am your granddaughter."
Now that it was out, she felt a sudden wave of relief. Until the elderly woman spoke.
Margit Szabo delivered her lines with all the force and drama of a character from a Shakespearean tragedy. "You are not my granddaughter. My granddaughter died at birth, and her mother with her."
Lori took a sharp breath. It had hit her like a knife plunged deeply and twisted.
"But...but that was only a story made up to fool the AVO," she said in protest. "My dad, that is, my stepfather, Cameron Quinn, was with the Central Intelligence Agency. He had been in contact with your son, Istvan, to keep up with what was going on. To help if possible. Your son asked—"
"Yes, he helped," Mrs. Szabo broke in. "The police knew my son had been in contact with a CIA agent. They gave him a summary trial and executed him."
Lori's eyes widened. "How do you know—?"
"Istvan's brother," she said, her voice suddenly lowered, her eyes beginning to blink back the tears. "Gyorgy was with the AVO." For the first time, a crack had appeared in the old woman's hard shell. "Gyorgy told me. He was powerless to stop what happened. He was not a bad boy, Gyorgy. Only misguided."
Lori shook her head in despair, sensing the torment that must have plagued Margit Szabo, her grandmother. "I'm so sorry," she said.
One son a patriot who gave his life in the fight for freedom, the other son a communist collaborator whose secret police colleagues were responsible for his brother's death. Perhaps he had not been completely blameless himself, despite his mother's attempt to absolve him. It was a tragic dichotomy the aging actress had lived with all these years.
It might be, Lori thought, that she could find out more about her real father from his brother. "Where is Gyorgy now?" she asked.
Tears coursed down Mrs. Szabo's anguished face. She dabbed at them with a small kerchief. "Gyorgy is gone, too. My husband, all of my family are gone. What do you want of me? Why did you come here to torment me with these painful memories so long put to rest?"
Lori was suddenly on her knees at Margit Szabo's feet. She spoke in a pleading voice. "But I am your granddaughter. I must be. My stepfather told me what happened after my mother...my stepmother's death. She was in the same hospital as Istvan's wife, on the same floor for a hysterectomy. Istvan was afraid the AVO might take some action against his wife. He asked Cameron Quinn to look after the baby if anything happened. When they came for my real mother, he arranged with the doctor and a hospital official to switch the records to show that I had been born to Julia Quinn. They indicated my real mother had a stillborn. The AVO probably changed the records to say my mother died during childbirth. But she was alive when they took her from the hospital."
The old woman had closed her eyes as soon as Lori approached, as if, not seeing, she could safely deny something she was unprepared to accept. She shook her head. "I have no granddaughter," she said in a choking voice. "My family is all gone. I am alone. Please go and leave me with what memories I still possess."
Lori looked up, tears streaming down her cheeks. She could not get through to this tragic, aging figure. It had all been in vain, the trip over here, the day of digging through the AVO files, a fruitless search for a past that must remain forever buried in the graveyard of Margit Szabo's splintered dreams.
Then Mrs. Szabo's wrinkled lids cracked open, like an ancient turtle preparing to peer out of its shell. Lori saw the weary eyes stare down at her, as if really seeing her for the first time. A frail hand reached out, a shaky finger traced the line of her nose, touched her lips.
"You are a reincarnation of my son, Istvan," she murmured.
Lori buried her face in her grandmother's lap as the old woman leaned down and kissed her cheek.
Intrigued? Buy the book and you won't be disappointed.
Michael Haskins


text:
A long time ago I really liked playing old-school videogames. Super Mario Brothers, Legends of Zelda, Tetris, Duck Hunt, Paperboy, California Games (remember, the one where you could surf)…but admittedly somewhere between the advent of Sonic the Hedgehog, the Gameboy console, and yes, the small matter of the violin, the videogames faded a bit. But that stated, I'm excited to hear today that the Eddie Japan song, "Albert" (which I had the opportunity to play on with my fellow Desperate Strings) was selected for inclusion on Harmonix's release of Rock Band 4. It's exciting/humbling to see Eddie Japan indoctrinated in with names such as Foo Fighters, Jack White, Heart, Rush, Van Morrison, and Elvis. (He really is everywhere!) I can't wait to see what it looks like….and maybe get to play a bit 🙂
Posted on 07/08/2015, in Uncategorized and tagged albert, desperate strings, eddie japan, elvis, elvis is everywhere, foo fighters, harmonix, heart, jack white, rock band 4, rush, van morrison. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.


text:
Soooo...I've been away from BC since 2001 (the year I had my son). I'm back (17 years later) hoping for a miracle. I divorced seven years ago. I was scheduled to have a hysterectomy last month. I canceled the day before I was to go in for pre-op. I just couldn't do it. My mom says one child is enough and I should move on in my career. She wishes she had stopped at one and pursued her dreams. I, on the other hand, want to have another child...with my DP. We did lots of bd in September then discovered OPK. I started the Clear Blue Ovulation in late September.
AF came 10/1. She was lighter than usual and gone by 10/5. I got a flashing smile on 10/11 then a static smile on 10/14. We did the bd 10/12,10/14 and 10/15. On 10/22, I started terrible cramping (I never cramp), headaches and dizziness. I wiped that day and saw mucus with a pink streak in it. AF (Aunt Flo - menstruation/period) (Aunt Flo - menstruation/period) was due on 10/23. On 10/26, I felt this gush of liquid. When I got to the restroom, my panties were soaked with brown discharge and clear fluid. Then, AF (Aunt Flo - menstruation/period) (Aunt Flo - menstruation/period) (Aunt Flo - menstruation/period) showed her ugly face on 10/27. I'm still bleeding...just not as heavy as normal. I'm hoping I'm still in the running...due to my age more than anything.
While pregnant with my son, I bled through the first five months. I went to the doctor because I had a positive HPT (home pregnancy test) (home pregnancy test) (home pregnancy test) but was seeing AF. My OB took a urine test and said "it's positive, but it has blood in it." She set me up for an ultrasound and found him in there measuring at 16 weeks. He'll be 17 this year. I'm hoping my childbearing years are not behind me. I was so grateful for this community then. I'm so glad it's still here.
Baby dust to all of us!


text:
Future Reflections Winter 1994, Vol. 13 No. 1
by Dr. Abraham Nemeth
From the Editor: A basic ingredient in every NFB National Parents Seminar is the blind adults who talk about what it is like to grow up as blind children. Parents-including myself, and I have been organizing and attending these seminars for the last ten years-never get tired of these talks. Year after year I have been inspired, informed, and challenged by Federationists who are willing to share their insights into blindness. What I find especially intriguing is that despite the different circumstances and environment in which these speakers grew up, they always have something to say which is relevant to the problems we-today's generation of parents-struggle with.
As relevant and as inspiring as any of our speakers was Dr. Abraham Nemeth who gave the following presentation at the NFB Convention, July, 1993, Parents Seminar in Dallas, Texas. Dr. Nemeth, distinguished college math professor and creator of the Nemeth code for Braille mathematics, grew up on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, New York nearly 70 years ago. Here is his inspirational story:
I was very lucky. I had parents who knew nothing about blindness but who had an innate understanding of what was necessary to do to raise a blind child. I was also lucky because I went to the New York City public schools, where I had a very, very good resource teacher. Not only was I integrated, but I was really integrated. Let me tell you a little about that.
The New York City public schools had a resource room for blind kids in each of the five boroughs. It so happened that the one in Manhattan was within walking distance of where I lived, so I went there. Every day my aunt (my father and mother were busy taking care of the store they operated) walked me to school and walked me home. We had a wonderful teacher. Her name was Miss Roberts. She taught me Braille, and she made sure that I learned it.
There were other kids in the resource room; some of them with no sight, some of them with a lot of sight; and everyone learned Braille. There was no such a thing as you didn't learn Braille. Even those who could ride bikes learned Braille.
Now I did not go to the resource room for arithmetic, or geography, or history. I went to my regular classroom for these subjects. I went to the resource room during times when the other kids were doing penmanship, drawing, art, and so forth. It was there that the resource teacher would teach me blindness skills; for example how to read a map. I remember one day she put me at a large globe of the world. This huge globe had nice smooth surfaces for the oceans, was raised for the land masses, and was even more highly raised for the mountain areas. And then she put a problem to me. You know the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, she said. Now, this globe spins. Which way should the globe spin in order for the sun to rise in the east and set in the west? Finally I figured that out, and it was a wonderful educational experience.
My father, (maybe some of you heard me tell this story in Denver four years ago at the NFB Convention) whenever we were out walking, he would tell me, "Now we are walking west, and when we make a left turn, we will be walking south. Listen to the traffic. All of it is going in the same direction on this street. But when we get to the next street you will notice that all the traffic starts traveling in the opposite direction." And he would let me touch mailboxes, fire hydrants, police call boxes, and fire call boxes and let me read the lettering on them. You know in our neighborhood on the Lower East Side the kids would all open the fire hydrants in the hot summer. He never encouraged me to open a fire hydrant, but he showed me where and what the firemen would do if they had to open the fire hydrant.
Anyway, my mother was equally perceptive. She would send me on a trip to the grocery store. She would give me five or six items to memorize when I was six years old, tell me exactly what to buy and in what quantity, and send me to the grocery store for them. Where was the grocery store? Around the corner, no streets to cross. And who was the grocer? My grandfather. Anyway, I was very diligent in remembering every single item and would bring back everything she sent me for. This was wonderful memory training.
I had an uncle who was a handyman. He taught me how to fish electrical wire through a wall, how to replace a burnt out bulb and screw in the new one, and just generally how to do electrical work. I developed a wonderful sense of mechanics. I knew how things had to go together. My grandfather, I told you, had a grocery store. And he had an icebox, not a refrigerator, but an icebox. A large block of ice kept all the cheeses and butter and things cold. And from the icebox, which was high overhead, there was a rubber hose. As the ice melted the water would drain through that rubber hose into the sink below. Well I was a curious little fellow, and one day I went around the back of the store and discovered this hose trailing in the sink. Now my mechanical sense told me that no mechanical mechanism could work right if there were loose parts around. Things had to be connected. It was clear to me that the end of that hose had to be connected somewhere. So, I felt around. Aha, I thought, the faucet, that's where it goes. So, I connected the hose to the faucet and, proud of myself for having corrected my grandfather's obvious oversight, I walked out of the grocery store. A few hours later I was confronted by my grandfather. I will end the story at that point.
As a boy I had a tricycle. Now, remember, I had no sight at all. My father told me that I could ride the tricycle around the block, but to remember to make a right turn every time I came to a corner. Ride slowly, he told me, don't bump into anybody, and come back here. That's what I did. I rode my tricycle around the block and I came back where I was supposed to. One time my younger brother and I went on some kind of an expedition. We got separated, and my brother, who had perfect sight, got lost. I came home.
When I grew up on the Lower East Side I had a wonderful playmate. We used to filch empty orange crates from the grocery stores, and then we would go to the junk yards and take the wheels off discarded baby buggies. Then we would find planks of wood and make a wagon or a skateboard. I would hop on the back of it, and he would drive it. Now that little buddy of mine became famous. He was Zero Mostel. I spent almost every Saturday night in his home. Why did I spend every Saturday night in his home? Because my father took me there. What was my father doing? He and all the other men were poring over the account books. What were they doing in those account books? They were making interest-free loans to immigrants coming into this country. After a year or two these people had acquired furniture and a business and were as affluent as you could be in those days. They would repay the loan with a little appreciative addition, and then we would have more money to lend to more immigrants. And that's what my father and those men were doing on those Saturday nights-keeping records of those free loans. It was a wonderful experience in morality, in human feeling. And so I knew all of Zero Mostel's family. I knew his mother and father and his brothers and sisters and so on.
Because of my family, because of their expectations and what they taught me, it never occurred to me that I couldn't do whatever I wanted to do. I just had to think of a way of doing it.
Take this problem, for example. A lady who was blind called me one day in desperation. She's having a problem. She has a family and she wants to broil a pan of hamburgers. She knows she has to turn those hamburgers over. But she can't see which ones she has turned over and which ones she hasn't. How can she solve this problem? I told her it's very simple. You make the hamburger patties and you put them in the broiler pan. Then you take some toothpicks and you implant one in each patty. You time the hamburgers and when they are half done you pull out the broiler pan, pick up the spatula, and feel above the hamburger. When you locate a toothpick, take it out and turn the burger over. When there are no more toothpicks, all the burgers have been turned. The lady was very thankful for this idea.
There are all kinds of ways of doing things. Let your kids participate in household activities. Let them change a bulb. Let them do the dishes. Teach them to pour water from a bottle into a glass. Let them do this over the sink at first if you don't want a mess. Pretty soon they will be able to pour any liquid-hot or cold-without spills. It's not a problem. They will learn if you expect them to do it and you give them the chance to experiment and learn. But don't give them the idea that they are wonderful because they are able to pour a glass of water. Everybody pours a glass of water.
I once had a teacher, a vision teacher as they call them these days, who told me I was a genius because I was able to read Braille at the rate of a high school student. Now maybe I have other qualifications that would rate me as a genius, but certainly reading at the rate of a high school student is not one of them! Expect your kids to do the normal things, and then react normally when they do. Encourage them and do not overprotect them.
My father did not overprotect me. You know kids will tease a blind kid in the street-particularly on the Lower East Side where I grew up. They would get after me, and I would want some protection from my father. I would say, "Pa, he hit me." My father would say, "So, why didn't he hit me?" In other words, my father was trying to teach me to fend for myself. Which I was very well able to do. One time, in the park, a sighted kid was teasing me. When I ran after him, he shimmied up a ladder on one of these jungle gyms which had a trapeze, a pair of rings, a chinning bar, and all that stuff. I went right after him. Well he wanted to get out of my way so with his hands he grabbed the upper bar and moved himself to the right. He ended up dangling above the ground some distance from the ladder. The poor fellow got so scared he was unable to move back to the ladder and get down. However, I wasn't scared so I did get back to the ladder and get down. But somebody from the park had to come with a ladder and get him down. He didn't start up with me too much after that.
I did participate in physical activities. I was on the high school swimming team (I'm still a good swimmer). I climbed ropes and jumped and did all kinds of physical activities. It was very good for me.
Well, all I can tell you is that I have led quite a normal life. I think I have been able to do this because I was not overprotected as a child. I had a wonderful, wonderful support system in the form of relatives, parents, and teachers who expected me to be normal and do the normal things. They gave me opportunities to learn. And that's what made it all possible. And that's what can make it possible for your kids to have a normal childhood and life, too.


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Today I am . . .
- Visiting with my sister and her kids, who are visiting from New York City for three weeks.
- Taking the kids to go swimming, since my older son has to be there anyway for lifeguarding.
- Taking the bus downtown so my sister can get her haircut at Barber-Q, where the skills are high and the price is low. ($12)
- Gonna hit up a Goodwill or two.
- Off of work all week until Friday, Saturday, Sunday.
- Planning arts and crafts projects.
- Excited to hang out with someone who shares my exact same interests!
Crazy fun, Wolk-Stanley style!
Katy Wolk-Stanley
"Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without."
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text:
MCEER-99-0013 | 7/20/1999 | 132 pages
TOC: The table of contents is provided.
Keywords: Highway bridges. Hinges. Fasteners. Mathematical models. Ductility.
Abstract: The overall objective of this task was to examine, evaluate, and improve design methodologies for hinge restrainers currently in use by Caltrans and AASHTO. This report addresses hinge restrainers and seat width design for multiple-frame bridges. The authors developed a numerical model to investigate the response of these bridges when subjected to earthquake ground motion, focusing on the longitudinal reponse of the frames and the hinges. They examined the effects of various dynamic characteristics on the inelastic earthquake reponse of these types of bridges. On the basis of this analysis, a new, greatly simplified design procedure for hinge restrainers and hinge seat widths was developed and verified by a series of parameter studies and case studies.


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Let's assume for a moment that there is a Supreme Being. Let's call this entity IT – not to be confused with Stephen King's novel about a sewer dwelling evil clown named Pennywise.
According to the story, IT decided to confer the Truth on one person. Put aside for a moment your curiosity as to why IT as Supreme Being didn't simply tell everyone. (The rumor is that most people couldn't handle the Truth.) In any event, IT decided to share the secret with the chosen one – henceforth referred to as CO. (Feel free to substitute your favourite variation about the CO.) Continue reading "The Devil Made Me Do It"


text:
U.S. Attorney Alicia A.G. Limtiaco Keynote Speaker At Soroptimist Charter Night
United States Attorney ALICIA A.G. LIMTIACO, U.S. Attorney for the Districts of Guam and the Northern Mariana Islands, was the keynote speaker at the Soroptimist International of Guam's 35th Anniversary and the Soroptimist International of the Marianas' 27th Anniversary Charter Night celebration held on March 8, 2013, at the Sheraton Laguna Guam Resort
Last year, U.S. Attorney Limtiaco was honored by both Soroptimist organizations as the Soroptimist Founder Region Ruby Award Recipient. The Soroptimist Ruby Award is an Award "For Women Helping Women" which acknowledges women who are working to improve the lives of women and girls through their personal or professional activities. Their efforts help to promote the issues that are important to the Soroptimist organization. She received this award for her efforts focusing on creating awareness that human trafficking and sexual slavery are a critical global problem.
U.S. Attorney Limtiaco has also a been guest speaker at the Soroptimist International of the Marianas' (SIM) program meetings to talk to members about new laws surrounding domestic violence, sexual assault and human trafficking, encouraging members from organizations like SIM to find some way to be involved.
Guam has two sister Soroptimist organizations: The Soroptimist International of Guam (SIG) and The Soroptimist International of the Marianas (SIM). SIG and SIM are both volunteer service organizations for business and professional women and men. Soroptimists are professional and business executives of all ages, cultures and ethnic groups. Members represent a wide array of professions, including physicians, attorneys, teachers, artists, chief executive officers of companies, business owners and government officials. A Soroptimist is a leader in the community, engaging in awareness, advocacy, and action in the service of the community and society, making the world a better place of humankind. The name, Soroptimist, means "best for women," and that's what the organization strives to achieve. Soroptimists are women and men at their best, working to help women in the community to be their best. The heart of Soroptimist's mission is to "make a difference for women" through volunteer service to the community. Projects are carefully chosen to address challenges unique to today's women.


text:
TO: AAMU Faculty and Staff
FROM: Cassandra Tarver-Ross, PHR
Director of Human Resources
RE: Business and Finance: Travel Procedures
DATE: August 15, 2013
Please be advised that a new procedure titled Travel Procedures is posted on the Human Resources website. Effective August 12, 2013, you must obtain authorization to travel. The authorization to travel form is located on the Business and Finance website at: http://www.aamu.edu/administrativeoffices/business-and-finance/comptroller/Documents/Travel%20Authorization%20Request%20Form.pdf
Everyone is encouraged to read and adhere to this procedure. You may view the procedure at:
If you have any questions, please contact Ms. Angela Strickland, Travel Coordinator in the Office of the Comptroller. Her contact information is 256.372.4895 and email@example.com.
Alabama A&M University
Office of Human Resources
4101 Meridian Street
P.O. Box 305
Normal, Alabama 35762
256.372.5835 (Telephone)
256.372.5881 (Facsimile)
http://www.aamu.edu/hr/ (Website)


text:
Like I said in the first quarter, I stumbled on this piece, but they were mesmerizing. I was looking for pictures of deep sea creatures (they scare the hell out of me and yet mesmerize me at the same time) when I came across a picture that looked like a perfect picture prompt. When i went to the site I saw a lot of other interesting pictures, so i decided I'd do a short poem on all of them. Check HERE!
Some of them are just PERFECT for some stories I had planned to upload here… so don't be surprised when a picture pops up in other corresponding stories! Read them and tell me what you think…
Pretty Cool Huh?
I picked about a dozen so I'd be posting in threes. So… enjoy the second quarter of the poetry series!!!
Mystery is the most overwhelming of all concepts existing
You find yourself plagued with so many thoughts
That could or could not define the dead or the living
In a bid to overcome the vacant feeling of knowledge's droughts.
Mystery itself might take a form, but not a name
Represented in a haze as literal as it is metaphorical
With bloodshot eyes like those that have lost sleep over the unknown, and a mane
On which resides the unidentified object that scrambles our coherence of the metaphysical
Pale skin representing those shut in buildings
Laboriously trading sunlight for the insatiable thirst for new knowledge
Discarding color in the pursuit of findings
But never satisfied with the few they manage to salvage
Mystery loves that it evades definition
And fights for its freedom in the form of a lack of coherence
For what man cannot handle, God for that reason
Hid them in the shadows, allowing limited knowledge of their existence.
En Silence
The eyes are the window to the soul
Where the heart and mind merge to express themselves in one form
Only those who look well enough can see in a whole
What the mouth would like to speak, but cannot bring forth
Our lips are sealed, in life and in death
By pride, affliction and a loss of life
Amongst many other forces, in sickness and in health
In success, failures, peace and strife
Even those who speak loosely or in abundance
Don't stop talking because they feel they haven't expressed their innermost thoughts well enough
Our core will forever be trapped in silence
No matter what part of ourselves we reveal; the smooth or the rough
A girl walks forlorn, cloaked in the dark
Her huddled figure ignoring your call, but she doesn't take flight
You reach out to touch her, her short wispy hair searing on your skin like a freshly made mark
And she looks at you, and you're overwhelmed by her screams, even as her lips are sewn tight
Change starts from within and ends with the manifestation of the physical
It could come naturally or be induced
It is the representation of the concept of life down to the metaphysical
A constant force that can never be removed
A lone nymph hidden in the forest, becomes one with the wild
Trading mobility for durability
Thick strong bark once skin so mild
She embraces her idea of surety
Trees live longer, she thought,
And know no pain
But time passed without a doubt
And man had come to the forest to reign.
They brought the axe, they brought the sword,
And the dear nymph had no legs to run
The might oak had fallen to make the Queen's bed,
And the poor woman would not each night, escape the sound of that last groan


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The owners say:
The club is open to members and members guests 11am-11pm Sunday to Thursday and 11am-midnight Friday and Saturdays.
We have a menu of snacks and full meals served Monday-Saturdays from 11am to 2:30pm.
We have bowls, tennis and netball sections available to members during opening hours and the usual club games, pool, snooker, darts, dominos. Most of the games do have league teams available if you wish to join.
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text:
Paul Bauman Geophysics
Since 1991, Paul Bauman Geophysics has provided geophysical equipment to Advisian WorleyParsons, and to non-profits with specific exploration needs.
Since 1991, Paul Bauman Geophysics has provided geophysical equipment to Advisian WorleyParsons, and to non-profits with specific exploration needs.
The hunt for Pablo Escobar's massive fortune begins. Watch 'Finding Escobar's Millions' November 3 at 10p, only on Discovery pic.twitter.com/3D24L0ZAPW— Discovery (@Discovery) October 21, 2017
Evidence of a Great Escape
In 1943, the Nazis forced 80 Lithuanian Jews to dig up the rotting bodies of their murdered neighbors, pile them on top of wood and burn them.
They were then ordered to mix the ashes with sand and bury the remains so no one would know of the atrocities committed at Ponar, an extermination site where the Nazis executed more than 100,000 people.
For several months the so-called Leichenkommando, or "corpse unit," exhumed thousands of bodies from mass graves and incinerated them. But they knew that after they finished their jobs the Nazis would shoot them as well, so they hatched a daring escape plan.
For 76, days the prisoners dug a tunnel using only their hands and some spoons they found. On April 15, 1944, during the darkest night of Passover, they staged their escape. They climbed through the 100-foot tunnel and into the nearby woods. But the noise alerted the Nazi patrol, which fired at them. Only 12 of the original 80 escaped.
Of those who escaped, 11 survived the war. Their testimonies were the only evidence of the escape. But in July, a team of archaeologists working with the PBS science series NOVA, found the tunnel. Using tools that allow researchers to peer beneath the ground, the archaeologists were able to pinpoint the exact location of the underground escape path.
Finally, there was physical evidence to help tell the tale of one of the greatest escape stories during the Holocaust.
After writing the story I came across a chilling interview with Mordechai Zeidel, who was one of the survivors of the escape. After leaving Ponar, which is called Ponary in Polish, he returned to liberate Vilnius, the city where he had once lived.
"I had no family left," he said. "I knew I had burned them all in Ponary."
— Nicholas St. Fleur


text:
No, retirement funds must be kept separate for tax purposes. Unlike personal investments, any gains made on an IRA investment are not subject to capital gains tax. In order to utilize retirement funds, you will need to make a separate purchase as the investment will be held under the name and tax ID number of your IRA.
Can I combine personal funds and IRA funds on the same FundersClub investment?
Have more questions? Submit a request


text:
BIRMINGHAM, Ala. --Almost three weeks after deadly tornadoes tore through Alabama, an incredible story of survival has emerged about a dog that crawled home to its family on two broken legs.
Mason, a terrier mix, was picked up and swept away by a tornado. His family searched but could not find him.
Then Monday, two and a half weeks later, they came back home to sift through the debris and found Mason waiting for them on the porch.
"They've not been able to be in alignment so neither one of them have healed, so he had to crawl on two broken legs to get home," said veterinary Dr. Barbara Benhart.
"This is probably the most dramatic we've seen as far as an injury in an animal that's survived this long," said Phil Doster, an animal-shelter worker.
A veterinarian has volunteered to take Mason in and nurse him back to health.


text:
The Chic LED wall sconce from Access Lighting has a thin profile, smart energy-efficient lighting, and chrome finish to dress up wall lighting in a bathroom or vanity.More Details >
Cutting-edge energy saving and traditional sophistication come together in the Access Lighting Chic LED wall sconce. This dimmable wall sconce is softened by an opal, glass shade and chrome finish over a metal base. Place two on either side of the bathroom mirror for perfect illumination.


text:
Going far beyond maps, as one might presume, "Geography is the study of human-environment interactions," explains Soren Larsen, Assistant Professor of Geography at MU. The discipline as a whole covers activity ranging from physical geography (e.g., wind erosion and weather patterns), techniques (e.g., modeling air pollution with GIS, or Geographic Information Systems, to understand the interactions between humans and the environment), and something called human geography, a subfield that focuses on the political, economic, cultural, urban, and regional elements of human-environment interactions. Human geographers cast their eyes on "the impact of the environment on human behavior," as well as "the impact of human activity on the environment." Within human geography Larsen specializes in cultural geography. While traditionally that may have entailed mapping the distribution of various cultural traits to track changes over space and time, cultural geography today is much more process-focused, drawing heavily upon the methodologies and theories of anthropology, psychology, sociology, and philosophy.
There are ways in which Matt Gompper's work is simultaneously disheartening and inspiring. As an associate professor in the Fisheries and Wildlife department, he pursues research that falls into an area of wildlife biology known as conservation biology. That is, he seeks to understand the theoretical and real-world causes that drive animal populations to decline or become extinct. While focusing on animal species on the brink of extinction is surely depressing, his efforts are also aimed at conservation—and that's the part that is encouraging.
Larsen's newest project is located just north of Canyon City, Colorado, where the ranches that dominated the area since the late 1800s have been subdivided into parcels of 35 acres or more, creating a residential rural sprawl. Working at a field school facility that overlooks the valleys, Larsen and his research team have been interviewing the residents of this area "on the fringe, where residential development interfaces with wildlife." The interviews reveal that "these ex-urban residents actually knew very little about the dangers, the environmental limitations, and issues that they were going to face"—from wildfire, bears, and rattlesnakes to how to deal with erosion and localized rain events that turn suddenly into flooding. As such, the residents were engaged in a process of knowledge transmission in order to learn about the environment. Larsen seeks to understand how this informal transmission of environmental knowledge might impact the future landscape.


text:
Ruben Studdard has compared new American Idol judge Harry Connick Jr to former panellist Randy Jackson.
The American Idol winner explained to Parade why he thinks Connick and Jackson are similar.
American Idol 'winding down', says 21st Century Fox president
Harry Connick Jr on American Idol judges: "It never gets ugly"
"I'm actually really a huge fan of Harry Connick Jr and I was really excited when they announced he would be a judge," Studdard said. "The level of music he performs is outstanding, so to have him there to critique the kids is great."
The singer continued: "You want people there that are at the top of their craft and they have three judges there this year that are most definitely at the top.
"JLo in the way she performs, Keith Urban moves a crowd like no other, and Harry Connick Jr is really technical and it's great for the kids to have that like we had Randy Jackson."
Studdard added that he remains a loyal viewer of American Idol, over a decade after launching his career on the show.
"I watch as much as I can," he said. "I'm on the road a lot and working very hard to stay relevant and do what I do, but I do TiVo the show, so I get the opportunity to watch it when I come home."
He added: "I actually recently did a duet on the Soul Train Awards with last year's winner, Candice Glover. She is an amazing singer."
American Idol airs on Wednesdays and Thursdays on Fox in the US. 5* airs the show in the UK.


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Hi. Um. I didn't expect you so early. I wasn't finished vacuuming. Well, welcome aboard.
Flight rules:
1. Remain seated and keep your sense of humor in the upright position.
2. If we encounter turbulence, haters will be sent back into economy class between two screaming babies, not their own, and their comments deleted.
3. In case of a water landing, your cushion may be used a flotation device. Take that and most everything else on this blog with a grain of salt.
4. You don't have to say you love me. Please just stay around. I won't make you stay forever... Dusty, please explain for me:


text:
Various web development
Web developer - Freelance
Academic Positions is the international career network for in research and higher education.
We connect thousands of academics and researchers with universitites and companies worldwide every year.
Upcoming projects (3-6 months):
Implement new web design (we have designs)
Responsive design
Integration with Google Drive and Dropbox
Build statistics module (Google Analytics API)
We think you are a developer whose interest extends from backend to frontend and is comfortable working with the presentation and data layers.
To fit in this role you must be structured, analytical and have the ability to think one step further. You are a team player who likes to discuss technical problems and creative solutions. You are quick to learn and motivated by new challenges and opportunities. You are creative, flexible and enjoy working in groups.
Commitment, structure and precision is something we value highly.
Required skills:
Several years of experience in creating websites with MVC structure
An excellent knowledge of object oriented PHP, JavaScript (jQuery), HTML, SCSS, MySQL
Experience with version control (Git/SVN)
Experience with building and maintaining complex websites with frameworks such as Symfony
You have a passion for programming and are up to date on the latest techniques
Experience in automated testing, such as PHPUnit
Desired skills:
Several years of professional experience in creating websites with MVC structure
Experience with working agile (Scrum/Kanban) with tools such as Jira
Experience with SEO
Experience with creating responsive websites
Experience with RESTful APIs
Experience with E-commerce solutions
Can move freely in an UNIX environment
25 威客就此工作平均出价 £24/小时
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text:
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£169,950 - £294,950
A development of 3 and 4 bedroom homes in a range of designs to suit every taste.
Strait Lane - Stainton - Middlesbrough - North Yorkshire - TS8 9BB
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Rose Cottage Farm Phase 3 is situated in Stainton, which is a beautiful and quaint village set in the rolling hills above the River Tees. It is one of the few areas within the boundaries of modern-day Middlesbrough to have been named in the Domesday Book, with Stainton Church dating back to the 12th century. It is surrounded by wonderful scenic countryside just waiting to be discovered, whether it be by car, walking or cycling. It is an ideal base to explore all the local attractions that the area has to offer with something to suit all ages.
Local amenities include a local pub, a village store and Stainton Memorial Hall which is host to a number of weekly events from exercise classes to coffee mornings. An ideal location for young families, there is a strong community feel and a choice of primary and secondary schools can be found nearby. You can enjoy views over the open countryside by following a circular footpath that snakes through woodland and meadow in Stainton Quarry, whilst Kell Gate Green is a three hectare open green space used for village events and recreation.
Just 7 miles away is the town of Middlesbrough, which boasts many great amenities and facilities including a wide choice of high street shops, bars, restaurants, a multi-screen cinema, a theatre, art galleries and museums. Golfers can also take advantage of the Middlesbrough Municipal Golf Course which is nearby. A little further afield are the breathtaking North York Moors and mile upon mile of North Sea coastline.
With its fabulous countryside setting and outstanding choice of new homes, Rose Cottage Farm is an exceptional location for your next move.
New release
3 bedroom
Semi-detached house
This 3 bedroom semi-detached house would be ideal for young couples & families looking for extra space. The Gosford is a 3 bedroom property which also offers off road parking.
View home detail
3 bedroom
Detached house
Help to Buy is available! The Aldenham is a traditional detached family home which provides a spacious and flexible ground floor layout ideal for family living. The first floor features 3 bedrooms, the Master benefitting from an en suite shower room. The property also benefits from an integral garage.
The Government backed Help to Buy scheme is available here. The scheme is open to both first time buyers and home movers alike, and means you'll need just 5% deposit to buy a new home.
With Help to Buy, the Government will lend you up to 20% of the value of your new build home via an equity loan. You will need to secure up to a 75% mortgage and put down a 5% deposit. You'll own 100% of your home from day one.
Help to Buy is also available in conjunction with our easymover scheme, which means we could help you sell your existing home and pay your estate agent fees. Find out more about how the Help to Buy scheme works.
Easymover is available here, which means you could reserve a new Taylor Wimpey home at this development - even if you haven't sold your existing property.
And that's not all. With easymover, we'll make your house move as stress free as possible. We'll liaise with your estate agent on your behalf, we'll pay their fees and we'll manage the whole house selling process - making your life so much easier! Take a look at our easymover page for more information.
Terms and conditions apply to the Easymover scheme.
This development is managed by the North Yorkshire Taylor Wimpey regional office


text:
FHL: The Weatherwax Genealogy by: James N. Fisher Jr (1972 )
I downloaded a copy of this to check against my own research. This Genealogy covers The Weatherwax family and its intermarriages with the Langdon and Menefee families.
Page: W-1 starts with Joseph C. Weatherwax b: 4 Apr 1797. The error is his place of birth cited as Germany! First Germany did not exist as a country until after 1880. Secondly all known Weatherwax's for the most part with a date of birth after July 1710 were born in NY Colony. Modern day exceptions do occur, but not in the Colonial period. This Joseph descends from the first North American born generation, specifically: Petrus Weatherwax (1752-1805) and wife Catharina Cipperly (Zipperle) (1755-1837). He was born in Schaghticoke, Rensselaer co NY. His father owned a farm there. He married Catharina Grauberger (1801-1884) who was from another Palatine family arriving in 1710. He migrated to Schoharie county NY abt 1824 where he married his wife Both are buried in Slate Cemetery, Schoharie co NY. A good deal of this Genealogy addresses the LANGDON and MENEFEE families. No sources other than personal correspondence is cited.
Sunday, March 22, 2015
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