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37 Paddington: January 2011
Posted by 37paddington at 4:20 PM 17 comments: Links to this post
I have no words that will fully express what it was like to watch our children perform the stunning choreography they they themselves created and staged, with the help of their two dance teachers. It was one of those moments when my heart just swelled and my throat filled up and tears of immense joy and gratitude for the power and glory of these children brimmed over. There are really no words that will do the evening justice so I won't even try. Here are a couple of backstage moments instead, which I think capture the engagement and camaraderie of the dancers. I chose photos that include several of my daughter's best high school friends. My sweet girl is the one in black leotard with face painted in the middle of the group on the right. In the next post are photos from the performance.
Posted by 37paddington at 4:01 PM 3 comments: Links to this post
Today at lunch I offered a bright new Hawaii quarter as change, and I instinctively paused to think whether I should have parted with it instead of turning it over to my husband. And then I remembered.
When our boy was seven and our girl was five, and the U.S. Mint began putting out all those new state quarters, my husband decided that he would collect shiny new quarters with the limited edition design from every state until he had assembled complete sets for each of his children. He bought two of those bi-fold boards with a map of the country and little cut out circles to hold the quarters, and whenever he received change in a store, he would sift through it like a miner panning for gold to see if he had netted a new treasure. I remember when he placed the first quarter in its circle, we remarked that this would be a ten-year project, that our son's collection of new state quarters wouldn't be complete until he was 17 and heading off to college, because the treasury planned to release only five new state quarters each year.
Not once in the ten years that the state quarters were being released did my husband flag in his mission. It never occurred to him that he could just order two complete sets at the end of the cycle for a price. No, what made the collections he was assembling precious was the effort involved, his patience and attention in doing this thing for his children, day after day, year after year.
And now, both collections are pristine and complete because this is who my husband is. He knows how to run a long-distance race. And if it involves his children, you can be sure, he'll never quit.
Posted by 37paddington at 2:33 PM 6 comments: Links to this post
Labels: daughter, husband, quarters, son
Posted by 37paddington at 12:37 AM 6 comments: Links to this post
New York City public schools are closed for only the seventh time since 1970, and where I live the children are out with their sleds, very happy campers. When they were younger, my kids were out there too, cavorting with their friends, while we parents took a moment to catch up with one another and build neighborly connections. I miss those days, but the view from my window this morning infuses the memory with a certain sweetness. Nineteen inches fell, just one inch less than the great Boxing Day blizzard of 2010. But by now, we've had so many intervening snowfalls, New Yorkers are unfazed. Besides, the forecast calls for more snow tomorrow, and Saturday too.
Posted by 37paddington at 1:05 PM 5 comments: Links to this post
threatening ourselves with death.
Extravagaria 1958
Posted by 37paddington at 6:58 PM 4 comments: Links to this post
Such a hard day. So much turmoil among the humans in the maze. Brain chatter at a crescendo. Heart pounding, fear acting like the prima donna of the show. What part of this is ego? What part fear? What part chemistry spilling red and sticky all over the floor? I wish I could pick these knotted threads apart, I kind of need to right this minute, so I can know how to proceed.
Posted by 37paddington at 3:11 PM 9 comments: Links to this post
Obama is my president.
Posted by 37paddington at 10:58 PM 6 comments: Links to this post
Labels: photo by steve voss
Posted by 37paddington at 8:42 PM 8 comments: Links to this post
My mom is 89 years old today. There she is above, all elegance and grace, my father teasingly poking her with a pen. She is not deterred. She will maintain decorum until the shutter clicks, and then we will all crack up laughing. That's my husband and me on the far left, a week after we were married. Has it really been twenty-five years? Next month, my dad will have been gone for fifteen years. You can see his mischief here. He was a brilliant mind, a judge whose decisions made the most compelling reading. My mother was his editor, the one who made sure he didn't descend into legal mumbo jumbo, that his writing remained riveting and true as clear glass. They were partners in every sense. He became a sir, knighted by the Queen of England at Buckingham Palace for the measure of his work. I was there when he knelt and she laid the sword on his shoulder. That made my mom officially a Lady, which she had always been anyway, just ask her sisters.
It was a rare and hallowed thing to be raised by these two. I grasp that fully now. Oh we had our days of rain, our shadows. But there was love throughout. There was always so much love. I remember my father in his final weeks, flirting shamelessly with my mother on the last of her birthdays that he would witness. They giggled as he slipped his hand along her soft arm, a secret joke blooming between them. When I opened my eyes this morning, I could see so clearly the way my father's eyes danced when they alighted on my mother that afternoon. He was in a hospital bed in St. Lucia. She was in a cool blue linen dress, worry lines around her mouth, yet she couldn't help laughing as he flirted, and when she laughed she was radiant. They had been married forty-seven years but he was still just a boy who couldn't believe his good fortune in spending his life with this girl.
Happy birthday, Lady Gloria. I know you still miss him more than you can bear to say. But take your time here. Don't rush away. Somewhere he is waiting for you. He knows, as we do, you are beyond compare.
Posted by 37paddington at 6:52 PM 19 comments: Links to this post
I need to be careful with my words, so that I don't say exactly the wrong thing because even when the wrong thing is true and maybe even a necessary thing it can still be the wrong time and leave a mystery wound.
Maybe I can hole up here in the safe heart of my family, just the four of us, just the five six ten more of us, bonded by tangled familiarity and history and incautious love and reckless speech and forgiveness every time.
I am missing the particular blue of the sea that I grew up with, the cool bracing feel of turquoise flutes holding me close, swirling and swishing against my sun-warmed skin, the taste of salt on my lips, the memory of light and lightness and free.
Posted by 37paddington at 10:58 PM 8 comments: Links to this post
Posted by 37paddington at 10:26 PM 9 comments: Links to this post
Posted by 37paddington at 9:17 PM 11 comments: Links to this post
Last night at about 9 p.m., my aunt's home attendant called and said my aunt was refusing to get up from the sofa in the living room to get ready for bed. She said every time she approached her and tried to take her arm to help her up, my aunt would flail and fight and tell her, "Don't touch me." And then she would continue to just sit, staring into to space, into who knows what thought pictures were inhabiting that space. The home attendant asked if I could come over there and help because she didn't know what else to do. I asked my husband to come with me. My aunt feels very safe and grounded in his presence. We went across the courtyard to her apartment, and there she was, still on the couch, looking very small and hunched and bewildered.
She gazed at us when we walked in, as if taking a moment to understand who we were and then she smiled fleetingly. We sat on either side of her and asked her how she was doing and just generally chatted with her. We can no longer grasp a single thread of what she is saying, but we knew she was engaging with us in conversation just the same. At one point she was trying to tell us something, and we just listened and wished we could fathom what it was, because it seemed to her important. Eventually we asked if she was ready for bed and she nodded. My husband helped her to stand, holding both her hands while I got the wheelchair and pushed it next to her. But my aunt just stood for a while, unwilling or unable to make her feet do her bidding to turn her body so she could lower herself into the wheelchair, and after a while she just sat back down on the couch.
The home attendant sat on the other side of the room, shaking her head in frustration. She doesn't have the patience of the home attendant who comes on the weekends. This woman, though well-meaning and really very funny, is more brusque, wanting to get things over with. My aunt has a visceral negative response to that. It makes her want to resist with all the force she can marshal, which is still a lot.
My aunt seemed agitated when she sat back down. I stroked her hair, which always seems to calm her. And then I had the idea of offering her money to put in her pocket, since she is fixated on her finances above all else, having once run the Office Services department at Barnard College, and having had to dole out money to her two children for one thing or another her whole life long. Now that her daughter, the addict, is no longer in the house, money lasts a long time, as my aunt's needs are few. But she likes to have a few dollars in her pocket to give to her great grandsons when they visit, or to her grand nieces and nephews. When I pulled out three twenties and handed them to her, she brightened at once. I suspect she felt as if she now had some agency. And sure enough once the bills were safely tucked into the pocket of her dress, she began pushing herself forward to the front edge of the couch as if to stand. This time when my husband helped her up, she did her little shuffle to turn herself around to sit in the wheelchair and I wheeled her into her bedroom, where the home attendant took over.
Once she was ready for bed, we kissed her and she looked at us intently, trying again to tell us something. It seemed to be a story of a time long past, and we nodded and murmured to her and found a break in the unintelligible sounds she was making to say our good nights. As we walked back home I was thinking how very lonely it must be to be so trapped inside yourself, the memory still vivid of when you were powerful and in charge, but now you are dependent on the patience and humor of paid caregivers, waiting for the arrival of relatives who might or might not happen by that day, and who even when they do come, leave much too soon and never really change a thing.
Posted by 37paddington at 1:38 PM 14 comments: Links to this post
My husband spent Monday afternoon cooking beef bourguignon, a recipe he's cobbled together from Julia Child's classic version and his own online study of other approaches. He picked and chose what made sense to him, and then he got out his lovely orange cast iron Dutch oven and he began to chop and mix and sear and brown and run back and forth to the store, adding and adding ingredients to the pot until his strew was bubbling happily, and all afternoon he would raise his face into the air to test the aroma and he would say, "Ahhh, it just changed again."
Meanwhile my daughter was in our bedroom with her friend from school, studying biology, both of them lying on their stomachs or sitting cross-legged on the king size bed, laptops open in front of them, drilling each other with note cards in hand. And every so often she would wander out to the kitchen to check on her dad's progress and to talk cookery with him, until finally at 7 p.m. everything was ready. We all brought out bowls and spooned in the exquisite brown stew rich with mushrooms and bacon and carrots and pearl onions and the most tender beef I have ever tasted and after we ate the meat, we sliced crusty bread to soak up the broth and really, I should have taken a picture but I was too busy enjoying myself and I didn't think about recording how sumptuous it looked when I first opened the pot until it was halfway done.
Willow had the presence of mind to take a picture.
Posted by 37paddington at 9:46 AM 6 comments: Links to this post
this morning, as if supported by
the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the
fire escape, joy in the task of coffee,
accompanied me as I walked.
Posted by 37paddington at 8:09 AM 4 comments: Links to this post
The farm in winter by John McDaniel
—Dr. Martin Luther King Jr,
The book Begin With a Dream tells the story of Manhattan Country School, the progressive elementary and middle school my daughter attended for the first decade of her life in the classroom. It's a memoir of how Augustus Trowbridge, a Philadelphia Main Line WASP whose forebears made the family fortune as merchants in the triangle slave trade, would use his life of privilege to found a school in which there would be no racial or economic majority and where each child would, in the immortal words of the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., "not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."
Gus and his wife Marty were utterly inspired to do this work by Dr. King. Gus told me later that he and Marty sat in front of their TV screens watching the brutality that transpired during the 1965 March on Selma, and in that moment they knew they would have to do something to rebalance the scales of privilege in America. They would devote the rest of their lives to doing that. "Differences must be immediately experienced, treasured and understood," Gus wrote in the school's inaugural brochure, "because a school that avoids differences places education outside the context of living."
I ended up being a sort of midwife to this book and I believe it is work I was meant to do. Perhaps it is why I happened across this small progressive school in the first place, and why its very walls whispered to me that this was to be my daughter's place. Perhaps it's why she was accepted despite the fact that the school is harder to get into than Columbia University in terms of sheer numbers. Surely it is why, the first time I heard Gus speak at a conference about his life's work, I went up to him afterwards and gushed, "You need to write a book about this." He looked somewhat startled, I was a stranger to him then, and he stammered, "Well, I'm trying to do that." Gus was retired by that time, and was no longer a daily presence at the school. But four years later, he approached me in the living room of the school, which is located in what used to be a very grand townhouse on the margin of the Upper East Side and Harlem, and he said, "Well, I have completed a draft of that book, and I would like it if you could read it and tell me what you think." It was the first time we had spoken since the day I so presumptuously suggested he write his story.
The next day when I dropped my then fifth-grader off at school, Gus had left for me 600 single-spaced pages in a binder. Over the next year, working together, we reorganized and edited the book down to 353 pages that tell the very moving story of a man committed to a mission despite all manner of obstacles, and a school committed to realizing the dream of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. My daughter is immeasurably richer because of her foundational experience at this school, which also has a working organic farm.
From second grade on, classes spend a week together at the farm, three times a year. There they do morning and evening barn chores, plant, tend and harvest their own food, milk the cows, feed the chickens, weave textiles, learn to tap maple syrup, press apple cider, bake bread, and they cook all their meals together in the farmhouse kitchen. And when the chores are done, they play, city children running free in the country air. I could go on and on about the farm, but that is a story for another day. Suffice it to say, the farm is one of the many reasons our children are so bonded all these years later.
Seventh-grade farm trip.
Another reason is the fact that every year on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s holiday, the entire school, led by its eighth graders, marches to commemorate the life and work of Dr. King. In my daughter's eighth grade year, her class chose the issue of gay marriage, reasoning that if Dr. King were alive today, he would certainly take up this cause. As he famously wrote in his letter from a Birmingham jail on April 16, 1963, "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."
Each year the eighth graders write speeches and deliver them during the march as a call to action. Their speeches tell stories or recount histories or imagine letters that illuminate the issue at hand. My daughter wrote her piece as a letter from a gay-bashing police officer who participated in the violent 1969 siege on The Stonewall Inn, ground zero for the gay rights movement. In the letter, the officer was explaining to his daughter that he finally understood why his actions on that day were wrong, and how much she had taught him over the years about equal rights.
On this day in 2008, surrounded by fellow marchers, our girl read her letter into a mic standing in the sub zero cold outside The Stonewall Inn, which is still open for business today. We were so very proud of her and her classmates, and moved by the rainbow of children, parents, teachers, friends, from the pre-kindergarteners to Gus and Marty Trowbridge, now in their seventies, marching for justice and freedom and unity, keeping alive the dream for which Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. lived and died.
My daughter's class wore rainbow capes the year they led
the MLK March. Each eighth grader delivered a speech
about a contemporary issue of civil rights and gay rights.
Their teacher called them "rainbow superheroes."
Posted by 37paddington at 5:47 PM 2 comments: Links to this post
Labels: civil rights, gay marriage, gay rights, MLK march, the farm, the stonewall inn
Which was weird because the night before had been so much fun. Seven of us celebrated the birthday of one of my very best friends at the new Italian restaurant across the street where the staff is beginning to know us and the service is warm and neighborly. The little girl who lives upstairs and who my daughter babysits sometimes, made a festive crown with streamers and huge tissue flowers and paint and glitter gel for the birthday girl who is also her mother's best friend. The Movie Star was there. Our birthday girl is his best friend too. My friend whose birthday it was has a gift for bringing people together, which is how we came to be two social workers (not surprisingly, my friend's vocation), a documentary filmmaker, a ceramic artist, a magazine editor, an ichthyologist and a movie star at the same table.
This new restaurant doesn't yet have its liquor license so we brought in our own bottles, and my upstairs neighbor brought a chocolate cake and we all talked and laughed and ate good Italian food and drank good wine and had a lovely time. The people next to us kept watching our table and I thought it was because we were having so much fun, and because we were visually such a curious assembly of people and maybe they wondered how this group got together and maybe they also looked at the Movie Star with his Hollywood handsome self and thought "Isn't that....?" and then maybe they decided we were Glamorous People instead of a just a bunch of fellow travelers trying to make ends meet and make everything the way we think it should be but really never is. When we got up to leave the woman at the next table said to me, "That looked like a lot of fun," and it was, indeed it was. And she had the warmest most openhearted face and I had a strange desire to know who she was and to be friends with her and isn't it true that we never really leave high school.
And then on Sunday morning, everything started out perfectly normal and then in a moment when my husband and I weren't paying attention, we squabbled, neither of us listening to what the other was saying and the whole day just skidded off the rails after that. Maybe it was because I drank wine last night. I am not much of a drinker. I think it sends me to a dark place, not in the moment, but I'm starting to realize that the day after I can fall into a funk.
In any case, I didn't want to be around my husband because he was acting like he didn't want to be around me, so I went over to my mother's studio for a while, thinking I would sit there and watch a movie in the empty apartment while back at my house my husband yelled at the playoff football game on TV. But when I walked in I realized that I hadn't really been over to my mom's apartment since my cousin and her kids stayed there over Thanksgiving and so many little details were out of place, not the way my mother likes them, so then I started to put things back in their place and wipe down the windowsills and dust the furniture and scrub down the bathroom and the kitchen and arrange the cushions and change the pretty cloth doilies and change the sheets on the bed and stuff all the towels my cousin and her children used into the hamper for laundering, and I just kept going and going and couldn't stop doing, because if I stopped it would just assail me how much I missed my mother who is warm in Jamaica right now in my brother's house, and who might never come back to this little apartment across the way from me. She took everything with her this last time. Even her rolling walker, which is usually parked in the far right corner. It looked so empty, that corner. So I moved the antique chair that used to belong to my long dead grand aunt into that corner and folded my mother's red blanket, the one she loves so much because it is perfectly soft and never makes her feel too hot, and I placed the blanket carefully on the chair and now the corner looked occupied and not so sad. When I was done fixing everything I went to wash my hands in the bathroom and I used her bath gel and it was so much her smell, and I could remember the way she smells when I hug her and that's when I cried.
I went to sit in her recliner but instead of trying to find a movie to watch I called home. My husband answered. "Why are you still mad?" I asked him. "It was just a little stupid thing." In a mad sounding voice he said, "I am not mad, I am just watching the game." So I asked to speak to my daughter and she was pure light, pure music, the way she so often is, and she was browsing recipes on her laptop instead of studying for the midterms she has this week, and she told me about an onion and gruyere tart she found that I would absolutely love, and she made my heart feel tender and grateful and I started to miss her sweet face and so I decided to go home.
By the time I got there she had sorted the dirty clothes and towels and was gathering up the detergent and bleach to do laundry. I decided to go downstairs to the laundry room with her, just because I wanted to be with her some more, even though I hate doing laundry and have hired my daughter to do it like a real job, with weekly pay and everything. I started to help her put the clothes in the different washing machines, but she laughed and said, "Mom, you're mixing them up," so I laughed too and shrugged and left her to it and wandered over to the bookshelf where people leave the books they no longer want because we live in apartments and these small spaces easily get cluttered and sometimes you just have to make breathing room. And sitting on the bookshelf, dusty and coverless and waterstained was that classic deconstruction of transactional analysis, I'm Okay, You're Okay by Thomas Harris. It was written in 1967 and the language seemed already archaic. But perusing the table of contents I saw a chapter titled "P-A-C- and Marriage" and I turned to it. I soon learned that P-A-C stands for the Parent-Adult-Child aspects we habitually express. And the first thing my eye landed on was this:
"Marriage is the most complicated of all human relationships. Few alliances produce such extremes of emotions or can so quickly travel from professions of the utmost bliss to that cold, terminal legal write-off, mental cruelty."
And this: "Yet the average marriage contract is made by the Child, which understands love as something you feel and not something you do, and which sees happiness as something you pursue rather than as a by-product of working towards the happiness of someone other than yourself."
Those words, presenting themselves right at that moment, made all the difference. I decided right then and there to stop acting from my sulky wounded Child place, to try to get to my more generous and forgiving Adult place and let my husband off the hook. It was a petty thing anyway, and my mood was totally prolonging it. So I went back upstairs with my daughter, who appeared to have no idea that anything was amiss, and I behaved as if nothing was in fact amiss and soon enough, nothing was.
Posted by 37paddington at 2:01 PM 16 comments: Links to this post
Labels: daughter, husband, marriage, transactional analysis
I'm always so late in sending Christmas gifts. Mine usually arrive sometime in the new year. If it's a good year, they will be shipped before January is done. In a bad year, I might finally send something in July, or hand the presents to my nieces and nephew when they arrive for Thanksgiving. You probably think I'm exaggerating, but I'm really not. I'm usually too overwhelmed in December to manage the kind of organization required to choose, wrap, box and mail gifts on time. It's all I can do to make sure the people I will actually be with, such as my husband and children, are covered.
And so I find myself ruminating in January, trying to match the person with the gift, and trying to hit the right level of gifting. If you're shipping a gift, then it has to be something more than if you're handing a wrapped present to someone on Christmas morning. I'm starting to grasp how I arrived at this particular mathematics of gift-giving, one that keeps me stalled for weeks. It plays out like this: I will buy a gift for someone, and then it will sit there as I imagine that person opening the box and finding just this small thing, so inadequate, not one of many presents under the tree, not part of the party but a tardy guest who must now atone for the late hour.
And so I go out and buy another gift to add to the first, and this takes time, because I have to think about the person, in this case the three families worth of loved people in Virginia and Maryland who have yet to be gifted by me, and I have to come up with something as targeted as the first gift, something that isn't a throwaway but truly matches who that person is trying to be. It's easier for the grown-ups, they don't care really. They don't even have to get a gift, truth be told. But their children. I want their children to feel that I honed in on their hearts, to feel the thrill of what's inside the box, inside the festive wrapping paper in January, arriving all by its lonesome, missing all the hectic glory of Christmas morning.
The irony is my own children appreciate without question or calculation any gift that arrives, more so the love of the gifter. So why do I not permit my relatives who live at a distance the same grace? Why do I allow guilt to settle itself next to January love all wrapped up in Christmas paper?
Chocolate Salted Caramel Cupcakes. Right here. These are richest, most decadent things I have ever tasted. This is what my girl spent her snow day making yesterday. She even made the caramel herself. I didn't know people did that.
I have to admit when I walked through my door last night, what greeted me wiped away all traces of my bad day. Not the cupcakes, as good as they were. No, it was the girl. And her sweet daddy, of course. I am a lucky woman.
Posted by 37paddington at 7:45 PM 9 comments: Links to this post
then do what's possible, and suddenly
Of course, I'm quoting the saint who venerated poverty above all else, so that might not really be helpful. On the other hand, they say whatever you need, give that, so living with an open hand may be just the way to ensure that money worries won't come to stay. In any case, faith is the thing. Faith that we will be protected, that we will have what we need, that we will be able to provide for our loved ones. St. Francis of Assisi was Italian born. The photo above is of my daughter in Italy last summer, looking into her little red wallet with an expression of perfect faith that what she is seeking will be found there. This is my lesson for today.
Posted by 37paddington at 3:40 PM 8 comments: Links to this post
Posted by 37paddington at 3:08 PM 9 comments: Links to this post
A note about one of the authors mentioned in my last post, the extraordinary Isabel Wilkerson (yes, I am a fan): A former writer for the New York Times, she is the first Black woman to win a Pulitzer Prize in American journalism. Inspired by her own parents migration from the South to Washington D.C. when she was a child, she devoted 15 years to writing a compelling narrative on the nation's great unsung migration. From World War 1 through the 1970s, some six million Blacks fled their homes in the South to create new lives in urban centers in the North and West.
A reviewer for The Wall Street Journal wrote: “The Warmth of Other Suns is a brilliant and stirring epic, the first book to cover the full half-century of the Great Migration… Wilkerson combines impressive research…with great narrative and literary power. Ms. Wilkerson does for the Great Migration what John Steinbeck did for the Okies in his fiction masterpiece, The Grapes of Wrath; she humanizes history, giving it emotional and psychological depth.”
Isabel Wilkerson is a writer of truly dazzling gifts, but it is her depth of research and her humanity that take her work to another plane entirely. I humbly predict that her book will earn her a second Pulitzer Prize this year. Remember I said that. You can find out more at isabelwilkerson.com.
Labels: Isabel Wilkerson, The Warmth of Other Suns
I opened my eyes yesterday morning with no dread in my chest, the day just was, and I was ready to meet it, and then I remembered it was the day of my audit. A very good day for an audit, I thought, even though I had tried unsuccessfully to reschedule it. But my auditor didn't call me back, and so I was forced to get as ready as I could in the time I had. I hoped the 1.11.11 date would prove auspicious in the best way. I was at least willing to entertain signs of good rather than the certainty of catastrophe. I had worked hard to prepare and now all I had left to to do was make multiple copies of the paperwork and organize them in the neat plastic sleeves that my sainted accountant had given me.
As I dressed, it occurred to me that the process of preparing to meet the exam had not been without its gifts. The effort to put on paper the details that would allow the auditor to understand the nature of my work, forced me to grapple in a new way with a nonfiction book I am writing. Suddenly, I understood exactly how to organize it, I knew exactly what voice to use. I realized that so many of the random narratives I had been writing, stories that forced their way out of me, were in fact part of the book. I have chapters already completed!
And I realized that even though I have recently felt as if I didn't care one bit if I ever published another book, now the stirrings were in me again, I wanted this one to see the light, to exist in a form as substantial as Amy Tan's Joy Luck Club and Isabel Wilkerson's The Warmth of Other Suns, which I now understood to be the godparents of my own effort. Both of these books are masterful pieces of literature, one of fiction, the other narrative nonfiction, and they are by writers whose voice and sensibility and practice put them at the very pinnacle of their craft. But, presumptuous as it might sound, these are the two books that, if they could birth a child, might produce the book I am trying to write—the book I finally understand that I am writing.
How did the audit go? Meh. It continues. But now I am calm. I know what its purpose in my life has been. So thank you, Uncle Sam. I know you'll take your pound of flesh but I got something, too.
Posted by 37paddington at 7:30 AM 5 comments: Links to this post
Labels: hidden gifts
My son left to go back to school this morning. He was running late, but he did indulge me by pausing for this photo before he rumbled out the door. He already had his game face on. Now my living room is neat as can be. All the blankets and comforters dragged out of closets by him and his friends are folded and put away. The errant socks tucked down into sofa creases are waiting to be laundered. The electronics cords that just yesterday were snaking across my coffee table, have been rolled and stuffed into suitcases. All the cushions that he carelessly tossed aside whenever he dived onto the couches are back in their positions. Now the missing him begins.
Posted by 37paddington at 8:33 AM 10 comments: Links to this post
My son is not feeling well tonight. Dinner didn't agree with him. He lay on the couch feeling nauseous, which worried me because he goes back to college in the morning. Classes won't start for another two weeks but he has indoor track meets this week and next, and needs to be up to par. And you hate to send your children from your home when they are not well. You want them right there, under your care. He's going to be staying in the track and field house and not in his dorm room until classes start, which means he'll be roughing it, living out of a suitcase, sleeping on a couch. I don't want him feeling unwell. He's finally gotten rid of the cough he came home with at the end of last semester. If he's leaving me tomorrow, I want him perfect.
He hasn't packed yet. He hadn't done laundry either, but he managed to get his sister to agree to do it for him—for a price. I heard them negotiating and they settled out at fifteen dollars. My girl has a little cottage industry going there.
The thing is, she has a midterm paper to write for history, which is her hardest class, but one she finds very exciting because the teacher is so engaged. "Mom, he is a genius," she told me in that absolute 16-year-old way. (I could hear the exclamation points and I could kind of hear the f-word she didn't include to qualify genius.) She hates the hours of history homework she gets every night, but she looks forward to the classes, knowing she will be challenged, provoked, entertained.
The intel is that her history teacher is a very hard grader. The twelfth graders who had him last year told her, "By the end of the year you will adore him, but don't expect any As." Still, she wants to do well, and maybe she is hitting her stride because she got a perfect score on the last test. But now she is trying to write her midterm paper while doing her brother's laundry on Sunday night, and it is due in the morning. "Mom, I've got this," she keeps telling me when I try to shoo her back to her computer. She won't even tell me what the paper is about, because she says, "You'll just keep asking me questions and freaking out. I've got this." No doubt she does.
Or maybe this paper won't be her best work given the distracted last minute conditions under which she is working. But I have to keep things in perspective. It could be that tonight, her care for her brother might take precedence. Close to midnight, thinking it would make him feel better, he went to take a shower, and after he dressed, he went into his sister's room and lay down on her bed. She was cross-legged on the floor, tapping away on her laptop, and he decided to keep her company. But very soon, he fell asleep. The next time I looked in on them, she was putting the comforter over him, tucking the pillow under his head. I just stood at the door and watched her taking care of him and then she came over to me and hugged me, looping her arms around me in the way she does. She is a healer that one. When you are near her, you feel calm and loved and healed. My eyes just filled with tears as I wrote that.
Seeing her with her brother tonight made me remember another night back when she was two years old and her brother was four. He had misbehaved in some way that must have seemed very extreme at the time, though I can't remember what it was anymore. His dad had got down on his level, face to face, and spoken to him very sternly, wanting him to understand that whatever it was he'd done was seriously not acceptable.
We decided to give him dinner and put him to bed early instead of a time out, as it was already evening. He was not pleased. Both kids were sharing a room then, my son in the top bunk, my daughter below, and she sat in the middle of the room holding a stuffed toy and looking up at her brother as he sobbed in fury and sorrow and protest. Eventually he cried himself to sleep.
When I came in a short while later to get my little girl ready for bed, this is what I saw: She had climbed with her two-year-old legs up the ladder to the top bunk. She had tugged and pulled a pillow bigger than she was under her brother's head. She had carefully covered him with his blanket, and she had put the stuffed animal against his cheek. And she had fallen asleep up on top of the covers, curled up next to her brother. I went quietly out the room and called my husband to see them.
These children. They swell my heart.
Posted by 37paddington at 2:59 AM 6 comments: Links to this post
Sarah Palin needs to take responsibility for posting the map that marked home districts and named the members of Congress who voted for health care with bullseyes shaped like the cross-hairs of a gun sight. Today, her violent incitement came to pass with the shooting in Arizona of Democratic Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords, and the killing of six others, including a federal judge and a 9-year-old who were standing in her audience outside a grocery store in Tucson. Just a regular Saturday morning torn apart by gunshots. Thirteen more were wounded by the fire and a young man described as "a fringe character" was arrested. Hate is ugly. And today it was deadly, too.
There it is, the fateful map with Palin's signature for good measure, like marching orders. And there is Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords' name, four down on the left. The woman was shot point blank in the head while at a meet-and-greet this morning. She is now fighting for her life, while the right wing disavows any part in her shooting. They forget the rhetoric of hate and the crescendo of fear they have recently conducted like a doomsday symphony. What in hell did Palin and Beck and the Tea Party and Limbaugh and Boehner and the rest of that chorus expect?
Update on Sunday morning: News reports are that Congresswoman Giffords is responsive and "able to communicate" nonverbally.
An aide for Sarah Palin issued a statement saying her map had nothing to do with guns, it was all a big misunderstanding. Never mind Palin's earlier description of the map as her "bullseye list" and her tweet that said "Commonsense Conservatives & lovers of America: 'Don't Retreat, Instead - RELOAD!' Pls see my Facebook page." Her Facebook page was where her map was posted. As of today, it's still there.
It is emerging that the shooter was possibly an untreated schizophrenic, which as Radish King notes in the comments, circles back to the need for easily accessible health care for those who are mentally ill. This is who Sarah Palin's 'Reload!" mantra is most likely to incite to senseless violence. This is why we need to be more responsible in our public discourse.
And finally, the dead. Among them was an aide to Giffords who was engaged to be married. A federal judge who came by to say hello to the Congresswoman. And 9-year-old girl who had just been elected to her school's student council, whose neighbor brought her to meet Giffords because she thought it would inspire the bright third-grader who was interested in public service.
In a cruel irony, this little girl was born on September 11, 2001 and was featured in a book called Faces of Hope: Babies Born on 9/11. A short life bracketed by tragedy. Her name was Christina Taylor-Green. Her sweet face is below.
Posted by 37paddington at 10:12 PM 14 comments: Links to this post


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Society for Contemporary Craft Sunday Salons: AlloyPittsburgh - The Pittsburgh Cultural Arts Meetup Group (Pittsburgh, PA)
Society for Contemporary Craft Sunday Salons: AlloyPittsburgh
Join Jennifer Moss, the artist in residence at the Society of Contemporary Craft (SCC) for Coffee, Conversation, and Community building with a variety of local arts organizations.
This Sunday's Salon features Chris Mcginnis and Sean Derry's Alloy Pittsburgh project, which has invited 15 regional, emerging artist to create temporary site specific works at the Carrie Furnaces, on view starting September 28th.
For more information about the Sunday Salon series and other programs as well as exhibits at SCC, please visit http://www.contemporarycraft.org/SCC/Calendar.html
For More information about Alloy Pittsburgh go to: http://www.alloypittsburgh.blogspot.com/
Linda S. I have not RSVPd because I cannot be there by 11 am but am trying to arrange to be there before noon...Hoping to participate... 0 · August 24, 2013 3 went
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Avalon Authors: 8/14/11 - 8/21/11
As a new writer, one of the first things I learned was to always carry around a little black book with me no matter where I went. No, not the kind to jot down some hot guy’s phone number, but the kind where you jot down descriptions of things you see, conversations you overhear, or anything else that you believe to be noteworthy. You know, things you can use as fodder for your novels. Of course, you can still use it for hot guys’ phone numbers, but I’m married so that’s off limits. At first, I wasn’t quite sure of what I was doing, until one day, I was in the airport at my gate and a conversation ensued with the woman sitting next to me. Her story was heart wrenching, yet it came to a wonderful conclusion. I cried with her, I laughed, and I rejoiced as she progressed with her story. That’s when I realized the value of carrying this book around with me, and then I confessed that I was a writer and told her that her story might just wind up in a book one day. I haven’t written that story yet, but I did start it, and boy do I have the perfect title: “Maybe Never”.
One of my really favorite things to watch is couples who meet for the first time. Guys are so transparent when they flirt. Seriously. First it’s the flirty once over look, the staring until they catch her eye, then the smile and then BINGO, the wise cracking of jokes to show her he’s worthy of her time—sort of like a pitch to an editor. Watching a woman who’s interested is also quite amusing. I get a real kick out of it. But the most important thing is I’ve learned something new about interaction. Another place I find useful to have my black book next to me, is when I’m watching television, and as soon as I learn something, I jot it down. I jot down expressions, the way things are said—not that I can use it verbatim, but so long as I change it around, I’m okay. All my stories take place in New York because that’s what I’m familiar with. Parks and places in New York that I’m unfamiliar with also get jotted down so I can research it later. During my train rides into the city while going to culinary school, some of the things I encountered were shocking, and some hilarious. I was just getting used to the subways—it was during the winter and I was bundled up. While outside, it served to keep me warm, but on the train it was sweltering. One such evening, it was already dark outside and I was getting nervous because this guy is staring me down. No smile on his face, just staring and scaring the heck out of me, so I moved. He moved too, and he’s still staring at me. My heart is now pounding through my chest; I’m not sure what to do, and I was certain no one on the train was going to come to my aid if something happened. So I moved again and stood right in front of the glass doors so I could make a speedy exit as soon as the train stopped. I don’t know why I thought I could outrun this guy, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. Finally, I look in the glass window to see if this guy is still staring at me when I happened to glance at my reflection and that’s when I realized sweating had caused my mascara to pool under both my eyes making it appear as though I had two black eyes. Now, I began to crack up. I’m laughing so hard I’m sure he thought I was a whack job because he took off to the other side of the train. The morale of this story is this is good information to add to your story, whether it’s a mystery or light-hearted, but the other thing it taught me was to act like a loon on the subway and they’ll leave you alone.
The boy, as it turned out, was 87 year old Scott Smith. When I heard he lived in Danville—I thought it was local Danville, California was really Danville, Kentucky. If I had bothered to read his Bio first I would have known: Scott Smith is a former railroad brakeman, national newspaper writer, magazine writer, owner, and publisher of both a weekly newspaper and stock car racing newspaper, magazine cartoonist, producer of syndicated cartoon strip, and a veteran of World War II. Smith lives in Danville, Kentucky. Scott told me of his newspaper years, his time in WW II at sea, and his interest in stock car racing. He says he used to drive but now he leaves it up to his son and grandson. Nowadays Scott spends his time on the radio telling them what to do. How does a man with this background write Western novels? It all started when his grandma bought him a toy holster and gun. Scott has an enormous collection of Louis L’Amour and reads every Western he can get his hands on. He’s also a movie buff, some of his favorites are Lonesome Dove and Broken Trail. I asked him what he thought about the new Cowboy and Alien movie. He told me, No. He just couldn’t go there. Here’s the description about Scott’s current Avalon Western release The Bronco Man: Travis Alexander Boone, a bronco peeler in Montana, just lost his job after six long years. In search of a place to store his bedroll before another cold winter closes all the trails out of Montana, Boone rides to Wyoming: Three hundred miles later, in Six Mile Junction, he meets Mary Agnes Canfield, the widowed owner of the Double Deuce, a small nearby ranch. He accepts her offer of board for a winter's work, unaware that her feud with a nearby rancher, Wells Gorman, is near its breaking point. Gorman, in desperate need of water, must build a canal through part of Mary's land to reach it through her late husband's resting place. When Mary Agnes refuses to negotiate, Gorman swears vengeance. It'll be up to Travis Alexander Boone and his trusty long-barreled Walker Colt to deal with this embittered rancher and his horde of gunmen and saloon tramps. Q: Pardon my ignorance but exactly what is a “bronco peeler”? Scott: A bronco peeler is a breaker of wild or unbroken horses. In the old west they were called bronco peelers. Today they would be called bronco busters. Q: How did you come up with the plot for The Bronco Man? Scott: By using the "suppose game". I started with a wealthy rancher who thought only of himself. He enjoyed being rich and forceful. …Suppose he planned to build a small community on his land, but to do that he would have to have a good supply of running water. …Suppose in his case the only available water happened to be the south fork of a river that, unfortunately for him, was on the land of a young and intensely stubborn widow lady rancher where Boone was employed for the winter. …Suppose the rancher's plans could not go forward unless he had access to available water. …Suppose to complete his quest he decides the only way for him to obtain water is to hire an irrigation company to dig a canal across her land and tap onto the fork of the river so he can direct the flow of water to a reservoir he has waiting on his land. …Suppose the woman won't allow him to dig a canal on her land because her late husband, who was murdered, is buried there. …Suppose the rancher tries to gain her hand in marriage. When that fails he turns to threats and violence, so he uses a large crew of gunman to harass and pressure her. From this point the action that follows soon becomes a full fledged confrontation. It is here that the emphasis needs to be on action rather than a deep character study. Q: What is the origin for the name Travis Alexander Boone? Scott: I chose his name for its' historical sound and the fact that in my youth I knew and grew up among direct descendants of old Daniel Boone himself. Knew their attitudes, their desires and their need for privacy. Q: How much did you know about Alex Boone before you started writing? Scott: A bunch. I knew he would be unique, a past as a gunfighter he wants to keep silent. He is a hard worker, but still mortal, slightly larger than life. He would exhibit a high degree of skill and a strong measure of respectability and quest. He was honest with himself and I knew he would stand his ground against any man who tested his mettle and would give no allowances to his enemies. Q: If The Bronco Man were being made into a movie, what actor would you like to play him?Scott: Sam Elliot Q: What do you personally like most about this novel? Scott: I like its' tightness, its' pace and its' directness and the fact that it was my first ever sale to a top line book publisher. Q: Are you working on any new titles for Avalon Books? Scott: I have submitted a complete manuscript for consideration, so I hope so. Q: Is there anything else you'd like the reader to know? Scott: Yes, I would like them to know I am very appreciative of the professional help I received from the folks at Avalon, especially Jennifer Graham, Avalon's production editor who gave me a strong helping hand when I went astray. I want to thank Scott for taking the time to speak to me and answering my questions. I’m looking forward to reading The Bronco Man and wish him success on his future projects. My offer for lunch still stands, Scott. I’ll be giving you a call the next time I make it to Kentucky.
Tell me, do you hate to see a series or a trilogy come to an end? Or do you feel like there is a limit to just how much a person can draw out of a haunted feeling and an old live oak tree in San Antonio, Texas? As a reader, do you put down the book with a sigh and maybe even look at the very back page to see if there’s another one mentioned…just maybe…still coming in the next few months? As a writer, do you ever weave them into another book just so they stay alive? Read more »

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Porto to Puerto Plata Flights: Book Flights from OPO to POP | Expedia.com
Low Cost FlightsEuropePortugalOPOFlights from OPO to POP	Cheap Flights from Porto to Puerto Plata	Cheap OPO to Puerto Plata flights	Book your OPO to POP flights with Expedia and find last-minute Porto to Puerto Plata airfare. Expedia offers discount airfare on multiple airline carriers that fly direct and indirect routes between OPO and POP, with new flight deals and promotions almost daily. When you book your next trip from Dr. Francisco de Sa Carneiro to Gregorio Luperon Intl. with Expedia, you can rest assured you’re getting great ticket prices and excellent service from one of the world’s most trusted travel providers.	Popular Flights from Porto, Portugal	Browse popular flight destinations from Porto (OPO), and plan your next exciting trip. Expedia has cheap flights from Porto on multiple airline carriers, so book your next trip today!	Top Porto Flights to US Destinations

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friends | Infinity + some + 2
May the Advent Light Always Shine on You
November 29, 2009 — Miki
There is hardly a feast which has some emotional importance to me, except Christmas and Advent. I do love Christmas, even if I have been forced many times to spend it in a way which did not match my dreams… but well, these times are past now, and I am looking forward to Christmas this year with the impatience of a child… although, to be honest, we both are far too impatient to wait until the right moment to discover our mutual gifts. This is a huge mistake, it tales a little bit away the charm of the Christmas gifts unwrapping, but on the other side, it allows us to enjoy these gifts a longer time… my rational excuse to my impatience! What we have got this year is something very special, something which massively increases the life quality of our “Palace of Pleasure” how we now call our home…. I might show you at some point!
August 29, 2009 — Miki
pour mon amie Emma….
This morning I woke up with a very special friend to my French friend Emma, one of the persons I most admire in the world. I created this bunch of flowers for her, my way to present her my best wishes for her beginning carreer. She is a wonderful therapist… and soon to contract online! But unfortunately only for the French speaking people… although I must dsay, she is so good at what she does, that it would be worth to learn French just to get your psycho problems fixed by her! 🙂
Big hugs, Pomme, and I wish you the very best, which you anyway deserve!
Posted in aquarelle, art, French painter, friends, love, nature, painting, personal. 4 Comments »
Don’t Touch my Children!
May 23, 2009 — Miki
One more painting/design for the World Turlte Day which is…
When I was painting it, I was especially thinking of my friend Pomme..
no, she is not a tortoise ( 🙂 ), but somehow, she always take her own shell to defend her children
against THE BAD in her world…
This is why i dedicated this painting to her,
TO YOU, POMME, WITH LOVE AND ADMIRATION!
PS: if you wish to send this painting as a free ecard, go to
123 Miki
Posted in animals, art, children, family, friends, humor, life, love, women. Tags: tortoise babies, tortoise painting, turtle painting, World Turtle Day. 8 Comments »
April 20, 2009 — Miki
2009 Valentines Countdown 8 : Spread a Little Love…
February 7, 2009 — Miki
8 days until Valentines!
START SPREADING A LITTLE LOVE
NOT ONLY ON VALENTINES DAY…
Posted in art, events, family, friends, life, love, Miki, Valentines Countdown, women. Tags: Christmas, ecards, ecards gallery, greeting cards, Miki, New Year, special events, Valentine greetings, Valentine paintings, Valentines Day, Valentines paintings. 2 Comments »
2009 Valentines Countdown 10 : Love Takes flight….
February 3, 2009 — Miki
The Valentines Countdown has started…. 10 days until Valentines!
It will be Valentines soon, don’t forget on that day to let all the people you love know that you love them… not only your wife, husband, partner, but your friends too, your children, your parents…
I have created love Ecards with all my beloved people in my mind and now I will post everyday and until the 14th of February a new one, hoping to put you in the right loving and declaring frame of mind.
If you want to see all the Valentines cards which I have published here so far, click the Valentines Countdown.
If you want to use my free service to tell your people how much you love them,
simply go here and follow the instructions.
But I tell you one thing already:
Posted in art, family, friends, love, men, Miki, personal, Valentines, Valentines Countdown, women. Tags: Christmas, ecards, ecards gallery, greeting cards, New Year, special events, Valentine greetings, Valentine paintings, Valentines Day, Valentines paintings. 4 Comments »

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." a short time later, the state department confirmed the u.s. diplomatic mission in benghazi, libya, was under attack. searches for the british monitoring group called it a well-planned assault that occurred in two wavs. the sources said the attack involved a group of about 20 militants and included heavy artillery, machine guns, and rocket-propelled grenades. by morning, it was confirmed that four american diplomats, including the u.s. ambassador to libya, christopher stevens, were killed in the attack. that makes stevens the first ambassador killed in the line of duty since 1988, when arnold raphael, the ambassador to pakistan, died alongside the president of pakistan in an unexplained plane crash. president obama addressed the nation from the white house rose garden this morning. about 50 u.s. marines were deployed to libya and two u.s. warships are headed towards the libyan coast. secretary of state hillary clinton addressed the sad irony of the attacks in the wake of the u.s. support of the libyan revolution. >> today many americans are asking, indeed, i asked myself, how could Hardball With Chris Matthews
killed basically in the line of duty trying to defend the people in his consulate and benghazi. on top of that, and distracting from it, is this sort of side show. explain how you put it together, all that happened today. >> first i want to say to the families of the four americans who died as well as american diplomats, this is a very tough day. we need them to be safe and being able to perform their jobs. the arab spring is going to involve the u.s. but also diplomatic efforts. it's a very tough day for america. in that context, i think that governor romney has every right and obligation to criticize the current administration's foreign policy but to go out without knowing all of the facts and to go off at a time when if he had something to say he could have said it at the white house. i think it's a mistake politically. in the long run i think it's a mistake politically. it cuts him off from most republicans on capitol hill who, as howard said, have not been outspoken and i think it's the wrong thing to do. he's right to criticize and make points. if he has good points to make about The Last Word
of militants in a place like benghazi that go against the embassy or going against the embassy and ambassadors of the embassy itself in cairo, be egypt. >> once again, the guy doesn't know what he's talking about or he's 25 years out of date. it was a product of the cold war when we had to have the ability to fight the russians on the plains of europe at the same time. that cost an awful lot of money. but we're facing a very different sort of threat now, a meta more fis threat. al qaeda, terrorism, and so on. and so the military has abandoned the two war strategy and, you know, obviously romney wants to go -- see, he still thinks that the soviet union exists and is the greatest threat we have out there. i mean, it's really remarkable that a guy who is as smart as he is is so misinformed. >> nia-malika henderson, could it be a strong intellectual footing in the cold war scenarios, they really do have a more -- i hate to say this, but an intellectual comfort between us and the russians and never really adapted to the situation where no matter how many troops we had in ben benghazi, you can't fir NOW With Alex Wagner
benghazi remained calm today. if you look at it, perhaps the libyan government's quick crackdown there on those alleged perpetrators. four individuals were arrested today. there's a manhunt going on that might have had a tamping-down effort. even there in benghazi, the u.s. government is taking no chances. we understand that all u.s. personnel has now been or have been evacuated to tripoli and only emergency staff are kept at the embassy here. here in cairo it's another 24 hours of protests against that made in usa anti-islam film. overnight last night some dramatic scenes near the u.s. embassy which is 400 or 500 yards behind me. protestors seen throwing stones at riot police, charging back. they are firing tear gas to disperse the crowds. this cat and mouse standoff has gone on all day long since dawn. there's not a further breach of the u.s. embassy grounds. that's the good news, but it has remained violent. at least 224 have been treated so far according to the ministry of health. now, all eyes are turned to tomorrow, of course, friday prayers. egyptian president morsi has ca Morning Joe
particularly in libya and egypt. he wrote what's happen inning cairo and benghazi is a case of political opportunism by salafist islamic extrooemists who are unhappy with the success that more moderate islamist and secular in egypt and libya have had in building political support. do you agree with that statement? >> absolutely. there's a lot of intraislamic competition like the muslim brotherhood trying to take leadership in the arab world and coming to the political rise in egypt and spreading. and also the more extremely actors who also have more space to operate in the post-arab spring world. there are other broader, strategic exploitations taking place in response to this video. egypt is a really good case study for that. just looking at how many different players are nervous about the transformation with egypt with much of the old guard retiring and now the islamists asserts themselves. you have christians very nervous about that. you have elements of the military not happy with the situation. here lies an opportunity to try to make the muslim brotherhood-led government appear more First Look
will have more tomorrow night. you want to keep it here. >>> murder in benghazi. president obama vows justice will be done after the horrific killing of the u.s. ambassador to libya. >>> money out the window. bank robbery suspects hurl cash during a high-speed police chase. >>> baby guz. what duchess kate has been turning down sparking pregnancy rumors. >>> good morning. i'm mara schiavocampo. this is "first look" on msnbc. >>> we begin this morning with firing back. in response to deadly attacks in libya that killed a u.s. ambassador and three diplomats, an elite group of marines has been sent to ramp up security in libya's capital. this as the obama administration responds to criticism from republican rival mitt romney while investigating whether the attacks were specifically coordinated to take place on the anniversary of 9/11. nbc's tracie potts has more from washington. good morning. >> reporter: march rarks here on capitol hill, the senate approved a resolution honoring the victims and calling this attack unacceptable and unjust find. a nation in mourning as the bodies of four a The Daily Rundown
in benghazi and who was behind the attack that left four americans dead, including 52-year-old ambassador chris stevens, widely regarded as one of the most popular and successful american envoys in the region. and of course, sean smith, a father of two and foreign service information management officer. last night campaigning in nevada, the president warned there will be consequences for the perpetrators of the attack. >> as for the ones we lost last night, i want to assure you, we will bring their killers to justice. no act of terror will dim the light of the values that we proudly shine on the rest of the world and no act of violence will shake the resolve of the united states of america. >> that was the president at a campaign rally last night. again, today in egypt, there are hundreds of protesters and they've clashed with security forces outside the u.s. embassy in cairo while president obama went out of his way yesterday to re-affirmfies with the fledgling libyan government. did he not say a word about egypt all day until he was asked by telemundo whether the second largest recipien Search Results 0 to 18 of about 19 (some duplicates have been removed)

value: An archive is an accumulation of historical records – in any media – or the physical facility in which they are located. Archives contain primary source documents that have accumulated over the course of an individual or organization's lifetime, and are kept to show the function of that person or organization.


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US5470640A - High loft and high strength nonwoven fabric - Google Patents
US5470640A
US5470640A US08156747 US15674793A US5470640A US 5470640 A US5470640 A US 5470640A US 08156747 US08156747 US 08156747 US 15674793 A US15674793 A US 15674793A US 5470640 A US5470640 A US 5470640A
US08156747
US08156747 1990-12-14 1993-11-24 High loft and high strength nonwoven fabric Expired - Lifetime US5470640A (en)
US62806190 true 1990-12-14 1990-12-14
US07938574 US5288348A (en) 1990-12-14 1992-08-31 Method of making high loft and high strength nonwoven fabric
US08156747 US5470640A (en) 1990-12-14 1993-11-24 High loft and high strength nonwoven fabric
US07938574 Division US5288348A (en) 1990-12-14 1992-08-31 Method of making high loft and high strength nonwoven fabric
US5470640A true US5470640A (en) 1995-11-28
US07938574 Expired - Lifetime US5288348A (en) 1990-12-14 1992-08-31 Method of making high loft and high strength nonwoven fabric
US08156747 Expired - Lifetime US5470640A (en) 1990-12-14 1993-11-24 High loft and high strength nonwoven fabric
CN101657504B (en) * 2006-12-21 2014-01-08 诺瓦蒙特股份公司 Polymeric composition comprising polyolefins and aliphatic-aromatic copolyesters
Pirkkanen, J., "Multilayer Nonwovens for Coverstock, Medical and Other End Uses," Nonwovens World, Nov. 1987, pp. 57-57.
Pirkkanen, J., Multilayer Nonwovens for Coverstock, Medical and Other End Uses, Nonwovens World, Nov. 1987, pp. 57 57. *
Smith James E. "Multilayer Diaper Coverstocks Offer New Opportunities," Nonwovens World, Jul. 1988, pp. 26-31.
Smith James E. Multilayer Diaper Coverstocks Offer New Opportunities, Nonwovens World, Jul. 1988, pp. 26 31. *
FI100194B1 (en) grant
DE69121681D1 (en) 1996-10-02 grant
JPH055259A (en) 1993-01-14 application
DK0490476T3 (en) 1996-11-04 grant
ES2091296T3 (en) 1996-11-01 grant
US5288348A (en) 1994-02-22 grant
DE69121681T2 (en) 1997-01-23 grant
EP0490476B1 (en) 1996-08-28 grant
FI915121D0 (en) grant
CA2054269C (en) 1996-05-14 grant
FI915121A (en) 1992-06-15 application
EP0490476A1 (en) 1992-06-17 application
KR100249985B1 (en) 2000-04-01 grant
FI100194B (en) 1997-10-15 application
CA2054269A1 (en) 1992-06-15 application
FI915121A0 (en) 1991-10-30 application

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Bracknell Seminars | Eventbrite
Seminars in Bracknell
Share CYPF Chilterns and Severn Event : Handwriting - a complex skill with your friends.
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House & Garden Reader Event with Arlo & Jacob
Arlo & Jacob, Marlow
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The Pre-Raphaelite Sisterhood: The Untold Story
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Challenging workplace stereotypes
IFS UK, Staines - upon - Thames
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New Research in Philosophy and Nature
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In those nightmarish days: Ghetto reportage and Holocaust witnessing
Mon, Jan 27, 6:15pm
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Mon, Nov 11, 7:30am + 3 more event
Share Blue Peak - Starting a business with your friends.
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CHS West Best Practice Forum
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Break the People, Break the Organisation - Berkshire Branch
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Thu, Nov 14, 3:25pm
Share Pioneering Leadership CPDL: Leading Effective Meetings with your friends.
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Share RREF Evening Lecture: Knight Frank with your friends.
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Share An Evening with Revd Jonathan Aitkin with your friends.
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History Taster Day - 11 December 2019
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Law & Criminology Taster Day - 29 April 2020
Wed, Apr 29, 10:00am
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Wed, Nov 27, 2:00pm
Share RIBA South / South East (Reading) - Ensuring safety through specification and detailing with your friends.
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Share Autism and Puberty with your friends.
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Share RREF Evening Lecture: Eastdil with your friends.
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Share FREE Mindful Eating Taster Session with your friends.
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Share RREF Evening Lecture: Cushman & Wakefield with your friends.
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Nexa3D UK Launch - Ultrafast 3D Printing
Wed, Nov 13, 2:30pm + 1 more event
CREAT3D, Wokingham
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value: Eventbrite is an American event management and ticketing website. The service allows users to browse, create, and promote local events.


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Patent US6807179 - Trunking arrangement in a network switch - Google PatentsSearch Images Maps Play YouTube News Gmail Drive More »Sign inPatentsA network switch includes network switch ports, and switching logic for determining the output port for each received layer 2 type data packet. The switching logic includes an address table configured for storing address-based switching decisions, a trunk table configured for assigning each network switch...http://www.google.com/patents/US6807179?utm_source=gb-gplus-sharePatent US6807179 - Trunking arrangement in a network switchAdvanced Patent SearchTry the new Google Patents, with machine-classified Google Scholar results, and Japanese and South Korean patents.Publication numberUS6807179 B1Publication typeGrantApplication numberUS 09/551,554Publication dateOct 19, 2004Filing dateApr 18, 2000Priority dateApr 18, 2000Fee statusPaidPublication number09551554, 551554, US 6807179 B1, US 6807179B1, US-B1-6807179, US6807179 B1, US6807179B1InventorsMrudula Kanuri, Bahadir ErimliOriginal AssigneeAdvanced Micro Devices, Inc.Export CitationBiBTeX, EndNote, RefManPatent Citations (2), Referenced by (163), Classifications (7), Legal Events (4) External Links: USPTO, USPTO Assignment, EspacenetTrunking arrangement in a network switch
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non-receipt of fault detection protocol packetsUS7978702Feb 17, 2009Jul 12, 2011Foundry Networks, LlcBackplane interface adapterUS7979903Feb 25, 2009Jul 12, 2011Foundry Networks, LlcSystem and method for source IP anti-spoofing securityUS7995580Mar 9, 2009Aug 9, 2011Foundry Networks, Inc.Backplane interface adapter with error control and redundant fabricUS8004971Sep 10, 2003Aug 23, 2011F5 Networks, Inc.Method and system for scaling network traffic managers using connection keysUS8005084Nov 30, 2005Aug 23, 2011Broadcom CorporationMirroring in a network deviceUS8006304Jun 4, 2009Aug 23, 2011Foundry Networks, LlcSystem and method for ARP anti-spoofing securityUS8009669Oct 16, 2006Aug 30, 2011Futurewei Technologies, Inc.System of path computation element protocol support for large-scale concurrent path computationUS8014315Oct 21, 2009Sep 6, 2011Mcdata CorporationMethod for scoring queued frames for selective transmission through a switchUS8014390Nov 30, 2005Sep 6, 2011Broadcom 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Technologies IncorporatedTrunking in a matrixUS8170044Jun 7, 2010May 1, 2012Foundry Networks, LlcPipeline method and system for switching packetsUS8194666Jan 29, 2007Jun 5, 2012Foundry Networks, LlcFlexible method for processing data packets in a network routing system for enhanced efficiency and monitoring capabilityUS8195237 *Aug 17, 2007Jun 5, 2012Cisco Technology, Inc.System and method for aggregating multiple radio interfaces into a single logical bridge interfaceUS8213430 *Feb 28, 2007Jul 3, 2012Hewlett-Packard Development Company, L.P.Transmitting a packet from a distributed trunk switchUS8238255Jul 31, 2007Aug 7, 2012Foundry Networks, LlcRecovering from failures without impact on data traffic in a shared bus architectureUS8239929Apr 28, 2010Aug 7, 2012Foundry Networks, LlcMultiple tiered network security system, method and apparatus using dynamic user policy assignmentUS8244922Oct 13, 2009Aug 14, 2012Broadcom CorporationMethod and apparatus for dynamically configuring hardware 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2015Foundry Networks, LlcBackplane interface adapter with error control and redundant fabricUS8989202Feb 16, 2012Mar 24, 2015Foundry Networks, LlcPipeline method and system for switching packetsUS9030937Jul 11, 2013May 12, 2015Foundry Networks, LlcBackplane interface adapter with error control and redundant fabricUS9030943Jul 12, 2012May 12, 2015Foundry Networks, LlcRecovering from failures without impact on data traffic in a shared bus architectureUS9112708Jan 28, 2013Aug 18, 2015Marvell Israel (M.I.S.L) Ltd.Processing multicast packets in a network deviceUS9112780Feb 13, 2013Aug 18, 2015Foundry Networks, LlcTechniques for processing incoming failure detection protocol packetsUS9154424Sep 5, 2013Oct 6, 2015F5 Networks, Inc.Method and system for scaling network traffic managers using connection keysUS9154444Sep 30, 2013Oct 6, 2015Marvell Israel (M.I.S.L) Ltd.Multi-stage switching systemUS9166818Nov 18, 2013Oct 20, 2015Brocade Communications Systems, Inc.Provisioning single or 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2005Aug 24, 2006Broadcom CorporationTwo stage parser for a networkUS20060245439 *Apr 28, 2005Nov 2, 2006Cisco Technology, Inc.System and method for DSL subscriber identification over ethernet networkUS20070098006 *Nov 1, 2005May 3, 2007Nortel Networks LimitedMultilink trunking for encapsulated trafficUS20070115966 *Jun 1, 2006May 24, 2007Broadcom CorporationCompact packet operation device and methodUS20070153781 *Jan 4, 2006Jul 5, 2007Broadcom CorporationMethod and apparatus for dynamically configuring registers by a generic CPU management interfaceUS20070174434 *Jan 4, 2006Jul 26, 2007Broadcom CorporationMethod and apparatus for dynamically configuring hardware resources by a generic CPU management interfaceUS20070253420 *May 21, 2007Nov 1, 2007Andrew ChangBackplane interface adapterUS20080056247 *Aug 31, 2006Mar 6, 2008Chang Darda MDiscontinuing the implementation of an aggregation protocolUS20080089346 *Oct 16, 2006Apr 17, 2008Futurewei Technologies, Inc.System of path computation 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18, 2000ASAssignmentOwner name: ADVANCED MICRO DEVICES, INC., CALIFORNIAFree format text: ASSIGNMENT OF ASSIGNORS INTEREST;ASSIGNORS:KANURI, MRUDULA;ERIMLI, BAHADIR;REEL/FRAME:010734/0561;SIGNING DATES FROM 20000412 TO 20000413Mar 20, 2008FPAYFee paymentYear of fee payment: 4Mar 23, 2012FPAYFee paymentYear of fee payment: 8Apr 6, 2016FPAYFee paymentYear of fee payment: 12RotateOriginal ImageGoogle Home - Sitemap - USPTO Bulk Downloads - Privacy Policy - Terms of Service - About Google Patents - Send FeedbackData provided by IFI CLAIMS Patent Services


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Volvo 850 Brake Lines & Hoses
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2X BRAKE LINE PIPE FRONT VOLVO 960 1 2 2.0-2.9 1990-94 C70 1 2.0-2.5 97-02 (Fits: Volvo 850)
Goodridge Brake Lines Stainless Yellow Volvo 850 / V70XC 4X4 (Fits: Volvo 850)
+ £19.95 postage	1x BRAKE LINE REAR VOLVO V70 1 I 2 II 2.0-2.5 1997-2007 (Fits: Volvo 850)
Goodridge Brake Lines Stainless Glow In Dark Volvo 850 / V70XC 4X4 (Fits: Volvo 850)
+ £19.95 postage	VOLVO 850 ESTATE 2.5 AWD 1996 FRONT LEFT/RIGHT BRAKE LINE HOSE (Fits: Volvo 850)
+ £22.00 postage	1x BRAKE LINE PIPE FRONT VOLVO XC-70 CROSS COUNTRY 2.4 1997-02 (Fits: Volvo 850)
2x BRAKE HOSE FRONT VOLVO S70 2.0-2.5 S90 2.9 V70 1 2 2.0-2.5 1997-07 (Fits: Volvo 850)

value: eBay Inc. ( EE-bay) is an American multinational e-commerce corporation based in San Jose, California, that facilitates consumer-to-consumer and business-to-consumer sales through its website.


text:
Academic Writing: for native English writers! | Research Writing
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I have extensive experience in a number of academic fields including psychology, philosophy, media, technology and medicine. I have a solid knowledge of APA 4, 5 and 6th ed style. I have a demonstrated ability to produ More
I am a recent UC Berkeley graduate with a BA in English Literature and a minor in creative writing. My area of concentration within my major was modernist poetry. I was hired right after I graduated as a full time More

value: Freelance (sometimes spelled free-lance or free lance), freelancer, or freelance worker, are terms commonly used for a person who is self-employed and not necessarily committed to a particular employer long-term. Freelance workers are sometimes represented by a company or a temporary agency that resells freelance labor to clients; others work independently or use professional associations or websites to get work.