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und Pulswerte werden notiert und ausgewertet. So kann man z. B. den zur anaeroben Schwelle bei vier Millimol pro Liter Laktat gehörigen Pulswert für die Trainingspraxis ermitteln.
Diese Art der Laktatmessung hat Vorteile, da man dabei gleichmäßigere und reproduzierbarere Bedingungen schaffen kann. Man ist beispielsweise unabhängiger vom Wetter und vom Untergrund, kann das Tempo der einzelnen Stufen mit dem Laufband genauer einhalten und gleichzeitig auch ein Belastungs-EKG und andere medizinische Untersuchungen durchführen. Der Nachteil – insbesondere für Einsteiger – ist das stilistisch ungewohnte Laufen auf dem Laufband.
Eine Laktatmessung lässt sich auch als Feldtest im Stadion oder auf einer Straße durchführen. Der Vorteil ist hier, dass Untergrund und Laufstil sehr wettkampf- oder trainingsnah gehalten werden können. Allerdings muss der Läufer recht gleichmäßig nach Tempo oder Pulsfrequenz laufen können, und das Wetter muss mitspielen.
Man kann entweder die Belastung eines beispielsweise 20-minütigen Testlaufs mit einer konstanten Puls- oder Tempovorgabe mit Laktatmessung überprüfen oder alternativ einen Stufentest durchführen. Die erste Stufe kann hierbei im Joggingtempo, die zweite als normaler Dauerlauf, der dritte Lauf im vermuteten Schwellenbereich und der vierte in der momentan möglichen Zehn-Kilometer-Wettkampfgeschwindigkeit durchgeführt werden. <PERSON> dauert fünf Minuten, in einer kurzen Pause wird jeweils der Laktatwert gemessen.
Das Lauftempo an der Dauerleistungsgrenze kann man eine ganze Weile durchhalten, weil man keine Sauerstoffschuld eingeht.
Während die Herzfrequenz mit der Laufgeschwindigkeit bis zur anaeroben Schwelle linear ansteigt, zeigt die Laktatleistungskurve einen exponenziellen Verlauf. Erst ab der Geschwindigkeit um die anaerobe Schwelle treten schlagartig höhere Milchsäurewerte im Blut auf. Die Laktatkonzentration an der anaeroben Schwelle wird von vielen Instituten mit vier Millimol pro Liter Blut festgelegt. Für die Praxis bedeutet der unterschiedliche Kurvenverlauf, dass man im aeroben Bereich sehr gut nach Herzfrequenz, im Schwellenbereich und darüber oder im Krafttraining genauer nach Laktatmessung dosieren kann. Am einfachsten für die Praxis ist es, den Maximalpuls oder den Puls an der anaeroben Schwelle über einen Laktattest ermitteln zu lassen und danach mit der Pulsmessung das Training weiter zu kontrollieren. Eine gelegentliche Laktatkontrolle kann auch Laufeinsteiger vor Überforderung schützen, denn Kontrolluntersuchungen zeigen immer wieder, dass sich viele Fitnessläufer keuchend, mit hochrotem Kopf und mit unnötig erhöhtem orthopädischen Stress zu hoch belasten.
# Mein Profitipp
Fehlerfreie Laktatmessung
Für ein sinnvolles Ergebnis muss gewährleistet sein, dass die Glykogenspeicher, aus denen das Laktat gebildet wird, mindestens halb voll sind. Eine Messung ist bei geleerten Speichern wenig sinnvoll, weil dann trotz hoher Belastung nur wenig Laktat entstehen kann. Das gaukelt aber nur eine gute Form vor, da diese niedrigen Konzentrationen nur infolge von Kohlenhydratmangel vorliegen. Man sollte daher vor einem Laktattest einige Tage kohlenhydratreich essen, weniger trainieren und sich ausruhen.
Laktatmessungen sollten für Läufer im Laufen, nicht auf einem Fahrradergometer durchgeführt werden.
# Die Formen des Lauftrainings
Wenn Sie immer nur dieselbe Strecke im selben Tempo laufen, erreichen Sie einen geringeren Trainingseffekt, als wenn Sie Ihr Training variabel gestalten. <PERSON> stumpfen den Körper ab, unterschiedliche Reize hingegen stimulieren ihn. Das Geheimnis des Erfolgs liegt also in der richtigen Mischung der Trainingsformen. Natürlich kommen im sinnvollen Trainingsaufbau auch Gymnastik oder alternative Formen wie Radfahren vor, aber die Laufmethoden bilden natürlich den
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Wesen und merken, wer das Alpha-Tier ist!
Sollte Ihnen ein kleiner oder mittelgroßer Hund nachstellen, warten Sie nicht ab. Angriff ist die beste Verteidigung. Wirkungsvoll ist meist, dem Hund sofort entschlossen gegenüberzutreten, sodass er weiß, dass Sie keine leichte Beute sein werden. Schreien Sie ihn also entschlossen und richtig laut an. »Aus!« ist ein Befehl, den viele Hunde kennen. Bauen Sie sich groß und breit auf; so funktioniert das Imponiergehabe im Tierreich. Schon das plötzliche Öffnen und Ausbreiten der Trainingsjacke irritiert den Angreifer – ein Machtspielchen, um Zeit zu gewinnen, und vernünftige Besitzer sind auch bald zur Stelle.
Am gefährlichsten ist ein noch so kleiner Hund vor seiner eigenen Haustür. Vielleicht können Sie das bei der Auswahl Ihrer Laufstrecke berücksichtigen.
Eine gewisse Sicherheit vor <PERSON> haben Sie auch, wenn Sie in einer Gruppe laufen. Und noch ein Tipp: Bei schlechtem Wetter, eben dann, »wenn man keinen Hund vor die Türe schickt«, läuft sich's, auch was <PERSON> anbelangt, am einsamsten. Da kann Ihnen kein Wadenbiss die Marathonpläne durchkreuzen.
# Laufen mit <PERSON>
Wer das Ausführen des Hausgenossen Hund gleichzeitig mit seinem Laufprogramm erledigt, lenkt zwar andere Vierbeiner von den eigenen Waden ab, verliert aber erfahrungsgemäß unterwegs viel Zeit, weil der Hund unter seinen Artgenossen mit manchen will und mit anderen nicht soll. Das Training wird so eher zu einem Fahrtspiel.
# Regenerieren und entspannen
Jedes Training ist nur so gut, wie es vor- und nachbereitet wird. Alle modernen Trainingsmethoden sind letztlich wirkungslos, wenn wir keine Rücksicht auf die notwendigen Regenerationszeiten nehmen. Eine uralte Naturregel lautet: Wer isst, muss auch verdauen. Wer sich beim Training fordert, muss hinterher ruhen und kann sich durch die richtigen Maßnahmen optimal und schneller erholen.
Entspannung dient nicht nur der Regeneration der beanspruchten Systeme, sondern sollte ganzheitlich auch den Kopf mit einbeziehen. Eine Massage ist gut für die Muskulatur, sie ist aber auch eine Wohltat für die Seele. Man unterscheidet zwischen aktiver Regeneration, beispielsweise Auslaufen, und passiver Regeneration wie Massage und Sauna.
# Auslaufen als Sauerstoffdusche
Die Regeneration beginnt schon während des Trainings. Optimal, wenn Sie sich nicht nur langsam warm laufen, bevor das eigentliche Programm beginnt, sondern die Einheit auch mit einem sehr ruhigen Cool-down, also mit ein bis zwei Kilometern im Joggingtempo beenden. Diese aktive Erholung bewegt die Muskulatur bei guter Durchblutung nur sehr sanft. Wer sich nicht ausläuft, braucht sich über harte Waden und stärkeren Muskelkater nicht zu wundern. Stoffwechselendprodukte werden ausgeschwemmt, Laktat wird schneller abgebaut, und frische Nährstoffe sowie Sauerstoff werden schneller herbeitransportiert.
# Dehnen zur Muskelpflege
Dehnungsübungen fördern die Durchblutung, verhindern Verhärtungen und beugen Verkürzungen der Muskulatur vor. Unmittelbar nach einem Training ausgeführt, bauen sie Verspannungen ab und fördern die Regeneration der Muskeln. Machen Sie sich die ab hier vorgestellten Übungen zur Pflicht nach jeder Trainingseinheit.
Nach dem Training braucht der Körper Flüssigkeit, leicht verdauliche Kohlenhydrate und Mineralstoffe.
# Erholen mit Essen und Trinken
Nach dem Training sind Ihre Wasser-, Elektrolyt- und Energievorräte mehr oder weniger erschöpft. Auch der Blutzuckerspiegel und die Vorräte an freien Aminosäuren können unten sein. Trinken Sie daher nach dem Laufen möglichst bald eine Mischung aus Mineralwasser mit hohem Elektrolytgehalt
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I should scarcely wish so strong a prohibition against slavery in Nebraska.
But this argument strikes me as not a little remarkable in another particular—in its strong resemblance to the old argument for the "Divine right of Kings." By the latter, the King is to do just as he pleases with his white subjects, being responsible to God alone. By the former the white man is to do just as he pleases with his black slaves, being responsible to God alone. The two things are precisely alike; and it is but natural that they should find similar arguments to sustain them.
I had argued, that the application of the principle of self-government, as contended for, would require the revival of the African slave trade—that no argument could be made in favor of a man's right to take slaves to Nebraska, which could not be equally well made in favor of his right to bring them from the coast of Africa. The Judge replied, that the constitution requires the suppression of the foreign slave trade; but does not require the prohibition of slavery in the territories. That is a mistake, in point of fact. The constitution does NOT require the action of Congress in either case; and it does AUTHORIZE it in both. And so, there is still no difference between the cases.
In regard to what I had said, the advantage the slave States have over the free, in the matter of representation, the Judge replied that we, in the free States, count five free negroes as five white people, while in the slave States, they count five slaves as three whites only; and that the advantage, at last, was on the side of the free States.
Now, in the slave States, they count free negroes just as we do; and it so happens that besides their slaves, they have as many free negroes as we have, and thirty-three thousand over. Thus their free negroes more than balance ours; and their advantage over us, in consequence of their slaves, still remains as I stated it.
In reply to my argument, that the compromise measures of 1850, were a system of equivalents; and that the provisions of no one of them could fairly be carried to other subjects, without its corresponding equivalent being carried with it, the Judge denied out-right, that these measures had any connection with, or dependence upon, each other. This is mere desperation. If they have no connection, why are they always spoken of in connection? Why has he so spoken of them, a thousand times? Why has he constantly called them a SERIES of measures? Why does everybody call them a compromise? Why was California kept out of the Union, six or seven months, if it was not because of its connection with the other measures? <PERSON>'s leading definition of the verb "to compromise" is "to adjust and settle a difference, by mutual agreement with concessions of claims by the parties." This conveys precisely the popular understanding of the word compromise. We knew, before the Judge told us, that
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could not go to Harrisonburg by the route I directed.")
On May 28, <PERSON> spurred <PERSON> on: "it is, for you a question of legs. Put in all the speed you can." As <PERSON> and <PERSON> converged on Strasburg, it looked as if they might close the pincers on Jackson. But that wily Confederate, driving his men hard, slithered between them and escaped up the Valley, burning bridges behind him to slow down his pursuers. On June 8, he wheeled about and bloodied <PERSON> in a rear-guard action at Cross Keys. The following day he did the same thing to <PERSON> at Port Republic. Soon thereafter he left the Valley and rejoined <PERSON> unmolested, for <PERSON> directed <PERSON> to stay at Harrisonburg, sent <PERSON> to protect Front Royal, and had <PERSON> return to Fredericksburg.
As the Confederates evaded the trap <PERSON> had set, he lamented the failure to bag them. He reportedly "felt certain that <PERSON> should have been captured, and cannot comprehend the excuses made by the generals who should have taken him." He was especially disappointed in <PERSON>, explaining that if that general "had not drilled his men about so much [and] he had moved in strength to Port Republic & held or destroyed the Bridge Fremont would have destroyed Jackson[']s entire army. <PERSON> drilled his forces along the mountain road South from Front Royal until his forces were 40 miles apart & fearing that the forces of Frémont were also scattered in the race I ordered him to stop at Harrisonburg."
Critics chastised <PERSON> for his decision to send part of <PERSON>'s corps to the Valley rather than to <PERSON>, but his thinking was not unreasonable. <PERSON> might have been bagged if the amateur Union generals had been more capable and if they had not been plagued with torrential rain at crucial times. Moreover, it is unlikely that the congenitally timid <PERSON> would have taken Richmond even if he had had all of <PERSON>'s men at his disposal.
### **Defeat: <PERSON> McClellan**
Meanwhile, on May 31 and June 1, <PERSON> had fought <PERSON> in a bloody, indecisive battle at Fair Oaks (also known as Seven Pines), five miles from the Confederate capital. During the action, the Rebel commander was wounded and replaced by <PERSON>. <PERSON>, horrified by the severe losses his army sustained, grew increasingly reluctant to assault the enemy directly; now more than ever was he disposed to rely on maneuver and siege operations. <PERSON> viewed the fighting "as the last desperate effort of the rebels in which they had thrown their whole strength. Their defeat he regarded as final." It was not.
To help replace the Army of the Potomac's losses, the president gave <PERSON> control of the Fort Monroe garrison, from which the general promptly summoned nine regiments. In addition, reinforcements from Baltimore and Washington, as well as another division of <PERSON>'s corps from Fredericksburg, were rushed to augment the army on the Peninsula. From North Carolina, 7,000 men of <PERSON>'s division were assigned to <PERSON>'s command. But two divisions of
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, 11, p. 150 n.
##### 3 See, for example, _Wealth of Nations_ , 11, pp. 214–15, where his argument leads him to the conclusion that the manufactures of Leeds, Halifax, Sheffield, Birmingham, and Wolverhampton are 'the offspring of agriculture'. The general argument of the chapter Of _the different_ _Employment of Capitals_ is also interesting in this connexion.
##### 4 '... are not the pressure of the atmosphere and the elasticity of steam, which enable us to work the most stupendous engines, the spontaneous gifts of nature?' _Wealth of Nations_ , 11, p. 150 n.
##### 1 Occasionally the older system had coped with quite heavy tonnages. The grain and timber trade, especially to the London market, was on a substantial scale and had meant large outlays on North Sea and coastal shipping and on river barges, but it was the new problems of mineral traffic on a large scale which produced the canals and the railways.
##### 1 <PERSON>, Les _Origines de la grande industrie allemande_ (Paris, 1933), p. 454. One hectare is equal to 2 acres.
##### 1 <PERSON>, _The Rise of the British Coal Industry_ (1932), 1, pp. 238–40, 390–4.
##### 1 <PERSON> noted this condition, though he cast his conclusions about it in a different form. <PERSON>, _An Economic History of Modern Britain_ (2nd edn, Cambridge, 1950), 1, p. 82.
##### 1 Paradoxically, although so many of the most important changes in transport and power were connected with the mining industry and specially coal, and although it was the adoption of mineral raw materials generally in industry which alone made possible the scale of expansion which occurred, the mining industry itself did not experience any revolutionary increase in manpower productivity. Output per man-year in a large coal pit in 1700 was about 150 tons (Nef, _The Rise of the British Coal Industry_ , 11, pp. 136 n.), a figure already about two-fifths as large as the peak figure in the 1880s. The coal industry, indeed, is sometimes referred to as an example of the impossibility of designing machines to perform all jobs previously done by hand, and is classed with, say, agriculture, in this respect. But the central difficulty of the production of coal has never been the winning of coal at the coal-face, hard and dangerous though this has always been, but its transport within the pit, up the pit shaft, and from the pithead to the point of consumption. The canal and the steam engine solved the prime difficulties of the coal mines. Those at the coal-face were less pressing.
##### 1 J. V. v. Thünen, _Der isolirte Staat in Beziehung auf Landwirtschaft und Nationalökonomie_ (2nd edn, Rostock, 1842–50), Part II, p. I.
##### 1 It has been claimed that three-quarters of the patents issued in England between 1561 and 1668 were connected with the coal industry, either directly, or indirectly, and that a seventh were concerned with the drainage problem. <PERSON>, _A History of the Sciences_ (1953), p. 217.
##### 1 <PERSON>, _Zur Geschichte der Preisrevolution
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serve as a stimulus to the discovery of profitable means of improving the technique of production. Undoubtedly this is what occurred in Belgium, although it is not brought out by <PERSON>. Even when population increase does increase demand, it is not usually the most important aspect of the change in demand and probably would not alone lead to extensive industrial reorganization. An expansion of the standard of living of the population, as well as the growth of new wants, is necessary.
Mrs <PERSON> and the <PERSON> seem to have had some such process in mind when they selected commerce as the cause of the Industrial Revolution in England.1 They point to the new commodities introduced into general consumption as a result of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century commerce, and admit that an increase in the general demand of the population took place at the same time. The process by which this widespread increase in demand occurred, however, is not analysed; and it may be pointed out in passing that the <PERSON>' implicit admission of a rise in the standard of living of the population as a whole in eighteenth-century England is somewhat inconsistent with their theory of increasing misery of the working classes after 1750.
An unusual emphasis upon the significance of demand is to be found in <PERSON>'s _Evolution of Modern Capitalism_. His fourth essential condition for the development of capitalism is 'the existence of large, accessible markets _with populations willing and economically able to consume the products of capitalist industry_ '.1 If these markets do not have populations willing and able to consume industrial products on a large scale, the type of business made widespread by the Industrial Revolution cannot exist. <PERSON> is aware of this and also makes consumption an integral part of his theory of over-saving as the cause of business cycles. That theory cannot be examined here, but it is of some interest to note <PERSON>'s stress upon the part played by demand. It is made apparent again in his treatment of wages, in which he examines the justification of high wages from the point of view of the consumption of the workers and of the community as a whole.
<PERSON> comes very near to the point of view of the present paper in the initial pages of his study of the Industrial Revolution in India. He contends that the extremely slow penetration of modern industrialism into India is due to the difficulties of changing the standards of consumption of the general population.2 Probably there are still other authors besides those mentioned here who have recognized the significance of demand. None of them, however, pay any attention to the process by which demand changes. <PERSON> comes nearest to analysing the mechanism by which changes in demand occur, but even he deals with the term in a rather vague way and links his analysis to an idealistic scheme of social progress.
It is therefore the task of the present essay, in so far as it can be done within the limits of a brief paper, to sketch the relation between
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Western text (they are among those phrases at the end of Luke which <PERSON> and <PERSON> bracketed as "Western non-interpolations").
3. <PERSON> designate a member of the Roman equestrian order (representing _egregius_ ) or it might be a courtesy title (corresponding to Lat. _optimus_ ). Cf. the later occurrences of the word in Acts, where it is a courtesy title given to the Roman governors of Judaea—<PERSON> (23:26; 24:3) and <PERSON> (26:25).
4. Cf. <PERSON>, _The Four Gospels_ (London, 1924), pp. 534–39.
5. Cf. <PERSON>, "Dissertatio de Theophilo, cui Lucas historiam sacram inscripsit," Bibliotheca Historico-Philologico-Theologica, Cl. 4 (Amsterdam, 1721), pp. 483–505; <PERSON>, "Exegetische Studien. 1. Ueber den Zweck der Apostelgeschichte," _TQ_ 37 (1955), pp. 173–236; <PERSON>, "The Work of St. Luke: A Historical Apology for Pauline Preaching before the Roman Court," _Exp._ 8, 8 (1914), pp. 511–23; "Again: The Work of St. Luke," _Exp._ 8, 13 (1917), pp. 108–24; <PERSON>, _St. Paul on Trial_ (London, 1923), pp. 84–98. More generally, <PERSON> suggests that <PERSON>'s narrative was "designed to supply information which it was hoped might reach those who would decide the apostle's fate at Rome" ( _St. Paul's Ephesian Ministry_ [London, 1929], p. 97).
6. On the significance of Luke 1:1–4 cf. <PERSON>, "Commentary on the Preface of Luke," _Beginnings_ II, pp. 489–510; <PERSON>, _The Witness of Luke to Christ_ (London, 1951), pp. 24–45; <PERSON>, _The Gospel of Luke_ (Grand Rapids /Éxeter, 1978), pp. 39–44; <PERSON>, "Luke's Preface in the Context of Greek Preface-Writing," _NovT_ 28 (1986), pp. 48–74. See p. above.
7. κράτιστε ἀνδρῶν Ἐπαφρόδιτε ( _Ap._ 1.1).
8. τιμιώτατέ μοι Ἐπαφρόδιτε ( _Ap._ 2.1).
9. The word "former" in v. 1 renders Gk. πρῶτος which literally means "first." <PERSON> presses the classical force of πρῶτος here and concludes that <PERSON> contemplated a work of three volumes ( _St. Paul the Traveller and the Roman Citizen_ [London, 141920], pp. 27–28, 309). Cf. <PERSON>, _Die Apostelgeschichte des Lucas_ , I (Leipzig/Érlangen, 31922), pp. 16–18. More recently some scholars have envisaged the Pastoral Epistles as constituting the third part of <PERSON>'s work; cf. <PERSON>, _Luke and the Pastoral Epistles_ (London, 1979); <PERSON>, "The Last Volume of Luke: The Relation of Luke-Acts to the Pastoral Epistles," in _Perspectives on Luke-Acts_ , ed. <PERSON> (Edinburgh, 1978), pp. 62–75. But in Hellenistic Greek πρότερος, the word which strictly means the "former" of two, was largely displaced by πρῶτος <PERSON> never uses πρότερος and it occurs very rarely in the vernacular papyri.
10. This implies that the verb "began" in v. 1 carries a certain emphasis and is not to be regarded merely as a semitizing auxiliary.
11. <PERSON>, _The Work and Words of Jesus_ (London, 1950, 21973).
12. For an exception see 14:4, 14, with comments.
13. Gk. ἐνεφύσησεν, the same verb as is used in Gen. 2:7 LXX of the Creator's breathing into <PERSON>'s nostrils the breath of life (cf. also
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by <PERSON> into the record of events at Philippi. He probably derived it from another source than its context: if verse 35 had followed immediately after verse 24, the reader would have been conscious of no hiatus. But we may be glad that <PERSON> did add it at this point: it enriches his account of <PERSON>'s Philippian ministry.
The double discomfort of the lictors' rods and the stocks was not calculated to fill <PERSON> and <PERSON> with joy, but around midnight the other prisoners, as they listened, heard sounds coming from the inmost cell—sounds, not of groaning and cursing, but of prayer and hymn-singing. "The legs feel nothing in the stocks when the heart is in heaven," says <PERSON>. What sort of men were these?
26 Perhaps it was the awed impression which the two missionaries' behavior produced on the other prisoners that enabled them to dissuade those others from making their escape while the going was good when a sudden earthquake shook the prison foundations, threw open the doors, and loosened the staples that attached the prisoners' fetters to the walls.
27 The earthquake that rocked the prison foundations wakened the jailer out of his midnight sleep. Immediately he went to investigate his charge. The worst had happened: the prison doors were open; the prisoners, of course, had seized their opportunity and escaped. For a man brought up to a Roman soldier's ideals of duty and discipline, only one honorable course was open—suicide.
28 But as he stood there, by the outer door of the prison, about to drive the point of his short sword into his throat or heart, his hand was arrested by a voice from the darkness within: "Don't harm yourself; we are all here!" While he could see nothing as he looked into the darkness, those inside could see his figure silhouetted in the doorway and could see what he was about to do. Not only were <PERSON> and <PERSON> still there, but they had apparently restrained the other prisoners also. There was something uncanny about these two men!
29–30 So, calling for light, he rushed into the prison and brought <PERSON> and <PERSON> out. First, according to the Western reviser (who probably imagined what he himself would have done had he been in the jailer's shoes), he prudently secured the other prisoners again. Then he earnestly asked <PERSON> and <PERSON>, "What must I do to be saved?"
How much he meant by this question it would be difficult to determine. He might have heard (or heard about) the fortune-teller's announcement that these men had come to proclaim a "way of salvation"; if so, he might have seen in the earthquake a supernatural vindication of them and their message. What was involved in this salvation would not have been clear to him, but he was thoroughly shaken, in soul as well as in body, and if anyone could show him the way to peace of mind, release from fear, and a sense of security, <PERSON> and <PERSON> (he was convinced) could do so.
31–32 There and then
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have. As <PERSON> once said about <PERSON>, it achieves in a few lines what might take paragraphs in a novel. (Not that we don't like novels. We just prefer poems. For they are the real thing.)
And the Real Thing is absolutely what 'The Only Son at the Fish 'n' Chip Shop' is. There is context and setting (the eponymous shop; the mother). There is unfulfilled ambition (the novel in progress); there are habits (the drinking, the novel again); and there are attitudes: the dislike of 'people / who worked on novels' and being touched on the head.
Then there are those four extraordinary final lines, describing without sentimentality or condescension a life lived within the narrowest of limits. What makes these harrowing is the sense that the actions described within them, while in the past or continuous past tense, still persist in the present, unchanged and unchanging. This is alleviated, very briefly, by the oddness and spoken humour of that line about potatoes. Crucially, it takes the poem and the 'son' away from caricature and into actuality.
# The Dog
I called amazon dot com and entered 'Robert Frost';
his hoary name a birch tree in a disco amid the graphics.
Working down the list I spotted the cassette tapes
and bounced my electric order off the satellite to Seattle.
They arrived shrink wrapped from their traverse
of the North Pole in the belly of a Boeing
and I took them on the M25 to Chelmsford.
Passing Potters Bar, with St Albans Cathedral
a squat blue bedstead on the west horizon
I listened to 'Death of a Hired Man',
the tape unspooling that ponderous conversation.
Then just before the tunnel with ceiling tracer sodiums:
'Trees at my window, window tree, my sash is lowered.'
and behind and beyond the raspy, old man's voice,
a faint dog bark out in the Massachusetts night.
It couldn't be caught, wouldn't be edited out;
barking at house lights maybe or a passing car
or rustlings from the shadows at the end of a yard,
defiant animus behind a mesh of wires.
**CHRISTOPHER NORTH**
_A Mesh of Wires_ (Smith/Doorstop, 1999)
Occasionally the entrance of a poem into your life is a combination of a series of tiny events, each of them like a link in a chain which in hindsight appears inevitable.
<PERSON> 'The Dog' was like this for me.
First of all I received an email from a friend telling me his pamphlet _A Mesh of Wires_ was extremely good and that I should buy it immediately. I ignored it, of course.
Not so long afterwards I noticed that <PERSON> was going to be at the Ways With Words literature festival in Dartington, Devon. I decided I would accidentally bump into him while I was there. This happened sooner than I had planned. There he was, in the oak-panelled dining room, holding court in a crumpled linen kind of way with some other writers I did not recognise. Knowing he would not know who I was, I froze and went to
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7be2b44c-87fe-988f-bed7-a913c90865fe
|
['300ccce9-b24b-0697-94a3-6eb9df632154']
|
no woman dropped her baby and ran
no father took off for the hills
no axe splintered the door
– that once at least it was all in order
and nobody came to grief
**ADRIENNE RICH**
_Your Native Land, Your Life_ (W.W. Norton, 1986), by permission of W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
In 1991 I made the decision to teach part-time so that I could put poetry more at the centre of my life. I was still new to the game of submitting my work to magazines, but had learned enough to get by, quickly making virtual friends with far-off names like _Scratch, Fatchance, The North_ and _Smiths Knoll._
It was a heady time. The drop in my income was now challenged by a weekly list of new temptations: Bloodaxe catalogues, _The Poet's Manual and Rhyming Dictionary,_ subscribing to _Poetry Review._ Just as important was a slim red book recommended to me by someone at a workshop, <PERSON> _Creative Writing: A Practical Guide_ (Macmillan). It was like nothing I had ever read, down to earth: honest and passionate. Its pages burst with quotes and one liners by writers about writing and other writers. It was a bit like being invited to a party at a very eclectic and learned Senior Common Room, where all the dons assumed you were as well-read as they were.
One of the book's presiding and central spirits is <PERSON>. The quotations from her work which <PERSON> chose were simultaneously dense and shockingly clear, alive with anger at history and silence:
The present breaks our hearts. We lie and freeze,
our fingers icy as a bunch of keys.
Nothing will thaw these bones except
memory like and ancient blanket wrapped
about us when we sleep at home again,
smelling of picnics, closets, sicknesses,
old nightmare,
and insomnia's spreading stain.
('Readings of History')
This chimed with <PERSON>'s own worldview, prefigured in subheadings which had titles such as 'Conversing with the spirits of place', 'Writing your own conflict' and 'Writing with the whole self'.
She used <PERSON>'s extraordinary long poem 'In the Wake of Home' to demonstrate <PERSON>'s preferences for writing in _The King's English_ :
1. Prefer the familiar word to the far-fetched
2. Prefer the concrete word to the abstract.
3. Prefer the single word to the circumlocution.
4. Prefer the Saxon word to the Romance.
5. Prefer the short word to the long.
<PERSON> said: now look how <PERSON> does it.
It felt to me on first reading as though the speaker had somehow intuited knowledge and information about the deepest and unspoken parts of my family history and stripped them bare for all to see. On subsequent readings the voice lost none of this force, gathering in strength and humanity for being so close, so plain and within earshot. It was like encountering a sardonic aunt who takes you to one side at a family gathering to whisper: you kids, don't believe everything you've been told. 'Look at these adjectives', <PERSON> says: 'family, country, black, old, strange... Note particularly the total absence of adverbs.'
|
89076530-39f2-2c97-222a-7079d8438a11
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['3013fd74-0283-65db-e1b4-0eff8bd5e470']
|
Social and Political Culture. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1969
<PERSON>, F. The German Historicist Tradition. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2011
<PERSON>, J. American Arabesque: Arabs, Islam and the 19th-Century Imaginary. New York, NYU Press, 2012
<PERSON>, N. German Literature on the Middle East: Discourses and Practices, 1000–1989. Ann Arbor, University of Michigan Press, 2011
<PERSON>, <PERSON>: A Biography: Exile of Unfulfilled Renown, 1816–1822. Newark, University of Delaware Press, 2005
<PERSON>, <PERSON> The Novels of the German Romantics. Ithaca, Cornell University Press, 1983
<PERSON>, R. American Literature as an Expression of the National Mind. New York, Cooper Square Publishers, 1973
Bonca, <PERSON> Mirrors of Love: Narcissism, Sacrifice, and Sorority. Albany, SUNY Press, 1999
Bosse, A., ed. <PERSON> Sich Täglich: Die Nachlassstücke Zu Goethes "West-östlichem Divan": Dokumentation, Kommentar, 2 vols. Göttingen, Wallstein, 1999
<PERSON>, <PERSON>: The Poet and the Age. Volume 1, The Poetry of Desire. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1991
<PERSON>, M. "<PERSON>, <PERSON>, Imaginary Conversations", in Burwick, F., Goslee, N. M., and <PERSON>, D. L. (eds) The Encyclopedia of Romantic Literature, vol. 2. Malden, Wiley-Blackwell, 2012
Brown, P. Life of Goethe, 2 vols. London, <PERSON>, 1920
<PERSON>, G. The Bride of Abydos: A Turkish Tale. London, T. Davison, Whitefriars, for <PERSON>, 1813
—— Byron's Letters and Journals, ed. <PERSON>. Cambridge, Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1973–1982
—— The Giaour, A Fragment of a Turkish Tale, 5th edition. London, T. Davison, Whitefriars, for <PERSON>, 1813
—— The Poetical Works of Byron, ed. <PERSON>. Boston, Houghton Mifflin, 1975
—— Works of Lord Byron: With his Letters and Journals, and his Life, 17 vols, ed. <PERSON>. London, John Murray, 1832–1833
<PERSON>, S. N. Desiring Italy: Women Writers Celebrate the Passions of a Country and Culture. New York, Fawcett Columbia, 1997
<PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON>, A. S. The Persian Contributions to the English Language: An Historical Dictionary. Wiesbaden, Harrassowitz, 2001
<PERSON>, <PERSON> and the Weimar Theatre. Ithaca, Cornell University Press, 1978
—— Voltaire and the Theatre of the Eighteenth Century. Westport, Greenwood Press, 1998
Carpenter, F. Emerson and Asia. New York, Haskell House, 1930
<PERSON>, R. Ottomania: The Romantics and the Myth of the Islamic Orient. London, I. B. Tauris, 2010
<PERSON>, <PERSON> and the Muslim India. Lahore, Iqbal Academy, 1998
<PERSON>, A. The Orient in American Transcendentalism: A Study of <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>. New York, Columbia University Press, 1932
<PERSON>, <PERSON>: His Life and Thought. Berkeley, University of California, 1955
Class, M. Coleridge and Kantian Ideas in England, 1796–1817: Coleridge's Responses to German Philosophy. London, Bloomsbury, 2012
Clive, <PERSON> and His World: A Biographical Dictionary. New York, Oxford University Press, 2001
Cochran, <PERSON> and Orientalism. Newcastle, Cambridge Scholars Press, 2006
<PERSON>, <PERSON> Egypt: Invading the Middle East. New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 2007
<PERSON>, S. T. The Notebooks of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 5 vols., ed. <PERSON>. Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1957–2002.
—— The Poetical Works of S. T. Coleridge, 2 vols. London, W.
|
d79f6f61-b371-3283-8d81-f0a9987ec594
|
['3013fd74-0283-65db-e1b4-0eff8bd5e470']
|
the "unremaining glory" of European revolution. More overtly than <PERSON>'s Mahomet – the French "tragedy" translated by <PERSON> in 1799 – <PERSON>'s Revolt of Islam critiques domestic nationalism under the banner of Orientalism, this supposedly "Islamic" poem opening with "trampled France" articulating "the lessons of the French Revolution". Sarcastically suggesting <PERSON>'s own Islamic conversion, <PERSON>'s comment seems especially applicable to <PERSON>'s The Revolt of Islam – a poem which itself arose through textual conversion, remade from an earlier <PERSON> poem. Published in the previous year, <PERSON>'s 1817 Laon and Cythna; or, the Revolution of the Golden City: A Vision of the Nineteenth Century was quickly condemned by critics, who were offended by the poem's "forthright attack on the Christian religion as complicit with oppressive political power", as well as its "representation of incestuous love", as <PERSON> observes. Electing to revise and rapidly reissue Laon and Cythna, <PERSON>'s The Revolt of Islam appeared in January 1818, representing a thinly veiled remake of <PERSON>'s withdrawn original.
The Islamic conversion of <PERSON> and <PERSON> – like the Islamic conversion of <PERSON> himself, suggested by <PERSON> – are equally facetious, with both writer and his writing remaining staunchly European in interest, and Romantic in purpose. However, if <PERSON>'s Revolt of Islam has very little do with the Muslim religious, it would be a mistake to assume that <PERSON> was not interested in the religion altogether; while his critics correctly distance <PERSON>'s political poetry from Islam per se, it is dangerous to widen this distance too far, risking neglect of <PERSON>'s substantive engagement with Muslim sources. During the very time that he began the poem that would eventually be converted to his Revolt of Islam, <PERSON> also authored, for instance, a piece of unfinished prose, dedicated to "The Moral Teaching of Jesus Christ". In the first words of his essay, <PERSON> begins by addressing Christianity through a surprising Islamic comparison, contrasting the careers of the <PERSON> and <PERSON>. Emphasizing similarity and difference between these religious founders, <PERSON> asserts: "The preachers of the Christian religion urge the morality of <PERSON> as being itself miraculous and stamped with the impression of divinity. <PERSON> advanced the same pretensions respecting the composition of the Koran and, if we consider the number of his followers, with greater success." A telling ambivalence in <PERSON>'s treatment of "<PERSON>" here emerges. Identifying an interreligious commonality, recognizing "the same" claims advanced by both Islam and Christianity, <PERSON> nevertheless credits the former with persuading more "followers", the Muslim mission advanced with "greater success". Casting doubt on Islam's authenticity – pejoratively alluding to the <PERSON>'s "pretensions" concerning "the Koran" and its "composition" – <PERSON> also seems to admire "<PERSON>", marveling at his ability to attract a higher "number" of adherents than the "preachers of the Christian religion". Anticipating <PERSON>'s ironic epithet for his "Islamite" friend, <PERSON> here reflects on religious "conversion" through contrast, sketching "sameness" and "difference" between Christianity and Islam, while also belying their religious credibility. And yet, despite this irony and infidelity, this short selection also reflects an indebtedness to Islam that will persist
|
c8e94b81-e0d7-74c7-cd21-dd4026a5a854
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['30222b65-27e2-b373-a9c1-8e3242324c5a']
|
of 10 reps in 3–4 sets
DUMBBELL CURLS: 3 sets of 10 reps
TUESDAY
SEATED DUMBBELL PRESSES (USE LIGHT WEIGHT): 2 sets of 10 reps
CLOSE-GRIP BENCH (USE LIGHT WEIGHT): 2 sets of 10 reps
BARBELL, UPRIGHT ROWS: 3 work sets of 12, 10, and 8 reps, increasing weight each set
BENCH DIPS (PLACE PLATES IN LAP): 3 sets of 10 reps (lighter than regular weeks)
FOURTH CYCLE (CHANGED TO FIVE-DAY-A-WEEK SCHEDULE)
WEEK ONE
FRIDAY (WORK UP TO MAX SINGLE IN BRIEFS ONLY)
WALKING LUNGES: 3 sets of 20 steps
PULL-THROUGHS: 3 sets of 20 reps
GLUTE/HAM RAISES OR HYPERS: 3 sets of 20 reps
CALF RAISES (ANY STYLE): 3 sets of 25 reps
SATURDAY
FIVE-BOARD PRESSES: work up to 3-rep max
WEIGHTED DIPS (LEAN FORWARD TO EMPHASIZE CHEST): 3 sets of 10 reps
BARBELL INCLINE PRESSES: 3 sets of 10 reps
DUMBBELL FLIES: 2 sets of 10 reps
MONDAY
DEADS: standing on 4-inch platform, work up to 5-rep max
DUMBBELL ROWS: 2 sets of 10 reps, as heavy as possible
T-BAR ROWS: work up to heavy set of 6 reps
LAT PULLS: work up to heavy set of 6 in a pyramid fashion over 3–4 sets
CHINS: 3 sets to failure, at body weight
TUESDAY
SEATED DUMBBELL PRESSES: work up to 5-rep max
BARBELL, UPRIGHT ROWS: 3 work sets of 12, 10, and 8 reps, increasing weight each set
SHOULDER COMPLEX: do 20 front raises, 20 lateral raises, and 20 bent laterals; use dumbbells and perform one continuous set, moving immediately from one exercise to the next; rest then repeat 3 times
BARBELL SHRUGS: work up to heavy set of 10 reps in 3–4 sets
WEDNESDAY
CLOSE-GRIP BENCH: 3 work sets of 10, 8, and 6 reps, increasing weight each set
PUSHDOWNS: 3 sets of 10 reps
BENCH DIPS (PLACE PLATES IN LAP): 3 sets of 10 reps
BARBELL CURLS: 3 sets of 10 reps
SPIDER CURLS: 3 sets of 15 reps
DUMBBELL CONCENTRATION CURLS: 3 sets of 15 reps
WEEK TWO
FRIDAY (WORK UP TO MAX SINGLE IN BRIEFS AND SUIT BOTTOMS)
WALKING LUNGES: 3 sets of 20 steps
PULL-THROUGHS: 3 sets of 20 reps
GLUTE/HAM RAISES OR HYPERS: 3 sets of 20 reps
CALF RAISES (ANY STYLE): 3 sets of 25 reps
SATURDAY
FOUR-BOARD PRESSES: work up to 2-rep max
WEIGHTED DIPS (LEAN FORWARD TO EMPHASIZE CHEST): 3 sets of 10 reps
BARBELL INCLINE PRESSES: 3 sets of 10 reps
DUMBBELL FLIES: 2 sets of 10 reps
MONDAY
DEADS: standing on 2-inch platform, work up to 3-rep max
DUMBBELL ROWS: 2 sets of 10 reps, as heavy as possible
T-BAR ROWS: work up to heavy set of 6 reps
LAT PULLS: work up to heavy set of 6 in a pyramid fashion over 3–4 sets
CHINS: 3 sets to failure, at body weight
TUESDAY
SEATED PRESSES OFF PINS: in power rack, set height 1 inch above your head; work up to max triple
BARBELL, UPRIGHT ROWS: 3 work sets of 12, 10, and 8 reps, increasing weight each set
SHOULDER COMPLEX: do 20 front raises, 20 lateral raises, and
|
c48488a2-6d46-7d50-237d-fc0aca181430
|
['30222b65-27e2-b373-a9c1-8e3242324c5a']
|
of the hips. For lifters who need added leg size and do not wish to increase their glute size or strength, reverse band squatting can be an extremely beneficial movement.
HOW TO SET UP THE BANDS PROPERLY
When performing the squat, bench, or deadlift and using the reverse band method, it is easiest to do so inside a traditional power rack. Using a pair of bands of the same strength, attach one to each side of the power rack. by looping the bands around the top bars of the power rack and back through themselves in a slipknot. The open end is then pulled down and looped around each end of the barbell outside the plates. Collars will not be needed when setting up the bands with this method since the bands will act as collars themselves. Depending on the height of the power rack, the bands can also be looped around the safety bars, which should be placed in the higher holes of the rack if the rack is too high. And, of course, the bands can also be attached to any other secure overhead structure, as long as the height is sufficient and you are 100 percent confident that the structure can support the weight the bands will be applying. Powerlifters frequently attach the bands to the top of the monolift when squatting, which also works very well.
For bench-pressing and squatting, the bands can usually be set at the same or near the same height, but for deadlifting . the bands should be set up so that the bar would leave the bands if the bar were to travel past the lifter's belly button. The common mistake many lifters make when setting the bands up for the deadlift is either placing the bands too high (i.e., from the top of the power rack), thus providing far too much aid to the lift, or setting the bands up too low, where the bar actually leaves the bands before lockout. Many powerlifters employ the latter method, believing that having no aid from the bands at the top of the movement will actually further strengthen their lockout. However, what I have found is that this setup tends to alter lifters' technique and that their form often breaks down when trying to finish the lift, which, at worst, can lead to injury and, at best, will hinder their strength development.
One word of caution: when setting up your bands, be certain that the bands are not being pinched between the plates, bars, or equipment and that they are not being stretched or pulled across any sharp edges or rough surfaces. This will lead to the fraying of the bands and possible breakage, which could, of course, potentially subject the lifter to a severe injury.
WHAT BANDS TO USE FOR DIFFERENT-LEVEL LIFTERS
Below, I provide general guidelines for what strength of bands to use for different levels, but keep in mind that these are generalizations and that there may be exceptions based on the different variables of each lifter, such as overall height, limb
|
146a8cb7-551a-99d7-02a2-845995cf6417
|
['3225d24e-df6b-0aec-f7e5-8f22c4219d93']
|
acquisitions and staff recruitment.
**Equal practice in relation to gender**
According to this agreement, an equal exhibition program in relation to gender means that at least half of the exhibited works should be made by women. The practice would still be seen as equal should more than half of the works be made by women, as female artists have been, and still are, underrepresented at state funded art institutions.
According to this agreement, an equal acquisition policy in relation to gender means that at least half of all acquired works should be made by women. The acquisition budget should be equally divided between the sexes. The institution should aim for the entire collection to reach these standards.
According to this agreement, an equal staff recruitment policy in relation to gender means that at least half of the positions advertised after the agreement has been signed should be filled by women. The institution should have equal distribution of men and women across salary levels as a long term goal.
**Equal practice in relation to ethnicity**
According to this agreement, an equal practice in relation to ethnicity means that the institution's selection of authors should reflect the ethnic diversity of society. The institution is responsible to find current information about the ethnic make up of society from Statistics Sweden (Statistiska Centralbyrån) or other trustworthy sources.
According to this agreement, an equal acquisition policy in relation to ethnicity means that the acquisitions of the institution should reflect the ethnic diversity of society in regard to authors of the works. The institution's acquisition budget should take this under consideration. The institution should constantly aim for its complete collection to reflect the ethnic diversity that currently exists in Sweden.
According to this agreement, an equal staff recruitment policy in relation to ethnicity means that the positions that are advertised after the agreement has been signed should be filled in a way that reflects the ethnic diversity of society at the time. The institutions should have as a long term goal to mirror, across salary levels, the ethnic make up of society.
**Evaluation**
The exhibition programming, the acquisitions and the staff recruitment will be evaluated every two years. The first evaluation will take place two years following the date when the institution has signed the agreement. The next evaluation will take place after another two years, and so on. The agreement has no expiry date.
**Sanction**
If, after evaluation, the institution is found not to be in compliance with this agreement, the institution will have to pay a fine of 10 000 SEK (to be adjusted yearly by percentage in relation to the base amount), for each percentage of deficient distribution in regards to gender or ethnicity within the exhibition programming, acquisitions and recruitment. The fine is payable to the YES! Association/FÖRENINGEN JA!'s fund, which has been established to financially support artists who have been victims of discrimination due to their gender, ethnicity or sexual orientation.
**Other**
If the terms of this agreement have not been fulfilled and the failure is due to the institution's duties as prescribed
|
834b84ab-4b7d-afd9-f2a6-e2517d898069
|
['3225d24e-df6b-0aec-f7e5-8f22c4219d93']
|
the natural environment, punctured the ozone layer and strangled humanity, creating wondering zombies. They have become beings without conscience and without feelings, who are always ready to consume anything in their reach. And to do this they will not shrink from murdering and torturing other human beings.
These zombies wear many types of caps and attributes. They can be greedy businessmen or conglomerates who skillfully manipulate consumers who can also bring themselves to burn entire countries to the ground or destroy anything for profit. They can be politicians who hunger for power and who will justify any means to achieve their ambitions. They also have no shame to lick the butts of the conglomerates to receive funds for campaigns and propaganda of the political ideology of whatever-as-long-as-they-have-power. Or they can also appear as intellectuals and religious leaders who pawn and sell their knowledge and their faith in order to be able to lovingly caress power and money.
Power and material things have become potent and intoxicating thirst quenching wines! And under the pressure of the accumulation of material dreams, humanity has gagged its own freedom and its own source of life. The earth is raped, water is wasted and polluted, forests are chopped down and burnt, the soil is poisoned. And everything inside it is consumed and exploited till the end. As if there will be no future coming. The important thing is that today we can swallow and fill our bellies as full as we can and reap as much profit as possible. Time is money and time must be used to seize opportunities to fulfill our needs as soon as right now, because delay means missing opportunities and that means not behaving in accordance to the demands of the times.
The world has now become a village — people can travel from one continent to another in a relatively short time. Places and time have been condensed. Human beings from various social and cultural backgrounds can meet as if differences are no longer an issue. Geographic boundaries have dissolved but mental and psychological gaps have widened and deepened, forming vulgar hierarchical rankings. Life is now divided as such; on one side there is a small group that "possesses special privileges" to obtain anything, in quantities of more than they need. And on the other side there is a large group who "have no rights whatsoever", who are only permitted to dig around in the garbage dumps of the specially privileged group. They also are obliged to offer their time and work to their bones for the welfare of the powerful people above them.
The structure of life has become a two tiered pyramid, where the upper level is lived in by the first group or the rulers who make sure that their standard of life style and civilization must be guaranteed to be special even though they must conduct violence and indulge in criminal ways to maintain that special standard. Meanwhile those who live in the lower level are those who live on the crumbs and leftovers from those upstairs.
|
929272cf-866c-d118-f8ef-9edcd95adbbe
|
['32999f41-67ab-7917-344f-673aa97c0595']
|
another lady reflected.
And thus, wrote <PERSON> in her journal, "the shattered remains . . . are beginning to arrive. . . . They looked so weary and ragged and travel stained. Many of them, overcome with fatigue were lying down to rest on the bare ground by the roadside. I felt ashamed of myself for riding when they had to walk."
A woman in Virginia felt similar shame at enjoying any such comfort while these men were so deprived. She rode in a carriage supplied by Northern authorities, and as the vehicle neared the "dusty Confederate soldiers," they stood aside to let it pass. "I was cut to the heart by the spectacle," the lady recalled. "Here was I, accepting the handsome equipage of the invading commander—I, who had done nothing, going on to my comfortable home; while they, poor fellows, who had borne long years of battle and starvation, were mournfully returning on foot, to find, perhaps, no home to shelter them."
"Could you have seen . . . ," wrote another woman to her sister, "it would have wrung your very soul. . . . I felt as if I could lay my head in the dust and die! "
"How different from the home coming which they planned when they left us," reflected a South Carolina schoolgirl.
The heartbreaking sight of these soldiers caused many households, like that of <PERSON>, to open their nearly empty cupboards:
It is impossible to refuse anything to the men who have been fighting for us. Even when they don't ask for anything, the poor fellows look so tired and hungry that we feel tempted to give them everything we have. . . . Numbers of them come to our door every day, begging for bread, and it almost makes me cry when a poor fellow sometimes pulls out a piece of rancid bacon from his haversack and offers it in pay. Mother will never take anything from a soldier.
<PERSON>
LOUISIANA STATE UNIVERSITY SPECIAL COLLECTIONS HILL MEMORIAL LIBRARY
<PERSON>
LOUISIANA STATE UNIVERSITY SPECIAL COLLECTIONS HILL MEMORIAL LIBRARY
For loved ones waiting at home, the times were tense. With communication and transportation at a virtual standstill, the waiting became almost unbearable, especially for impatient young couples in love.
"Do not look for me till I come," Sgt. <PERSON> instructed his worried wife, noting that he had not accepted parole and was in danger of being arrested.
<PERSON> was brightened to receive a letter from her husband in May 1865. But with rumors of continued resistance and <PERSON>'s own unwillingness to give up the cause, days and weeks passed without any further word. Stung by the unkind remarks of neighbors, the mind of the distracted young woman began to reel, and she wondered if her husband intended to return at all. "My heart is filled with so much troubles about <PERSON>. . . . Everything goes to prove he has deserted me," <PERSON> confided to her diary. "O my heart feels at times as
|
b8cb5fe7-908c-81fc-f95b-8c3df30f1398
|
['32999f41-67ab-7917-344f-673aa97c0595']
|
know I am ready and willing to give up all self-indulgences."
Soon after the destruction had been surveyed and the damage assessed, many Southerners quickly accepted their new situation. For most, this was a necessary first step to rebuilding. And their courage was remarkable.
"The plucky way in which our men keep up is beyond praise," <PERSON> recounted with pride. "There is no howling, and our poverty is a matter of laughing."
"Absolute poverty, cheerfully borne, was the badge of respectability," wrote <PERSON>. "The want of means became a jest, and nobody mourned over it."
Even one of the harshest critics of the former Confederacy, the New York Times, felt moved to note the remarkable resilience of the Southern people in the face of the terrible scourge they had suffered: "They have lost property, population, pride, hope—all that great communities hold dear— but they have not lost their manliness. . . . They do not moan for pity like defeated Hungarians, nor conspire like conquered Frenchmen, nor swear like the beaten Irish. They accept their fate with self-reliant resignation, and at once proceed with firmness and sagacity, to make the best of their new condition."
One Floridian, left penniless, his treasured library destroyed, but realizing the plight of many others was worse, reflected: "I have a good profession which is worth more than a cotton plantation—have good health, a cheerful and hopeful spirit, and with the blessings of providence on my labours, I do not fear."
Even before their men returned, it had fallen to the females of the South to persevere. A Georgia woman, forced to leave her home during the war, returned to toiling in the house and the field as she put their farm in order. Because of her efforts, when the husband finally arrived, he found "the nucleus of a new start in life . . . under the most trying ordeal."
Three young ladies in Hanover, Virginia, from a formerly wealthy family and unaccustomed to field work, managed to plant a larger crop of corn than had been grown during the war.
"Taking stock of our possessions, I found that we had one horse left, a little corn, and a cow, and two small children," recalled a returned soldier. "I would rise up early in the morning and go to plowing. My wife would get breakfast and churn, bringing milk, hot corn bread and butter for me, so we began to retrieve our broken fortunes.
Another veteran found to his chagrin that the only tableware left at his home were tin plates. Desperate for drinking cups and lacking tools, the family fashioned tumblers from old bottles by sawing them in two with the rapid back-and-forth motion of a yarn string, which heated and severed the glass.
Retrieving lost fortunes was no easy matter for returning Rebels. With an estimated forty-five thousand amputees alone coming home, many were too sick or crippled to work, at least in the beginning. "I could not work at that time, as my left hand were badlye mangled," <PERSON>
|
9a87f0dd-3304-ad76-37d7-c400c3744a9b
|
['34ad7a40-fe7e-835f-108a-f7d5a7e0c9fe']
|
flight, <PERSON> made a second attempt to collect the $50,000 bonus for a flight across Antarctica. Learning that <PERSON> had not yet managed to fly to the South Pole, <PERSON> returned to Deception Island with the whalers in October 1929, only to find the harbor was still not frozen over. On the second trip, he took a small tractor with him, hoping to bulldoze a smoother runway on the rocky ground at Deception Island, but the tough volcanic rock proved obstinate and <PERSON> was not able to get his plane airborne with a full tank of fuel.
On the other side of the continent, <PERSON> had successfully established a base, which he called Little America, and waited out the winter. On November 28, 1929, while <PERSON> was trying to bulldoze a runway on Deception Island, <PERSON> flew to the South Pole with <PERSON> as his pilot.
Another polar first had been accomplished.
1 After assisting <PERSON> with his skis at Kings Bay in May 1926, <PERSON> had traveled to America, so that he could fly the latest airplanes. Recognizing <PERSON>'s skill as a pilot in polar conditions, <PERSON> had invited him on his expedition to Antarctica.
##
## THE SACRIFICE I MUST MAKE
### DECEMBER 1929–MARCH 1931
In December 1929, while <PERSON> and <PERSON> were in Antarctica, <PERSON> returned to New York, still without a clear idea of what he wanted to do. Noticing <PERSON>'s despondency, <PERSON>, the daughter of railway magnate <PERSON> and a friend of the <PERSON> family, proposed a canoeing trip in remote Labrador, Canada. Even better, <PERSON> suggested her godson, <PERSON>, a young Harvard student, was willing to go along as company. <PERSON> responded to <PERSON>'s offer with his usual vacillation:
I should like to go on that Labrador trip and may yet, but that submarine trip looms big with me. I want to go back to the Arctic just once more. <PERSON> returns from the Antarctic [on] April 1st and then it is yes or no. Until then I must remain undecided.
While he was making up his mind, <PERSON> traveled to the Grand Canyon and collected more fossils. However, he took with him a copy of <PERSON> bestseller, The Lure of the Labrador Wild, and returned eager to go on the canoeing trip. After informing <PERSON>, "my future plans must remain dark until autumn," <PERSON> traveled to Canada to meet <PERSON>, who would later become his biographer.
"I first set eyes on [<PERSON>] when we met in Quebec City," wrote <PERSON>, the young man plucked from his penultimate year at university to accompany <PERSON> on a trip to Labrador:
There flowed from him the same spirit of enthusiasm he had expressed in his letters. Of slight build, he had a friendly smile, graying crew-cut hair and very blue eyes with crinkles at the corners. His nose was slightly crooked—the result, I later learned, of tumbling from a high-wheel bicycle when he was a youngster. He was dressed in an old-fashioned belted jacket with matching trousers. He had always wanted
|
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|
['34ad7a40-fe7e-835f-108a-f7d5a7e0c9fe']
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the explorer could sit at ease and watch unroll the panorama of the unknown . . . With the completion of the Norge flight, I thought that my days in the polar regions were over . . . There seemed to be no other worlds to conquer.
But commitment was such a challenge for <PERSON> he could not even commit to giving up. He remained restless and unsatisfied. He toyed with more ideas and never followed through. Nobile had criticized him for being unable to navigate, so <PERSON> decided to take lessons. His former rival, <PERSON>, was acknowledged as the most accomplished aerial navigator of the time (and was co-inventor of the bubble sextant), so <PERSON> wrote to <PERSON> asking to be taught aerial navigation. He even suggested that he and <PERSON> mount a joint expedition to fly over the unknown areas of the Arctic, looking for land. <PERSON> however already had plans and explained that he was about to leave on an expedition to Antarctica.
Next, <PERSON> approached Dr. <PERSON>, president of the National Geographic Society, explaining he would put up $85,000 for a flight from Greenland to Alaska to settle the Crocker Land question once and for all. He was careful to explain to <PERSON> he wanted no part in organizing the expedition—he expected the society to do that. But if <PERSON> found an expedition ship, a plane, a pilot, and crew then <PERSON> would consider coming on board, just before the expedition sailed, to assume command and be flown across the Arctic. Not surprisingly, <PERSON> declined.
With no one willing to organize an Arctic expedition for which he could take credit, <PERSON> told friends he intended to live in Africa where he would collect artifacts for the American Museum of Natural History.
Alarmed at the increasingly despondent tone of <PERSON>'s correspondence, his business advisor, <PERSON>, became concerned about his client's state of mind. <PERSON> had helped manage <PERSON>'s business empire and, for many years, was privy to the strained relationship between father and son. He understood the importance of finding things to interest <PERSON> to draw him out of his dark moods. Desperate to find such an interest, <PERSON> contacted <PERSON>, director of the American Geographical Society, who was aware that <PERSON> was looking to sponsor an expedition he could "lead." The problem was finding something suitable. <PERSON> wrote to <PERSON>, suggesting he join an expedition to the Patagonian Andes, but <PERSON> never responded. <PERSON> followed up by writing, "if we are to help you, we must have communication with you."
<PERSON> continued to push <PERSON> for suggestions, so <PERSON> sent <PERSON> maps of Antarctica, suggesting he could explore some of its unknown coasts, but <PERSON> asked who would organize the expeditions on his behalf. To that, <PERSON> had no answer. <PERSON> wrote to <PERSON> after his suggestions had been rejected:
I want to stay in touch with <PERSON> for I feel that he needs friendship of disinterested men who can advise him as to his best interest. He has a great stock
|
65f140af-e9e4-ca28-32fa-5155109258f2
|
['356d4954-709a-1ea5-bbb8-133ff582f243']
|
when combined, because it changes and improves the effect of both supplements. You simply take 1 capsule of 500 mg of rhodiola and 1 capsule of 100 mg phosphatidylserine before going to bed. Then, you leave one day in between doses and then the day after that, you take both capsules again. It's best not to exceed that dose, because then you risk constipation. After a few days, you will start feeling better and after about five weeks, you will really feel the effect.' I wrote down the names and doses for them on a scrap of paper.
I had a splitting headache when I came home that night and my back still burned. I took a cold shower and carefully rubbed a gel against burns on my back, as well as I could. At a time like that, I did miss having a relationship. It wasn't a laughing matter to have to smear gel on your own back.
I mindlessly switched channels, going past a whole bunch of annoying reality programs. Finally, I turned off the sound and called <PERSON>. She picked up nearly immediately.
'Mum says hi.'
<PERSON> had broken all contact with her parents years ago, because they just could not understand what was going on with her. A feeling I was only too familiar with, even though I forced myself to visit my parents every now and then. 'Did you talk to them?'
'I've invited mum and dad over at my place.'
'At your place?' As far as I knew, they had never been there before.
'Uhu. I've been feeling a bit better the past few weeks. Less sluggish and sombre. So I tidied up my entire home yesterday and cleaned it and then I invited my parents. I've even cooked for them.'
'Wow.' I looked at the television screen, which was currently showing a commercial for laundry detergent. For some reason, it looked even sillier with no sound. That nearly manic grin on the faces of the women who all became enthusiastic due to a bottle of liquid laundry detergent for dark clothes. A commercial like that could only have been created by a man.
'I've been taking those supplements you suggested for a while now. I think that it's because of them. I can't imagine what else it could be, because I'm still taking the same medication and apart from that, I haven't done anything different.'
She did go out and get the supplements! 'Great. I'm so happy for you!'
'My parents were also visibly happy, even though they didn't say it in quite as many words. They hadn't seen me for a long time and the last time they did, I was so down that I really couldn't pretend to be happy. And although I didn't hear anything from them or though they didn't show how worried they were, they must have agonized over their only child the past years.'
I imagined her mother, sitting next to the phone, waiting on a message about a young woman who had drowned herself in the Scheldt. I
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bc2218a5-56f3-d1f0-e18e-34877e09cade
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['356d4954-709a-1ea5-bbb8-133ff582f243']
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a quick glance at the back yard. Over there, it was a sea of flowers as well. Rhododendrons, sweet Williams and a lot of flowers of which I had forgotten the names – my mother had, to no avail, tried to train me to become a perfect housewife that could clean, cook and garden and remembering the names of plants had been a cornerstone of that education – fought over my attention. I knew from experience that you would get a little nauseous if you kept looking at them for too long. 'The garden looks lovely, mum.'
She put the small, floral sugar pot down on the table and looked suspiciously at me. 'Of course it's lovely. I've worked in it every day this week. Several hours a day.' She glanced secretly at my father. 'Sometimes I just need to get out of the house for a while.'
For a moment I considered mentioning to her that most people would go out and have a drink with friends instead of planting hundreds of flowers in their garden, but I quickly gave up on that idea when I saw the look on my father's face. 'Is that another subtle gibe directed at me?'
My mother poured a dash of milk in her coffee. 'No, dear.'
She only called him 'dear' when she was bothered by him. I slurped from the porcelain cup. 'Good coffee.'
My parents both looked at me as though I had just said a swear word. I choked on my coffee. They did not move to slap me on the back.
My mother inspected her fingernails. 'As you know, your father has retired last month.'
I did not know that at all. 'Right! Are you keeping busy?'
He folded and closed his newspaper and looked at me with frowned eyebrows. 'Of course. I'm not too old or too cripple.'
I took a biscuit from the round biscuit tin that my mother had placed on the table. 'So, what do you do all day long?'
My father snorted loudly. 'I've bought an electrical bicycle. And I finally have the time to go fishing again. And we're planning a trip, your mother and I.'
'A trip?' As far as I knew, my parents had never traveled before. As a child, when I nagged that I wanted to go somewhere during the summer, like the rest of my classmates, my father always asked me what was wrong with Belgium that made me want to go to some exotic place.
'To the South of France or Portugal. Maybe we'll book a week in Turkey.'
At the other side of the table, my mother stared in her coffee.
'Sounds fun. You definitely should.'
The telephone rang and my father promptly disappeared into the living room. The kitchen went silent. I cleared my throat. 'When are you guys leaving?'
My mother dipped a biscuit in her coffee. 'We haven't fixed a date yet. Currently there's too much work in the garden.'
'Yes, I can see. And do you two often go cycling?
'He may have bought
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88077ed1-7fe3-18fe-93ab-774f4da89150
|
['359acb1e-034b-a0e2-9f8a-44abb9728726']
|
German Army from around the turn of the twentieth century through World War II. Most were manufactured by firms in the Westphalian city of Solingen, a city renowned for its fine-edged weapons since the late fourteenth century.
WEAPONS OF WWII
**LUFTWAFFE SWORD**
Made in Solingen, this Luftwaffe officer's dress sword bears the Nazi swastika on both its pommel and the base of its hilt. It is shown here with its scabbard.
**LUFTWAFFE/ARMY DAGGERS**
These daggers were worn by officers of the Luftwaffe (above, the 1937 Model) and Wehrmacht (right). Some naval daggers had a pommel decorated with both the eagle of Imperial Germany and the Nazi swastika.
**ITALIAN FASCIST PARTY KNIFE**
Only members of Italy's Fascist Party, in power from 1922 until the overthrow of dictator <PERSON> during World War II, possessed this blade. It is shown with its steel scabbard.
**HIMMLER RIFLE**
This Schuetzen rifle was custom-made for <PERSON>, head of the Schutzstaffel (SS), the troops of the Nazi party, and one of the most powerful Nazi leaders. Patterned on a traditional German hunting rifle, the lever-action weapon fired a 7.7mm cartridge.
**GÖRING BATON**
The baton is the traditional symbol of the field marshal, the highest military rank in many countries. This baton is topped with a bust of Field Marshal <PERSON>, head of the German Luftwaffe (air force) and one of <PERSON> principal deputies. The exceptionally vain <PERSON> treasured his collection of highly decorated batons.
**SA DAGGER**
Bearing the inscription "Alles for Deutschland" ("All for Germany") on the blade, the dagger shown here was worn by members of the Sturmabteilung (SA), the Nazi Party's paramilitary security force.
**NAZI LABOR CORPS KNIFE**
Nazi Germany organized the German Labor Service (the Reichsarbeitsdienst, or RAD) in 1934 to provide labor for public-works projects; the organization later became an auxiliary service of the Wehrmacht. RAD officers carried a smaller, decorated version of the hewer knife issued to enlisted laborers. The stag-handled version shown here was made by the famous <PERSON> firm of Solingen.
**MUSSOLINI SWORD**
This Shotel—the traditional curved sword of Ethiopia—was presented to <PERSON> following Italy's conquest of Ethiopia (or Abyssinia, as it was alternatively known at the time) in 1936. The dictator was in fact an enthusiastic swordsman who liked to fence and who reportedly fought duels as a young man.
MACHINE GUNS OF WORLD WAR II
Not only were machine guns used by infantry during World War I, they were also developed to be fitted to aircraft (and used against them from the ground), armored cars, and tanks. In the interwar years, weapons designers developed even more powerful machine guns, like <PERSON> .50 M2, which fired a cartridge the size of an old-fashioned Coca-Cola bottle. Even before World War I had ended, however, several nations sought to package the punch of the machine gun in a weapon that could be carried by an individual infantryman. By World War II, this policy had led to the development of the British Bren gun and the U.S. BAR (Browning Automatic Rifle). These weapons were typically magazine-fed. The German
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1884c4ce-4172-6ad7-e635-2f4ca94bbf82
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['359acb1e-034b-a0e2-9f8a-44abb9728726']
|
bottle" lock, as it was called from its shape, was a major advance, although weapons based on the system had their drawbacks, like the possibility of the entire "bottle" exploding. But it inspired several gunsmiths—including notables like <PERSON>, to work on alternative systems, especially after <PERSON>'s British patent expired in 1821. In the words of firearms historian <PERSON>, a variety of percussion-fired "pills, tapes, tubes, and caps" containing several different types of detonating compounds came into use.
THE PERCUSSION CAP
The variety that ultimately won widespread adoption was a metallic cap—first made of steel, later of copper—filled with a compound based around fulminate of mercury. The cap was placed on a nipple in the lock and was struck by a hammer when the firer pulled the trigger.
There is some debate about how and when the metallic percussion cap was developed, but it's generally credited to a British-born American artist and inventor, <PERSON> (1776–1860), who developed it around 1814 but did not patent it until several years later. While some other percussion systems came into use—like the tape-primer system introduced in the 1840s by American inventor <PERSON> (1813–1891), which operated much like a contemporary toy cap pistol—the stand-alone metallic cap became standard from the 1820s onward. The percussion system's popularity was helped by the relative ease with which flintlock weapons could be converted to the new mechanism.
The percussion system's advantages over the flintlock were considerable. It was reliable in all weathers and far less prone to misfire. The system also facilitated the introduction of reliable repeating weapons, especially the revolver (see pp 58–). Still, it took several decades for the percussion system to win acceptance in military circles. (<PERSON> was reportedly interested in developing weapons based on the Forysth system, but the patriotic reverend rebuffed the French dictator's overtures.) It was not until the early 1840s, when the British Army began retrofitting its muskets with percussion locks, that percussion weapons became standard in the armies of the day.
The heyday of the percussion cap was relatively brief. Percussion firearms still had the drawbacks of muzzle-loading weapons, and after the introduction of self-contained metallic cartridges starting in the 1850s (see p 62), they rapidly gave way to cartridge-firing weapons.
HARPER'S FERRY
In 1841 the other major U.S. arsenal—at Harper's Ferry, Virginia—began producing a new smoothbore percussion musket. The Springfield and Harper's Ferry arsenals together turned out about 175,000 Model 1842 muskets (like the one shown here) before 1855, when a rifled version was introduced. Many Model 1842's were returned to the arsenals to have their barrels rifled to take the new Minié ball ammunition (see p 67).
SPRINGFIELD
The .69 U.S. Army Model 1835 Musket, manufactured at the government armory at Springfield, Massachusetts, was among the last smoothbore long arms in official U.S. military service. Some 30,000 were made between 1835 and 1844. Originally flintlocks, these muskets were converted to percussion starting in the late 1840s. The detail shows the lock with the hammer down on the nipple on which the percussion cap was placed.
SPANISH
The
|
9510f559-5d50-a6ba-9acb-17522b25be58
|
['35f8c0ce-37eb-0169-4540-051706d5ad7e']
|
was an almost fruitless day of writing. I feel handcuffed and tongue-tied. I kept casting about trying to get started on a piece... Should I try to begin this? Or that? Or what? Finally, I got to work on re-writing The <PERSON> chapter. I was dismayed to find the first draft in such a rustic condition....
March 14, 17, 19: Spent Thursday afternoon straightening papers and sorting books, and make out [sic] a seed order.... Still casting about, trying to get writing again.... a moderately good day's work, shaking off the lethargy caused by long absence from the typewriter....
Planted lettuce, radishes, sweet peas, and cut back honeysuckle that was taking over.
March 23: Went down-creek at noon.... Talked to <PERSON> and <PERSON> at Ob's store. <PERSON> asked, "Just how many hours a day do you work on your writing?" I replied, "Listen, I'll do anything to get out of work." Went along to <PERSON> place to get items his mother has promised to me: a sack of potato onions, a regal lily bulb, a perennial sweet pea; and <PERSON> walked home with me to get "swap" plants for his mother: flowering almond, settings of two unidentified plants sent from Alabama.
March 24: <PERSON>, the electrician, came back with a hangover pallor. I gave him a small stone I picked up out of the edge of the Sea of Galilee. "My wife'll be tickled," he said. He put it in his breeches pocket; and present [ _sic_ ] got it out again and put it into his jacket pocket all by itself and buttoned it. "There—that'll keep it from losing." They finished at noon—27 man-hours of work; total charge $55.... Final check from John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation; fellowhip [sic] terminates April 30th.... Letter from <PERSON>: "It gives me great pleasure to inform you that the American Academy of Arts and Letters and the National Institute of Arts and Letters have awarded you a <PERSON> [sic] of $1,000 in recognition of your creative work in literature and to further your efforts in that direction."
April 15: A bright sunny day. The wheedle-dees were liquefying the valley with their melody. Went to Hazard, returned with an electric Philco radio-phonograph. Brought it upcreek on my back. It was raining slightly and the carton began to melt and tear away and my burden grew more unmanageable by the yard... Viking wrote me last week that RIVER OF EARTH is to be remaindered at 20 cents per copy—and did I want a few copies? I ordered 100 copies. I felt momentarily abandoned and rejected on getting the notice from Viking. But it was selling only ten copies or so a year. In these days of million copy printings, etc. ROE sold slightly more than 5,000 copies in six years. And this the book Time called "a work of Art," and <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and others went to bat for; a book whose reviews were almost whole complimentary. I am sad that ROE could find no
|
719a6a58-a3fc-afe4-9731-40cbef6ea07d
|
['35f8c0ce-37eb-0169-4540-051706d5ad7e']
|
up a truckload of peaches, which he plans to bring back to Kentucky and sell for a big profit. A major difference between the stories is that an omniscient narrator tells "Run," thus keeping readers from feeling firsthand the hurt inflicted by the pranksters. Also the two sixteen-year-olds play tricks on <PERSON>, who is not an innocent bystander; he deserves their treatment for being so miserly. Besides, he plays the last trick on them—dumping peach fuzz down their shirt collars. The story ends with balanced justice and illustrates the cockiness and wit of the characters and the writer.
<PERSON> did not build on the enthusiasm _The Atlantic_ showed for "Run" in 1959 by promptly submitting more or longer works. An early 1961 note from <PERSON> gently reminded him that Viking was hoping for a novel manuscript. To avoid placing too much pressure, <PERSON> simply closed with "I'd love to know how you are coming along." If <PERSON> was coming along, he did not let his editor know because seven years later, <PERSON> was still "longing" for a novel.11 The image of <PERSON> as a writer who worked only for himself continued over the next decade. His publication rate reflected a change in his approach to writing. The spontaneity he exhibited in the late 1930s had changed to purposeful deliberation.
Being organized and disciplined, <PERSON> recorded his work hours every year from the mid-1950s through the late 1960s. These small notebook pages included no details about what manuscript he was writing, but "work" meant drafting or revising. During the fourteen years that he kept records, the highest number of work hours was in 1959 and the lowest in 1965. The numbers indicate that <PERSON> was writing even when he was not publishing, and that he spent more time writing in the years before he became enmeshed in teaching at Morehead. In addition to numbers in a grid, the pages include quotations or short phrases that hint about what he was reading, thinking, or feeling. The following lists a selection of these entries and the year he made each:
"For I have promises to keep..." <PERSON> 1956
"And miles to go before I sleep." <PERSON> 1959
"The things of a man for which we visit him are done in the dark and the cold." <PERSON> 1960
"The only way to resume is to resume. It is the only way. To resume." <PERSON> 1960
"What saves a man is to take a step. Then another step. It is always the same step, but you have to take it." <PERSON> 1961
"Work and to hell with everything else." <PERSON> 1963
"Constant effort is the law of art..." <PERSON> 1966
"Inconsistency, timidity, laziness, weakness—these are my enemies." <PERSON> 1966
While seeking inspiration from the greats, <PERSON> was writing motivational messages to himself: "Work, relax, don't think" 1962; "Silent and alone" 1965; and "Finish it" 1969.12
"The Run for the Elbertas" was a product of this time when <PERSON> was keeping such meticulous records. The tone and fictional situation of the story marks a departure, but
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ba799955-b40e-260d-e043-d1da6f7abfd4
|
['3642faa0-be4a-15e4-e7f6-0055548fb64c']
|
green—the ground swelled up, a rock came out, from under the rock sprang <PERSON> bony-legs, riding an iron mortar, steering with an iron pestle, a little cur comes yapping after. "Here's a feast all ready for me at Dubynyushka's!" — "Help yourself, <PERSON> bony-legs!" <PERSON> sat down, he served her a morsel—she ate it; he served her another—she tossed it to her dog: "So this is how you treat me!" She grabbed the pestle, beat and pummeled him, drove him under a bench, cut a strap from his back, ate everything up and rode away. <PERSON> came to, bandaged his head and went round the hut, moaning. Here comes <PERSON>: "Hey, <PERSON>, give us our supper." — "I haven't made anything, brothers, the stove was smoking so much I only just aired out the place."
On the fourth day came <PERSON>'s turn; he stayed home, fixed up and cooked up all manner of things, washed his head and sat down by the window, combing out his locks. Suddenly all went swirly-blurry, his eyes saw green—the ground swelled up, a rock came out, from under the rock
яга костяная нога, на железной ступе едет, железным толкачом погоняет; сзади собачка побрехивает. «Тут мне попить-погулять у Ивашки-Медведка!» — «Милости прошу, баба-яга костяная нога!» Посадил ее, часточку подал — она съела; другую подал — она сучке бросила: «Так-то ты меня потчуешь!» Схватила толкач и стала его осаживать; Ивашко осердился, вырвал у бабы-яги толкач и давай ее бить изо всей мочи, бил-бил, до полусмерти избил, вырезал со спины три ремня, взял засадил в чулан и запер.
Приходят товарищи: «Давай, Ивашко, обедать!» — «Извольте, други, садитесь». Они сели, Ивашко стал подавать: всего много настряпано. Богатыри едят, дивуются да промеж себя разговаривают: «Знать, у него не была баба-яга!» После обеда Ивашко-Медведко истопил баню, и пошли они париться. Вот Усыня с Дубынею да с Горынею моются и всё норовят стать к Ивашке передом. Говорит им Ивашко: «Что вы, братцы, от меня свои спины прячете?» Нечего делать богатырям, признались, как приходила к ним баба-яга да у всех по ремню вырезала. «Так вот от чего угорели вы!» — сказал Ивашко, сбегал в чулан, отнял у бабы-яги те ремни, приложил к ихним спинам, и тотчас все зажило. После того взял Ивашко-Медведко бабу-ягу, привязал веревкой за ногу и повесил на воротах: «Ну, братцы, заряжайте ружья да давайте в цель стрелять: кто перешибет веревку пулею — молодец будет!» Первый выстрелил Усыня — промахнулся, второй выстрелил Горыня — мимо дал, третий Дубыня — чуть-чуть зацепил, Ивашко выстрелил — перешиб веревку; баба-яга упала наземь, вскочила и побежала к камню, приподняла камень и ушла под землю.
Богатыри бросились вдогонку; тот попробует, другой попробует — не могут поднять камня, Ивашко подбежал, как ударит ногою — камень отвалился, и открылась норка. «Кто, братцы, туда полезет?» Никто не хочет. «Ну, — говорит Ивашко-Медведко, — видно, мне лезть приходится!» Принес столб, уставил на краю пропасти, на столбе повесил колокол и прицепил к нему один конец веревки, за другой конец сам взялся. «Теперь опускайте меня, как ударю в колокол — назад тащите». Богатыри стали спускать его в нору; Ивашко видит,
|
2a27a66f-2e2b-0da4-eec4-9f7c417e8989
|
['3642faa0-be4a-15e4-e7f6-0055548fb64c']
|
hole, in the hole was a mole, and my tale's all told.
The Hunter and His Wife
Охотник и его жена
**ОХОТНИК И ЕГО ЖЕНА**
Жил-был охотник, и было у него две собаки. Раз как-то бродил он с ними по лугам, по лесам, разыскивал дичи, долго бродил — ничего не видал, как стало дело к вечеру, набрел на такое диво: горит пень, в огне змея сидит. И говорит ему змея: «Изыми, мужичок, меня из огня, из полымя; я тебя счастливым сделаю: будешь знать все, что на свете есть, и как зверь говорит, и что птица поет!» — «Рад тебе помочь, да как?» — спрашивает змею охотник. «Вложи только в огонь конец палки, я по ней и вылезу». Охотник так и сделал. Выползла змея: «Спасибо, мужичок! Будешь разуметь теперь, чтό всякая тварь говорит; только никому про то не сказывай, если скажешь — смертью помрешь!»
Опять охотник пошел искать дичь, ходил-ходил, и пристигла его ночь темная. «Домой далеко, — подумал он, — останусь-ка здесь ночевать». Развел костер и улегся возле вместе с собаками и слышит, что собаки завели промеж себя разговор и называют друг друга братом. «Ну, брат, — говорит одна, — ночуй ты с хозяином, я домой побегу, стану двор караулить. Не ровен час: воры пожалуют!» — «Ступай, брат, с богом!» — отвечает другая. Поутру рано воротилась из дому собака и говорит той, что в лесу ночевала: «Здравствуй, брат!» — «Здорово!» — «Хорошо ли ночь у вас прошла?» — «Ничего, слава богу! А тебе, брат, как дома поспалось?» — «Ох, плохо! Прибежал я домой, хозяйка говорит: «Вот черт принес без хозяина!» и бросила мне горелую корку хлеба. Я понюхал, понюхал, есть не стал; тут она схватила кочергу и давай меня потчевать, все ребра пересчитала! А ночью, брат, приходили на двор воры, хотели к амбарам да клетям подобраться, так я такой лай поднял, так зло на
**THE HUNTER AND HIS WIFE**
There lived a hunter, and he had two hounds. One time he was roaming the meadows, the woods with his hounds, looking for game, wandering a long time—didn't see anything, but when the day drew toward evening, he stumbled upon this marvel: a stump burning, and a snake sitting in the fire. And the snake says to him: "Take me out of the flames, _muzhichok_ , out of the fire; I will make you happy: you will know all there is in the world, what the beast says and what the bird sings!" — "I'd be glad to help you, but how?" the hunter asks the snake. "Just put the end of a stick in the fire, and I will climb out that way." The hunter did just that. The snake crept out: "Thank you, _muzhichok!_ Now you will understand whatever any creature says; only tell no one about it, and if you tell—you will surely die!"
Once more the hunter went looking for game, he walked and walked, and the dark night overtook him. "It's a long way home," he thought, "I'll stay here for the night." He lit a fire and lay down beside it with his hounds, listening: the hounds
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I wanted the horrible war to come to an end. In my childish handwriting, I wrote prayers, pleading with God for help. Somehow, I believed He would hear my prayers and answer them. I trusted that the future would be better. In the blessed quiet of these moments, I also wrote poetry.
**A Quiet Time**
. . a peaceful moment
to heal my soul
to steady the pounding
within my breast
... a quiet time
to make me whole
and let me rest
#### **_June 1942_**
One day in June of our second year in the ghetto, my mother got sick again. This time she refused to go to the hospital. She did not want to waste any time being separated from us. I guess she knew that our time together could be cut short any day. Transports of the old, the sick, and the young were constantly leaving, never to be heard from again.
Each day my father and I carried a cot outdoors for my mother. There, in the shade of my tree, she seemed most comfortable. Often, my father would watch her from afar. He seemed so sad and embarrassed by his helplessness. My heart ached for him, but I knew that I could not approach him and discuss his feelings. He was perhaps more pitiful and bewildered than the rest of us.
Slowly, my mother returned to health. Again, to me, our little nest seemed secure. I began to study in an "underground" school where I met other young people. Education was, of course, forbidden in the ghetto, but there was a group of dedicated Jewish teachers who designed lesson plans for us, giving our young lives a degree of order and defiance.
My new school friends invited me to a "picnic" and I learned to dance. I went for long walks with my friend <PERSON>, who was in love with <PERSON>, while I was crazy about <PERSON>. <PERSON> and I understood each other. We were both teenagers, after all.
My parents also insisted that I learn to do something useful. So I became apprenticed to a seamstress. This skill helped me get a job in a German factory called Madrich. Since as a seamstress I was useful to the Germans, I was able to avoid early deportation.
We had a very active resistance movement in the ghetto. As a matter of fact, many of my friends were part of the movement. At one point, I was going to leave the ghetto and join the underground to fight against the Nazis. But, since the Polish partisans rarely accepted Jewish men and women into their units, Jewish resistance fighters faced a tremendous obstacle. We had to change our appearances so that we looked Polish.
My pug nose, which I had always hated so much, was in my favor. But, since most Polish people had fair skin and light hair coloring, my dark hair was a problem. So my mother dyed my hair blond. Then, somehow, she and
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I describe Auschwitz to those who have not been there? Once again, language fails me. People from every part of Nazi-occupied Europe arrived in cattle cars. The trains pulled in at the railway platform in Birkenau. Brutal guards and SS men with vicious dogs forced the prisoners to leave the cars in a great hurry. Insults, swearing, screams, and endless humiliations assaulted and dulled our senses. _"<PERSON>! <PERSON>!"_ They shouted. "Quickly. Quickly. Move. Move. Form two lines, men and women separately."
The lines passed before SS officers who were conducting the _Selektion,_ directing to one side those unfit for work and to the other side, those who still had some life in them for forced labor. Everybody was screaming in anguish.
Behind the barbed wire, male inmates added their voices to ours. Desperate to have news of their loved ones, they shouted out the names of parents, children, brothers, and sisters. They did this with every new transport that entered the camp. Some of these men threw pieces of bread over the barbed wire, and we grabbed for the food. Their cries of longing and our screams of terror formed a chorus of inhuman sounds that filled the universe. But no one heard those awful sounds, except for us. I know this is true because no one answered. We had been abandoned by the world.
It was very cold when we arrived at Auschwitz—cold and wet. I do not clearly remember the sequence of events, but <PERSON> and I must have passed through the first selection. I do know that we were taken to the camp's showers to be deloused. After delousing, <PERSON> and I were placed in line to have our heads shaved and our left arms tattooed with numbers—our "new names." But on this particular day, the day we arrived, the usual Nazi efficiency had broken down. There were too many of us and too few head shavers and tattooists. So <PERSON> and I don't have a number tattoo, and our hair was never shaved.
We were not in Auschwitz for long. As I have said, Germany was losing the war by this time, and the Soviet army was mounting an offensive in the direction of Kraków and Auschwitz. So in January 1945 the Nazis began evacuating the Auschwitz camps. Approximately 58,000 prisoners were driven from Auschwitz to be sent into Germany and Austria, where the death factories remained temporarily out of reach of the Allies. My sister and I were among the walking dead who were evacuated and forced on the now legendary death march.
Years later, I learned that ten days after we left Auschwitz the Soviets reached the camp. Only a few days and we would have been saved. But this was not to be our fate. We would not escape so easily. Instead we marched, and we marched. In my head, I composed poetry.
**Death March**
A night ... A storm ...
Their blood still warm,
soaking into the snow.
Their bodies recoil
upon frozen soil,
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Through his performances, the new star of the party managed to sustain the growth of interest in the DAP. Throughout 1920, between 1,200 and 2,500 people would attend each event, compared to the few dozen who had frequented meetings the year before.
The first mass event of the DAP marked the end of the family dispute within the party about its nature and direction. <PERSON>'s <PERSON>-style vision of the DAP as a secret society run by Pan-German notables who remained in the shadows had been thoroughly defeated. <PERSON> and <PERSON>'s vision had prevailed. All that remained to be liquidated of <PERSON>'s vision was the party's name. When first setting up the party with <PERSON>, <PERSON> had rejected the suggestion to call it a national socialist party. A few days after February 24, the DAP changed its name to Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (National Socialist German Workers' Party, or NSDAP). According to dentist <PERSON>, an early leading member of the party, the rationale in changing the name was to make it immediately clear to anyone that the party was not an internationalist Marxist workers' party. It is curious, however, that the term "National Socialist" had not featured a single time in the party's program issued on February 24. Legally, the party would not really exist under its new name until the end of September 1920, when the Nationalsozialistischer Deutscher Arbeiterverein (e.V.) (National Socialist Workers' Association) was founded.
<PERSON> had been at the center of the dispute within his newly adopted family and, together with <PERSON>, had emerged triumphant from the struggle within the party. When <PERSON> had first sent him to attend the September 12, 1919, DAP meeting, <PERSON> certainly had not had a plan in his pocket about how he would transform the party over the next five months or how he would personally benefit from that transformation. Yet success in politics rarely results from the step-by-step implementation of a long-term plan or strategy. The art of politics usually rewards those with a talent to respond quickly to unanticipated situations and to exploit them not only to their own advantage but to the advantage of the political ideas they are propagating. And it was here that <PERSON> had already started to excel by early 1920. He was not merely a marionette in the hands of the Reichswehr or of notables on the radical right in Munich. Yes, they used him. But he also used them. With surprising speed, he turned the tables on people who supported him, thinking that he would be their tool. Often they did not realize for some considerable time how quickly <PERSON> had emancipated himself from them.
By aligning himself with <PERSON>, <PERSON> had managed to elbow <PERSON> out of the DAP and to kill off his <PERSON> vision for the party, thereby helping turn the party into a force to be reckoned with. By early 1920, the DAP had become a group with a standing, a right to be heard and listened to, in Bavarian politics. In the process, by the spring of 1920, <PERSON>,
|
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right-wing mirror image of the leadership of the Munich Soviet Republic.
<PERSON> envisioned that the DAP would function as an exclusive and somewhat secretive society or lodge that, by selecting as its members men who had influence among workers, would over time popularize _völkisch_ and anti-Semitic ideas within the working classes. <PERSON>'s loutish behavior had no place in his concept of the party.
Few people had been aware of the society prior to the execution of some of its members in the dying days of the Munich Soviet Republic. Even someone as well connected in conservative circles as the essayist and schoolteacher <PERSON> had been unaware of the Thule Society until after the end of the Soviet Republic. On May 7, in one of the last entries of his diaries that have survived, <PERSON> had asked himself: "Thule Society? What is that?" However, in the days that followed, when the executions had been on everybody's mind, the society had become the talk of the town. Politically, almost overnight, the Thule Society had gained legitimacy as a defender of Bavaria against left-wing extremists in the eyes of many people who otherwise would have viewed the group as nothing but a bizarre "fringe" organization. For a while, the Thule Society appeared to be on the ascendancy and hence <PERSON>'s vision seemed a viable one.
Yet by the time <PERSON> appeared on the scene in September, <PERSON> and the people close to the local chairman of the DAP had long started to have misgivings about <PERSON>'s vision of the DAP as a Thule Society–style secret society for the working classes. For one thing, <PERSON> and his associates were self-mobilized men unlikely to have cherished the idea of being reduced to tools in the hands of the Thule Society. Also, the society's fame and importance in the wake of the crushing of the Munich Soviet Republic had been little more than a seven-day wonder. In fact, the group's head, self-styled aristocrat <PERSON>, had abandoned Munich soon after the fall of the Soviet Republic. After just over a year in the city, he already had had enough of Munich.
Over the summer, the Thule Society had become increasingly marginalized in the political life of Munich. Undoubtedly, for members of the DAP, support by the society looked less and less important. The members of the Thule Society had to realize that many people who had been opposed to the Soviet Republic had been prepared to join ranks with the society for tactical gain at the time, but would not actively support the society over the long term once the republic had been defeated. Furthermore, a society whose very name signified a rejection of Christianity was unlikely to set deep roots in the Catholic establishment of Bavaria. <PERSON> and his peers had named the society after <PERSON> in the belief that Iceland, before its demise, had functioned as a refuge for Germanic people who had resisted Christianization in the early Middle Ages. In short, by the autumn of 1919, the Thule Society was only a shadow
|
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['371578f8-f7d6-18ba-1919-b7888a82766c']
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in short time there will be neither timber nor firewood left for any use." These facts put great fear into these citizens because, according to <PERSON>, "First, the want of fire is expected, without which man's life cannot be preserved; secondly, the want of timber, brick, tile, lime, iron lead and glass for the building of habitations; timber for the maintaining of husbandry, for navigation, for vessels, for brewing, and all other necessaries for housekeeping, bark for the tanning of leather; bridges for travel; [and] poles for hops."
<PERSON> discovered another consequence of deforestation that no one had recognized: in the countryside, where firewood "is scant," <PERSON> observed, farmers "are constrained to burn straw [i.e., the stalks of harvested crops], and weeds, and manure." Because these were used as fuel instead of being employed to enrich the soil, the earth lost its fertility. "The want [of such fertilizing agents] is the utter undoing of many a husbandmen," continued <PERSON>, "Who tilleth much land, soweth much seed, and reapeth much loss." Therefore, <PERSON> brilliantly concluded, "The want of wood is a great decay to tillage."
Furthermore, trees had supplied much of the feed for livestock, <PERSON> argued, from their mast. "Before woods were destroyed," he recounted, it was "a common course [for people] in the [plains] countries to feed their hogs in woodland countries." But with "the woods so made away," <PERSON> contended, much grain had to be diverted from human consumption for feed.
Planting and preserving timber was the only solution for these ills according to <PERSON>. He therefore drew up plans showing how the realm might raise "a great plenty of timber and firewood" and improve the soil at the same time. Hence, scarcities of wood and food, both of which threatened to "ruinate" the country, could be solved in one program. If planting and preserving trees were not zealously pursued, <PERSON> warned, "it is generally conceived by all men of judgement [that] the kingdom by no means can be maintained another age." "No wood," <PERSON> prophesied, meant "no kingdom."
<PERSON>'s work attracted attention. <PERSON>, a well-known literary figure of the period, penned an epigram to the beginning of <PERSON>'s first tract, The Commons' Complaint. It praised the author lavishly: "[Britain's] hopes are more by <PERSON>, than all the gold she got by <PERSON> or <PERSON>." Even more significantly, King <PERSON> became <PERSON>'s patron, providing him with an allowance that enabled <PERSON> to publish his two forestry works, The Commons' Complaint in 1611 and New Directions of Experience to the Commons' Complaint in 1613. <PERSON> also wrote the foreword to both of them. In his preface, <PERSON> first took note of the fact that "the decay [of woods]... in this realm is universally complained of." He then urged the adoption of <PERSON>'s "projects for increasing of woods" by "gentlemen and others of ability who have grounds..." "It shall content us," the king added, "that such as shall think good to make use of the Book [we] will deal worthily for his pains." The hint of royal favor was probably not
|
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American iron because by the early 1700s England no longer produced enough iron for its own use and had to import large quantities. Most of the imported iron came from Sweden. Little thought was given to the possible problems that might arise from England's dependence on a single foreign source for such an essential commodity until war broke out in the Baltic in 1716. True, <PERSON> had warned many years earlier, in his book England's Improvement by Land and Sea, that should England come to depend on Sweden for iron, it would find itself "in a fine case" with "the Sound locked up" and in need of "great quantities of gun and bullets" if at the same time a war broke out.
Hostilities in the region cut direct trade between England and Sweden. Only small amounts of iron trickled in, purchased through middlemen at excessive prices. A note from the Council of Trade and Plantations described the suffering that ensued, just as <PERSON> had predicted. "During our last differences with Sweden," it observed, "the want of this commodity was found very inconvenient to the public."
Even when peace prevailed and iron imports arrived without interruption, the outflow of large sums of money for their purchase seemed a dangerous drain on England's hard currency and a threat to its balance of payments. For those economists concerned about the nation's bullion supply, Sweden's insistence on payment in ready cash rather than in exchange for goods was particularly irksome.
Interest in American Iron Revived
England did have an alternative. Everyone agreed that the American colonies abounded in wood and iron. So much wood was available that "the newly seated inhabitants are continually laboring to destroy the forests," an Englishman transplanted to America reported to his countrymen. Why not resolve England's iron crisis, many thoughtful citizens asked, by promoting iron production in America? "If pig iron was encouraged to be imported from [the colonies], wood is so plentiful there that the ore might be melted into pig at small charge," one advocate argued, and could supply "those forges [in England] forced to stand still for want of pig iron," keeping them "constantly at work."
A healthy balance of trade would also be restored by reducing Swedish imports and using American iron. Since setting up furnaces required large amounts of capital, most ironworks built in America would be owned by British investors with "the profits accruing to our mother country," <PERSON> assured his countrymen. Obtaining American iron would "almost be the same as if the iron... was dug out of the earth" in England, <PERSON> concluded. Even if colonists operated furnaces, under the existing trade laws, England could pay for the American iron in exchange for manufactured goods made in the mother country, instead of cash, stimulating home production rather than depleting its treasury.
An Earlier Act Held Up as a Model
At the beginning of the eighteenth century, England received almost all of its pitch and tar from Sweden. It needed both of these resinous materials to ensure the seaworthiness of its fleet. The
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|
the apology. "But we're here now. What do you need?"
"Your Majesty, may I present _<PERSON>. She just arrived from Faria and wanted a chance to speak with you."
"It's a great pleasure to meet you," I said.
"Your Majesty. It is an honor. I am Ambassador <PERSON>." The elderly woman bowed low, and I glanced past her to where Lieutenant Colonel <PERSON> stood, tight-lipped, at her side.
"Welcome to Indrana, Ambassador. I didn't hear anything about your arrival from the embassy. If I'd known you were coming, we would have been better prepared to greet you."
"It is quite fine as it is. There is no need for elaborate ceremony. And time is of the essence." <PERSON> rose, her platinum eyes serious. "<PERSON> sends her deepest regards."
"She's well?"
"As she can be. She's atoning for her sins."
Whatever my issues with <PERSON> were, the edge to <PERSON>'s words made me uneasy. When <PERSON>'s father had taken her home, it sounded simply like she would spend some time alone contemplating the magnitude of what she'd done. She'd had plenty of access to Stasia since her departure; surely she'd have said something if things were that bad.
I wondered if I should pull a trick from <PERSON>'s book and slip into a com link from Stasia to speak with <PERSON> directly. <PERSON>'s reply carried a heavy weight, reminding me how much I owed <PERSON>, how much <PERSON> owed her. <PERSON> had sacrificed everything for us by violating her people's most sacred beliefs when she'd brought <PERSON> back from the dead, and I'd repaid her with cold fury at the end of it.
Because <PERSON> would be alive if it weren't for her. Or we'd all be dead.
"She's a criminal?"
"Oh no, Majesty." <PERSON> waved a hand. "She is voluntarily undergoing penance for breaking faith."
The words went to war in my head, drowning out everything else, because I knew <PERSON> was talking about <PERSON> bringing <PERSON> back to life when she said that. I felt <PERSON>'s fingers brush against my arm, returning my focus to the Farians in front of me. I forced a smile as I released the breath I was holding.
"What is it we can do for you, Ambassador?"
"I have come to extend an invitation to you, Your Majesty. <PERSON> and <PERSON> have been allies for a very long time. The Pedalion would like to meet with you to discuss a stronger alliance between our people."
#
The shock that <PERSON> failed to hide told me all I needed to know about this unprecedented offer, and I remembered <PERSON>'s words about how the Pedalion had never met with a human in all the years they'd been in contact with us.
"I would be happy to talk with the Matriarch Council and put together a delegation. We would need to select an ambassador—"
"The Pedalion would like to meet with _you_ , Majesty. No one else. I am here to bring you back to Faria with me."
"Me? Why?" Something about this whole situation made the
|
45567d23-0fad-08f6-a0e6-84f6d7dc3326
|
['373910bc-2ec1-a500-2a38-755529afff09']
|
time. Your people need to stay with you."
"As leverage."
"As reminders," <PERSON> countered, looking down at her hands before she looked up at me. "You said everyone you loved had died, but that's not really true, is it? You need to be reminded there are things in this galaxy worth fighting for. Believe me, you will need the reminder."
_I hate it when the bad guys have good points_ , <PERSON> whispered in my ear, and I jerked away from my brother's ghost.
"I want you to make this choice on your own, <PERSON>. The circumstances are not ideal, but we will make the best of them. We had planned to try to speak with you again at the party and try to convince you—to show you what would happen. Obviously, that didn't go so well. I am sorry for the loss of your people; I know how much it hurts."
It was hard to focus on <PERSON>'s words as <PERSON>'s ghost strolled around us and leaned in close to study the <PERSON>. He looked back at me and winked.
_How you always gravitated toward the prettiest and the most dangerous ones I'll never know_ , he said, and I hissed.
<PERSON> arched a delicate eyebrow. "Are you all right?"
"Fine." I gritted the word out and rubbed both hands over my eyes. When I removed them, <PERSON>'s ghost was gone, and <PERSON> was frowning at me. "Thank you for breakfast," I said, and headed for the door.
<PERSON> followed me out without a sound and we made it halfway back to our rooms before she said anything. Her voice was pitched low to prevent <PERSON> from hearing where he trailed behind us.
"Majesty." The beleaguered sigh was a painful reminder of Emmory, and grief poured through me again. "You said you wouldn't—"
"I know where this is headed, _Ekam_."
"<PERSON>, I wish you would stop calling me that."
"You're my _Ekam_."
"Emmory is your _Ekam_ , ma'am."
"<PERSON> is dead!" I knew we had <PERSON>'s attention now. Seething, I continued down the corridor and into our rooms. <PERSON> and <PERSON> jerked in surprise as I came through the doorway with enough force to make the door slam against the wall. "Fires of <PERSON>, <PERSON>, I'm just trying to keep the rest of you safe."
"You're trying to sideline us. You said you wouldn't send us away, but first chance you get you're trying to bargain with them by selling yourself for our lives!"
<PERSON> raised an eyebrow at me, and I dragged a hand through my hair with a muttered curse. "It was worth asking the question."
_"Majesty?"_
I only just kept myself from shouting at <PERSON>'s sudden interruption. Ignoring the look that passed between <PERSON> and <PERSON>, I strode back out the door into the silence of the hallway.
<PERSON> didn't follow; instead a smaller <PERSON> whose name I couldn't remember took his place. I was both relieved and disappointed by the change in guard. <PERSON> I could have provoked into a fight. This woman behind me had far
|
87ca4081-bb84-9e08-ebe1-35dd0c1c62c2
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progress in tackling the deep-seated issues in the economy in Libya, then the potential for an insurgency to gain traction may well change.
Ironically this was the same set of arguments used by Colonel <PERSON> at the start of the protests when he accused those who started the revolution as being Islamic extremists. It would appear that despite their differences NATO and Colonel <PERSON> share a common concern that Libya might descend into chaos.
In the same interview the NATO Secretary General was also concerned about reports emerging of infighting between members of the NTC. Any evidence of disagreements is bound to give succour to those who wish to oppose the creation of a new Libyan state. Any secular or ethnic divisions that exist beneath the surface of the NTC may suddenly create the conditions in which an insurgency can gain hold.
# A Political Vision for Libya
The speech of the Chairman of the NTC on 13 September to cheering crowds in Tripoli therefore was crucial, as it laid out his vision of the future and how Libya would balance its commitment to being an Islamic state with Sharia Law providing the main basis for its legal systems and still allow secularism. It was a comprehensive speech that reached out across many of the potential fault lines that exist in Libya.
From a global perspective the transition from <PERSON>'s rule, and the parallel journeys being made in Tunisia, Egypt and Iraq, will shape the security landscape over the next decade. It is to be hoped that Mr <PERSON> achieves his aims. There will be some who will find it hard to agree to all of the elements he included in his speech.
The speech by the Chairman of the NTC outlined a democracy that treads a careful path between a monotheistic state and one that is based on a secular approach. For the kind of basic human rights to be established in Libya, a point which went to the heart of the intervention in the first instance, the NTC has to be seen to deliver on a secular state. Given the primacy of Sharia Law as a given treading, this path is going to be difficult. At its heart, in the interpretation of some of the schools of Islam, it is simply not possible to operate a state in the way that the NTC Chairman outlined in his speech. That said he did also lay out some other important elements of a democracy with which the West can identify, highlighting specifically the role of women in running the state noting that 'women will have a place in Libya's future'.
As these countries transition to their own unique form of democracy the world is literally entering a new era. One in which the narrow vision of an Islamic state, with no tolerance of other religions, as envisaged by Al Qaeda, challenges the results of the Arab Spring. This is a fight for the future of Islam. It is one whose outcome is far from certain.
# The Concerns over Missing
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a list of towns and cities that was nearly twenty was wound down to a focus of six crucial areas. These were Tripoli, Brega, Waddan, Misrata, Zintan and Zlitan. The military focus on these towns and cities was to prove crucial. It was to shape the way the final battle would evolve.
NATO and its coalition partners were not engaged in some thoughtless attritional battle designed simply to wear down <PERSON>'s forces. It was engaged in a carefully orchestrated campaign. The reporting provided by the United Kingdom's Ministry of Defence that provided a commentary on the campaign, highlights the very selective nature of the targeting that was carried out. The table presented in Appendix A provides a detailed breakdown on the targets engaged as a result of going through all of the UK MoD reporting.
NATO was engaged on a specific campaign that would take time to come to fruition; using its limited resources to good effect to prepare the ground for what would be an inevitable tipping point. This would be the point where the main resistance of the <PERSON> regime would disintegrate around Tripoli and, hopefully, create the conditions whereby the conflict would quickly close. As it turned out, the liberation of Tripoli was only to signal the start of the final stage of the campaign – as the resistance put up by the <PERSON> loyalists folded into towards his traditional tribal and family strongholds of Sirte and Bani Walid.
Helped by undercover operatives that had established contact with people inside Tripoli who were prepared to start their own rebellion, the moves were being made that would eventually lead to Tripoli falling. It was just that in July this was not apparent. As with many tipping points in wars it was not totally obvious, apart to a small cadre of NATO commanders, that the end game had just kicked in.
# Physical and Cognitive Manoeuvre
Modern battlefields are not just a physical space in which combatants manoeuvre. There is a hugely important element of cognitive manoeuvre that also plays a role. The <PERSON> regime showed a high degree of agility in maintaining its broadcasts to its supporters. Its television station continued to broadcast from Syria; providing a daily feed of information designed to maintain the fear of change that many former regime supporters must have felt in Libya.
Throughout the campaign <PERSON> used the media to broadcast his message of defiance to NATO and the rebel forces opposing him. Despite falling into the inevitable hyperbole on many occasions, his appearances in the media, both of television and through radio, would have provided some comfort to his supporters. <PERSON>'s repeated calls for people to rise up and throw out the colonialists – a derogatory term that he tried to apply to those in the NATO alliance highlighting their historical dominion over Libya – his messages largely went unheeded. The lack of reaction to <PERSON>'s repeated call to arms showed just how distant he had become from his people. It was clear that the vast majority of them wanted the regime to
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helping one another so they may become even more effective in the future.
The group leader should not fall into constant and predictable patterns but should use the summary time in as creative a way as possible. If he always conducts the summaries according to the same format, the group will be able to predict what is coming and will pay less attention. One summary may concentrate on how each individual person has helped; another may concern the person who had the meeting. On still another day a major portion of the summary may be devoted to discussions of issues that will become important only after the members leave the meeting.
The group leader can pose questions that involve students as a part of the summary, thereby making them feel important and pointing out what they learned during the meeting. Through this device, the leader can give credit to the members; as youth describe what happened, the leader can provide reinforcement for their insight and recall. Still, the leader maintains control of the overall summary; he does not delegate his responsibility by saying "<PERSON>, you summarize the meeting today." Generally, the ratio of group leader/group member participation should be on a 60/40% basis. When the leader asks questions, he should phrase them so that someone in the group will be able to answer, but he should keep discussion confined to the topic at hand and avoid allowing another meeting to start during the summary.
The summary should not deteriorate into negative criticisms. This is not the format for moralizing or verbal spanking. Many new leaders find it much easier to criticize the members' performances than to call attention to their achievements. The leader can help the members to learn something even if the meeting did not go so well as it might have. He can help them to see what the meeting told them about each other, and he can refer to topics that still need discussion, since what was not said may be just as important as what was said. For example, "Some seem to feel that <PERSON> did not say what really is bothering him. What does this tell the group about <PERSON>?"
If a meeting is very lethargic, the leader may well use the summary to raise the group's anxiety. Thus, if he feels the group is not really working on problems, he may point out that one member has held something back from the group—but he will not name that member. Although at times it may be good to instill in group members anxiety about their performance, it is generally not good to leave a group in a frustrated state. The meeting may raise many emotions, and the group leader must, so to speak, close the wounds so the members may be able to function in a reasonable manner. If a group is frustrated over its inability to handle a difficult student, the leader takes the edge off the tension or hostility, perhaps with such comments as:
* "When the group learns to know <PERSON> better,
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74b4dd41-9d99-d162-dfc9-cad61fca2476
|
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|
be maintained.
It may be useful to analyze the number of different two-person relationships that exist in groups of different sizes. Figure 6.1 illustrates the added complexity of interpersonal relationships as group membership increases. Table 6.1 shows how the number of two-person relationships increases as each additional member joins the group.
**Table 6.1** Group size
Number of group members | Number of two-person relationships
---|---
6 | 15
7 | 21
8 | 28
9 | 36
10 | 45
11 | 55
12 | 66
15 | 105
20 | 190
**Figure 6.1**
Complexity of interpersonal relationships develops as group membership increases, (a) Three-person group has three relationships; (b) five-person group has 10 relationships; (c) nine-member group has 36 relationships.
As the group enlarges it becomes almost impossible to keep track of all the relationships within it. A group of 9 has 36, 2-person relationships, but a group of 20 has 190! This number makes it impractical to run a cohesive and consistently positive group; inevitably, the large group splinters into subgroups or develops an elaborate status hierarchy.*
##### Guidelines in Grouping
The goal in grouping is to place each student in a group that will help him to resolve his problems. In general, the best groups are homogeneous with respect to age, sex, maturity, and sophistication. When possible, youth who reside in the same community or neighborhood should be grouped together, since they will be more knowledgeable about one another and will be in a position to carry the influence from the group into the community.
On the other hand, groups function best when they are somewhat heterogeneous in personality and problem type. Thus, a group composed entirely of weak, passive, withdrawn youth will not perform so well as a group with some diversification of personalities. Groups composed exclusively of weak and easily misled youth, or of withdrawn youth, or of youth with the same problem (e.g., homosexuality) generally should be avoided. A group should be racially balanced, although, when possible, the placement of only one or two individuals of a particular race in a group should be avoided.
Groups may contain youth of various physical sizes, but no one should be placed in a group where he can so intimidate others that they are afraid to confront him even with their collective strength. Thus, a large, physically aggressive, delinquent youth should be placed in a group with several others who are near his capacity in physical prowess. The smaller youth can be absorbed in an established positive group where all of the members are larger than he is, but in starting new groups (if youth are highly negative) it is best to avoid placing a small student in a group of larger peers.
A group may have members that span 2 or 3 years. As important as age is the factor of maturity. It is not helpful to group naive, immature youth with those who are mature and sophisticated, because the immature youth will not function with confidence. While many PPC programs use commonsense evaluations of maturity and judgments
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|
quaked.
"Want me to call Dr. <PERSON> back?" <PERSON> asked.
<PERSON> rolled her eyes and laughed. "No thanks. Sorry, talking about <PERSON> just makes me so mad."
"Just not mad enough to kill him."
"I was pretty angry when I found out he pocketed my bonus."
<PERSON> moved her computer mouse to click on another page. "We've really been cheated, <PERSON>."
"How come we didn't know?"
"The receivables were balanced last quarter. Obviously, he pocketed the cash this quarter."
"Jerk!" <PERSON> hissed. "However, today is payday. I say we make up for it."
<PERSON> cut her eyes at <PERSON>. "How?"
<PERSON> tapped the top of the computer with one fingernail. "Isn't Mrs. <PERSON> the beneficiary of the business account?"
<PERSON> nodded.
"We'll just call her and get permission," <PERSON> continued. "She has no clue how much money we make. Besides, we have paperwork to back it up."
<PERSON> slapped the desk with a palm. "What a sneak! I'm calling Mrs. <PERSON>."
<PERSON> stabbed the telephone keys, then in her best receptionist/blackmailer/loyal employee voice spoke to Mrs. <PERSON>. After a few minutes of light conversation, she replaced the receiver and shot <PERSON> a _told-ya-so_ grin.
"She actually told me to add a little something for the inconvenience."
"You're kidding."
<PERSON> opened the checkbook and began to write. "Nope."
"Will the checks clear?"
<PERSON> signed her curly-Q signature to the first check. "Yep. Mrs. <PERSON> said she would make absolutely sure."
"She knows," <PERSON> insisted.
"I think she does." <PERSON> tore the check from the checkbook and handed it to <PERSON>. "Here, this should cover it."
<PERSON> bobbed her head. "That should just about cover it. What should we do tonight?"
"Let's get pizza."
"Great! Make your phone calls and we'll call it a day."
## CHAPTER SIX
Detective <PERSON> shoved open the heavy metal door of the Maplewood Police Department with one hand while he balanced his Red Bull energy drink and powdered donuts in the other. Between a caffeine jolt and sugar overload, he might be able to make it through the day on two hours of sleep.
Damn, he hated murder investigations. There was too much red tape involved. If the department would just let him do things his way, his job wouldn't be so complicated. Better yet, if the political bullshit hadn't chased away his partner, <PERSON> would feel much more optimistic about working this case.
He negotiated the maze of the overcrowded and obnoxiously loud squad room, thankful for small favors when he made his way to his corner office. His rank as lead detective entitled him to his own space, complete with four walls, a locking door, and a small window.
Once in his inner sanctum, <PERSON> unloaded his hands and slammed the door on the chaos outside. The wheels of his rolling chair squeaked as he sat behind the metal, paper-strewn desk to review his preliminary evidence.
<PERSON> was found in an abandoned warehouse in one of Maplewood's seedier areas. Although the location of <PERSON>'s body didn't strike <PERSON> as unusual for a murder victim, the
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|
do to help you overcome your fear?"
He swallowed the softball in his throat and wrestled the savage beast inside of him. The one that insisted he throw her against the wall and brand her as his own. He tried common sense one more time. "We're on a stakeout."
Obviously not dissuaded by his stall tactic, she giggled. "Yeah, but what foreplay this could be."
He watched helplessly as she wrapped her lips around that word. _Foreplay. Damn, damn, damn, just... damn_. With a desperate groan, he pressed her against the wall while his lips traveled the length of her neck to nibble the tender skin there.
"Like this?" he whispered against the top of her shoulder.
She sighed and molded her body to his. "Exactly like that."
She moaned into his hair as he slid her sweater over her stomach and slipped one hand beneath to palm her breast.
"<PERSON>!" she gasped.
His ego saluted her response. "I know, Baby," he whispered.
He raised his head as she wiggled free from his touch and pushed her palms against his chest to move him back. "No! <PERSON>'s gone!"
He shook the lust from his brain as reality slapped him across the face. He took a deep breath and smoothed her sweater back down over her breasts. "Which way did he go?"
"Upstairs."
He laced their fingers and pulled her through the club with his eager soldier still standing at attention. _Stairs. Hell_. He casually adjusted himself and hoped he wouldn't be too obvious as he climbed.
<PERSON> snickered as she passed <PERSON> on the stairs. "I'll walk in front of you. No one will notice your limp." _Except me_. She wet her lips and silently hoped he asked for her help.
He answered with a grunt and climbed the stairs. Once at the top, he turned to face her and she snuck another peek at his groin. Much to her delight, things hadn't improved any.
"Uh, <PERSON>," he said quietly, "we don't have a reservation for one of these rooms."
She casually redirected her eyes from his groin. This was not a problem. One quick phone call and they could occupy any room on the floor.
Before she could answer, a grin captured the corner of his mouth, one that stripped her clothes from her body. "No," he said. And then her stomach muscles double-clutched at his next declaration. "Not here."
She let her gaze meander along the length of his body before she answered. "What makes you so sure I'm that easy?"
She felt a slight tremor in his fingers as he brushed his knuckles down the side of her face. "You are definitely not easy, <PERSON>."
Strangely flattered, she felt the sexual magnetism that made him so self-confident. Alpha male at its finest. Too bad for him that alpha female could knock alpha male on his mind-bogglingly magnificent ass.
"So, we wait?"
He nodded his agreement.
"Here?"
He turned to survey the area. "There's not another way down is there?"
She shook her head. "No, he'll have to go back
|
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(a get).
My own travel adventures took me to Chernigov in 1967 with my three young sons—<PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>. We found no relatives, but were generously hosted by the local Communist officials. Unfortunately, my memory of that visit is somewhat dimmed by the fact that they not only hosted us but repeatedly toasted my mother, each of my boys, relations between our two countries, and every other dignitary or subject worthy of toasting. I had assumed this was the oft-rumored Communist trick of getting visiting Americans too intoxicated to think clearly, leading them into compromising and well-photographed situations; but no. I soon found that my hosts were even more inebriated than I. That was the one and only experience with alcoholic intoxication in my sheltered life. But it was the least I could do in memory of <PERSON> and <PERSON>.
## Chapter 2
## Mother
In 1905 <PERSON> left Omaha, where she had been born and raised, to work her way through the University of Nebraska in Lincoln as a maid—a practice not uncommon in those days when few scholarships were available to women. Her employer, the activist dean of women, <PERSON>, became a mentor, whom my mother would honor more than three decades later with a "Peace Mural" on campus.
She no doubt felt a thrill when she arrived at the university that fall, not yet seventeen, having passed entrance exams that were said to be as demanding as those of Yale and Harvard—a point of pride to Nebraskans, as was the university itself. It all must have looked to young <PERSON> much as the author <PERSON> had described it about a dozen years earlier:
...everything looked big. The University was big. The seniors were big. The professors were big.... [But] the young scholars had a kind of fire, a really burning ambition and devotion...to do for their state and community the work of several generations in one short lifetime.
In 1908, not yet twenty, <PERSON> received her undergraduate degree in classics, with honors in Greek and Latin, and went on to earn a master's degree in both subjects the following year. Many years later, in an editorial she wrote for the University Journal, she described a college coed—without acknowledging that it might be autobiographical—"the girl who has courage enough to exchange her home and friendly circle...for the uncertainty of earning her way through the University by doing housework in some citified family...and will in turn go forth with better and higher values of life than had she never ventured from home."
Seeking both a job and still more education—and equipped with a graduate degree of little interest to Nebraska's public schools—<PERSON> applied either to teach or to study at one of the great universities of the East, but failed, possibly because of her gender or religion. Undeterred, she decided that social work—open to women, and consistent with her idealism—was the right avenue for her, and promptly enrolled in a social service course at the New York School of Social Work, in a city where
|
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|
and daughter, whom he also raped. <PERSON>'s dissent on the death penalty was eloquent:
Capital punishment tends to make the state...imitate the murderer.... The time for society to protect itself against criminals is before they are made.... The schoolhouse rather than the electric chair is the symbol of the kind of civilization I want to see in America.
Today the annual award established by Nebraskans Against the Death Penalty is named for <PERSON>.
A second controversial decision centered on the question of race. Although he had met <PERSON>, my father had little experience with this issue; the progressive and populist movements with which he had been associated did not emphasize civil rights. Yet <PERSON> went on to serve on the board of the Lincoln Urban League, to challenge the constitutionality of segregation in Lincoln's movie theaters, and to denounce an antiquated state statute that held Indians and blacks "incompetent to testify" in court, thereby lumping them with those of unsound mind. A concrete issue confronted him as attorney general in 1931 when the chairman of the Legal Redress Committee of the Omaha NAACP asked his view of an Omaha café with a sign in its front window reading: "No Colored Patronage Solicited."
C.A.'s reply was clear and direct:
Such a sign is a violation of law, a denial of "full and equal enjoyment of the accommodations, advantages, facilities and privileges" of the restaurant which the law requires. The sign for all practical purposes means "stay out." It tells the colored people of Omaha that they are not wanted in that particular eating place....
C.A.'s most lasting legacies in Nebraska, however, concern not the issues of race or capital punishment, but nonpartisanship and public electric power. The culmination of the <PERSON>-Sorensen effort to streamline and depoliticize government in Nebraska was a constitutional amendment converting the traditional two-house partisan legislature into a nonpartisan one-house or unicameral legislature. It remains the only one in the United States. <PERSON> and C.A. believed that voters could not hold their representatives accountable so long as the representatives in one house could blame the other house for delaying, changing, or defeating legislation, or so long as secret conference committees between the two houses, supposedly limited to adjusting differences in wording, could delay, defeat, or amend beyond recognition legislation previously passed by both houses. My father explained to me that, at the time, the state legislature concerned itself primarily with questions of highways, bridges, and infrastructure on which there was no particular Republican or Democratic position.
C.A.'s election as attorney general was also viewed as a victory for the cause of low-cost publicly owned electric power for the people of Nebraska, particularly those in rural areas. Within months of his first election in 1928, a conference on municipal ownership of electric power was held in Lincoln. The movement spread to the farms; rural public power districts were established. The Nebraska Association of Rural Public Power Districts was formed, with C.A. as its first president. Many times, as a boy, I heard my father speak to
|
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|
club at Dumfries Academy when he was a pupil there. A clergyman attacked it in the columns of a local paper as being grossly immoral.
Mr Toole: <PERSON>, the actor-manager.
<PERSON>'s Ghost: <PERSON>'s first play to be professionally performed, on 30 May 1891.
in front: in the audience.
'parts': sections of the complete playscript given to an actor, consisting of his/her own appearances and lines. The term 'part', as in 'the part of X was played by Y' refers to this practice.
another MS, lately made: probably an oblique reference by <PERSON> to his compulsive activity as a reviser (not only of _<PERSON>_ , but of his plays generally).
in the days when you most admired me: a characteristic note of wry and amiable bitterness which reflects in part the degree of estrangement in <PERSON>'s later relationship with the <PERSON> <PERSON> children, but chiefly the mere fact that they had grown up; as such, the comment reflects the preoccupation which created _Peter Pan_.
one-and-sixpence: the equivalent of 7½ p. in decimal coinage, though its actual value was considerably greater.
challenged as collaboration: this was an enduring joke of <PERSON>'s. The 'legal document' referred to was a formal recognition of <PERSON> supposed contribution of one line to _Little Mary_. Later in life he came to a similar agreement with the young Princess <PERSON> for her 'co-authorship' of _The Boy David_.
gallery boys: the gallery was the highest tier of audience accommodation, had the cheapest admission prices, and drew the rowdiest theatregoers.
that native place: <PERSON>'s birthplace, Kirriemuir in Angus, Scotland.
was so hard to reach: <PERSON> first went to London in 1885 at the age of 25, 'with nothing but a discouraging letter from an editor to justify the risk' (<PERSON>, 167). Despite his swift professional success, it was several years more before he had a settled home in the capital.
that great dog: <PERSON>'s Newfoundland, Luath.
fellow-conspirator <PERSON>: <PERSON>, <PERSON>'s childhood friend, who shared his earliest dramatic efforts in the wash-house of the <PERSON>' cottage at Kirriemuir, which became their boyhood theatre.
glengarry bonnets: a type of bonnet worn by some of the Scottish regiments, taking its name from a valley in Inverness-shire.
preens, a bool, or a peerie: Scottish words: 'preens' are pins or items of small value; 'bools' are balls or marbles; 'peeries' are marbles.
lum hat: top hat, like a stovepipe hat ('lum'=chimneypot).
wrecked islands: the islands of <PERSON>'s boyhood reading exerted a lasting hold on his imagination—hence the importance of islands in his plays (see _Peter Pan, The Admirable Crichton, <PERSON>)_. In his Preface to <PERSON> _The Coral Island_ (1913), he wrote: 'To be born is to be wrecked on an island.'
He buys his sanguinary tales...penny numbers: <PERSON> as a child was a voracious reader of 'penny dreadfuls'—blood-and-thunder stories in instalments costing a penny each.
Chatterbox: a magazine for boys founded in 1866 by the Revd <PERSON> in an effort to undermine the influence of 'penny dreadfuls'.
With gloaming: at twilight.
Pathhead farm: a farm near
|
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as peat for instance, and they might exchange eyes without any neighbour noticing the difference, inquisitive little blue eyes that seem to be always totting up the price of things. **95**
The dambrod players pay no attention to <PERSON>, nor does he regard them. Dumping down on the sofa he removes his 'lastic sides,° as his Sabbath boots are called, by pushing one foot against the other, gets into a pair of hand-sewn slippers, deposits the boots as according to rule in the ottoman, and crosses to the fire. **100** There must be something on <PERSON>'s mind to-night, for he pays no attention to the game, neither gives advice (than which nothing is more maddening) nor exchanges a wink with <PERSON> over the parlous condition of <PERSON>'s crown. **105** You can hear the wag-at-the-wall clock° in the lobby ticking. Then <PERSON> lets himself go; it runs out of him like a hymn:
<PERSON> | Oh, let the solid ground
Not fail beneath my feet,
**110**
Before my life has found
What some have found so sweet.°
---|---
_(This is not a soliloquy, but is offered as a definite statement. The players emerge from their game with difficulty)_
<PERSON> _(with <PERSON>'s crown in his hand)_ What's that you're saying, <PERSON>?
<PERSON> _(like a public speaker explaining the situation in a few well-chosen words)_ The thing I'm speaking about is Love. **115**
<PERSON> _(keeping control of himself)_ Do you stand there and say you're in love, <PERSON>?
<PERSON> Me; what would I do with the thing?
<PERSON> _(who is by no means without pluck)_ I see no necessity for calling it a thing. **120**
_(They are two bachelors who all their lives have been afraid of nothing but Woman. <PERSON> in his sportive days—which continue—has done roguish things with his arm when conducting a lady home under an umbrella from a soirée,° and has both chuckled and been scared on thinking of it afterwards. <PERSON>, a commoner fellow altogether, has discussed the sex over a glass, but is too canny° to be in the company of less than two young women at a time)_
<PERSON> _(derisively)_ Oho, has she got you, <PERSON>?
<PERSON> _(feeling the sting of it)_ Nobody has got me.
<PERSON> They'll catch you yet, lad.
<PERSON> They'll never catch me. You've been nearer catched yourself. **125**
<PERSON> Yes, <PERSON>, <PERSON>.
<PERSON> _(feeling himself under the umbrella)_ It was a kind of a shave° that.
<PERSON> _(who knows all that is to be known about women and can speak of them without a tremor)_ It's a curious thing, but a man cannot help winking when he hears that one of his friends has been catched. **130**
<PERSON> That's so.
<PERSON> _(clinging to his manhood)_ And fear of that wink is what has kept the two of us single men. And yet what's the glory of being single? **135**
<PERSON> There's no particular glory in it, but it's safe.
<PERSON> _(putting away his aspirations)_ Yes, it's lonely, but it's safe. But who did you mean the poetry for, then?
**140**
<PERSON>
|
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they get better, their rate of improvement slows. This turns out to be true for all of us. The more you know about your field, the slighter will be your improvement from one day to the next.
That there's a learning curve for skill development isn't surprising. But the timescale on which that development happens is. In one of <PERSON>'s studies, the very best violinists at a German music academy accumulated about ten thousand hours of practice over ten years before achieving elite levels of expertise. By comparison, less accomplished students accumulated about half as much practice over the same period.
Perhaps not so coincidentally, the dancer <PERSON> declared, "It takes about ten years to make a mature dancer." More than a century ago, psychologists studying telegraph operators observed that reaching complete fluency in Morse code was rare because of the "many years of hard apprenticeship" required. How many years? "Our evidence," the researchers concluded, "is that it requires ten years to make a thoroughly seasoned press dispatcher."
If you've read <PERSON>'s original research, you know that ten thousand hours of practice spread over ten years is just a rough average. Some of the musicians he studied reached the high-water mark of expertise before that, and some after. But there's a good reason why "the ten-thousand-hour rule" and "the ten-year-rule" have gone viral. They give you a visceral sense of the scale of the required investment. Not a few hours, not dozens, not scores, not hundreds. Thousands and thousands of hours of practice over years and years and years.
* * *
The really crucial insight of Ericsson's research, though, is not that experts log more hours of practice. Rather, it's that experts practice differently. Unlike most of us, experts are logging thousands upon thousands of hours of what Ericsson calls deliberate practice.
I suspected <PERSON> could provide answers as to why, if practice is so important, experience doesn't always lead to excellence. So I decided to ask him about it, using myself as a prime example.
"Look, Professor <PERSON>, I've been jogging about an hour a day, several days a week, since I was eighteen. And I'm not a second faster than I ever was. I've run for thousands of hours, and it doesn't look like I'm anywhere close to making the Olympics."
"That's interesting," he replied. "May I ask you a few questions?"
"Sure."
"Do you have a specific goal for your training?"
"To be healthy? To fit into my jeans?"
"Ah, yes. But when you go for a run, do you have a target in terms of the pace you'd like to keep? Or a distance goal? In other words, is there a specific aspect of your running you're trying to improve?"
"Um, no. I guess not."
Then he asked what I thought about while I was running.
"Oh, you know, I listen to NPR. Sometimes I think about the things I need to get done that day. I might plan what to make for dinner."
Then he verified that I wasn't keeping track of my runs in
|
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|
When? When does struggle lead to hope, and when does struggle lead to hopelessness?
A few years ago, <PERSON> and his students designed an experiment nearly identical to the one he and <PERSON> had conducted forty years earlier: One group of rats received electric shocks, but if they turned a small wheel with their front paws, they could turn off the shock until the next trial. A second group received the exact same dose of electric shocks as the first but had no control over their duration.
One crucial difference was that, in the new experiment, the rats were only five weeks old—that's adolescence in the rat life cycle. A second difference was that the effects of this experience were assessed five weeks later, when the rats were fully mature adults. At that point, both groups of rats were subjected to uncontrollable electric shocks and, the next day, observed in a social exploration test.
Here's what <PERSON> learned. Adolescent rats who experienced stress they could not control grew up to be adult rats who, after being subjected to uncontrollable shocks a second time, behaved timidly. This was not unusual—they learned to be helpless in the same way that any other rat would. In contrast, adolescent rats who experienced stress they could control grew up to be more adventurous and, most astounding, appeared to be inoculated against learned helplessness in adulthood. That's right—when these "resilient rats" grew up, the usual uncontrollable shock procedures no longer made them helpless.
In other words, what didn't kill the young rats, when by their own efforts they could control what was happening, made them stronger for life.
* * *
When I learned about <PERSON> new experimental work, I just had to talk to him in person. I got on a plane to Colorado.
<PERSON> walked me around his laboratory and showed me the special cages equipped with little wheels that, when turned, cut off the current to the electric shock. Afterward, the graduate student who ran the experiment on adolescent rats that I just described gave a talk on the brain circuits and neurotransmitters involved. Finally, when <PERSON> and I sat down together, I asked him to explain, from this experiment and everything else he'd done in his long and distinguished career, the neurobiology of hope.
<PERSON> thought for a moment. "Here's the deal in a few sentences. You've got lots of places in the brain that respond to aversive experiences. Like the amygdala. In fact, there are a whole bunch of limbic areas that respond to stress."
I nodded.
"Now what happens is that these limbic structures are regulated by higher-order brain areas, like the prefrontal cortex. And so, if you have an appraisal, a thought, a belief—whatever you want to call it—that says, 'Wait a minute, I can do something about this!' or 'This really isn't so bad!' or whatever, then these inhibitory structures in the cortex are activated. They send a message: 'Cool it down there! Don't get so activated. There's something we can do.' "
I got it. But
|
65263a1f-ec6b-3249-4105-4b45e2438efc
|
['38f76a03-31b7-2a62-14a5-5cab874d434c']
|
home," she said.
"I have to go on a fucking diet, like today," I said staring out the window.
"Only if you want new boobs," she answered with a smirk. I wanted a drink and a cigarette, badly. Immediately I started thinking about which drinks contained the fewest calories. No more margaritas, no more cosmos, no beer, no wine. Maybe I should just do shots.
When I got back to campus I ate salads for lunch and dinner. Joining a gym for the first time, I discovered that running could make me feel good, not unlike a thick slab of chocolate cake. The process of physically exerting myself was far less enjoyable than lying on a couch and sucking down a milkshake, but as I watched those one-tenth of a mile markers add up on the treadmill, I felt something close to high. On top of the endorphin rush, there was the satisfaction of setting a goal and reaching it. It gave me control. I became obsessive and went to the gym six times a week.
Despite continuing to get drunk regularly, I lost thirty pounds in five months. So in the summer of 1987, just before I entered my senior year in college, Dr. <PERSON> gave me a pair of beautiful, firm breasts.
The weight loss thinned my face which seemed to crank me up a couple of notches in attractiveness, at least judging by the looks I started getting in bars. Was this what it was like to be kind of cute? Even hot? I let my curly brown hair grow long and streaked it with blonde highlights. And I started wearing clothes to show my body rather than hide it. Maybe I was becoming someone the hot guys would want to sleep with when they were sober.
When I returned to Northwestern that fall, evidence of my transformation exploded all around me. I was getting looks, whistles, and even compliments right to my face. One night, my roommates and I went to a party at an off-campus apartment where we drank keg beer out of giant red cups and yelled at each other over the blare of R.E.M. I wore tight jeans and a low cut V-neck shirt that showed plenty of cleavage, which looked good for the first time in my life. All night my friends and I held up shot glasses full of Jack Daniels and made toasts to my new chest.
Then from behind me, I heard a familiar voice. "Wow. <PERSON>. Is that you? Wow." Oh God. It was <PERSON>, a notorious slut who was once the object of my obsession. He was the ultimate example of my penchant for skinny, androgynous guys who could pull off a nice application of eyeliner. <PERSON> had mile-high cheekbones, bright blue eyes, full red lips, and carefully sculpted hair. A friend had set us up for one of my sorority formals a couple of years earlier.
"Yeah, of course it's me. What's up?" I tried to sound casual, even though my heart was trying to pound its
|
7c1814b3-7bad-c55c-759c-6e727de1b46b
|
['38f76a03-31b7-2a62-14a5-5cab874d434c']
|
two years at the firm getting serious environmental law experience from the point of view of the big-money corporations. Then I would defect, hopefully to a nonprofit, pro-conservation organization that would find me an invaluable weapon against big companies. If I had to transfer now to Corporate Finance, my whole strategy would be blown. The sweat beaded around my hairline as I got to the door of <PERSON>'s office. A drink. A drink. I really needed a drink.
Doug was in his early forties with a slight build, a thick head of black hair, and black-rimmed <PERSON> glasses. He had an engaging smile that put people at ease. His spacious corner office was strewn with expensive area rugs and other mementos from trips around the world.
Partners seemed to believe that the more exotica they had on display, the more sophisticated they appeared to be. "Wow, that's a really interesting mask," I had remarked once to a partner as I examined a deep-red clay piece on his credenza.
"Do you know where that's from?" he asked blankly.
"No, I'm sorry, actually I don't," I answered. Apologies were expected when you didn't have an answer to a partner's question. And it didn't matter what kind of question; I would have apologized just as quickly if he'd asked me if I knew his mother's maiden name.
"Well, you should know about that mask," he said, as he arched his back and puffed his chest. "Top Brazilian government officials presented me with that rare Amazon tribal mask when we completed the debt-for-nature swap transaction. As I'm sure you _do_ know, that was a major deal for the firm."
After that, I learned not to comment on partners' office decor. In <PERSON>'s office, I knew about his wife and two kids only because of their silver-framed snapshots from clambakes on the beach and ski trips in the mountains.
In one of the two sturdy leather wingback chairs opposite his desk, sat <PERSON>, the other partner in our group and the one for whom I did most of my work. <PERSON> was about forty years old, a human firecracker with lots of red-brown hair and the body of a <PERSON>. She had worked her way up the ladder in a decidedly male-dominated field, and I wondered if that's why she had such a toughness to her personality or whether she had brought it with her. <PERSON> was always clear about what she wanted which was a relief from the senior attorneys who regularly expected juniors to be mind readers. To add to our all-day stress, we young lawyers feared both getting it wrong and looking stupid by asking the senior lawyers for clarification.
Seeing <PERSON> sitting there that afternoon, smiling with <PERSON>, I felt as if I'd been punched in the windpipe. Don't cry, I told myself. Keep a straight face, keep a straight face. Just get through this and then you can drink. . . . and drink and drink.
Doug spoke first. "So, you probably think we called you here on a Friday evening
|
ef0d57b1-806b-9c0b-ad0a-b6075f756f2a
|
['394974b4-d8d7-504d-ab17-ffff487686fa']
|
Even as a giant oak, which heaven's fierce flame
260Had scathed in the wilderness, to stand
A monument of fadeless ruin there;
Yet peacefully and movelessly it braves
The midnight conflict of the wintry storm,
As in the sun-light's calm it spreads
265 Its worn and withered arms on high
To meet the quiet of a summer's noon.
The Fairy waved her wand:
<PERSON> fled
Fast as the shapes of mingled shade and mist,
270That lurk in the glens of a twilight grove,
Flee from the morning beam:
The matter of which dreams are made
Not more endowed with actual life
Than this phantasmal portraiture
275 Of wandering human thought.
#### VIII
The present and the past thou hast beheld:
It was a desolate sight. Now, Spirit, learn
The secrets of the future.—Time!
Unfold the brooding pinion of thy gloom,
5Render thou up thy half-devoured babes,
And from the cradles of eternity,
Where millions lie lulled to their portioned sleep
By the deep murmuring stream of passing things,
Tear thou that gloomy shroud.—Spirit, behold
10 Thy glorious destiny!
Joy to the Spirit came.
Through the wide rent in Time's eternal veil,
Hope was seen beaming through the mists of fear:
Earth was no longer hell;
15 Love, freedom, health, had given
Their ripeness to the manhood of its prime,
And all its pulses beat
Symphonious to the planetary spheres:
Then dulcet music swelled
20Concordant with the life-strings of the soul;
It throbbed in sweet and languid beatings there,
Catching new life from transitory death,—
Like the vague sighings of a wind at even,
That wakes the wavelets of the slumbering sea
25And dies on the creation of its breath,
And sinks and rises, fails and swells by fits:
Was the pure stream of feeling
That sprung from these sweet notes,
And o'er the Spirit's human sympathies
30With mild and gentle motion calmly flowed.
Joy to the Spirit came,—
Such joy as when a lover sees
The chosen of his soul in happiness,
And witnesses her peace
35Whose woe to him were bitterer than death,
Sees her unfaded cheek
Glow mantling in first luxury of health,
Thrills with her lovely eyes,
Which like two stars amid the heaving main
40 Sparkle through liquid bliss.
Then in her triumph spoke the Fairy Queen:
I will not call the ghost of ages gone
To unfold the frightful secrets of its lore;
The present now is past,
45And those events that desolate the earth
Have faded from the memory of Time,
Who dares not give reality to that
Whose being I annul. To me is given
The wonders of the human world to keep,
50Space, matter, time, and mind. Futurity
Exposes now its treasure; let the sight
Renew and strengthen all thy failing hope.
O human Spirit! spur thee to the goal
Where virtue fixes universal peace,
55And midst the ebb and flow of human things,
Shew somewhat stable, somewhat certain still,
A lighthouse o'er the wild of dreary waves.
The habitable earth is full of bliss;
Those wastes of frozen billows that were hurled
60By
|
4a5c0e7e-231a-cdea-dddf-ec2ce6ddd6c9
|
['394974b4-d8d7-504d-ab17-ffff487686fa']
|
the passing of a love that was too delightful to endure, these plangent verses (see also here) are a tour de force of lyric craftsmanship.
#### _Time Long Past_
> Like the ghost of a dear friend dead
>
> __ Is Time long past.
>
> A tone which is now forever fled,
>
> A hope, which is now forever past,
>
> A love, so sweet it could not last
>
> __ Was Time long past.
>
> There were sweet dreams in the night
>
> __ Of Time long past;
>
> And, was it sadness or delight,
>
> Each day a shadow onward cast
>
> Which made us wish it yet might last—
>
> That Time long past.
>
> There is regret, almost remorse
>
> __ For Time long past.
>
> 'Tis like a child's beloved corse
>
> A father watches, till at last
>
> Beauty is like remembrance, cast
>
> __ From Time long past.
A close reading of the three stanzas underscores the truth of <PERSON>'s assertion – in a consideration of major contemporary poets, including <PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON> – that '<PERSON> is one of the best _artists_ of us all: I mean in workmanship of style'.41 The eighteen lines count only four rhymes, the title itself occurring six times in the body of the lyric, each occurrence subtly individualized by the addition of a single monosyllabic word. The strict economy of means and the formal patterning rein in the familiar conversational quality of both language and syntax by, as it were, compulsive returns to the three emphatic stresses of the title. Rhetorically, each stanza consists of two statements, both concluding with a variation on the title, the first expressing prosaically, and without strict adherence to any prosodic scheme, a condition for which 'time long past' functions simply as a temporal adverb; the second, rhythmically varied in each case, also leads back to the title-phrase, which echoes all previous instances of itself and yet is both grammatically distinct and significantly distinguished in meaning from them. The bitter and shocking image of the dead child and grieving father in the third stanza cruelly realizes the ominous suggestions in the 'dear friend dead' and 'shadow' of stanzas 1 and 2, jarring with the conventional idiom of erotic complaint that has governed the poem till then by introducing a detail borrowed from <PERSON>'s personal life, the death of his three-year-old son, <PERSON>, in June 1819. The sense of 'remembrance' in the penultimate line, an act of recollecting the dead, encompasses lost love and lost child as well as the process of memorializing them in the poem itself – an artful instance of carrying the tensions implicit in a traditional lyric topic to their limits and beyond, and of the power of lyric poetry at its best to create much from little. To read <PERSON>'s poems on erotic
|
a35de85b-459a-104a-f72c-4722a4057b45
|
['3a9c0fc9-cce3-5903-457c-90c089b9677d']
|
<PERSON>
24 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 2 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
21 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 2 - <PERSON>, "<PERSON>"
20 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 1 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
18 - <PERSON>, "<PERSON>" | 1 - <PERSON>, "<PERSON>"
17 - <PERSON>, "<PERSON>" | 1 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
15 - <PERSON>, | 1 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
15 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
13 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
12 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
11 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
10 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
6 - <PERSON>, |
5 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
5 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
5 - <PERSON>, |
4 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
3 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
3 - <PERSON>, |
3 - <PERSON>, |
2 - <PERSON>, |
2 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
2 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
2 - <PERSON>, |
1 - <PERSON>, |
1 - <PERSON>, |
1 - <PERSON>, |
1 - <PERSON>, |
1 - <PERSON>, |
1 - <PERSON>, |
# FALL RIVER MARKSMEN 1929-30
Atlantic Coast League
United States Open Cup
Lewis Cup
Second leg of the final played in October.
League Appearances 1929-30 | Goalscorers
---|---
27 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 22 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
26 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 22 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
26 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 14 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
26 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 9 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
24 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 7 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
23 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>" | 3 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
22 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 3 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
21 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 1 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
21 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 1 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
21 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 1 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
20 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 1 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
18 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 1 - o.g.
8 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
8 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
3 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
3 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
2 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
2 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
2 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
1 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
1 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
# HAKOAH ALL STARS 1929-30
Atlantic Coast League
United States Open Cup
Lewis Cup
League Appearances 1929-30 | Goalscorers
---|---
33 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 15 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
32 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 14
|
b55f2090-eaf1-a0a7-0ff7-1295596fb913
|
['3a9c0fc9-cce3-5903-457c-90c089b9677d']
|
<PERSON>, <PERSON> | 2 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
17 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 2 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
16 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 1 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
15 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> | 1 - <PERSON>, <PERSON>
13 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
13 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
9 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
8 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
8 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
7 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
7 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
4 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
3 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
2 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
2 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
1 - <PERSON>, <PERSON> |
1 - <PERSON>, |
# The 1931 Season (Fall)
The American Soccer League had a strange look in the fall of 1931 since for the first time there was no team from Fall River. The new team in the "Spindle City" being no more successful financially than the old, the club folded. Meanwhile, <PERSON>, his New York enterprise a failure, moved his team to New Bedford and in the process obtained the rights to the players from the failed Fall River team. Thus in effect the New Bedford Whalers in the fall of 1931 were a combination of the old Fall River, Providence, and New Bedford teams.
Seven teams formed the league in the fall of 1931, the famous old Brooklyn Wanderers team also having failed. The new boys in the league were the New York Americans, later to become a force for many years in the second edition of the American Soccer League.
The powerful New Bedford club won the second half of the 1931 season and in the spring of 1932 the national championship. But in the playoff for the 1931 ASL crown, they were defeated by the spring champion New York Giants in a series that was worthy of the ASL in its glory days. The Whalers, playing at home, won the first game handily by a score of eight goals to three. Very few people would have bet on the Giants in the return game in New York, but in an amazing turnaround the Giants won 6-0 to take the title on a 9-8 aggregate score. Perhaps it was a fitting end to what had once been a league full of promise for the future of soccer in the United States.
Final League Table - 1931 (Fall)
The New Bedford Whalers were the champions of the second half of the season.
League-Leading Goalscorers
24 - <PERSON> (New York Giants)
16 - <PERSON> (New Bedford Whalers)
15 - <PERSON> (New Bedford Whalers)
15 - <PERSON> (Pawtucket Rangers)
13 - <PERSON> (Pawtucket Rangers)
12 - <PERSON> (Hakoah All Stars)
League-Leading Goalscorers
11 - <PERSON> (Pawtucket Rangers)
10 - <PERSON> (Hakoah All Stars)
10 - <PERSON> (New Bedford Whalers)
# BOSTON BEARS 1931
|
02276697-856a-97e2-680e-55bede171ae5
|
['3ab3b953-1106-6224-cc0c-a158b631a709']
|
what I'd heard from my parents and society:
"I don't want to put all my eggs in one basket and just go do music."
"Just make sure you have a basket," he said.
Fireworks shot across my brain. Everything in my soul shifted. Here was this teacher who I only had for one semester in high school, providing me with life-changing advice. I've known people for much longer who have impacted my life far less. Don't block your blessings because you are so crippled by the idea of where the message should come from that you fail to receive the message. He didn't want me to fall in the trap of playing it safe. He didn't want me to fall in the trap of doing what my parents wanted me to do—my mom wanted me to be a lawyer or a finance guy (I once won the school-wide stock market game). He didn't want me to fall for being realistic.
"Be realistic" is the worst advice I've ever received. It is a commonly used phrase that, when internalized and accepted, brands a life of mediocrity.
The people championing realism are usually the people who gave up on their own dreams. The reason someone will tell you something is unrealistic is because you haven't done it yet, and deeper than that, THEY themselves haven't done it yet. Being realistic is claustrophobic. It suffocates you and limits you to only what's been done so far. <PERSON> explained in an interview: "It is unrealistic to walk into a room and flip a switch and lights come on. Fortunately, <PERSON> didn't think so. It is unrealistic to think that you can bend a piece of metal and fly people over an ocean. That's unrealistic."
I moved around a bit as a kid—New Jersey, Kentucky, North Carolina, and Georgia. Doing that can either make you get heavily attached to things or provide you with a sense of detachment, because you see that certain things and people are interchangeable. I think for myself it was probably a little bit of both. I wasn't that close with the other kids so all I had was myself. That social detachment freed me. It freed me to be alone with myself. I became centered, which is something I've been able to carry with me throughout my journey. It is a source of confidence and pride. It has given me immunity to certain social constructs.
Individual thinker > Group thinker.
I hate the word _humble_ with a vengeance. The dictionary definition is disappointing to say the least given how idolized the character trait is. The word _humble_ has been defined as to be marked by modesty or meekness with regard to spirit or attitude or behavior, or as showing submissive respect, being low in rank or quality. All of these things are about lowering yourself to appease others. I understand what people are trying to say; they're trying to tell you to stay grounded. But you can be grounded without being weak in behavior or low in rank, and you should
|
cfe4f119-b574-c3e5-01d7-8adaf0250c18
|
['3ab3b953-1106-6224-cc0c-a158b631a709']
|
learn them too. We used to sneak in to one of the equipment closets in the band room before school started, because that was where all the keyboards were kept. You could play any instrument on those keyboards, so that room was a place of free musical expression. It started to become a routine and we even amassed a huge crowd of three girls.
By the time I was a sophomore, I had discovered GarageBand on our family computer.
I felt like I had just gotten my license.
I started out by just putting a bunch of premade loops together. I probably made a thousand of those, and looking back, I realize that those were the infantile steps of learning how to structure a song.
Then I tried making my own beat. The first one was so, SO bad. I uploaded it to my YouTube channel one night and <PERSON> asked, "What if you wake up tomorrow and have fifty thousand views?" (Fifty thousand was like fifty million—it was UNFATHOMABLE.)
I went to bed recognizing how far-fetched that seemed, but at the same time I was jittery, and could hardly sleep at the thought that that was ABSOLUTELY possible.
I woke up and it had fifty views.
Yet I felt the opposite of discouraged. I felt invigorated and motivated to try again. It became a challenge for me to blow up, and I wasn't going to stop until I did. It was in that moment that I realized that I DO have a work ethic; I just never had work that I loved.
<PERSON> and I would meet in the neighborhood park and play our beats for each other and go fucking crazy. The other kids would be laughing and making fun of us, but we didn't give a fuck. We thought we were AMAZING.
<PERSON> found out we made beats, and he loved them. He hadn't started rapping yet, but he introduced us to a kid named <PERSON> who was. He would come over to our lunch table periodically and start rapping while providing his own beat via the table. If the journey is a staircase, the next stair had lit up. We needed to figure out how to record.
So we set up the most bootleg studio in my basement. We took the microphone from the video game _Rock Band_ and duct-taped it to a guitar stand. We made a pop filter out of a wire hanger and pantyhose that my mom gave us, and then we put that in the closet and powered everything with the guitar amp, because it had a USB outlet so we could connect the microphone to the computer.
It was shitty, but it worked.
The first day that he came over we made a song. We were charged. If there was video of that moment, you would think we had won a Grammy.
We all went to school the next day and paraded the song around. We were our own street team. If you think I was excited about just making beats, you
|
63b35e81-76f0-16cc-aae0-785bb0ae69ab
|
['3afa235e-a14c-5282-0091-2ede74f571a3']
|
3,000 feet in the North Atlantic and Arctic Oceans. The spoon-arm octopus was previously thought to have a three-year life span, but was shown to live for more than six years; <PERSON> bred and raised them in captivity. The female broods her eggs for more than four hundred days—a period longer than the entire life span of their better-studied shallow-water relatives. During this time she stops eating and slowly wastes away as she metabolizes her own body to provide energy to care for the eggs. In his study of this creature, <PERSON> found that this little deep-sea species, not much larger than your hand, fed on brittle stars, which are common enough on the continental slopes but provide very little energy. Perhaps because of the accessible food sources, deep-sea octopuses like the spoon-arm are much less active than their shallow-water counterparts.
The little deep-sea octopus, _Bathypolypus arcticus_ poses for the camera.
_Photograph © <PERSON> / SeaPics.com_
In his detailed study, <PERSON> wrote that 40 percent of all known octopuses are deep-sea inhabitants, but the natural history of the benthic groups has been only partially investigated:
The little information that exists for deep-sea cephalopods is generally limited to fields such as taxonomy, distribution, diet and evidence of reproduction—in other words, information that can be extrapolated from preserved specimens.
If you thought that the anaerobic depths of the ocean would constitute an environment about as hostile to animal life as could be imagined, that would be because you hadn't thought of the hydrothermal vents. First observed from the submersible _Alvin_ in 1977, the vents form towering chimneys up to 60 feet high, where hot water gushes out of the cracks in the sea bed to form dense plumes of black "smoke" made up of minute particles of metal sulfides. In what would seem to be the most inherently harsh environment on earth, with water temperatures as high as of 765° F (407° C), hot enough to melt lead, the areas around the vents actually host complex animal communities fueled by the chemical soup spewed from the ocean floor. Chemosynthetic bacteria form the base of the food chain, supporting such diverse organisms as giant tube worms, foot-long clams, white crabs, mussels, eyeless shrimp, and a creature with a name almost as wonderful as the vampire squid's: _Vulcanoctopus hydrothermalis,_ the hot-water volcano octopus.
Two specimens were collected by a French submersible on the hydrothermal vent of the East Pacific Rise west of Panama, at a depth of 2,640 meters (8,600 feet), and described in 1998 by <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>. The maximum mantle length of the specimens was fifty-two millimeters, or just over two inches, so the measurement from arm tip to arm tip was about ten inches. Both specimens were a semitranslucent white, with long arms, a short web, and no functional eyes. They have no ink sac. This octopus seems to be associated with the six-foot-long tube worm with feathery red plumes known as _Riftia pachytila_. Videos shot from the French submersible _Nautile_ showed that the hot-water volcano octopus usually associates in
|
392d644d-0d9c-9831-161f-9f40fafd1d2b
|
['3afa235e-a14c-5282-0091-2ede74f571a3']
|
own weight will cause its gelatinous structure to flow through his fingers thus separating the animal into many pieces." Yuck.
The intra-arm web may be a useful component of life in the depths, since it enables the cirrate octopuses to float or hover just over the bottom instead of having to crawl over it. In a remarkable series of photographs, included in <PERSON> and <PERSON>'s 1972 "Cirrate Octopods: Data Based on Deep Benthic Photographs," various species are shown with their webs fully extended, looking for all the world like open umbrellas. (This position has been referred to as the "droguelike or umbrella phase, utilizing outstretched web and arms.") They are thought to assume this position while hovering over the bottom, but they can also close the webs and propel themselves by shooting water from the funnel, and they also can move in the direction of the arm tips, steering with their fins. The smallest cirrate octopus photographed measured four inches across; the largest, sixty-seven inches. All the photographs in the <PERSON> and <PERSON> study were taken in the Atlantic; some in the vicinity of the Virgin Islands, others in the Canaries Basin, south of the Azores.
Cirrate octopus in the "umbrella" pose.
_Drawing by <PERSON>_
One unusual cirrate octopod is _Opisthoteuthi_ s, nicknamed the "flapjack devilfish" because it is a thick, flattened slab of a creature, with the mantle reduced to a hump on the dorsal surface, and the short, muscular arms extended from the heavy webbing. In his 1952 description, <PERSON> said it was "impossible-looking," and that in a preserved state "it resembled in equal degree a soggy pancake or a very dirty floor-mop." Furthermore, "it has relatively enormous swollen eyes...and a pair of inefficient-looking paddle-like fins projecting from the body a short way behind the eyes." <PERSON> was describing preserved specimens, and in what amounts to a refutation of his negative and unkind description, <PERSON> (1965), says they "look more like a wide bell than the plano-convex disc used to describe preserved material...the eye openings are not large...and disappear when the animal assumes a normal shape. Conversely, the ear-like fins become more noticeable on live specimens."
This genus is best-known from California waters (<PERSON> named the species _Opisthoteuthis californiana_ ), but another "umbrella octopus," _O. agassizii,_ is found in the Caribbean (one was photographed sitting on the bottom at 2,000 feet off St. Vincent in the Grenadines), and another, similar species, _O. depressa,_ is found in the deep waters off Japan. When nine specimens of cirrate octopods were captured in an otter trawl of a Spanish research vessel in the South Atlantic in 1981, they turned out to be a new species, and were named _Opisthoteuthis vossi_ in honor of the late teuthologist <PERSON> of the University of Miami.2 Studies of two kinds of opisthoteuthids off South Africa indicated that they feed on polychaete worms, copepods, mysid shrimps, amphipods, and isopods. Because there is no radula—the minutely toothed ribbon that mollusks use for feeding—to grind the food, the prey items were whole and therefore easily
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['3b69dbd8-ce93-cea3-785d-cff22e571a29']
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repeat K3 instead of K4.
**ROW 4:** In C1, K1, *Right Swap, Left Swap; repeat from *, end K1.
**ROWS 5–8:** Repeat pattern Rows 1–4, reversing colors.
## Working into Rows Below
You may work into rows below the current row for several reasons: to add depth and texture to the knitting, to draw colors from previous rows up higher, and to pull strands of the current color across the face of the fabric. There are several different techniques for working into these lower rows: knit below, purl below; dropping and unraveling, and dip stitches.
### Knit Below
Usually you insert your right needle into the first stitch on the left needle and form a new stitch by pulling the working yarn through that single stitch. When you "knit below," you knit into the stitch one row lower instead.
After the new stitch is completed, there are two strands of yarn around its base: one strand from the lower stitch and one from the higher stitch. The strand from the higher row unravels and slumps down to form an inverted V. When these Vs are repeated using contrasting colors, they add visual interest because of the diagonal lines they create. They also add more depth to the fabric, making it both thicker and softer. Some of the patterns created this way are called _brioche stitches_.
1. 1. Insert your right needle into the stitch directly below the first stitch all the way through to the back of the fabric.
2. 2. Wrap or pick the yarn as usual and pull the new stitch out to the front, knitting the lower stitch together with the one on the needle, then slide the stitch off the left needle. In the same fashion, you can purl into the stitch below by bringing the yarn forward, then inserting the needle from the back of the fabric one row lower than usual.
# Checked Rose Fabric
This pattern will spread in width, so be careful to cast on and bind off loosely. Both sides of the fabric are very pleasant, but the honeycomb effect is only seen on the right side. For a fabric where the checked pattern is obvious, choose two colors with very different values. Colors with little contrast will blend together. Like other stitches in the brioche family, Checked Rose Fabric is thick and fluffy. Here, C1 is the background color, while C2 forms the lattice.
Notice that C2 is worked two rows at a time, but C1 is only worked one row at a time. You must use two double-pointed needles or a circular needle and work across twice on the same side (once with C2 and again with C1), so you never need to cut the yarn. You may find it helpful to mark the right side of the fabric with a safety pin or split marker. If you find it difficult to knit into the stitch below on the first and last stitch of the row, knit the stitch instead.
* **Stitches:** Odd number
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82139e5e-5a72-157e-9a45-0b6403ffe51e
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['3b69dbd8-ce93-cea3-785d-cff22e571a29']
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top of the pocket. Instead of working circularly, work flat, turning at the end of each row. Work a single decrease at the top edges and two decreases at each of the two bottom corners (photo, here).
# Working a Mitered Pocket
### Instructions
1. 1. To start a mitered patch pocket, pick up an equal number of stitches for both sides and the bottom.
2. 2. Cast on stitches for the top of the pocket, knit across the other three sides, then begin working circularly.
**The decreases on this mitered pocket** were worked 1 stitch away from the end of each needle, making the prominent cross that is its most obvious feature.
**The decreases on this mitered-V pocket** were worked on the right-side rows with an ssk at the beginning of each needle and a K2tog at the end of each needle. This makes the mitered corners look a little blunt. For crisper corners, reverse the position of the two decreases, using K2tog at the beginning of each needle and ssk at the end.
# Afterthought Invisible Pockets
These pockets require no prior planning at all, which makes it possible to add them to a finished garment when you hadn't even considered making pockets. It also lets you try on the garment to determine the correct placement for the pockets before you commit yourself. Once you've decided where the pocket opening should be, cut just 1 stitch at the center of the opening. This may seem traumatic, but it's far easier than any other method.
### Instructions
1. 1. **At the center** of what will be the opening at the top of the pocket, snip 1 stitch. Then unravel as many stitches as needed for the top of the pocket, working out in both directions.
2. 2. **With the right side** of the fabric facing you, slip double-pointed needles or two circular needles into the exposed stitches across the top and bottom of the opening. There will be 1 fewer stitch across one edge.
3. 3. **If you're working** on double-pointed needles, divide the stitches on one side of the opening between two needles.
4. 4. **Attach a matching ball** of yarn and begin working circularly (shown here in contrasting yarn for clarity). On the first round, purl across the stitches on the front half of the opening to make a neat ridge for the fold at the top of the pocket.
5. 5. **Knit around** until the pocket is the desired depth. Tuck the pocket to the inside of the garment. You may have to shift the needles back and forth to coax them through. This step is much easier if you're using two circular needles. Join the two layers together at the bottom using the three-needle bind off. The final stitch won't have a mate; just bind it off separately.
6. 6. **There will be gaps** at the upper corners whenever you add afterthoughts. Use the tails where you unraveled and
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in life for their relatives. Plans for the celebration are made throughout the year. From October 31 to November 2, families gather at the graves of relatives to clean them and decorate them with offerings like bottles of tequila or mezcal, colorfully decorated sugar skulls and candies, and _Pan de Muerto_ . Frequently they include vibrant orange marigolds, the _flor_ (flower) _de muerto_ . All are thought to attract the spirit of the dead. For children, the offerings frequently include toys.
Some well-to-do families also build altars or shrines in their homes that are decorated with pictures of departed relatives, candles, and a crucifix. The colorful traditions vary dramatically throughout Mexico but they are all characterized by a blend of traditional, pre-Hispanic Mexican and Spoon ¼ cup of the refried beans in the center of each of six plates. Put 1 tortilla on top of the beans and top with two slices of ham and ¼ cup of grated cheese.
## HUEVOS RANCHEROS: RANCHERS' EGGS
The perfect south-of-the-border dish to wake up your taste buds! Serve these ranchers' eggs for brunch or even late for a midnight supper. Sunny-side up eggs are traditional, but do them any style you want.
**Serves 6**
RANCHERO SAUCE
½ pound sliced bacon
6 medium plum tomatoes
2 red bell peppers
2 poblano chiles
2 tablespoons canola oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
6 cloves garlic, chopped
¼ cup tomato paste
2 canned chipotle chiles in adobo
4 cups chicken stock
Kosher salt
1 cup canola oil, for frying
6 (6-inch) corn tortillas, purchased or homemade (page 9)
2 cups Frijoles Refritos (page 135) or canned refried beans, warmed
12 thin slices serrano or any other type of ham
6 ounces Chihuahua cheese or Monterey Jack cheese, grated (about 1 ½ cups)
12 large eggs
8 ounces queso fresco, crumbled (about 2 cups)
2 firm, ripe avocados, peeled and diced
Pico de gallo (page 2)
Preheat the oven to 350°F.
Lay the pieces of bacon flat in a jelly-roll pan or half-sheet pan, and bake until crisp, about 15 minutes. Remove the bacon, drain on paper towels, and chop into small pieces. Leave the oven on.
On a baking sheet, roast the tomatoes until the skins blister, about 10 minutes. Remove the tomatoes, coarsely chop, and set aside.
Roast the bell peppers and poblano chiles over high heat, directly on a gas burner, over an open flame, or under the broiler, until the skins begin to blister and turn black. Use tongs to turn them so that they are charred all over. Transfer them to a bowl, cover tightly with plastic wrap until cooled, and then carefully scrape off the skins. Cut a slit from the stem toward the tip and remove the seeds and membranes, and then dice.
Heat a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add the oil and the onion, and sauté until lightly browned, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the garlic, and continue to cook for 1 minute more. Stir in the tomato paste, cook for 1 to 2 minutes, and then add the
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e7cdf322-1c2a-ccd9-bc8a-3499989eddfc
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['3bac7ade-bb57-dfad-7385-4f6af9af0f0c']
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for twelve appetizer portions. At the restaurant we like to garnish this dish with crispy fried green plantain chips.
**Serves 12 as an appetizer or 6 as an entrée**
CEVICHE
3/4 cup canned coconut milk
¼ cup freshly squeezed lime juice
¼ freshly squeezed orange juice
¼ cup rice vinegar
1 tablespoon Thai or Vietnamese fish sauce
½ habanero chile, seeded, membrane removed, and cut lengthwise
1 tablespoon peeled and chopped fresh ginger
Kosher salt
6 (1-pound) lobsters
MANGO PICO DE GALLO
2 cups diced mango (see page 149)
1 cup diced red onion
½ cup diced red bell pepper
½ cup diced poblano chiles
1 habanero chile, seeds and membranes removed, diced
¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro leaves
¼ cup chopped fresh mint leaves
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed orange juice
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice
1 tablespoon honey
1 teaspoon kosher salt
2 green plantains, peeled, thinly sliced
lengthwise, and fried, for garnish (see sidebar, page 54)
**MAKE THE CEVICHE:** In a nonreactive bowl, mix together all of the ceviche ingredients except the lobster, season with about 1 teaspoon of salt or to taste, cover, and refrigerate.
Meanwhile, in a large pot, bring at least 6 quarts of salted water to a rolling boil. Add the lobsters, cover the pot, return the water to a boil, and cook the lobsters for 7 minutes more, or until the shells are bright red. Do this in batches if the pot is not large enough to accommodate all of the lobsters. Remove the lobsters, wrap each in aluminum foil, and let cool. Cut the lobsters in half down the back and remove the tail meat. Reserve the tail shells. Break off the claws and knuckles, crack the shells, and remove the meat. Chop the meat into bite-size pieces.
**MAKE THE PICO DE GALLO:** In a medium-size bowl, stir together the ingredients for the Mango Pico de Gallo and set aside.
In a medium-size mixing bowl, combine the lobster meat with the other ceviche ingredients. For an appetizer, put ½ lobster tail shell in the center of each chilled plate, and fill with lobster. Garnish with Mango Pico de Gallo and crispy fried green plantain chips, and serve.
## VERACRUZ-STYLE MUSSEL CEVICHE: WITH TOMATO-LIME MARINADE AND SPANISH OLIVES
Recipes from Veracruz tend to reflect a lot of Spanish or Mediterranean influences. This ceviche has Spanish green olives and uses black mussels, also called Mediterranean mussels. It is served with a lot of marinade and is quite soupy. _Debearding_ is part of the cleaning process for mussels. It consists of pulling off what appear to be the bits of seaweed used by mussels to attach themselves to the rocks.
**Serves 6**
MARINADE
1 cup tomato juice
1 cup bottled clam juice
¼ cup freshly squeezed lime juice
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed orange juice
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed grapefruit juice
2 tablespoons sherry vinegar
1 teaspoon Maggi sauce or Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon Tabasco sauce
½ teaspoon dried oregano, preferably Mexican
1 teaspoon kosher salt
2 pounds mussels, scrubbed and debearded
2 cups seeded and diced
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had on wedding style was as significant then as it is today. The first publication devoted to brides and bridal fashions was the quarterly So _You Are Going to be Married: A Magazine for Brides_ , later renamed the Brides Magazine in 1936, and finally transforming into simply Brides, a magazine that is still in print today. This magazine included content on all things 'wedding', such as beauty, gift giving and receiving, wedding etiquette, the trousseau and bridal fashions and trends. This magazine also instigated the development of a series of bridal clinics for suppliers and retailers of bridal goods, to join and discuss how they could fully utilize the growing consumerism of the wedding. Hosted by the finest hotels in New York such as the Ritz-Carlton and the Waldorf-Astoria, these events showcased the latest flowers, wedding dress styles and general accoutrements available to the 1930s bride for the ideal white wedding.
This publication played a major role in the development of the bridal industry through the advertisement of wedding products and services. It is also credited with the establishment of the bridal shop, a special retailer who offered the complete service from dressing the bridesmaids and mother of the bride, to even making the bride's wedding gown. This was in conjunction with the development of the bridal salon within the popular department store, where a bride-to-be could purchase all of her bridal wares under one roof. Previously she had to seek many different retailers or makers to fully equip herself with all the garments and wares needed for a wedding. The development of the wedding gift registry also created a boom in the department store business, with many of the items needed for married life being available to purchase from them.
The department store also played a role in the expansion of the ready-towear clothing industry, which transformed the way women could purchase their wedding dress. The gradual shift from custom-made gowns to ready-to-wear resulted in more affordability and variety for the bride-to-be. These ranges tended to be more fashion-focused when compared to private dressmaker designs, which were slower to latch on to current trends. As the manufacturers of ready-to-wear bridal garments expanded, branded wedding dresses soon became the norm for the 1930s bride.
Royal and Celebrity Weddings
Popular publications also played a role in the dissemination of information about the Hollywood nuptials and royal weddings of the day, inspiring many brides-to-be with commentary on what style of dress was worn, and who designed it. This sharing of information influenced popular taste, creating and reinforcing fashion trends of the day. One of the most notable royal weddings of this time was between Princess <PERSON> of Greece and <PERSON> in 1934. Deemed a very fashionable woman with admirable taste, she chose to wear a gown designed by the British-born <PERSON> rather than the Parisian couturiers she usually favoured.
Captain <PERSON>'s English background and military selfpresentation made him an ideal candidate for designing wedding dresses for aristocratic ceremonies. Given the importance of this wedding, British _Vogue_ dedicated an entire
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bar. The cape's side panels are pleated and machine top-stitched at the head to give the illusion of a sleeve and they also add fullness and swing from the shoulder. The cape is unlined.
The inside seams are either left with selvedges intact, trimmed using pinking shears or finished by hand using overcast and herringbone stitches.
Green tailored dress and matching cape.
MEASUREMENTS
Bust: 74.5/76cm (29/30in)
Waist: 71cm (28in)
Hips: 86.5cm (34in)
Approximate dress size: UK 8/10, US 4/6, EU 36/38
FABRIC SUGGESTIONS AND NOTIONS
Mediumweight fabrics are ideal for this outfit and therefore crêpes and fine wools or wool mixes would work well. Due to the unusual cut it is advisable to avoid fabric patterns that require aligning, such as stripes or tartans/checks.
6 x 1.2cm (½in) covered buttons
3 x 1cm (⅜in) metal hooks (dress)
1 x 0.7cm (¼in) metal hook (cape)
3 x 0.7cm (¼in) press studs
17 STEPS TO CREATE A 1930S TAILORED DRESS WITH MATCHING CAPE
Dress:
1. Cut out all the pattern pieces
2. Join the centre front and side front panels
3. Prepare the front panel pleat
4. Join the centre back panels
5. Prepare the centre back panel pleats
6. Trim the front and back panel pleats
7. Join the front and back panels
8. Create the side placket closure
9. Prepare and insert the sleeves
10. Prepare and attach the collar
11. Finish the centre back neck opening
12. Finish the skirt hem
Cape:
13. Prepare the centre back panel and pleat insert
14. Join the shoulder seams
15. Create and insert the side panels and shoulder pads
16. Create neckline and centre front facings
17. Finish the cape hem
Instructions for Making Up the Dress and Cape
To start
Begin by cutting out all the pattern pieces for the dress and cape, adding seam and hem allowances, and set them aside.
Making Up the Dress
**Joining the centre front and side front panels**
Seam at the base of the centre front skirt, from the inside.
**(1)** Take the two side dress panels and, with right sides together, join to the centre front panel. Stitch and press the seams open. Trim the non-selvedge side of the seam to 0.7cm (¼in) and finish by hand using an overcast stitch.
Bodice dart, from the right side.
Bodice dart, from the inside.
**(2)** Begin by stitching the bust darts and pressing them up toward the armholes.
Edge-stitching on the dress front, from the right side.
**(3)** Working from the right side, fold the pleats marked B, C and D on the pattern toward the centre front as indicated and tack into position from the shoulders down to the bottom of the hem. Press the pleats into position, then machine edge-stitch from the shoulders down to the marks indicated on the pattern. Press again along the entire length of the pleats and remove the tacking stitches. To keep the lower skirt pleats in place it is a good idea to secure them temporarily by running a tacking stitch across the base of the hemline.
Preparing the front
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5c913cf3-faef-d98d-b960-137ef439069c
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['3dc2d43b-74db-9228-03b8-11aa85931f40']
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TEASPOONS BAKING POWDER
ZEST OF 2 LEMONS
FOR THE CREAM CHEESE FROSTING
450G ICING SUGAR, SIFTED
70G UNSALTED BUTTER, SOFTENED
180G CREAM CHEESE
YELLOW FOOD COLOURING
4 DIGESTIVE BISCUITS
TO DECORATE
200G READY-TO-ROLL FONDANT ICING
BROWN FOOD COLOURING
GOLD SUGAR SAND
GOLD AND IVORY SUGAR PEARL BEADS
30G GOLDEN MARZIPAN
GOLD CHOCOLATE COINS
EQUIPMENT: MIXER, 12-HOLE MUFFIN TIN LINED WITH MUFFIN CASES, PIPING BAG FITTED WITH STAR NOZZLE
Preheat the oven to 160°C/325°F/Gas Mark 3.
Using a mixer, whisk together the butter and caster sugar until light and creamy. Add the eggs and whisk again. Gently fold in the flour, baking powder and lemon zest, using a spatula.
Spoon the cake mixture into the muffin cases and bake for 20 minutes, until the cakes are firm and spring back to your touch. Transfer to a rack to cool.
For the frosting, whisk together the icing sugar, butter and cream cheese in a mixing bowl until light and creamy. Add a few drops of yellow food colouring and mix again. Pipe it over the top of the cakes. Blitz the digestive biscuits to fine crumbs in a food processor and sprinkle over the icing to look like sand.
For the decorations, colour the fondant icing brown with a little food colouring, kneading it in your hands on a surface dusted with icing sugar until it is an even colour. Make small chest shapes by making rectangles for the bases of the chests around 3cm deep, 3cm wide and 5cm long. Make tops for the chests that are the same size but curved. Using a sharp knife, score wood marks into both the bottoms and tops of the chests to make them look more realistic. Press a dent into the top of each rectangular base and fill this with gold sugar sand and gold and ivory pearl beads.
Roll out the marzipan on a surface dusted with icing sugar and cut out small circles to look like small gold coins, using a small round icing nozzle. Place a treasure chest top on each of the rectangle bases, pressing down lightly on one long side so that it looks like an open trunk containing treasure. Place a chest on top of each cupcake and decorate with chocolate coins as well.
Decorating tip: To make a treasure map, cut a piece of ivory fondant into a square and roll out thinly on a surface dusted with icing sugar. Break the edges to make them look jagged and curl them up to look like an old map. Using an edible ink pen, draw a map on the icing. Leave to dry before putting on top of the cakes. The decorations, and the treasure chests, can be made up to a week in advance.
Treasure Island Cupcakes
RECIPE LIST
SKINNY MINNIE LEMON MERINGUE CUPCAKES
ETON MESS CUPCAKES
RAINBOW CUPCAKES
SKINNY CARROT CUPCAKES
SKINNY VELVET CUPCAKES
## SKINNY MINNIE LEMON MERINGUE CUPCAKES
Everyone likes a treat once in a while, but on occasion we all try to be well behaved and these low-sugar, low-fat cupcakes are a great option,
|
cdd31c9f-4fae-e109-ffbe-9f92ee4f9575
|
['3dc2d43b-74db-9228-03b8-11aa85931f40']
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SIFTED
2 TEASPOONS BAKING POWDER
2 TEASPOONS <PERSON> PASTE OR <PERSON>
ZEST AND JUICE OF 6 LEMONS
FEW DROPS OF YELLOW FOOD COLOURING
FOR THE DRIZZLE
100G WHITE CASTER SUGAR
JUICE OF 4 LEMONS
FOR THE BUTTERCREAM
300G ICING SUGAR, SIFTED
150G UNSALTED BUTTER, SOFTENED
JUICE OF 2 LEMONS
1–2 TABLESPOONS WHOLE MILK
FEW DROPS OF YELLOW FOOD COLOURING
TO DECORATE
250G READY-TO-ROLL FONDANT ICING
FOOD COLOURING OF YOUR CHOOSING
ICING SUGAR FOR DUSTING
200G ROYAL ICING SUGAR
EDIBLE GLITTER
EQUIPMENT: MIXER, 12-HOLE MUFFIN TIN LINED WITH MUFFIN CASES, RECTANGULAR CUTTER, SHARP KNIFE, PIPING BAG FITTED WITH SMALL ROUND NOZZLE
Begin by preparing the decorations, as they need to dry before being used. Colour the fondant icing with food colouring of your choosing. On a surface dusted with icing sugar, roll out the fondant and cut out 12 rectangles of icing. Using the sharp knife, cut off 2 edges to make a luggage-tag shape. Place them on a sheet of greaseproof paper or a silicone mat. Make up the royal icing according to the packet instructions – it should be stiff and hold a peak when you lift the beaters. Spoon it into the piping bag and carefully write 'Eat Me' on each of the rectangles, then sprinkle with edible glitter. Leave to dry overnight.
Preheat the oven to 160°C/325°F/Gas Mark 3.
Using a mixer, whisk together the butter and caster sugar until light and creamy. Add the eggs and whisk again. Gently fold in the flour, baking powder, vanilla bean paste and the lemon juice and zest, using a spatula. Colour the batter pale yellow with a few drops of yellow food colouring.
Divide the mixture between the muffin cases and bake for 20 minutes, until the cakes are firm and spring back to your touch.
Put the caster sugar and lemon juice for the drizzle into a small saucepan and heat until the sugar has dissolved. Take off the heat, then poke holes in the top of each cupcake with a small skewer and pour over the lemon drizzle. Transfer to a rack to cool.
For the icing, whisk together the icing sugar, butter, lemon juice and enough milk to make a smooth, stiff frosting. Whisk in a few drops of food colouring to colour it pale yellow. Spread the icing over the top of each cake and decorate each one with a sugar 'Eat Me' label.
The cakes will keep for up to 3 days if stored in an airtight container.
Alice in Wonderland 'Eat Me' Cupcakes
## BAKEWELL TART CUPCAKES
These cakes bring back memories of family picnics and eating Mr <PERSON> cherry <PERSON> tarts when I was young. I have to say that these cupcakes are a bit more refined, with a delicate almond sponge packed with cherries and topped with a grown-up amaretto icing and a glacé cherry. They are the perfect picnic treat.
PREPARATION TIME: 25 MINUTES | BAKING TIME: 20 MINUTES | MAKES 12 CAKES
FOR THE CUPCAKES
200G UNSALTED BUTTER, SOFTENED
220G CASTER SUGAR
4 EGGS
220G SELF-RAISING FLOUR, SIFTED
100G
|
640000c7-9dfb-966f-8b49-3752ae627196
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['3e18785a-7823-a1c0-a8c4-bc9df6e156e5']
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orders."
<PERSON> lowered himself into the capsule. His fingers flipped open the control panel and he punched in his code to activate the jacks. The plugs slammed into his input ports, and it was the first time he could ever remember it being so painful. He struggled to breathe, his spine bowing as he entered the system. The pain disappeared as his mind expanded, flitting across the circuits and bypassing the energy pulses that flashed past him, lest he get caught up in their attractive power.
He went straight for the observational systems and followed the circuitry to the monitor in <PERSON>'s room, looking for him.
Fortunately for <PERSON>, <PERSON> was sitting on the edge of the Core capsule making preparations to receive his new Core in the near future. The look of malicious glee in the man's eyes caused <PERSON> to nearly lose his concentration when he felt his own... heat. Was this anger? It was possible. He would have to investigate the feeling at a later time. But for now, he had to concentrate on the task at hand. Looking closer at the capsule, he discovered something that would have made his blood turn cold if he had concentration to spare.
<PERSON> sharpened one of the smaller knives he owned. The Alpha obviously knew he would receive a new Core in the next few days.
There was the rust color of dried blood in the bottom of the capsule; next to every hole where a jack would exit was a small blade.
Trying to push it out of his mind, <PERSON> switched from the observational circuits to the inner workings of the capsule, pulling in power from it. He could feel his body take a deep breath as he prepared to do something he had never done before: manipulate the jacks. Storing energy for a minute or two, he released it all at once so that the jacks used the freed power to spring out of their resting places and wind around <PERSON>'s form, dragging him into the capsule. The jacks wouldn't be enough to kill him, but they would cause him quite a bit of constricting pain before <PERSON> went on to his next action.
<PERSON> began to scream in both panic and pain, struggling against the electrical cords binding his arms. "What the fuck is this?" He flailed side to side, the arm with the knife trying to hack into the half-centimeter-thick cords.
<PERSON>'s body took another deep breath inside his capsule as he split his consciousness through the circuits. One part stayed tentatively within his body, the other within the capsule that <PERSON> was flailing in, and the third to the comm system on the wall of <PERSON>'s quarters. "Fighter <PERSON>, I suggest that you cease struggling. Doing so will not help your current situation."
The bindings around <PERSON> became more numerous, holding him tightly so that he could not move his arms.
"What the fuck is this, you insane piece of shit!" <PERSON> didn't stop fighting; he struggled harder against his restraints. "Let me go! Let
|
6d988bec-9bac-3e15-8c67-94b89ac0e167
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['3e18785a-7823-a1c0-a8c4-bc9df6e156e5']
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I left, I'd have to leave you too."
"You could go anywhere with the skills you are developing and your high IQ. Many are proud and honored to have a Fighter come home and work for them. And your skill set qualifies you to make higher wages. You have many options."
<PERSON>, however, did not have many options. He was born by Corporation medical advancements, lived by Corporation regulations, and expected to die as property of the Corporation. His only escape from them would be his death, but he'd already made it another goal in his life to make the most of what he had. He turned on his side, his gaze fixed on <PERSON>'s face. "And I am not your life. You should not live it according to how it will affect me."
"Kind of hard to think of when my life is heavily dependent on you almost every day." <PERSON> sighed and sat forward to pull Requiem into a hug. "You're like a little lost brother, except unlike my real brother, you don't steal my girlfriends."
"I did not mean to put such a burden on you, and I apologize for making you feel as if I had. I felt as if I needed to be honest and so I was," <PERSON> replied, losing his balance as he was pulled into the other man's arms. After a moment of stiffness, he relaxed into the warmth, sighing in a previously unknown contentedness. "I would never steal anything that belongs to you. I do not know either what it means to have any siblings, so I do not know what you're referencing."
"You need to stop apologizing so often." <PERSON> gave him a sad but warm smile. "None of this is really your fault. It's just fate."
Requiem opened his mouth to apologize yet again but then closed it, tucking his head under <PERSON>'s chin and against his chest. "But it is. I chose you. If it were not for me, you would not be in this situation. I made it happen. So yes, it is my fault. But even if you wanted me to, I would not let you go. That is one order I will not follow."
<PERSON> chuckled. "A bit possessive? If I didn't know you better, I'd be a little worried. We could go back and forth for at least an hour blaming each other, so let's just rest like I suggested."
"I am realistic, that is all. I fought for my right to choose you. If I decide to fight for something, I tend not to let it go," <PERSON> said quietly, his arms wrapping around <PERSON>'s waist awkwardly. "But rest. As you wish."
# Chapter Twelve
Saturday August 20, 454 MC
Lunar
<PERSON>
THEY WERE awake before the transport landed, but <PERSON> had passed the remaining time finishing up the book he'd downloaded before they left the Zeus. Of course <PERSON> wasn't awake, and <PERSON> even had to knock on the door and tell 108 to wake him up. <PERSON> didn't know where <PERSON> lived and
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|
MSNBC ran a November 2009 segment showing photo-shopped pictures of <PERSON> wearing an American flag bikini and holding a rifle; and one of her wearing a tight black miniskirt. When they flashed on the screen, the host noted, "She's hot." MSNBC apologized later for not alerting viewers that the pictures were photo-shopped, but offered no apology for the sexist segment.
In a Salon.com column headlined "Forget the tea party—what about the crumpets?" <PERSON> wrote that, "The most entertaining aspect of the 2010 election season has been the rise of the right-wing cuties—political celebrities whose main qualification is looking terrific on television. From where I sit, in a comfortable chair in front of the tube, the GOP Cupcake Factor has enlivened an otherwise dreary campaign season." Liberal British comedian <PERSON> explained that the only reason <PERSON> has any appeal is, "People want to f-ck her." During the 2008 campaign, <PERSON>, a high-profile but unsuccessful former Democratic congressional candidate in Ohio, suggested that Democrats run against the <PERSON>/<PERSON> ticket by pointing out that <PERSON> "accidentally got pregnant at age 43 and the tax payers of Alaska have to pay for the care of her disabled child." "War on Women," anyone? And so much for being "pro-choice."
In April 2014 actress <PERSON>, who describes herself as a feminist, told the UK edition of _Harper's Bazaar_ , "I feel like the feminine has been a little undervalued."
"We all have to get our own jobs and make our own money, but staying at home, nurturing, being the mother, cooking—it's a valuable thing my mom created," she added. She also praised men: "Sometimes, you need your knight in shining armor," she said. "I'm sorry. You need a man to be a man and a woman to be a woman. That's why relationships work."
The illiberal feminists were enraged. Jezebel ran a story saying that <PERSON>, an "actress and blonde who looks good in clothes," is "not paid to write gender theory so it shouldn't surprise anyone that she's kind of dumb about it." On Twitter, a few illiberal feminists wrote that, "She should just keep quiet. I wasn't aware <PERSON> could be more unlikable" and suggested <PERSON> be added to "the list of famous women who should never be allowed to talk near young girls. Ever." Since <PERSON> didn't say the right thing, she was labeled a sex object with no brains and essentially told to keep her pretty little mouth shut.
In her _Elle_ hit piece on young conservative women, <PERSON> added insult to infantilizing. Not content with labeling the half dozen conservative women as "girls," she dubbed them "Baby Palins." <PERSON>, one of the women featured in the article, pointed out in a piece for _National Review_ that "Rather than try to understand how some women could be conservative and the arguments we have against feminism, it is often much easier to explain us all away as 'Baby <PERSON>.' The <PERSON> brand has been so damaged by the media that the 'Baby <PERSON>' label serves the purpose
|
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you must be a right-wing mole. When liberals think a reporter does good work, that's "mainstream."
The interview had <PERSON> asking <PERSON>, "People are watching you like, 'Are we going to see you as a Fox News contributor or writing for a conservative outlet next'; can you tell me right here that this is not the way this is going?" When journalists work for media networks known to be liberal it proves absolutely nothing. But if you go to Fox News, which <PERSON> did not, then in <PERSON>'s book you are not legitimate. (He learned this from the <PERSON> White House.) <PERSON> later sneered, "You're like the toast of the town over at Fox News."
If <PERSON> needed someone to commiserate with, she could always talk with <PERSON>. During his career, he has worked for many of the most respected names in journalism—including eighteen years as a staff writer for the _New Yorker_. <PERSON>'s resume also includes such names as PBS, NPR, _Vanity Fair_ , the _New York Times_ , and a stint as senior correspondent for the merged _Newsweek_ and the Daily Beast. He now serves as editor-at-large for Fox News, an unpardonable sin to many liberals.
But long before he landed at Fox News, illiberal left busybodies were busy smearing a great journalist for being too fair-minded. <PERSON> at the _American Prospect_ wrote that "<PERSON> appears to have made something of a career for himself as a conservative interloper at otherwise liberal media outlets." His proof? <PERSON>'s _Vanity Fair_ profile of <PERSON> "drew praise from the conservative Media Research Center as being 'fair.'" His complaint speaks volumes. <PERSON> believes that treating conservatives fairly is proof that you are not a real journalist, when the opposite should be true. The notion of a "fair" journalist doesn't belong in the illiberal left lexicon; a journalist is either with them or he or she is a secret conservative, by which they mean traitor to the properly left-wing media. <PERSON> also complained about <PERSON>'s numerous investigative segments on the <PERSON> administration scandals as a PBS _Frontline_ correspondent. He took particular issue with the fact that a few of the segments focused on scandals where the accused was exonerated.
So, a reporter doing an investigative piece into accusations makes him a bad journalist and undercover ideologue if the subject is later exonerated. What does that mean then for the armies of journalists who were the judge, jury, and executioner for <PERSON> who they "knew" leaked <PERSON> name? The illiberal left didn't investigate <PERSON>, they obsessively harassed and accused a person who ended up not being the leaker. Anyone who questioned their attack was smeared as well. When it was revealed that <PERSON> chief of staff leaked <PERSON>'s name, nobody in the media stepped up to take responsibility or apologize. <PERSON> has no problem with that, but smears a journalist for doing investigations into the <PERSON> administration, as if investigating presidential administrations isn't the job of a reporter.
In a post that would have made <PERSON> proud, a
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|
god. @radionz having to tell people to not go sightseeing. Smh [Shaking my head]. People who need to be told...
— <PERSON>, tweet, 1.56am
There is ongoing confusion and uncertainty. 'There's no tsunami sirens going off in Christchurch. I'm not sure what to do... my wife and son are both fast asleep,' <PERSON> messages to the RNZ Facebook page at 1.54am. <PERSON> asks whether Tawa is 'safe from the tidal wave'. <PERSON> is in limbo: 'We don't know what to do in Dunedin, we are waiting for alarms to go off,' he writes at 2.06am. In Christchurch, RNZ reporter <PERSON> heads up Scarborough Hill above Sumner and calls into the studio to go on air with <PERSON>:
_<PERSON>:_ 'We could see a few people parked up in cars, you know a few sort of wide-eyed-looking kids sitting in the backs of cars in puffer jackets, but not a heap of them. And what's happened in the last 10 minutes or so is that the sirens started, probably just after 2, about 10 past 2, and that has really prompted action. So I'm standing at the moment on the top of Scarborough Hill and I can see quite considerably more activity down in Sumner — lights are on...'
<PERSON>:_ 'It seems almost strange that we've been talking about the tsunami warning that's been issued for some time now, but only now that the sirens are going off.'
_<PERSON>:_ 'It does seem odd and indeed we do, in Sumner, have practices for the tsunami sirens from time to time, so you know, we're aware of them, we know what they sound like — but we haven't heard them until, as I say, 10 minutes, quarter of an hour ago...'
— RNZ, 2.20am
'BREAKING NEWS — Severe earthquake that hit NZ early this morning revised up from magnitude 6.6 to 7.5'
— RNZ, headline, 2.25am
Everyone here is sleeping clothed tonight — if we sleep
— <PERSON>, tweet, 2.25am
Meanwhile, <PERSON> and I are on our way to Kilbirnie. We see glass scattered in front of a new apartment block outside the national museum, Te Papa. We stop, and a middle-aged man comes out. He's a little drunk, but tells us the glass has fallen from a deck balustrade above. He's been checking on the little old ladies who live in the apartments. 'We're okay,' he says. We head off, and the studio calls, wanting a live-cross. I do it from the passenger seat of the car as we round the bends of Evans Bay. It's at this time I learn, from <PERSON>, that the tsunami sirens have gone off in the Hutt Valley where I live.
_<PERSON>:_ '<PERSON>, I'm in a car travelling around Oriental Parade heading for Lyall Bay, and I must say, having heard what you just said about the evacuation order for all people in low-lying areas of Wellington, we're not seeing that on the ground. We are the only car on the road — we've probably seen two or
|
0889902a-6ce0-faa8-cc37-99887af4583b
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['3e31a2c9-544c-2334-e668-1c4c0691bbfd']
|
and I go low. He and <PERSON> head up the hill to catch <PERSON> visit, dropping me at the marina with the HMNZS _Canterbury_ out in South Bay. There's a palpable mix of goodwill and uncertainty at The Craypot Café and Bar, where two dozen or so business leaders gather to meet the prime minister under the craypots hanging from the ceiling. The place wasn't open the night before, or on Monday, but it is now. There is a lot of handshaking, a lot of back-clapping, a lot of '<PERSON> this' and '<PERSON> that', and hardly a negative word or a sceptical aside. The PM is in his element; it's never more important than when the fabric's stretched to ripping point by trauma to have that political skill he has in spades: showing he's 'one of us'.
'Prime Minister <PERSON> has come here to, as you say, reassure business owners as they enter peak season here. Many of them are very worried at a business leaders' meeting this morning. He's told them the government is going to help them, throw money at this, to get them through the tough times so they can retain staff and their businesses in the long run. But he said it's too soon to announce details of that just yet, he's planning to do so tomorrow, he hopes... Business owners say they would've liked to hear a few more concrete details today, but they understand that these things take time to pull together. The prime minister is saying it's going to be a package similar to the one structured for businesses after the Christchurch earthquake, so it's just taking time to get the ducks in a row.'
— <PERSON>, live-cross to RNZ _Midday Report_ , 12.01pm
<PERSON> motto is similar to that of <PERSON>: 'I'm here to help.' He contrasts his flying visit on Monday with today's. 'You can certainly feel that there's a lot of momentum, people are feeling a lot better and a lot stronger and can see the support that's pouring in,' he says. 'As soon as we can get the roads up and running, the connectivity working, then ultimately new tourists will be able to come into town. So it's a combination of [businesses] having the confidence they can keep their staff and bringing tourists back when infrastructure can support that... It's totally a tourist-dependent town, so if we can get the messages out there quite quickly, that it's up and running and operational again, then we can sort of stem that real risk for Kaikōura. If we don't do that quickly, one of the concerns is that people take it off the list of places they're gonna go because they think it's a no-go zone.' <PERSON> suggests using <PERSON> on social media.
<PERSON>, who owns Coastal Sports, has a think about what the PM has said and suggests that it won't be enough to get the town through this. He says the new reality is of Kaikōura being 'isolated on an island'. 'If you
|
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cover the bet?"
"Six dollars."
"How much would you win if you won?"
"Three hundred. But hey, this thing play two tracks," she said. "Which track to play? New York or Brooklyn? Me, I play New York track. I don't want to play six-eight-one on New York and have it come Brooklyn. Which one to play?"
"Can't you play both?"
"Hell, no. That would take another six dollars. And listen, the man that writes the numbers for the other track, for Brooklyn, he live seventy miles from me. So I got to have a number for the New York track."
<PERSON> closed his eyes again. "Okay. I see it now. It's the New York track. Play six-eight-one on the New York track. You'll win three hundred dollars for sure. I'll give you the six dollars to cover the bet."
<PERSON> took the money.
"But remember one thing," said <PERSON>. "Six-eight-one will work only if you leave Dr. <PERSON> alone tonight and don't hound him for a number. If you bug him, six-eight-one will automatically become worthless."
"I'll leave him be, baby."
"Good," said <PERSON>. "I want the two of you to concentrate on only one thing tonight. Keeping Mrs. <PERSON> on my side. I don't want you or the old man wasting energy on numbers again until this thing is over."
<PERSON> nodded solemnly.
"And don't you worry about the three hundred dollars. It's as good as in your pocket. Do you follow me?"
<PERSON> stuffed the six dollars into her bag. "Yeah, baby, I follow you."
The third floor of the Chatham County Courthouse was a scene of turmoil and confusion at ten o'clock the next morning. The doors of Judge <PERSON>'s courtroom remained chained and pad locked. The crowd of spectators milling around in the corridor was augmented by the presence of Sheriff <PERSON> and a half dozen of his deputies. The sheriff and his men had come to the courthouse in anticipation of a guilty verdict; afterward they would escort <PERSON> through the underground passage to jail. But the padlock on the courtroom door was unusual. It meant that the session would be delayed in starting. Something unexpected had happened. This is what it was:
At seven that morning, <PERSON> had received a telephone call from a paramedic who worked for LifeStar, an emergency medical service. The paramedic said that at two-thirty an anonymous woman had called the service and asked medical questions pertaining to "a shooting between an older man and a younger man." How long would it take blood to congeal on a person's hand? How quickly would a person die if he had been shot in the aorta? Though she refused to identify herself, the woman eventually admitted she was a juror in the <PERSON> case and that she was the only one who believed <PERSON> was innocent. She added that the other jurors had commented that the case was about a couple of faggots and that they should just convict <PERSON> and go home.
<PERSON> immediately called Judge <PERSON> and demanded that Mrs.
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['3e6bbb89-205e-b0e8-cee5-f10c38f0297a']
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of <PERSON> as quickly as it had flared up. He lifted his foot off the gas and pulled over onto the shoulder. Three squad cars quickly hemmed him in, blue lights flashing. The crackle of two-way radios filled the air. The policemen shouted at <PERSON> and ordered him out of the car. He turned imploringly to <PERSON>, his face once again sweet, his voice childlike. "Get me out of this, will you?"
They did not see each other again after that. <PERSON> was still shaken by their encounter months later when she told me about it in Clary's drugstore. She had made mistakes before, she said, and she would make them again. But not like this, she hoped. She had watched <PERSON> from afar for months—studied him, worshiped him, stalked him. In all that time, it never entered her mind that he might turn out to be so volatile. She had thought of him only as a walking streak of sex, and about that, at least, she had not been wrong.
# _Chapter 10_
IT AIN'T BRAGGIN' IF Y'REALLY DONE IT
On the whole, the thirty-odd residents of Monterey Square regarded their neighbor <PERSON> with a respectful friendliness. Several were on his Christmas-party invitation list. Others were more wary and kept their distance. <PERSON>, who lived with her husband in a townhouse on Taylor Street, for example, still remembered the chill she felt when she came out of her house two years ago and saw the swastika hanging from <PERSON>'s window. <PERSON>, a retired architect, had fought a number of acrimonious battles with <PERSON>, all concerning what <PERSON> described as <PERSON>'s "destructive incompetence" in matters of architecture and historic preservation. So Mr. <PERSON> had no use for <PERSON>. But the <PERSON>-<PERSON> feud was a mere quibble compared with the cold war that raged between <PERSON> and his next-door neighbors, <PERSON> and <PERSON>.
The <PERSON> lived in an elegant double townhouse that occupied the other of the two trust lots on the west side of Monterey Square. Their side windows looked directly across Wayne Street at <PERSON>'s parlor and the ballroom above. It was the <PERSON>' howling dog that had prompted <PERSON> to play his thunderous version of <PERSON> "Pièce Héroïque" on the organ. But the dog's bark was only one sour note in a whole medley of bitterness that existed between the two households.
<PERSON>, like <PERSON>, had played a central role in the restoration of Savannah's historic downtown. His approach was entirely different, however. While <PERSON>'s efforts had involved his own restoration of houses, <PERSON> had been an organizer and fund-raiser who left the actual restoration work to others. <PERSON> had helped create a revolving fund for the purpose of buying old houses that were in imminent danger of being razed; the houses were then sold as soon as possible to people who promised to restore them properly. <PERSON> accomplishments had been so successful, and his participation so energetic, that he had emerged as a national spokesman for revolving
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the LEED Certification Process
Appendix D
MAIN CATEGORY SUMMARIES
Sustainable Sites
Site Selection
SS Prerequisite 2: Environmental Site Assessment (Schools)
SS Credit 1: Site Selection
SS Credit 2: Development Density and Community Connectivity
SS Credit 3: Brownfield Redevelopment
Transportation
SS Credit 4.1: Public Transportation Access
SS Credit 4.2: Bicycle Storage and Changing Rooms
SS Credit 4.3: Low-Emitting and Fuel-Efficient Vehicles
SS Credit 4.4: Parking Capacity
Site Design and Management
SS Prerequisite 1: Construction Activity Pollution Prevention
SS Credit 5: Site Development
SS Credit 7: Heat Island Effect
SS Credit 8: Light Pollution Reduction
SS Credit 9: Site Master Plan (Schools)
SS Credit 10: Joint Use of Facilities (Schools)
Stormwater Management
SS Credit 6.1: Quantity Control
SS Credit 6.2: Quality Control
Water Efficiency
Indoor Water Use Reduction
WE Prerequisite 1: Water Use Reduction— 20 percent
WE Credit 2: Innovative Wastewater Technologies
WE Credit 3: Water Use Reduction
Outdoor Water Use Reduction
WE Credit 1: Water-Efficient Landscaping
Process Water
WE Credit 4: Process Water Use Reduction (Schools)
Energy & Atmosphere
Energy Efficiency
EA Prerequisite 2: Minimum Energy Performance
EA Credit 1: Optimize Energy Performance
Tracking Energy Consumption
EA Prerequisite 1: Fundamental Commissioning
EA Credit 3: Enhanced Commissioning
EA Credit 5: Measurement and Verification
EA Credit 5.1: Measurement and Verification, Base Building (for LEED CS)
EA Credit 5.2: Measurement and Verification, Tenant Submetering (for LEED CS)
Managing Refrigerants
EA Prerequisite 3: Fundamental Refrigerant Management
EA Credit 3: Enhanced Refrigerant Management
Renewable Energy
EA Credit 2: On-Site Renewable Energy
EA Credit 6: Green Power
Materials & Resources
Salvaged Materials and Material Reuse
MR Credit 1.1: Building Reuse, Maintain Existing Walls, Floors, and Roof (for NC and Schools)/ MR Credit 1 (for CS)
MR Credit 1.2: Building Reuse, Maintain 50 Percent of Interior Nonstructural Elements (for NC and Schools)
MR Credit 3: Materials Reuse
Building Material Selection
MR Credit 4: Recycled Content
MR Credit 5: Regional Materials
MR Credit 6: Rapidly Renewable Materials (for NC and Schools)
MR Credit 7: Certified Wood/MR Credit 6 (for CS)
Waste Management
MR Prerequisite 1: Storage and Collection of Recyclables
MR Credit 2: Construction Waste Management
Indoor Environmental Quality
Indoor Air Quality Ventilation
EQ Prerequisite 1: Minimum Indoor Air Quality Performance
EQ Credit 1: Outdoor Air Delivery Monitoring
EQ Credit 2: Increased Ventilation
IAQ Practices during Construction
EQ Credit 3: Construction IAQ Management (for CS) / EQ Credit 3.1: Construction IAQ Management—During Construction /
EQ Credit 3.2: Construction IAQ Management—Before Occupancy (for NC and Schools)
EQ Credit 4.1: Low-Emitting Materials, Adhesives and Sealants
EQ Credit
|
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|
percent
C. 5 percent
D. 10 percent
E. 12 percent
Q6.4. An 18,000-square-foot project seeking LEED for Core & Shell certification wishes to pursue a prescriptive compliance path for EA Prerequisite 2: Minimum Energy Performance. Which of the following compliance paths is appropriate to utilize? (Choose one)
A. Whole-building simulation
B. Advanced Buildings™ Core Performance™ Guide
C. ASHRAE Advanced Energy Design Guide
D. ENERGY STAR Portfolio Manager
E. ASHRAE 90.1-2007
Q6.5. Which of the following are true concerning energy for the purposes of LEED compliance? (Choose two)
A. Process energy is modeled the same for both the baseline case and design case.
B. Regulated energy is modeled the same for both the baseline case and design case.
C. Regulated energy uses include computers, office equipment, kitchen refrigeration and cooking, washing and drying machines for laundry, and elevators and escalators.
D. Process energy uses include computers, office equipment, kitchen refrigeration and cooking, washing and drying machines for laundry, and elevators and escalators.
E. Process energy includes lighting, HVAC, and domestic and space heating for service water.
Q6.6. Which of the following compliance paths are appropriate for a 55,000-square-foot warehouse project seeking LEED for New Construction certification? (Choose two)
A. Performance based
B. ASHRAE Advanced Energy Design Guide
C. Prescriptive based
D. Whole-building simulation
E. Advanced Buildings™ Core Performance™ Guide
TRACKING ENERGY CONSUMPTION
The BD+C Reference Guide details a number of means for project teams to address the monitoring and tracking of energy consumption. Projects seeking LEED certification are required not only to be designed and constructed to perform to a minimal energy performance, but must also implement procedures to ensure the performance, such as commissioning (Cx). Commissioning a building ensures that the equipment and systems are performing as they were intended, to maintain consistent and minimal energy demands. Just as with energy performance, the EA category addresses Cx in terms of a prerequisite and a credit opportunity.
The EA category also includes a number of other credits for the project teams to choose from to address the tracking of energy consumption. Depending on the rating system being utilized, project teams may have either one or two credits to pursue within the Measurement and Verification credit. By providing meters and other technology to track the consumption of energy, operations and maintenance staff members are able to detect inefficiencies, such as excessive demand, and therefore take corrective action. Metering utilities also ensures the ongoing accountability of energy usage (Figure 6.11).
Figure 6.11 Metering utilities to monitor consumption helps building owners and facility managers ensure that the building is functioning properly.
Photo courtesy of <PERSON>, Utah Agricultural Experiment Station
Tracking Energy Consumption in Relation to LEED Compliance
A commissioning agent (CxA) cannot be the engineer of record for the project. Think about it—who would double check the engineer's design if it were the same person? For projects smaller than 50,000 square feet, a qualified employee of one of the design team firms is eligible as long as they are not the same professional responsible for engineering services.
EA Prerequisite 1: Fundamental Commissioning. The first prerequisite
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in the high desert of central Oregon, Bend is home to a thriving craft beer culture, from Silver Moon Brewing Co. (home of award-winning signature beers that are often featured at the nearby Blacksmith Restaurant) to Deschutes Brewery, one of Oregon's largest, oldest, and most highly respected breweries.
_Silver Moon's porter is a multiple award-winner._
_Deschutes' The Abyss is consistently ranked among the best beers in the world._
_Bend Brewing Co.'s Elk Lake IPA is a locals' favorite._
**SILVER MOON BREWING CO.** 24 NW Greenwood Ave. Bend, 541-388-8331 silvermoonbrewing.com
In 1988, a young man named <PERSON> founded a small brewpub in downtown Bend, naming it the Deschutes Brewery & Public House, after the nearby Deschutes River that helps define the city. The brewery expanded in 1993, allowing for growth into most western states, but the original brewpub is still in operation and is a favorite gathering spot for locals and tourists alike.
**DESCHUTES BREWERY** 1044 NW Bond St. Bend, 541-382-9242 deschutesbrewery.com
Deschutes is among the most highly lauded breweries in the region, consistently garnering awards for its brews, be it the year-round beers, such as Mirror Pond Pale Ale, a Northwest classic, or Black Butte Porter, Deschutes' flagship beer and the best-selling porter in the country; or its specialty and seasonal brews, such as The Abyss. A midnight black, incredibly complex imperial stout, The Abyss is aged in barrels and blended each year for its annual release. Consistently listed among the top beers in the world, it is one of the rare beers that has achieved rock-star status, with fans waiting in line for hours prior to its release just to pick up a few bottles, only to be cellared and savored in future samplings and vertical tastings. When in Bend, a visit to the original Deschutes brewpub is a requisite, not only to drink in the history but also to taste some of the experimental beers that the brewers put on tap only at the pub. Some of the prototypes for The Abyss, in fact, were featured on those taps at the downtown Bend brewpub.
_Hop-Head Imperial IPA was brewed in response to a patron's request._
**BEND BREWING CO.** 1019 NW Brooks St. Bend, 541-383-1599 bendbrewingco.com
It's probably not easy brewing in the shadow of a craft beer Goliath such as Deschutes, but tiny Bend Brewing Co. does just that, and with equally high accolades. Brewmaster <PERSON>, one of the few female head brewers in the Pacific Northwest, admits to being nervous when she first started brewing in such close proximity to Deschutes. Her concerns turned out to be unfounded. <PERSON><PHONE_NUMBER> silvermoonbrewing.com
In 1988, a young man named Gary Fish founded a small brewpub in downtown Bend, naming it the Deschutes Brewery & Public House, after the nearby Deschutes River that helps define the city. The brewery expanded in 1993, allowing for growth into most western states, but the original brewpub is still in operation and is a favorite gathering spot for locals and tourists alike.
**DESCHUTES BREWERY** 1044 NW Bond St. Bend, <PHONE_NUMBER> deschutesbrewery.com
Deschutes is among the most highly lauded breweries in the region, consistently garnering awards for its brews, be it the year-round beers, such as Mirror Pond Pale Ale, a Northwest classic, or Black Butte Porter, Deschutes' flagship beer and the best-selling porter in the country; or its specialty and seasonal brews, such as The Abyss. A midnight black, incredibly complex imperial stout, The Abyss is aged in barrels and blended each year for its annual release. Consistently listed among the top beers in the world, it is one of the rare beers that has achieved rock-star status, with fans waiting in line for hours prior to its release just to pick up a few bottles, only to be cellared and savored in future samplings and vertical tastings. When in Bend, a visit to the original Deschutes brewpub is a requisite, not only to drink in the history but also to taste some of the experimental beers that the brewers put on tap only at the pub. Some of the prototypes for The Abyss, in fact, were featured on those taps at the downtown Bend brewpub.
_Hop-Head Imperial IPA was brewed in response to a patron's request._
**BEND BREWING CO.** 1019 NW Brooks St. Bend, <PHONE_NUMBER> bendbrewingco.com
It's probably not easy brewing in the shadow of a craft beer Goliath such as Deschutes, but tiny Bend Brewing Co. does just that, and with equally high accolades. Brewmaster Tonya Cornett, one of the few female head brewers in the Pacific Northwest, admits to being nervous when she first started brewing in such close proximity to Deschutes. Her concerns turned out to be unfounded. Cornett, a graduate of the World Brewing Academy, a partnership between Siebel Institute of Chicago and Doemens Academy of Munich, has proven herself a worthy neighbor and colleague, winning numerous medals for many of her beers, and garnering the coveted designation of the Small Brew Pub and Brewmaster of the Year at the 2008 World Beer Cup.
Bend Brewing Co.'s year-round beers are solid and enjoyable, with the Elk Lake IPA being the most popular beer at the brew-pub
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['40df0156-f7d6-36b8-e92f-96f37fefc1a1']
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right out of the fields, both are an annual treat that are meant to be enjoyed in the moment.
_Glorious green gems ready for harvest at a Willamette Valley hop yard._
_Freshly plucked hops go from field to brew kettle in fresh-hop beers._
<PERSON>, who founded the country's first post-Prohibition brewpub in the hop-heavyYakima, Wash., area more than 20 years ago, is credited with creating the first commercial fresh-hop beer—brewed with the addition of freshly picked hops instead of the traditional dried ones. But it didn't take long for other Pacific Northwest brewers to hop on the bandwagon, which has brewed into an annual fresh-hop frenzy. Because fresh hops aren't, well, fresh, forever, the season is short. Brewers rush out to hop fields to pluck their green gems and get them back to the brew kettle in as little time as possible. Some brewers even invite backyard gardeners who grow their own hops to bring over the bines and pluck them onsite, to be dropped right into the wort.
### **MCMINNVILLE**
The rolling Burgundian scenery that surrounds McMinnville is due in large part to its being planted up with the pinot and gamay noir vines of Oregon's world-famous wine country. But that doesn't mean craft beer can't be found in and around this quaint town.
Located in a former 1920s-era warehouse in McMinnville's historic downtown district, Golden Valley Brewery pours eight standard beers and an occasional seasonal. Its Perrydale Pale Ale is a good example of the classic Northwest pale ale, with ample hop aroma and a light malt profile. Bald Peak IPA is one of Golden Valley's newer beers, offering a bit more of a hop presence than its other IPA, Chehalem Mountain. On the dark side, Muddy Valley Oatmeal Stout is rich and creamy with flavors of coffee, brown sugar, and dark chocolate. If you are lucky enough to spot the rare Black Panther Imperial Stout, aged for months in French oak barriques from nearby Panther Creek Cellars winery, do not hesitate; order one immediately! It's a bit light in body as imperial stouts go but that only serves to make this beer more nimble, allowing the flavors and aromas of aged wine, oak, dark fruits, chocolate, and coffee reveal themselves at just the right moment as you sip.
_Golden Valley Brewery brews in Oregon's wine country._
_Perrydale Pale Ale is a Northwest classic pale ale._
**GOLDEN VALLEY BREWERY** 980 NE Fourth St. McMinnville 503-472-2739 goldenvalleybrewery.com
**HEATER ALLEN BREWING CO.** 907 NE Tenth Ave. McMinnville 503-472-4898 heaterallen.com
For years, Golden Valley was the only brewery in McMinnville. But a very tiny, one-man brewery, Heater Allen, began production in 2007. Owner-brewer <PERSON><PHONE_NUMBER> goldenvalleybrewery.com
**HEATER ALLEN BREWING CO.** 907 NE Tenth Ave. McMinnville <PHONE_NUMBER> heaterallen.com
For years, Golden Valley was the only brewery in McMinnville. But a very tiny, one-man brewery, Heater Allen, began production in 2007. Owner-brewer Rick Allen was a homebrewer for more than 20 years before going professional; the name of the brewery combines his surname with that of his wife, whose family has been in the area for generations. Heater Allen specializes in producing distinctive all-malt German-inspired beers, with an emphasis on lagers and Allen's unique interpretation of the style. The beers are sold at a handful of pubs and better bottle stores,
|
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['4170fe33-1ebe-48db-9f22-2ccb165d556e']
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now?"_
• _"Do you think I am still missing anything from your point of view?"_
**5.** **Prepare them to climb up the ladder** – Remember that no one can be forced to learn. After agreeing on our understanding of their views, we ask conducting questions to prepare them to listen to us. If they agree, we have a process commitment against interruptions or diversions.
• _"Do you mind if I now try to show you what I see and/or believe?"_
• _"Could I spend some time now showing how I see things?"_
• _"Would you like to learn how I perceive the situation?"_
Having them realize we made our way down the ladder and preparing them to go up the ladder are important steps. These help move them from advocacy into listening mode. A car going down a highway at 120km/h cannot immediately make a U-turn. Someone set in advocacy mode also needs time to slow down and make the turn and head the other way.
**6.** **Climb up the ladder** – Once they have agreed to listen, we can explain our perceptions. It helps to start by introducing what will be said or shown. First, we delineate the big picture or context. Then, we share the data and compare the perceived differences in the data selected. Finally, we show how the data was interpreted to arrive at our conclusion.
• " _What I will try to show you now is how I see this as just a mistake and not an intentional deception." (Context)_
• " _When you said that you were tired, I took it as a hint to leave, instead of to stay and help as you recently clarified."_ (Data comparison + interpretation)
• _"As I heard you talk about money much more than quality, I interpreted it as a choice for the cheaper product."_ (Data comparison + interpretation)
The ladder of inference is supposed to be a template and not to be applied mechanically. Skillful communication early on saves a lot of time, increases understanding and minimizes risk of future conflict. Once done well, the negotiators learn to quickly engage in a dialogue pattern, diagnose assumptions and understand before criticizing.
We conclude the chapter by proposing a win-win alternative dialogue for <PERSON> and her aunt:
The conversation above greatly minimizes the risk that the aunt would unwrap the gifts. She now understands what she was asked to do, and to call the mother in case something else came up. Even if she wanted to unwrap the gifts, she could not claim ignorance anymore. We concentrated on the first conversation between the two because the second is always harder to conduct. The idea of good communication is exactly to minimize risks and prevent conflict.
### Summary
Communication is the conduit for everything in a negotiation. It is also the element of process. Communication is how, while process is when, something is said or done. The communication goals are effective learning and persuasion; the process goal is to develop an efficient and fair process to maximize value while minimizing risks.
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with other interests. Prioritizing starts by unbundling or unlinking interests, as we saw with the money example above. Then it becomes a simple, though not easy, matter of putting them in relative order. We can allocate points (100) among interests to keep track when they are too many and measure relative weights.
* * *
Point of Interest: Prioritizing & Choice
Remember, the value negotiation approach intends to give us choices and the ability to pursue maximum value. There may be times where we may choose not to bother or invest the time or resources necessary to get it. It is our perfectly legitimate choice to value time or effort over another desirable outcome. However, we cannot then blame our shortcoming as a negotiation limitation, but rather take personal responsibility for such a choice.
* * *
For example, job stability, money and vacation are three priorities. A closer look gives their relative importance: job stability (70), money (25) and vacation (5). A risk-taker may have a similar priority but a completely different split: job stability (40), money (35) and vacation (25).
Prioritizing assists value creation in many ways. First, it keeps us focused on what brings more value and away from distracting interests. Second, it helps early identification of resource constraints, artificial limits or narrow scopes, if any. Third, it helps early identification of worst-case scenarios and potential conflict points. If both parties want more money today, it is likely they will enter into conflict; it would be easier if at least one wanted more money tomorrow instead of today.
Categorization bundles similar objects or ideas for ease of handling and thus should serve a purpose. Earlier, we categorized interests by nature (substance, relationship or communication) or time horizon (short, medium or long term). The purposes are to help us find more interests, resist trading between negotiations and avoid rewarding bad behavior.
However, <PERSON> once said: "I can classify snakes with more or less than one meter or being or not poisonous. When I am in a jungle, I want to identify the poisonous one to know when to run." The most valuable purpose of interest discovery is value creation. The simplest interest categorization for value creation is by affinity:
• **Common** – Also called "shared," "mutual" or "joint" interests; happens when the negotiators want to do something together or good for all.
• **Different** – Happens when one negotiator wants something that the other does not want or care about.
• **Opposing** – Also called "conflicting"; happens when the negotiators want the same thing.
This categorization helps to create value because it already separates interests based on their ability to generate options. Though most people believe that common interests are the best for value creation, <PERSON> and <PERSON> argue differently: common interests bring the parties together, but different interests are a potentially richer value source. After all, if we want something that they do not care about, it is easier for them to give it to us.
##### During the Negotiation
Once prepared, we want to make
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into the early Cold War's major global currents. The politics of assassination, the political economy of oil, American exceptionalism, Arab Nationalism, the anti-imperialist struggle that unified the Third World, and ultimately the Cold War itself all had a perceptible impact on Yemen. But, as is the main point of this book, Yemen's imprint on all these currents is of equally significant consequence.
As much as they were frustrated by Yemenis and their insistence that relations be maintained on terms of mutual respect, the Americans were still eager to do business with them. The fact the Americans saw strategic value in North Yemen remaining a partner rather than an enemy indicated the relative balance of power that still existed right after World War II. This would, of course, have to change, but the risks were too high to alienate entirely Yemen's stubborn rulers at that time. The task was to gradually break down the internal Yemeni structures that allowed the <PERSON> family to operate with such insolence.
Keeping this in mind helps us put the relations that North Yemen's ruling elite forged with the core of the Atlantic world in the context of the early Cold War era. Importantly, many of those oil men who still were in control of US policy in the Middle East during the 1940s and early 1950s were willing to upset some conventions prominent before World War II. If, for instance, American recognition of North Yemen (March 1946) meant upsetting British policies in the region, all the better. The motivation was to secure for themselves the country's enormous mineral wealth likely lying in the ground. At the same time, however, it seemed clear that Imam <PERSON> and his sons held the key to maintaining regional stability, something especially important for a KSA that some Americans were not entirely sure could survive intact.
Beyond the strategic calculations, however, archival sources leave the impression that many Americans who were used to conducting their affairs with entirely corruptible (or intimidated) people admired Imam <PERSON> and his closest advisors. What impressed more than a few American officials was the fact that <PERSON> and his sons were unmoved by offers of fancy cars, women, booze, interstate highways, airplanes, and more direct forms of persuasion. In sum, these "premodern" men remained unimpressed by all the tools of American expansion so regularly in use in other parts of the world, especially the KSA.
Of course, Yemen's resistance to Yankee overtures was not unique. By the early 1950s, many Latin Americans, Iranians, Central and North Africans, Koreans, and Southeast Asians all demonstrated a contempt for the bullying of the Europeans and Americans. That all these regions fell into decades of war and destruction is no small consequence of this resistance. The same fate, albeit by way of different channels, awaited Yemen. That it would take different turns in South Arabia is in part because many Americans believed Yemenis were a different kind of indigenous actor. This detail must remain a central point of focus as we continue to explore what impact Yemen's global entanglements had
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a President, and the Rise of the Drone_. New York: <PERSON>.
<PERSON>, Hemant. 2011. _The Production of Modernization: Daniel Lerner, Mass Media and the Passing of Traditional Society_. Philadelphia: Temple University Press.
<PERSON>, <PERSON> 1984. "The Hadhramaut." _Asian Affairs_ 15(2): 154–62.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. 2015. _Egypt's Desert Dreams: Development or Disaster?_ Cairo: American University of Cairo Press.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. _Globalization of American Fear Culture: The Empire in the Twenty-First Century_. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.
<PERSON>, <PERSON> 2007. "Power Transferred? Britain, the United States, and the Gulf, 1956–71." _Contemporary British History_ 21(1): 1–23.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. 2000. _The New Mamluks: Egyptian Society and Modern Feudalism_. New York: Syracuse University Press.
Sorby, <PERSON>. "The Separatist Period in Syria, 1961–1962." _Asian and African Studies_ 18(2): 145–68.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. 2012. "The Myth of Isolation." _Journal of the British-Yemeni Society_ (20).
<PERSON>, F. 1936. _The Southern Gates of Arabia: A Journey in the Hadhramaut_. London: <PERSON>.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. "Yemeni Workers Come Home: Reabsorbing One Million Migrants." _Middle East Report_ (181): 15–20.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. _Duress: Imperial Durabilities in Our Times_. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.
Stookey, <PERSON>. "Social Structure and Politics in the Yemen Arab Republic, Part II." _Middle East Journal_ 28(2): 410–16.
Stookey, <PERSON>. _Yemen: The Politic of the Yemen Arab Republic_. Boulder, CO: Westview.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. _Development and Change in Highland Yemen_. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. "Some Consequences of Emigration for Rural Economic Development in the Yemen Arab Republic." _Middle East Journal_ 33(1): 34–43.
<PERSON>, <PERSON> 1985. "Emigrant Remittances and Local Development Cooperatives in the Yemen Arab Republics." In _Economy, Society and Culture in Contemporary Yemen_ , edited by <PERSON>, 132–46. London: Croom Helm.
<PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON>. 1981. _Rural Society and Participatory Development: Cases Studies of Two Villages in the Yemen Arab Republic_. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Rural Development Committee, Yemen Research Program.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. 2012. "Arc of Convergence: AQAP, Ansar al-Shari'a and the Struggle for Yemen." _Combating Terrorism Center_ (June 21).
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. 2014. "Southeast Asia's Middle East Shifting Geographies of Islam and Trade across the Indian Ocean." _Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East_ 34(3): 565–73.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. 2016. _Monsoon Revolution: Republicans, Sultans, and Empires in Oman, 1965–1976_. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
<PERSON>, A. A. 1997. "Hadramis in Singapore." _Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs_ 17(1): 89–96.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. 2012. "After the Arab Spring: Power Shift in the Middle East? Yemen's Arab Spring: From Youth Revolution to Fragile Political Transition." _IDEAS Reports_.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. 2015. "Yemen's Imposed Federal Boundaries." _MERIP_ (July 20).
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. 1990. _Coercion, Capital, and European States, AD 990–1990_. Cambridge: B. Blackwell.
<PERSON>, <PERSON> 1973. "Modernization Theory and the Comparative Study of National Societies: A Critical Perspective." _Comparative Studies in Society and History_ 15(2): 199–226.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. 1968. _Shades of Amber: A South Arabian Episode_. London: Hutchinson.
<PERSON>, <PERSON>. 2013. _The Power and the People: Paths of Resistance in the Middle East_. Cambridge: Cambridge
|
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eighty-two-year-old man who had just finished a five-hour stand-up show, might need a break as well.
And, with much bonhomie, and the gift of a tickling stick, I said my goodbyes to <PERSON>.
On the way out, I checked my notes. The Happiness Show had finished at 12.50 a.m. Even with all the jokes about the length of the show, the old pro had only gone five minutes over.
# Chapter 19:
The Final Show (parts 1 and 2)
Nine months in, a hundred and three shows done and, in mid-November, we reach the final night of the tour. And if the secret purpose was to unearth the English psyche, it's perhaps right that we should end up in Tunbridge Wells.
Tunbridge Wells (properly Royal Tunbridge Wells, of course; that's what it said on the sign as we arrived) is a spa town in Kent about 30 miles south-east of London. It's a small enough town by English standards, but the BBC once described it as the spiritual home of Middle England. It has a Conservative party-dominated council, is 97.5 per cent white and one of the safest places in the UK, with very low levels of violent crime. It has an unemployment rate of about 1 per cent, which is far below the national average. In 2006, the town was listed as the third best place to live in the UK by the Channel 4 programme _The Best and Worst Places to Live_.
It is genteel and well-to-do, arcaded and prosperous; it has been thus for a few hundred years. In 1606, Lord <PERSON> discovered a mineral-water spring here and persuaded his posh friends to come and take the waters. His doctor suggested that the waters could cure 'the colic, the melancholy and the vapours, that they could make the lean fat and the fat lean'.
Royal visits, including those of <PERSON> wife, <PERSON>, who took the waters here in an attempt to cure her infertility, made it into a very fashionable place. <PERSON> was a great one for popularizing things; she was actually the first to popularize tea drinking here, after the country had spent most of the 1600s drinking coffee.
The London _beau monde_ took to Tunbridge Wells passionately; by the eighteenth century, it was the destination of choice for the luminaries of the London Theatre scene, people such as dramatist <PERSON> and actor <PERSON>. They were drawn here by <PERSON>, who was at that time the 'Master of Ceremonies' (essentially the party-master general) for the equally pretty and quackladen city of Bath. Tunbridge Wells was, in his eyes, a colony of his kingdom in Bath, and he policed it rigorously, especially the wells and the colonnaded Pantiles area, which were strictly divided by class, with only the gentry allowed on the upper walks.
In 1909, King <PERSON> granted the town the prefix '<PERSON>' in recognition of its long association with the royal family (Royal Leamington Spa is the only other town in England granted this honour).
|
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Saturday.
# London Hammersmith Apollo
1 service locator
1 business adviser
1 proctologist
Monday is a romp.
I was not expecting this. For the last couple of years, comedians have been colonizing this legendary rock venue through the BBC _Live at the Apollo_ series, which has become an increasingly important landmark gig for a rising comic, plus a rare chance to do more with that Edinburgh show you'd written than carve it into tiny portions to hand out to panel shows.
It's a great show to do but, <PERSON>, a cold crowd sometimes. The punters get the tickets for free because it's a TV show, they have no clue who's going to be on, the room is really brightly lit, so that everyone is 15 per cent more self-conscious than they should be and, if they don't know you, it can feel vast out there.
I remember the first time I appeared on _Live at the Apollo_. Before you come on, you have to stand behind a giant sign at the back of the stage that spells 'Apollo' in light bulbs which, like all set dressing, looks great from a distance but, up close, is just a load of light bulbs. At least when it moves, though, it's genuinely done mechanically. Most of the time, walls that slide and doors that open on telly shows are done by hand so, as you wait to go on, nervously running through the lines, muttering, 'Don't fuck up the first joke, don't fuck up the first joke,' there's a bloke standing next to you with Allen keys and gaffer tape hanging off his belt muttering, 'Don't fuck up opening the door, don't fuck up opening the door.'
On _Have I Got News for You?_ , for example, the backdrops spin into position as the show starts. What you don't hear at home is the footsteps of the props guys racing from backdrop to backdrop, trying to get them turned in time.
The second time I appeared on _Live at the Apollo_ , I was hosting the show, rather than appearing as a guest. This meant that I would warm up the crowd, welcome on the guest comic and then, when they had finished, wrap up the show. This went to plan perfectly almost all of the way to the end. The idea was that I would say 'Goodnight!' in my showbiz way, and then turn and walk slowly back towards the giant sign, as it rose and a plume of dry ice rolled out to greet me. The credits would roll under this long walk, with the audience's cheers bringing me home. I would then turn and smile my final goodbye to the crowd, the sign would descend and the show end.
Sadly, no one told the crowd.
I said, 'That's all from us. Thank you! And goodnight!' and turned.
At which point the entire room got up out of their seats and started leaving. Which is fair enough – they thought it was the end of the show. As I walked back into the
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a limited extent. The Black Brigades only rarely entered the city gates; nor did they manage adequately to take the place of the garrisons of the fast-dissolving republican National Guard. In Trieste, in July 1944, out of 8,500 party members only 500 formed part of the Black Brigades.
The sporadic Fascist sniping in Florence and Turin, where provincial party secretary, _federale_ <PERSON> seems to have been planning it for some time, should be considered the last, albeit faint-hearted Fascist contribution to the civil war. Their chances of doing any harm were overrated by the Resistance organisms. The Communist Party 'Direttive per l'insurrezione n.9' of 15 September 1944 warned against a 'particularly dangerous occult resistance' and against the fifth column. On 1 April 1945 the 'Direttive operative per il piano E.27' of the Biella zone command mentioned foreseeable Fascist guerrilla warfare for the period following liberation.
Only a very minor and abortive contribution to the civil war was given by the extremely rare Fascist attempts to conduct actions south of the Gothic line. These are not to be confused with the sporadic and vague manifestations of nostalgia or sympathy for Fascism that occurred in liberated Italy, and that were far more the fruit of local situations than of <PERSON>'s directives. Still pursuing the mirage of mirroring the anti-Fascists, <PERSON> had in fact decreed that the Fascists left in situ or deliberately sent behind the lines should stir up a 'clandestine Fascism, similar in its manifestations to the activity of the clandestine parties of our adversaries or at any rate of our opponents generally in the provinces controlled by us'.
The result of these directives can be seen not so much in the facts as in the propaganda of the RSI. What should be stressed, rather, is that as a rule both the Royal Army and the Fascist government, evidently in agreement with their respective allies, avoided deploying their regular units against one another on the front. This confirms the fact that the civil war was not fought between the Kingdom of the South and the Italian Social Republic. It was a war fought between Fascists and anti-Fascists, on the only territory where they were present politically and militarily, in a contest that was nonetheless acquiring a significance that involved the entire Italian people – just as _squadrismo_ , a central and northern phenomenon, had left its mark on the fate of the whole nation.
<PERSON>'s regular troops also participated in the civil war, particularly the four divisions organised in Germany. In a poster <PERSON>, commander of the Littorio division, gave warning of reprisals in the event of partisan attacks on Italian or German soldiers; in another poster <PERSON> gave news of a reprisal that had been carried out (four partisans shot). Again, by means of a poster a military command announced the execution of three partisans in reprisal. 'The roundups are being conducted by the traitors who have re-entered the country from Germany', <PERSON> wrote in his diary. In Garfagnana, when the Monterosa and Italia divisions arrived, things took a turn
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thefts and sackings have to be prevented, but this will be avoided with suitable appeals and with a garrison service at the stores and depots. The policing service during the insurrection must be performed by the citizen squads and the patriotic formations; from each of these the new police corps will spring. These squads and formations will be assigned the task of cleansing out the elements of the fifth column.
At a later meeting of the Fortress Command, the Communist representative once again proposed the creation 'as from now' of a service of city police chosen from the GAPs and SAPs. According to the minutes of that meeting, the proposal was accepted. At a 2 May assembly of the Piedmontese regional CLN, acting by now in the capacity of regional government council, Colonel <PERSON>, head of the Allied mission, accepted the principle of a police force entrusted to the partisans, 'apart from the _carabinieri_ technicians', precisely in order to prevent 'all the partisans indiscriminately from regarding themselves as forces of order'. This high-ranking British officer was stressing an essential point. Essential too was the other point made at that meeting: the impossibility for the time being of stopping 'the present rhythm of the sentences being passed by the military tribunals' (as the prefect, the Socialist <PERSON>, said). On the same occasion, Colonel <PERSON> made two provocative remarks that accurately pinpointed the state of affairs not only in Turin but elsewhere too: 'I should like to know in very simple words why we need the state of emergency here in Turin; whether we are afraid of the Germans or of the partisans... It is curious that those of us present here, all civilians, apart from myself, should be defending military authority.'
In fact, even this last point was not altogether indisputable. It was true that rapid and exceptional justice called for the work of the military tribunals; but those who wished to guarantee the pre-eminence of that political moment had at the same time to reaffirm the superiority of the CLNs to the regional Commands of the CVL (Corpo voluntari della libertà). And the PCI did just this, refusing to delegate to the Commands the maintenance of law and order, which was the exclusive task of the CLN.
A realistic view of things during those days was also shown, in another way, by those officers of the Allied missions who 'confidentially urged the most rapid elimination of war criminals since, they said, once the Allied troops arrived a stop would be put to everything'.
In many Italian sources it is, naturally, clearer that there should be the incitement to lose no time in taking the law into one's own hands. In response to General <PERSON>'s flight the Communist federation of Treviso made an appeal to the partisans to ensure that they secured 'all the peace-keeping and purging services in the country... There is still too little attention and a kind-hearted and gullible spirit on the part of many partisans and certain anti-Fascists.' More explicitly, <PERSON>, former commander of the
|
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her path as they found their way back outside. The wall of sound crumbled, and she felt the policeman's grip on her head relax. She looked up and saw her spot – a stucco wall in front of an old warehouse. A set of stairs ran up to the front doors, and she could nestle into the corner to protect herself from the wind. She let out a delighted chuckle to be back in such familiar surroundings, and set about grabbing her shop materials from the back of the cart.
She spread a thick quilt over the cracked sidewalk and set up a folding chair before laying out her wares. <PERSON> took special pride in arraying her products from largest to smallest, then by color – most intense to least.
"Uh, <PERSON>," said Officer <PERSON>.
"Yeah?" she asked, trying to decide which of her cucumbers was the most viridescent.
"Haven't you got something to say? I went out of my way for you."
She contemplated his meaning before snatching up a large, ripe stalk of broccoli and a small bag of marijuana. She turned to him, holding them both at eye level so he could make a good decision. "Which one?"
"Rather have a 'Thank you, Officer.'"
"Thank you, Officer," she said, and promptly got back to work.
"You're just too much, girl," he said to her back.
"Too much what?" she repeated, but when she turned to address him directly, she saw him wandering back into the Bazaar.
She shrugged and fell into her routine. Her normal customers came by, prodding through her goods. Sales were brisk, and all thoughts of <PERSON> and the ghost quickly faded from her mind.
<PERSON> fetched an old book on agriculture from the back of her cart – a Consortium manual they gave to their employees living on the Great Plains. She ran a hand over the cover; the paper had faded and crumpled along the edges, and the interior pages had turned a lovely shade of yellow. Orange block letters across the top of the cover read, _A Primer in Modern Technique_ , with the Con's logo underneath. She'd gotten it from <PERSON> almost ten years ago, and through it, she'd learned to garden. He said he hated the Consortium and was going to throw it away, but she wanted it. When she asked him why, he'd told her about being a boy before the Consortium owned everything; she'd gotten too bored to keep listening. She opened the book and read for what seemed like the millionth time. When she got to her favorite page, she stopped.
A full bleed, black and white photo of cotton rows spread over the right hand page, and the left contained a schedule of fertilization. Wispy clouds hovered in the sky, and she could almost feel the autumn wind on her face. A combine rumbled through the background, and she saw a tiny black square that she felt certain was a farmhouse. She squinted at the halftone dots, as she always did, trying to make out a window
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['41f9ff5d-b616-24ca-34d9-0e5ae02e6cc6']
|
when <PERSON> slapped the fire out of her. <PERSON> brought her hand back, electrified, yet cool with spittle. That had felt far better than shaking out the crackles.
"I'm not retarded."
<PERSON> slowly brought her hand to her cheek. "Who gives a fuck? Nobody gives two shits about you, little girl, except that you stay dead. You get that? They ain't here to ask questions about your life and make sure they get all the facts straight. They're just here to take what they can get, same as me... same as you."
As the woman lisped the words, <PERSON> sat in silence, stunned by the sudden outpouring.
"You want me to feel sorry for you because I misjudged you or something? Try to find a job with a face like mine – when everybody's looking at you, trying not to throw up. <PERSON>'s the first man to ever to give me half a chance, and I'm quitting because, one of these days, he's going to decide I know too much. I want a job when this is all over. I want food for my little boy who's sitting at home right now, wondering where his momma is."
<PERSON> swallowed. "I need to know about –"
"No, what you need to do is let me go home."
"We could bring your son here."
"Are you crazy? You think I want him running around a place like this?"
"What are you going to do, then?"
<PERSON> shrugged. "I'm going to tell <PERSON> I saw you, and you want to meet him at the Foundry to turn yourself over in two days' time. And after that, I'm going home."
"That's it?"
"Yeah, and you're going to make sure he don't come home from that trip, or I'm going to tell <PERSON> where you been hiding, and he's going to take care of everybody here."
<PERSON> imagined <PERSON>'s leer, and her guts lurched. Her wish was coming to fruition: she would get to face <PERSON>'s killer. She imagined his face in the hot steel glow of the furnaces and smelters. She thought about him traipsing around the catwalks, pistol drawn, ready for blood. Involuntarily, she pictured him swimming through the cooling tower pool, and she fumed.
"No, that's my place," <PERSON> growled.
"Well, then you better put <PERSON> in the ground."
"What? I wasn't talking to you."
The door swung wide, flooding the room with light. <PERSON> raised a hand to shield her vision, and <PERSON> did the same. When her eyes adjusted, she saw <PERSON> standing in the doorway with a plate of fresh biscuits and steaming gravy in one hand, and the other hand on her hip.
"<PERSON> what the hell do you think you're doing?" shouted <PERSON>. "Get your ass out here right now! Right now. The fuck I tell you about bothering her?"
<PERSON> inched toward the door, glancing back at <PERSON>. She couldn't read the hare-lipped woman's expression.
"Don't you look at her," snapped <PERSON>. "You look at me. Get out here right now. She ain't going to talk to you
|
53c1ae4a-1d0a-6b59-0fa2-4575da9ea3bc
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['420738b8-0225-8bd9-f154-0f19b22a6617']
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de los siglos xviii y xix que convirtió nuestra percepción de la cultura y la sociedad en un tipo de conciencia histórica sin precedentes. Es una revolución que llevaron a cabo los filósofos sociales y no los «historiadores», tanto en el sentido que se daba a ese término entonces, como en el que se utiliza hoy. Los cambios que suscitaron los historicistas debían poco a las operaciones mentales que realizaban los «historiadores» basándose en la tradición greco-romana o en cualquier otra derivada de ella. Entonces y después resultaron ser consecuencia de cambios en la filosofía jurídica, moral y social, y no debemos olvidar cómo se interpretaba entonces el término «filosofía». Desde entonces, se ha creído que había que escribir la historia de esos cambios sin más. Entonces surgió la filosofía histórica, o filosofía de la historia: una historia basada en los efectos suscitados en el pensamiento a cierto nivel filosófico de generalidad y abstracción. Resultó ser una forma interpretación muy satisfactoria y gratificante. Pero al combinarse ambos enfoques se ha dado la impresión de que la historia de la historiografía occidental consta de relatos y de filosofía. En la tradición grecorromana, la escritura de la historia estuvo en manos de los «historiadores» humanistas hasta que las actividades de los filósofos sociales lo transformaron todo. Y la prehistoria de la revolución historicista se ha escrito, hasta ahora, en forma de una filosofía de la historia en la que se buscan los orígenes de los cambios a los que dio lugar el historicismo. Creo que, cuando los historiadores parten de estas premisas, están en condiciones de criticarlas y modificarlas provechosamente.
De lo que no han hablado las interpretaciones más reputadas ha sido de una historia de la historiografía en el sentido que hemos dado al término en estas páginas. Cuando empezamos a estudiar la historia de la adquisición, por parte de los seres humanos, de la conciencia de que tienen un pasado que puede ser relevante para su presente, descubrimos que la historiografía generada por esta conciencia (que no es fruto de la tradición greco-romana), apareció en Europa Occidental antes de la revolución historicista y uno no puede evitar preguntarse cuánto debió el historicismo a este tipo de pensamiento. Además, el estudio de la conciencia del pasado y la historiografía producto de esa conciencia, aún siendo selectivo y limitado en cuanto al problema objeto de estudio, nos ha permitido idear un nuevo método para estudiar la historia de la historiografía. Un método que, al basarse en la idea de que la historiografía es una forma de pensamiento surgida de la toma de conciencia de la estructura social y de los procesos que tienen lugar en ella, nos permite explicar el carácter de las diferentes historiografías poniéndolas en relación con las sociedades en las que surgieron.
2. Las condiciones en las que puede existir un historiador del pasado
Lo que sigue es un modelo que reúne las condiciones en las que puede existir un historiador cuyo objeto de estudio sea el pasado y su relación con el presente. Obviamente, el historiador debe ser consciente del
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8af35052-c376-5de0-1c35-a6fd2c71846c
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['420738b8-0225-8bd9-f154-0f19b22a6617']
|
pueden operar varios paradigmas retóricos a la vez que se miden en el debate y la interacción mutua. Si la función de un paradigma fuera la de excluir la conciencia de otro paradigma, difícilmente podríamos usarlo ni en nuestros argumentos ni en la retórica en general. No se hablaba de su función, y la historia de lo que no se dice o imagina es uno de los aspectos más complicados de la historia de lo real. Solo llevando la historia del debate hasta sus extremos podemos reconstruir el diálogo en términos de lo que no se debatía y dar una caracterización de la comunidad de diálogo refiriéndonos al paradigma que decreta aquello de lo que no se puede discutir. La palabra hablada parecía atribuir autoridad y la no pronunciada solo era parte, si bien una parte importante, de lo que legitimaba todo el proceso. Tanto en la política del lenguaje como en los lenguajes de la política que componen el discurso de las comunidades políticas, los oradores utilizan estructuras paradigmáticas para actuar sobre los oyentes. Los interlocutores se ven forzados a observar las mismas estructuras, modificándolas para que encajen en sus propósitos. Puede que nos hallemos ante grupos de oradores e interlocutores que debaten enérgicamente oponiendo una estructura a otra, iniciando incluso un debate de segundo orden sobre sus méritos relativos. Evidentemente, esas estructuras que denominamos paradigmas por pura comodidad no eran monolíticas, ni se excluían unas a otras, excepto en esos casos, al margen de la política, en los que no hubo discurso y no tuvo lugar debate alguno. El debate puede formularse entre estructuras o en el seno de cada una de ellas, y hemos ido descubriendo la existencia de complejas relaciones de disonancia y consonancia. Por lo tanto, tal vez debamos modificar o abandonar el término «paradigma», pero no acabamos de tomar una decisión. En este punto, la estructura de la societas empieza a parecer pluralista.
IV
Hemos dicho, por lo tanto, que los lenguajes de la política no son definitivos sino plurales y flexibles. Cada uno de ellos debe permitir que se interpele a quien los formula. Los actos de habla de otros los modifican desde dentro, al igual que las diversas formas de interacción con otras estructuras de lenguaje los transformarán desde fuera. Como he diseñado un modelo para historiadores, me he asegurado la enemistad de los filósofos porque los lenguajes de la cueva no bastan para cubrir nuestras necesidades. Mi siguiente paso será ofrecer ejemplos del tipo de «lenguaje» al que me refiero para entender mejor cómo se generan y usan. Intentaré hacerlo refiriéndome a mi propia experiencia, obtenida, sobre todo, a través del estudio del discurso político de la Inglaterra renacentista. Creo que merece la pena correr los riesgos que haya que correr en relación a las posibles distorsiones introducidas por el observador al hacer la selección. Cuando empecé a investigar quería a desvelar y explicar el lenguaje de la Ancient Constitution que parecía haberse elaborado a partir de la terminología y las premisas que utilizaban los juristas para defender la propiedad en Inglaterra, su
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10aae89e-818e-c5ea-02bd-c15ad877433e
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['4209cb3a-8228-43fa-e452-870bcbc650b3']
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thereafter, his man having secured a good riverside plot for the tea firm, one of forty laid out by the new British consul. At Jiujiang and Zhenjiang, <PERSON> found he was too late to add to his bag of new properties, not that anybody actually had possession yet. It was a postwar moment of uncertainty, and potentially of local conflict. Diplomatic agreements needed to be translated into practical arrangements, and this often involved displacement, and consequently dispossession. There was violence when the land surrendered by officials had to be turned over by its Chinese owners by spring 1862. None had yet been handed over at Hankou, where the traders pestered officials and rented land or properties meanwhile or worked from hulks. 'Men always carry revolvers,' noted <PERSON> of the foreign pioneers at Hankou and Zhenjiang, and a 'thick stick' too. Peace had been proclaimed and placarded on Hankou walls, but the Peking peace which so casually traded names of cities and towns would wrenchingly dispossess some at the far away, newly opened ports. The foreign warships were ready, though, and the foreign soldiers could, and did land, to enforce the new provisions and to demonstrate their power to those who had not yet tasted the bitter violence of the Europeans.
Soon the Shanghai model was being adopted on the British side as they steamed into the new ports, and populated their concessions along the banks of the Yangzi and on the Beihe at Tianjin. Versions of Shanghai precedents – all the now established forms of local self-administration, fifteen years' worth of precedent and practice, regulation and by-law – advanced with them to get things organized: bunds, roads, wharves, the necessary infrastructure for a Europeanized trade. Staff were recruited from Shanghai in particular to fill positions in the new administrations, and in the new branch _hongs_. Younger men like <PERSON> struck out on their own. He left his position with a German firm in Shanghai, two years after arriving in China, and seized the opportunity to establish his own firm at Jiujiang, funded in significant part by Chinese partners, designing a new house flag ('rather pretty'), securing a lot (disappointingly located at the back of the concession), and summoning his brother <PERSON> from England to join him. 'The energy of Europeans is seen at a glance,' wrote <PERSON>, surveying buildings already constructed at Hankou by Dent & Co., and the bunding work, and new godowns 'rearing their solid walls rapidly'. It was Chinese capital that actually funded most of this: European initiative needed Chinese resource.
The opening of the river was the greatest excitement. It seemed to offer the complete surrender of shut-off China to foreign trade, to foreign exploration, to all that 'energy'. With <PERSON> up the wide Yangzi in 1861 went a delegation from the Shanghai chamber of commerce, and a small party of explorers led by Lt Col <PERSON> of the 17th Lancers, aiming to trek overland to India. China opened now meant new routes across its borders could be traversed, and surveyed. Papers in learned journals narrated these
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517099c1-b4a3-ba71-4a37-cb160cb401b1
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['4209cb3a-8228-43fa-e452-870bcbc650b3']
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(ed.), _Letters and Journals of James, Eighth Earl of Elgin_ (London: John Murray, 1872), pp. 212, 214.
83. The cruel insecurity of 1858 in Canton is well caught in <PERSON> journal.
84. _The Times_ , 6 April 1858, p. 10; _Illustrated London News_ , 10 April 1858, p. 362.
85. <PERSON>, _Narrative of the Earl of Elgin's Mission_ , i, pp. 158–9.
86. <PERSON> to <PERSON>, 21 January 1858, quoted in Lane-Poole, _Life of Sir Harry Parkes_ , i, p. 272; _The Times_ , 26 February 1858, pp. 9–10, reprinted in <PERSON>, _China and Lower Bengal_ (London: Routledge, Warne, & Routledge, 1861), pp. 340–43.
87. Shanghai no. 149, 23 November 1857, TNA, FO 228/243.
88. <PERSON>, _The Expansion of Russia in East Asia, 1857–1860_ (Kuala Lumpur: University of Malaya Press, 1968), pp. 115, 133. Russian weapons were eventually delivered: 10,000 rifles and 50 cannons in November 1862, <PERSON>, _The Taiping Rebellion and the Western Powers: A comprehensive survey_ (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), pp. 280–81.
89. This stage of the war is covered in <PERSON>, 'Die Zerstörung des Yuanming yuan als "imperialistische Lektion"? Plünderung, Preis und Beute im britisch-französischen Chinafeldzug von 1860' (unpublished PhD thesis, Universität Konstanz, 2009).
90. The assessment comes from _The Times_ , 27 April 1857, p.8. The new Hythe School of Musketry consolidated the effectiveness of the new fire-power.
91. <PERSON>, _Narrative of the North China Campaign of 1860_ (London: Smith, Elder and Co., 1861), p. 92; <PERSON>, _Of Battle and Beauty: Felice Beato's Photographs of China_ (Santa Barbara, CA: Santa Barbara Museum of Art, 1999).
92. See his account of reconnoitring under feint of parley at <PERSON>, letter to Mrs <PERSON>, 21 August 1860, in Lane-Poole, _Life of Sir Harry Parkes_ , i, pp. 362.
93. <PERSON> (ed.), _An Embassy to China: Being the journal kept by Lord <PERSON> during his embassy to the Emperor <PERSON>, 1793–1794_ (London: Longmans, 1962), p. 95; <PERSON>, _Personal Narrative of Occurrences During Lord Elgin's Second Embassy to China in 1860_ (London: John Murray, 1869), p. 274.
94. Revd <PERSON>, _How We Got into Pekin: A narrative of the campaign in China of 1860_ (London: Richard Bentley, 1862), pp. 287–8.
95. Quoted in <PERSON>, _The Story of Chinese Gordon_ (New York: R. Worthington, 1884), p. 24.
96. <PERSON> (ed.), _Letters and Journals of James, Eighth Earl of Elgin_ , p. 369.
#### 6 CHINA EL DORADO
1. <PERSON> (ed.), _Jottings from the Log of a New South Welshman: Or, six years in the opium trade_ (Sydney: Gibbs, Shallard & Co., 1867), pp. 6–7; <PERSON>, _Pioneering in Formosa: Recollections of adventures among Mandarins, wreckers and head hunting savages_ (London: Hurst & Blackett, 1898), pp. 176–7. The ship, the _Macto_ , had been driven out of Dagou harbour by a typhoon in August 1859, then foundered on the shore: <PERSON>, _Von der Weser in die Welt: Die Geschichte der Segelschiffe von <PERSON> und <PERSON> und ihrer Bauwerften 1770 bis
|
2c75677a-cd2c-61b3-278f-ef06dbec64bd
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['427d19a1-5ab0-7bd9-535d-2d35718f5868']
|
blender and blitz until smooth. Add the lemon juice and chilli flakes and enjoy with the pre-prepped vegetable batons.
© <PERSON>
Courgette Hummus on Rice Cakes
Courgettes have made a real comeback in the healthy foodie world and I love this recipe for a fresh twist on the classic hummus.
2 courgettes
1 tbsp coconut oil
80g tahini
2-3 ice cubes
1 garlic clove, crushed
juice of ½ lemon, plus extra to finish
1 tsp smoked paprika
6 rice cakes, to serve
sea salt
**Serves 2**
1. Roughly chop the courgettes and place in a food processor with the coconut oil, tahini, ice cubes, garlic, lemon juice, a pinch of salt and half of the paprika and pulse until completely smooth.
2. Serve in a dish and top with the remaining paprika and an extra squeeze of lemon juice, then spread onto rice cakes.
© <PERSON>
Superfood Chocolate Protein Smoothie
The most delicious post-workout chocolatey hit. Packed full of goodness, this definitely trumps any sugar-loaded chocolate bar.
2 frozen bananas
2 tbsp cacao powder
½ tsp vanilla powder
1 tbsp peanut butter or other nut butter
1 scoop of whey protein powder (chocolate flavour if possible, but natural or vanilla will work too)
100ml water
**Serves 2**
Place everything in a blender and blitz until fully combined and smooth.
Berry Blast Smoothie
Berries are low in fructose and packed full of antioxidants, providing you with a delicious and light snack that will leave you feeling energized!
½ frozen banana
1 tbsp Greek yogurt
½ tsp ground cinnamon
100g raspberries
100g blueberries
Handful of spinach
100ml almond milk
**Serves 2**
Blend all the ingredients in a blender or smoothie maker until fully combined and enjoy.
© Martin Poole
Cashew and Goji Berry Energy Balls
Prepped in advance, these are great for a snack-on-the-go to fuel a busy day!
3 tbsp chopped unsalted cashew nuts
3 tbsp goji berries, roughly chopped
2 tbsp sunflower seeds
2 tbsp agave nectar
3 tbsp milled flaxseed
1 tbsp desiccated coconut
MAKES ABOUT 12 BALLS
1. Pulse all the ingredients except the coconut in a blender until well combined.
2. Using your hands, form about 12 small balls with the mixture and cover in a light coating of desiccated coconut. Transfer to a plate to chill for about 30 minutes.
EXERCISE
There is no right or wrong way to get active and exercise. You just have to find something you love, do it and stick to it!
Finding your favourite form of exercise, be it cycling, jogging or heading to classes at your local gym, will ensure that you're much more likely to keep at it and maintain motivation.
I think that's one of the things that really clicked with me when I began my journey. I started going to the gym and suddenly found a way of exercising that I enjoyed. I began to feel confident and so started burning calories in a way that didn't make it feel like a horrible chore. Exercise stopped being that thing I needed to do but couldn't find
|
502bd86e-af74-0b5a-f908-3ffc1f673463
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['427d19a1-5ab0-7bd9-535d-2d35718f5868']
|
platform, push right through the heel so that you really work your glutes (rather than pushing up on your toes or the front of the foot).
* On the push up, drive through one leg, then bring the other up to meet it.
* Step back down with the first leg, then repeat with the opposite leg leading.
© <PERSON>
Wide Sumo Squats with 2-second Pulse at the Bottom
REPS: 4x12 (30-second – 1-minute rest between each set)
* Take your feet into a similar stance to the basic squat, but with your feet slightly wider, and the toes facing slightly out.
* Keep your chest up and bend at the knee as if you were going to sit on a chair.
* Look straight ahead and make sure your knees are bent and in line with your hips.
* Continue bending your knees until your upper legs are parallel with the floor, ensuring that your back remains between a 45- and 90- degree angle to your hips.
* Drive up through the legs and glutes to full extension, making sure you don't roll or lock out the knees.
© <PERSON>
Tuck Jump to Squat
REPS: 4x10 (30-second – 1-minute rest between each set)
* Place both feet on the floor wider than shoulder width, with your feet facing forward.
* In a jumping motion, bring your knees up to your chest in a tuck jump.
* As you land, place your feet slightly wider than hip width apart and assume the squat position. Ensure you keep your chest up and your knees don't roll in or out.
* When you've completed your squat, bring your feet back in together to prepare to tuck jump again and repeat.
© <PERSON>
Bulgarian Split Squat
REPS: 4x12 EACH SIDE (30-second – 1-minute rest between each set)
* This is similar to a classic lunge.
* Rest your back foot on a sturdy chair, stair or box and step the front foot out so you are able to achieve a deep lunge.
* Keep your chest up and ensure your knees don't roll in or out.
* Bend to the bottom of your lunge, then drive up to full extension.
* Repeat for the other leg.
© <PERSON>
Feet-elevated Glute Bridges
REPS: 4x15 (30-second – 1-minute rest between each set)
* Repeating from the warm-up section, place both heels on an elevated platform (about a foot off the floor) so that your toes are pointing upwards.
* Place the top of your back on the floor, then drive your hips upwards to create a bridge position, then lower down again.
* Make sure you engage your glutes and don't roll your knees in or out.
© <PERSON>
FINISHER
Jumping Toe Taps
REPS: 20x4 (1-minute rest between each set)
* Using
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f98842f1-ef97-3bdc-97a1-0a53fa0c08e8
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['42cc6a71-d160-4a46-6968-43a05612de3c']
|
lo que echaron sobre mí de sus estómagos, pensé que por ahorrar de médicos y boticas aguardan nuevos para purgarse. Quisieron tras esto darme pescozones, pero no había dónde sin llevarse en las manos la mitad del afeite de mi negra capa, ya blanca por mis pecados. Dejáronme, y iba hecho zufaina de viejo a pura saliva. Fuime a casa, que apenas acerté, y fue ventura el ser de mañana, pues sólo topé dos o tres muchachos, que debían de ser bien inclinados, porque no me tiraron más de cuatro o seis trapajos, y luego me dejaron. Entré en casa, y el morisco que me vio, comenzose a reír y a hacer como que quería escupirme. Yo, que temí que lo hiciese, dije: —«Tené, güésped, que no soy _Ecce-Homo._ » Nunca lo dijera, porque me dio dos libras de porrazos, dándome sobre los hombros con las pesas que tenía. Con esta ayuda de costa, medio derrengado, subí arriba; y en buscar por dónde asir la sotana y el manteo para quitármelos, se pasó mucho rato. Al fin, le quité y me eché en la cama, y colguelo en una azutea. Vino mi amo y, como me halló durmiendo y no sabía la asquerosa aventura, enojose y comenzó a darme repelones, con tanta prisa, que, a dos más, despierto calvo. Levanteme dando voces y quejándome, y él, con más cólera, dijo: —«¿Es buen modo de servir ése, <PERSON>? Ya es otra vida.» Yo, cuando oí decir «otra vida», entendí que era ya muerto, y dije: —«Bien me anima <PERSON> en mis trabajos. Vea cuál está aquella sotana y manteo, que ha servido de pañizuelo a las mayores narices que se han visto jamás en paso, y mire estas costillas.» Y con esto, empecé a llorar. Él, viendo mi llanto, <PERSON>, y, buscando la sotana y viéndola, compadeciose de mí, y dijo: —«<PERSON>, abre el ojo que asan carne. Mira por ti, que aquí no tienes otro padre ni madre.» Contele todo lo que había pasado, y mandome desnudar y llevar a mi aposento (que era donde dormían cuatro criados de los güéspedes de casa). Acosteme y dormí; y con esto, a la noche, después de haber comido y cenado bien, me hallé fuerte y ya como si no hubiera pasado por mí nada. Pero, cuando comienzan desgracias en uno, parece que nunca se han de acabar, que andan encadenadas, y unas traían a otras. Viniéronse a acostar los otros criados y, saludándome todos, me preguntaron si estaba malo y cómo estaba en la cama. Yo les conté el caso y, al punto, como si en ellos no hubiera mal ninguno, se empezaron a santiguar, diciendo: —«No se hiciera entre luteranos. ¿Hay tal maldad?» Otro decía: —«El retor tiene la culpa en no poner remedio. ¿Conocerá los que eran?» Yo respondí que no, y agradeciles la merced que me mostraban hacer. Con esto, se acabaron de desnudar, acostáronse, mataron la luz, y dormime yo, que me parecía que estaba con mi padre y mis hermanos.
Debían de ser las doce, cuando el uno
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386ce6d2-df54-cec7-bd86-2d6284e46cb5
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['42cc6a71-d160-4a46-6968-43a05612de3c']
|
«Voacé viene desalumbrado,[247] esa flor guárdela para otro, no para mí que soy greno»[248] (este nombre se dan los taimados unos a otros); responde el estafador: «<PERSON>, que le tuve por <PERSON>, que ahora ha venido de gurapas (así llaman a las galeras), que tiene por camarada a <PERSON>, palmeado[249] en Madrid, Toledo y Sevilla». El cierto, viendo que aquel hombre le conoce y sabe toda su vida y milagros, con estilo más suave y blando le dice: «Por las alas del ángel de la Gabriela,[250] que no entendí, camarada, que me habías conocido. ¿Cómo os va, amigo?». Responde el estafador: «Con mil trabajos y miserias. Ahora acabo de salir de la cárcel, donde he estado dos cuaresmas por cierta muertecilla; y pues sabéis de necesidades, no digo más». El cierto saca y le da su ayuda de costa,[251] y le ofrece su persona y no ve la hora de huir del que le conoce. Y desta misma forma se portan con los demás malhechores.
Si el sujeto a quien estafan es cobarde, no se contentan con menos que con la mitad de la ganancia, y a veces casi todo.
Tienen también por ganancias hacerse cobradores de deudas ajenas. Cuando el deudor es cobarde o tiene causas para no reñir, llegan a él diciendo: «<PERSON> tiene quien vuelva por su crédito y castigue a los que con superchería se quieren quedar con su hacienda; y así, pague voacé luego, sin dar lugar a que la tienda[252] ni haya pesadumbre, porque lo pagará con setenas».[253] Si el deudor es furioso y responde: «¿Quién le mete en cobrar dietas ajenas?», desafíale a campaña y vase caminando y alargando al sitio más lejos. Si topa algunos amigos, háceles de ojo,[254] y haciendo el enojado, dice: «Ya se me ha acabado la flema». Saca los trastos, pega con él, y también los otros; con que toma el otro, viéndose acosado, pagar su deuda por buen partido. Pero si no encuentra este socorro, se vuelve al desafiado y le dice: «Por <PERSON>, que he venido considerando su buena persona de voacé; y del valor con que me ha seguido estoy ciertamente pagado; y aun me persuado a que estoy mal informado y que aquel mandria me ha engañado y ha usado de ardid para que se matasen dos hombres de garbo, como somos los dos; pues, por Dios, que no lo ha de lograr, pues ya no quiero con voacé pendencia, sino que me haya y tenga por camarada, y me ocupe en sus ocasiones; que voacé y yo, para ciento. Y deme licencia para castigar al menguado». Con esto quedan muy amigos, y el acreedor sin su dinero y sin la señal que dio de contado para que le cobrasen la deuda.
Usan también de oficio de gorrones, porque no hay almuerzo, merienda ni trago en que no se hallen; précianse de muy doctos en el alcorán de valentía, llamado libro del duelo; son difinidores de los agravios, conciertan las pesadumbres y las deben.
En conclusión y fin, esta gente pasa, como los curas, tirando
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and about the rationale behind salaries.
So am I arguing, after all, for tying pay to performance reviews? No, I am arguing for tying pay to performance, full stop, and the way reviews are generally carried out, there is a big, big difference between those two. Perhaps the strongest testament to that is the widespread problem of women still not being paid on par with their male counterparts. Transparency would surely hasten the cure.
People love to claim that the reason Silicon Valley can't bring women's salaries over 70 percent of men's is that women don't negotiate well. I think it has more to do with both bias and the fact that women dominate HR and finance departments, roles in which people traditionally have been underpaid. The highest-paid HR person is compensated at half the typical rate of tech talent. That is partially attributable to supply and demand, given the scarcity of technical talent, but it also reflects the difficulty of attaching business results to performance in those areas. When I recommend that companies bring female salaries up to par—factoring in, of course, objective measures of results—I usually get an outcry: "We can't fix this!" I was talking to one CEO about this and he said, "My lawyers would never let me do it." I asked, "What would your lawyers be worried about?" And he said, "Well, you know that I'd get sued." I said, "You're going to give the women in your company a raise and they'll sue you? I'm thinking that probably won't happen." He responded, "No, no, no! They'd sue me because I'd be admitting I was wrong before." I said, "You are wrong!" And that is the true liability.
As for women negotiating better? Give them the information with which they can make a better case and I promise you, many, many of them will make it.
IN BRIEF
▶ The skills and talents for any given job will not match a template job description, and salaries should not be predetermined according to templates.
▶ Information from salary surveys is always behind current market conditions; do not rely on them in making salary offers.
▶ Consider not only what you can afford given your current business but also what you will be able to afford given the additional revenue a new hire might enable you to bring in.
▶ Rather than paying at some percentile of top of market, consider paying top of market, if not for all roles, then for those that are most important to your growth.
▶ Signing bonuses can lead to the impression of a salary decrease in the year after the person joins; paying the salary you need in order to bring in a top performer is the better option.
▶ Being transparent with staff about compensation encourages better judgment about salaries and undercuts biases, as well as offering the occasion for more honest dialogue about the contributions of various roles to the company's performance.
QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER
• Who on your team has grown considerably in skills and proficiency since the time
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get in the way of a good idea, and he had shared many of them with me late at night when I worked with him at his start-up Pure Software. After he sold Pure, he'd gone back to school and I had started consulting. We both lived in the same town and we'd kept in close touch.
He said that he was going to join Netflix, and I told him, "Sounds like a good career move. Why are you telling me this at two in the morning?"
Then he asked me if I wanted to join him and I answered, "No way." I'd had a great time at Pure, but I was done with the crazy highs and lows and insane hours. I also didn't see how a tiny little company renting DVDs through the mail was going to succeed. I mean, really, Netflix was going to put Blockbuster out of business?!
But then <PERSON> said, "Wouldn't it be great if we created a company that we really both wanted to work at?" Now I was intrigued. At Pure I'd come in after the model had been fashioned. The opportunity to join in the invention this time was tantalizing.
"If we did that," I asked him, "how would you know it was great?"
He said, "Oh, I'd want to come to work every day and solve _these_ problems with _these_ people."
I loved the spirit of that. I think <PERSON> expressed in that statement exactly what people most want from work: to be able to come in and work with the right team of people— colleagues they trust and admire—and to focus like crazy on doing a great job together.
### **Policies and Structure Can't Anticipate Needs and Opportunities**
If you look at the most successful companies of the last decade or so, many of them are Internet firms with teams that work very collaboratively and organically. What do I mean by organically? I mean their goals and the ways they allocate time and resources, as well as the problems they're focusing on and approaches to solving them, are constantly adapting to the demands of the business and customer. They are growing, changing organisms. They aren't rigid structures bound by predetermined mandates about objectives, staff, or budget.
Before Netflix, I worked for Reed at Pure Software, which was my first start-up job, and I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven. I loved the high energy and the intense focus on innovation. As the head of HR, I still introduced policies and procedures, but I began doubting the conventional wisdom. Because the company was so much smaller than others I'd worked at, I began to learn more about the nitty-gritty of the business, and I could get to know more employees. As I became familiar with software engineers, in particular, and observed how they work, I realized that it's a misconception that more people make better stuff. With our teams at Pure, and all around Silicon Valley, I could see the power of small, unencumbered teams.
The typical approach to growth
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through the room, with their desire for something to break the monotony warring with trepidation.
<PERSON>, the officer calls, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON>.
Not yet, <PERSON> thinks. Not this time. She watches the leave-takings wondering when—and under what circumstances—she will see <PERSON> again. The guards have told her of his arrest.
<PERSON> bids farewell to her sisters <PERSON> and <PERSON>.
The <PERSON> part from son <PERSON>, <PERSON> from her sister <PERSON> and sister-in-law <PERSON>. <PERSON> murmurs some sort of fatherly advice to <PERSON>, the words lost in the room's commotion.
No one mentions it, but all know they might never see each other again in this life.
The jailer's men move among them, unlocking the chains from the wall, levering the elderly and unsteady from the floor, where they have sat for so long.
The guards part <PERSON> from her daughter, the mother protesting, struggling, and the child wailing at this additional loss, frantic to join her mother but left behind all the same.
The door thuds shut at last, and the bolts clank into place. Dear <PERSON>, thinks <PERSON>. What next?
____________________
Led, shuffling and clanking into the daylight, into a fresher breeze of salt air from the harbor after the closed-in fetor of the common room, hearing the sharp cries of gulls, most of the prisoners would be hoisted into a cart, <PERSON> likely insisting on helping <PERSON>. <PERSON>, as a repentant witch, was being treated as a potential witness. <PERSON> had sent orders for her to be kept apart from the others, so perhaps she rode on a pillion behind one of the mounted officers. The procession left the stone jail, and as they headed to the ferry at the north end of Boston's peninsula, they could probably hear <PERSON> muffled wail, the child's cries fading as the party threaded the narrow streets to the ferry wharf.
Once across the mouths of the Charles and Mystic Rivers, they began the journey through and around the great stretch of marsh that hummed this time of year with mosquitoes, unless the wind favored them. Partway though the trip the party encountered another cavalcade heading south, men on horseback with another wagonload of people—the latest batch of prisoners assigned to Boston. The groups would pause while the guards conversed, exchanging news and gossip of the latest suspects, the goings-on in court. From the wagons the prisoners could eye each other, the <PERSON> recognizing their son <PERSON> in the other cart headed for the Boston jail, as he saw his parents heading for trial and, after that, who knew what.
<PERSON> was in the cart as well and would reach Boston prison after the long, tiring trip, entering the stone jail where his wife awaited him.
But <PERSON> did not wait idly. On June 1 she and <PERSON>, with <PERSON> and <PERSON>, submitted statements regarding <PERSON> testimony, determined to tell the court just what sort of "evidence" was
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Not only was the twitching of the afflicted distracting, but their yelping also drowned out the prayers and sermons—which may have been a blessing, because, when they did shut up, Reverend <PERSON> was bound to be gabbling claptrap that made the suspects seem guilty of witchcraft. Even <PERSON>. Even my <PERSON>, he thinks.
All that and those furtive sidelong glances from his neighbors when they thought he didn't notice—it was only a matter of time before all the <PERSON> are accused. It is simpler to keep heading north to Topsfield come Sunday. Then they can be with their kin, the families of <PERSON>'s accused imprisoned sisters. And Topsfield's minister, Reverend <PERSON>, was willing to believe the accusations might be mistaken.
That man still has his wits about him.
<PERSON> is profoundly tired but cannot sleep.
If he sleeps, then he dreams, and he has woken too many times as he reaches across the bed and finds . . . emptiness. <PERSON> has been imprisoned for months, and yet encountering her palpable absence still frightens him. All those petitioners, all those papers, all the trips to Boston—and still this emptiness gnaws at him. Sometimes he feels as though his heart has been ripped out.
And then he thinks, As God sees fit.
The rest of the diminished household are quiet behind their bed-curtains, but <PERSON> needs air even if it is night. He steps outside the front door and away from the quiet house into the sweltering night.
There—over the fields he and his sons have worked so long to own and cultivate—rising in the constellation of Aquarius floats the full moon. Capped by an icy white crescent, most of it is shadowed by a rust color, like dried blood, nearly eclipsed.
<PERSON> sees this with a farmer's eye.
This cosmic "miracle" is not unexpected, having been forecast in the year's almanac. When he first read about it the previous winter it seemed a wonder. Now, it seems an omen—even if it is natural. He watches the moon in the vast stillness. He listens to the dry rustle of his corn—the fields need rain but no rain falls—and the shrill song of night insects.
He turns back into the house and locks the door.
A little light flickers from the hearth. He finds the Bible box and reaches in for Tully's Almanac. Leaning close to the hearth's embers, he finds the pages for July 17 and on eclipses.
Considering its placement in the sky, this total eclipse of the moon "may presage the Death of Aged persons, as well as persons of Quality."
Or presage the deaths of God's own saints, he thinks.
He grips the almanac. On Tuesday next his wife of forty-four years will hang.
( 12 )
## July 19 to 31, 1692
<PERSON> and <PERSON> wait by the roadside west of Salem's Town Bridge for the procession to arrive. She holds her husband's arm. <PERSON> and the servant <PERSON><PHONE_NUMBER>
Ann and Thomas Putnam wait by the roadside west of Salem's Town Bridge for the procession to arrive. She holds her husband's arm. Annie and the servant Mercy, quiet and composed—for now at least—sit on the grass in the shade of the wagon. A few other families
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1968, in which neither the rocks taken from the physical site nor their refined display and photographic documentation in an urban, "nonsite" gallery installation take precedence. Crucially in the context of <PERSON>'s installation, the nonsites also contain text. <PERSON> also developed the principle of collaboration among, rather than division between, media in _Spiral Jetty_ by working across its three mutually constitutive forms: the earthwork in the Great Salt Lake, the film from the same year that records the earthwork's construction and posits its relationships to natural history and to the intricacies of editing, "bits and pieces of Utah, out-takes overexposed and underexposed, masses of impenetrable material," as he described it in the third form, his essay of the same title (1972).
If <PERSON>'s earthworks and words lie beneath or temporally behind <PERSON>'s _Library of Water,_ it equally subtends the dynamics of fragmentation in <PERSON>'s "Wildly Constant." To examine how <PERSON> and <PERSON> work together in the _Library of Water,_ it is instructive to see their work as an elaboration of <PERSON>'s "world of non-containment." His passions in "A Sedimentation of the Mind"—for "mental weather," the "climate of sight," "melting, dissolving . . . surfaces" (108–9)—illuminate three crucial dimensions of the _Library:_ first, the centrality of "sedimentation" as a physical and mental process; second, the insistence on the integration and equivalence of land and language (of "words and rocks" in artistic processes, as he puts it here [107], and a collaboration he frequently explored, beginning with the drawing _A Heap of Language_ [1966], where a mountain is formed of synonyms for the word "language," and the essay "Language to Be Looked at and/or Things to Be Read" [1967]); and third, on the most general plane, the refusal and subversion of binding definitions and boundaries, a practice of dissemblance and dispersion common to <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>.
<PERSON> calls for a new type of art in the opening paragraph of "A Sedimentation of the Mind": "A bleached and fractured world surrounds the artist," he muses. "To organize this mess of corrosion into patterns, grids, and subdivisions is an esthetic process that has scarcely been touched" (100). <PERSON> gives a full reply with _Vatnasafn / Library of Water,_ in what she affords critically and visually through the collaboration of poetry and art installation and, more specifically, by deploying a particular sense of "punctuation." Again it is <PERSON> who alerts us to this technique. In "Towards the Development of an Air Terminal Site" of 1967, an important early publication, he expands on the transformative qualities of conceiving punctuation as topography, of melding language and landscape. Artist <PERSON> is the point of departure, as he is in "A Sedimentation of the Mind": "<PERSON> writes about 'a dark pavement' that is 'punctuated by stacks, towers, fumes and colored lights.'" The key word is "punctuated." In a sense, the "dark pavement" could be considered a "vast sentence," and the things perceived along it, "punctuation marks": ". . . tower . . ." = the exclamation mark (!) || ". . . stacks . . ." = the
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the 'conservation movement' and national parks in the USA and elsewhere." Though responses to and characterizations of more recent reformative work varies, other examples include the alarming photographs of environmental degradation by <PERSON> or <PERSON> and <PERSON> _What Is Missing?,_ a multiplatform undertaking, one of whose elements is a melancholic interactive website begun in 2009 that documents what many scientists are calling the sixth mass extinction of life on earth.
Prominent eco artist <PERSON> (1945–2015) raised a crucial point about reclamation art, however, one that spurs me to see it as one among several compelling practices rather than the necessary goal of eco art. Referring to her own work but in a way that pertains to <PERSON>'s _Revival Field_ and other reclamation projects, she writes:
But if the plants are doing the work, why not just grow them in the ground, as in most bioremediation and ecological restoration projects? Why grow them on sculptures? And why do we need art to do what bioremediation and ecological restoration are already doing? The aesthetic, metaphoric and conceptual functions of Biosculptures™ are important because for true ecological restoration, it is not enough to restore the ecosystems. We need to change ourselves. To bring about a future where we can move beyond restoration, beyond an endless cycle of loss and repair where we keep having to bandage new wounds, we need a restoration of human values. We need to revision what we value and undervalue, in the world, in ourselves, and in our identification of ourselves as species. We need to make the restoration processes visible and understandable, and we need to engage the attention, imagination and heart of the public. To affect values, to create desire, to make people care about something, you have to affect hearts, bodies, unconscious dream lives and imaginations. And this is the work art can do so well.
How do we distinguish reclamation work from green engineering, design, or social activism, and are such distinctions useful? <PERSON> extraordinarily rich book _Decolonizing Nature_ has as a main goal "to further enliven [the] intersection of art and activism" (11). Without diminishing the import of these crossings and priorities in eco art today, I provide a different emphasis, one that articulates distinctions between the aesthetic and artistic dimensions of eco-art practices and more overtly political pursuits and is therefore able to bring eco art's manifold interactions with land art and landscape to the fore. In <PERSON> apt phrasing, "What is the _art_ in ecological art, exactly?" For example, <PERSON> has said that the greatest triumph of his _Revival Field_ was its ability to test and prove scientific hypotheses about hyperconductor plants and soil pollution. For him, the question of whether we call this art or science or engineering is not important. But is some degree of separation warranted, perhaps even to uphold art's ability to make a difference precisely through its difference? I agree with <PERSON> claim that "art interrupts and exposes contradictions; it intervenes to re-inflect the conditions by which it is
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consider the following objectives: use terrain suited for running, establish check-off points in a location and sequence that demand frequent navigation decisions, and keep courses short enough to allow completion in about thirty minutes.
Short-distance events can use either mass, group starts or individual, interval starts. To prevent people from just following one another without navigating, the courses can be carefully set to route individuals on different overlapping loops before bringing them together for the final loop and an exciting sprint to the finish.
_Orienteering on horseback! Why not?_
# **Other Varieties**
Almost all of the orienteering variations can be run with different means of travel. There are events for canoeists, horseback riders, and even city dwellers (perhaps on skateboards?). Other varieties are limited only by your imagination.
**Your First Orienteering Race**
After you have practiced on your own or with friends for a while, you will come to feel so competent in the skills of using map and compass that you have gained from this book that you will want to test your ability in competition with others interested in the sport of orienteering. Start by going online or contacting the United States Orienteering Federation to find a club in your area. Since orienteering is still growing in this country, you may have to travel a ways to get to a club. But contact them, get on their mailing list, and soon you'll find a meet to attend.
The newsletter or Web site for the club will tell you about various meets and if there are different-level courses for beginners, novices, and advanced being offered. You will get basic information such as date, time, location, and other details. Ask beforehand if you have any questions.
An ambitious, well-run, and established orienteering club might offer many courses, as in the example below.
**Courses**
Bring an orienteering compass, a red ballpoint pen to mark the map, a plastic bag or folder to protect your map, a wristwatch, water to drink, and some lunch or snack.
Clothing for your first race does not have to be the fancy, slick expert orienteer's suit. Long pants and a long-sleeved shirt are recommended to help you avoid the likes of brambles, poison ivy, and ticks. Light hiking shoes are nice, but sneakers are fine for now. You will probably get them wet and muddy, but wait until you are really serious before you order those snazzy, cleated orienteering shoes.
You might try volunteering at an orienteering meet. You will be very much appreciated, will learn a lot, and will meet a lot of great people, eager to share their love of the sport.
# **Procedure**
The day of your big event, be sure to leave home early. You can't miss registration! You'll be parking next to the other cars, some of them with out-of-state plates. Walk over to the assembly area, where lots of orienteers are already waiting, some in special orienteering suits, some with O-club shirts, some in hiking clothes, like you.
The information about the event will have given you a time frame
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with the north part of the needle at N. Then sight against the direction-of-travel arrow, instead of with it, and raise your eyes. You should be looking directly back toward the point from which you came.
_If you can 't see across or through the obstacle_ , you can walk around it by right angles. Turn at a right angle from your route and, counting your steps, walk until you are certain you are beyond the extension of the obstacle in that direction. Then turn at a right angle back on your original bearing, and proceed until you are clear of the obstacle. Again, turn at a right angle back toward your original sighting line, and step off the identical number of steps you took during your first direction change. You are now back on your original sighting line. Make another right-angle turn and proceed in your original direction.
You can, of course, make these right-angle turns by resetting the compass at each turn, adding 90 degrees for each turn to the right or subtracting 90 degrees for each turn to the left from the original compass setting. But why do it the hard way when you can do it without any resetting whatsoever? You can do it by taking advantage of the right angles of the orienteering compass's base plate.
Let us say that we want to _go to the right around the obstacle ahead_. For your first right-angle turn, hold your orienteering compass with the base plate crosswise in your hand, with the direction-of-travel arrow pointing toward your left. Orient the compass in the usual manner. Sight along the back edge of the base plate, from left corner to right corner toward a suitable landmark. Walk enough steps (count them!) toward the landmark to be certain that you are beyond the obstacle in that direction. How can you be certain? You can't really know until you use your map and compass together, but you can make an educated guess by looking at the terrain and other physical features.
For the second turn (to the left), hold the compass in the usual way, with the direction-of-travel arrow pointing straight ahead of you. You are back on the original bearing. Walk far enough to get well beyond your obstacle in this direction. The illustration on page 102 should help clarify what you are undertaking.
For the third turn (again to the left), hold the compass with the base plate _crosswise_ again, but with the direction-of-travel arrow to your _right_. You orient the compass and sight along the back edge of the base plate, this time from right corner to left corner. Walk in the new direction exactly the same number of steps you took in your first direction change.
_If you can't see across the obstacle, walk around it at right angles, using the back edge of the orienteering compass's base plate for sighting._
For your final turn, to the right, orient the compass with the direction-of-travel arrow pointing directly in front of you. The obstacle has been overcome and you continue
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need leather soles for the turns." She sighs. "For today, you can dance in your socks."
She waves Dad to the bench.
I go with him. "This is my surprise?" I say as he unlaces his sneakers. "I get to watch you have a lesson?"
<PERSON> looks a little desperate. "<PERSON> said if I brought you, she'd have a nice surprise for you too."
"<PERSON>," Miss <PERSON> calls.
I don't even bother to correct her. I am beginning to wonder if she is doing this on purpose. Does she think it's funny? Is this a joke where she comes from?
"I asked <PERSON> to come in today," she says. "He is one of my students. He is also the teenage New Jersey champion in Latin dance. I am going to bring him to your school later in the program, but I think it will be nice for you to meet him now."
<PERSON> comes in through a door in the back wall. He is wearing a black Move and Groove T-shirt, black pants, and shiny black shoes. He smiles at me.
If <PERSON> and <PERSON> could see me, I know they would be jealous. <PERSON> is as cute as the boys on the posters that decorate <PERSON>'s bedroom.
I wonder if I can get a poster of him for my new room.
"We will begin with the samba," Miss <PERSON> says. "It is a wonderful dance from Brazil, very beautiful. And it is not one that we will be doing at school, <PERSON>."
"It's <PERSON>," I mutter.
Miss <PERSON> waves her hand. Her fingernails are sparkly. I wonder if she gets them done at You've Got Nail!
<PERSON> smiles at me again and says, "I like the name <PERSON>."
I feel myself start to blush.
<PERSON> gestures for <PERSON> to join her in the center of the room. "Now, come close and watch," she says to <PERSON> and me. "<PERSON> and I will demonstrate. We will do the steps without music first, very slowly. It starts with the samba bounce."
Their feet stay in place, but their hips begin to move.
"The hip movement is done on the half beat," Miss <PERSON> says.
<PERSON> looks scared. "I have no idea what she's talking about," he whispers.
<PERSON> and <PERSON> begin to dance. It is as if a different species has entered the room. They are moving in a way that doesn't seem possible, but it is beautiful. Then they break apart.
"Now you will try it with us," Miss <PERSON> says. "Don't worry, we start very slowly."
<PERSON> goes to Dad. <PERSON> takes my hand.
"Just follow me, <PERSON>. When I step forward, you go backward with your left leg."
I look down.
"No!" <PERSON> says. "Look at me, not your feet."
I do. <PERSON> is much better looking than my feet. He's got the longest eyelashes I have ever seen.
Miss <PERSON> counts the beats very slowly. As she does, I try to imitate <PERSON>'s moves. When he moves forward, my left foot goes back. It's like magic. My feet are
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pat you on the head and call you '<PERSON>.'"
Sometimes the people I love drive me crazy.
More and more people get on the plane. Some of them have so much stuff that soon there's no room in the luggage racks.
Finally, everyone is sitting down and everything gets put away.
I wonder what the flight attendant did with the empty birdcage.
I wonder if the bird who normally lives in that cage is flying over on his own and will meet the owner in London.
I wonder if the bird has got a passport.
I wonder if this plane is ever going to take off.
Putting on my seat belt, I realize that I'm so excited I can hardly stand it.
The pilot's voice comes over the loudspeaker and says that the plane is going to London, Heathrow Airport, and anyone not planning to go there had better get off right now.
A screen gets pulled down by the flight attendant and a movie explains all about safety and what to do if something happens.
That makes me nervous.
I look over at Aunt <PERSON>, who is looking at a piece of paper.
"Pay attention, please." I tug at her sleeve. "You're the grown-up here."
She looks surprised and then she says, "Honey, I make this trip every summer. I know what to do. Don't worry."
The plane starts to move along the ground for a while and then it stands in a line of planes for a long time.
Just as I begin to think that we're never going to move, we do and the plane takes off.
It's so exciting.
I, <PERSON>, am up in the air.
Something tells me that this is going to be two weeks that I'll never forget.
# Chapter
Four
"<PERSON>, finish unpacking." Aunt <PERSON> rushes me. "And then we'll shower, change, and take the tour bus."
I am so tired. Usually, as my mother says, I am "one very perky kiddo."
Right now, I'm too pooped to perk.
Flopping down on the bed, I plead, "Oh, please. Can't we take a nap first? Please, oh please. I'm so tired."
"Up, my dear." Aunt <PERSON> tugs at my arm. "There's a five-hour time difference. Getting on schedule right away is a good idea."
There are reasons besides the five-hour time difference why I'm tired. The plane left late. We ate, watched a movie and tried to sleep. Good movie. Bad food. Hard seat. Got served breakfast very early.
When we got off the plane, there was a long walk, a long line and a long time to get our passports checked at immigration, a long wait for the luggage, a long wait for a taxi cab and a long ride into the city.
Finally, we're in our "flat" (that's what apartments are called in England, Aunt <PERSON> says).
Personally, I, <PERSON>, am one very tired traveler and would love to sleep on the living-room sofa bed.
"These two drawers are yours." Aunt <PERSON> points to the bottom of the bureau
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of innate fears in the human.
_Analogues_
Now we come to the most difficult concept in the bunch. Each affect is _analogic_. It resembles what triggered it. An affect is in some way similar to what triggered it.
There are other psychobiological systems in which the triggered program resembles in some way the stimulus that acted as a switch for it. Take, for instance, the resemblance between sexual arousal and the orgasm. Sexual arousal, whether we administer it to ourselves or experience it in the company of another person, has a definite quality. Part of an optimal sexual experience is conferred by the affect <PERSON> calls interest–excitement, but the specifically sexual quality is brought by the sexual drive system. And the orgasm, the specific form of release triggered when the requirements for it have been met, is itself a highly amplified form of arousal. In this special connotation, says <PERSON>, orgasm is an analogue of sexual arousal.
Take the relation between pain and injury. In a way I find difficult to express, but which I think you can grasp intuitively, pain itself has some of the qualities of injury. Pain feels like ripping, or tearing, or breaking—but more so. We do not experience anything as thrilling as an orgasm when we break a leg. I doubt that a life form with such circuitry could survive very long or continue to evolve, for it might seek constantly to crash into walls, jump over cliffs, and fight desperately in order to break limbs and be rewarded by the equivalent of an orgasm. Pain is a useful mechanism in that it amplifies our awareness of an injury and focuses our attention on the location of that injury. Thus it appears that pain is an analogue of injury.
So the body is wired to respond to a number of situations with genetically programmed mechanisms that act as analogues of their triggering stimulus. Thus it is for affect. Each affect is an analogue of its triggering stimulus in that it more or less _feels like_ the situation that incited it. Equally important, each affect feels different from the others. The _felt quality_ of each is unique, recurrent, reproducible, and consistent. A rush of ideas triggers an affect that makes the mind rush more; the analogy is the _feeling_ of "rush." Affects that are responses to increases in the rate of neural firing will themselves feel like an increased activity. Affects that respond to intense, constant levels of neural firing will themselves feel like an intense, constant but highly amplified level of activity. We will discuss the nature of the individual affect programs later, but for now it is important to understand that in addition to their urgency and their neutrality or abstractness, affects are analogues of their stimuli.
_Receptors_
Recall what I said about the original flash of insight that allowed <PERSON> to deduce the existence of the affect system. He had observed the crying of his newborn son and realized that this complex group of behaviors activated so many parts of the body that crying itself
|
4514fce8-4217-cc7f-f25f-4ee5e57865f2
|
['47789c45-12ef-b6d1-07b3-eba29c1bf661']
|
the time when <PERSON> was looking for a unified field theory that would explain all matter and energy in terms of their relation to some basic substance or force. Sir <PERSON>, the reigning medical genius, was only seven years older than <PERSON>. He changed medicine by teaching physicians a new method of diagnosis in which one tried to attribute all the symptoms of the patient to one illness. Before <PERSON> a patient might be diagnosed and treated for many illnesses at the same time; after <PERSON> the clinician would search for the single disease that could produce all the symptoms observed. It was an epoch that fostered the condensation of forces.
There is no question that <PERSON> was one of the great thinkers of all time. Many of his contributions hold up even today, when our science is advanced enough to provide the technology needed to test his theories. Nevertheless, most of those who study emotion have discarded his basic idea that all human mental and emotional functions are powered by the sexual force he called libido. Too much work has been done in too many other areas of science for this brilliant synthesis to remain acceptable.
Of course I believe that there is a sexual drive and that it has a powerful influence on human development. But it is neither the basic motivating force for which <PERSON> searched nor the source of emotion itself. As a matter of fact, the new work on emotion (around which this book is woven) allows us to present an entirely new theory for the nature of human sexuality, as well as the relation between sex and shame.
Such statements are taken for granted when I lecture in settings that favor the study of physiology or other medical sciences. It has been said that 95 percent of what is known about the human brain was learned in the past decade. Pouring in daily as research reports from the great laboratories of medicine and neurobiology, often popularized by newspaper accounts of this research offered to the public as filtered through the bias of reporters with deeply personal prejudices, are data undreamed of at the other end of this century.
Often I am asked to speak before psychoanalytic groups, who are of course deeply interested in anything concerning the nature of emotion. But time and time again I will be thanked for my efforts and told "What you say is very interesting, but it is too soon. We do not yet know enough about the brain. For the moment we will stick with the ideas given us by <PERSON>." Then someone will ask me to reread one of his papers from 1924, as if to say that had I really understood his work I would not have needed to ask the questions that always hover around me.
When, however, I discuss these ideas about shame and the entire spectrum of emotion before audiences whose training has led them to evaluate patients in terms of their need for medication, I am told with equal vigor, "We are tired
|
07d14fe7-71d1-7956-3c10-2b6b26449975
|
['47933f7c-ac82-97b6-db53-b71795a4f940']
|
matters."
Neither of us spoke. His words resounded in the room, impossible to ignore. I felt angry, hurt, and wanted to quit. To escape someplace where life was easier, but I couldn't imagine anywhere fitting that description.
"Which sadly leads me back to <PERSON>'s third demand of the day." <PERSON> shook his head, exasperated. "I hate doing this, <PERSON>. It goes against everything I stand for, and you know I hate the politics. But I'm going to be honest enough with you to say this to your face. I am going to do what <PERSON> wants because I've got two business partners who backed me on a risky venture and I owe them my loyalty, and because there are only forty-one shows, but I won't do it without apologizing to you. Professionally, you're a talented actress. Personally, well..."
"I understand. I can't say I like it even a little bit, but your hands are tied. I'm not sure what my role is here anymore."
We stood and embraced in another awkward silence. It was a lingering hold on each other that reminded me of the <PERSON> I knew at Northwestern, when we were both acting students and starry-eyed boyfriend and girlfriend.
"<PERSON>, you've always been a genuine person," he said, his mouth next to my ear. "It's your heart, I guess. You seem even more real to me now."
We stepped apart, not knowing what it meant.
"So, as much as it pains me, it would probably be best for you to just find a seat with <PERSON> and <PERSON> at the soundboard. <PERSON> or I will let you know from night to night what's going on."
<PERSON>'s tone was beleaguered, defeated. He'd never treated actors this way.
"It's okay. Looks like I'm going from understudy to undercover."
That brought a smile to <PERSON>'s lips, but it soon faded along with any remaining hope I had of rediscovering my career as an actress.
On the night of the second performance, I sat in the sound booth with <PERSON> and <PERSON>. I didn't see <PERSON> again that night, or <PERSON>, or even <PERSON>, except for watching them perform Act 1 under the bright lights onstage. At the beginning of Act 2, <PERSON> sent a text message to my phone that read:
You can leave now.
I stood up from my seat, grabbed my leather jacket from the back of the chair, and left quietly. Except for ushers and a man leaving the restroom, the lobby was empty.
I let myself out through the front door.
~ Thirteen ~
Back in the quiet apartment I took a long, hot shower. The tears didn't come until after I'd slipped into my pj's and curled up in bed with the lights off, my comforter pulled up to my chin. I must have cried for half an hour, wiping away tears of confusion and rejection with tissues I found in the bathroom. I set the box within easy reach on the nightstand.
An hour later, I went into the kitchen in stocking feet, poured a bowl
|
af92e1b6-d1e6-49ba-a196-458519ecd5a6
|
['47933f7c-ac82-97b6-db53-b71795a4f940']
|
on that really excites me. I've been dying to bust out of the conventional wisdom of Apartment 19. I've got <PERSON> working on a slightly hipper variation on our apartment set, and Harper's demonstrated she can step outside the lines we've chalked for blocking. So, are we all in agreement?"
<PERSON> said, "Heck, yeah. This is going to be the real premiere."
"<PERSON>?"
"It will certainly be an adventure."
I looked into <PERSON>'s eyes when he turned to me. He was no longer just a boy from Northwestern with dreams of shaking up the theater world. He was the Broadway director making a run for it.
"<PERSON>, normally when an understudy goes on, the play has been running for months and months, and everyone knows how the whole thing works. Nobody knows what tonight is going to look or feel like, because there isn't time to rehearse with the cast. Are you ready?"
I thought about how <PERSON>'s taskmaster approach, so unpleasant at the time, had accelerated my readiness to perform. It couldn't have happened any other way. "I've been through the show three times, <PERSON>. I'm ready."
"<PERSON>, it might be good for you and <PERSON> to walk through the play once—at least selected scenes," <PERSON> said. "Let <PERSON> get a feel for where you're taking <PERSON>. Could you do that?"
"Sure," I said. <PERSON> nodded in agreement.
"And, <PERSON>... I want you to trust your instincts tonight. Do what they tell you."
<PERSON> shook his head like even he couldn't believe we were doing this. "I once thought it'd be nice if <PERSON> took a night off so we could experiment and test this direction for the show. I guess we don't have to wonder about that anymore."
~ Fifteen ~
At 6 p.m., <PERSON> greeted me at the foot of the <PERSON> stage, clipboard checklist close at hand. It was a moment of calm before the storm of the coming performance. I saw something in <PERSON> I'd missed before, something that can only be revealed through crisis. She was good at this stuff, wired for emergencies. In the hours since our lunch meeting, fear had coiled its sinewy vines around from my feet up to my head, threatening to choke the confidence out of me. <PERSON> expected her back to be against the wall, and she channeled her pragmatism into a practical plan.
The dim houselighting quieted the large, empty room, transforming it into a tranquil world, serene until the evening's performance when the audience was seated and the actors used their gifts to bring a mirage to life.
"Are you ready for tonight?" she asked.
"I think so. Are we the only ones here so far?"
"<PERSON>'s in his office. <PERSON> is here. She wants to make sure all your costume changes are ready. Can I show you to your dressing room?"
We hiked up the loading ramp through the exit door at the left of the stage, fondly referred to as "The Tunnel" by actors, to the backstage level, past two lighting fixtures upended on the floor
|
40cd79b7-290d-0d62-47a6-91afeb411ae6
|
['47a8f784-1de9-d287-2530-305b7ab620f3']
|
Fasten off rem st.
Tail:
Using MC, cast on 7 sts, cast off.
Collar:
Using the 2.75mm crochet hook, work a chain long enough to go around the reindeer's neck. Fasten off. Alternatively, plait a length of yarn to make the collar.
Making up:
Sew the head and body seams, stuffing as you close. Attach the head to the body, using the picture as a guide. Attach the legs, tail and ears. To make the antlers, sew the shorter i-cords to the longer i-cord. Sew in the ends. Sew the antlers to the head, behind the ears. Sew the bobble to the centre of head for the nose. Using black yarn, embroider the eyes. Sew the collar in place and attach the bell.
Frosty the Red-Nosed Reindeer
This alternative reindeer is made from pale grey, blue, sparkly white and red yarn, a very magical companion to the more natural-coloured <PERSON>.
Snowman
Materials:
White sparkly 4 ply yarn
Small amounts of brown, green, black and orange 4 ply yarn
Self-patterning 4 ply yarn for scarf
Toy filling
Needles:
1 pair 2.75mm (UK 12, US 2) knitting needles (double-pointed needles recommended)
Measurements:
Approx. 8cm (31⁄8in) tall
Instructions:
Body:
Using white sparkly 4 ply yarn, cast on 14 sts, P 1 row.
Work increase rows as follows:
K1, (K1fb, K1, K1fb) to last st, K1. P 1 row (22 sts).
K1, (K1fb, K3, K1fb) to last st, K1. P 1 row (30 sts).
K1, (K1fb, K5, K1fb) to last st, K1. P 1 row (38 sts).
K1, (K1fb, K7, K1fb) to last st, K1. P 1 row (46 sts).
K1, (K1fb, K9, K1fb) to last st, K1. P 1 row (54 sts).
Work 2 rows in SS. Work decrease rows as follows:
K1, (K2tog, K9, ssk) to last st, K1. P1 row (46 sts).
K1, (K2tog, K7, ssk) to last st, K1. P1 row (38 sts).
K1, (K2tog, <PERSON>, ssk) to last st, K1. P1 row (30 sts).
K1, (K2tog, K3, ssk) to last st, K1. P1 row (22 sts).
K1, (K2tog, K1, ssk) to last st, K1. P1 row (14 sts).
Thread yarn through rem sts and fasten off.
Head:
Using white sparkly 4 ply yarn, cast on 14 sts, P 1 row.
Work inc rows as follows:
K1, (K1fb, K1, K1fb) to last st, K1. P 1 row (22 sts).
K1, (K1fb, K3, K1fb) to last st, K1. P 1 row (30 sts).
K1, (K1fb, K5, K1fb) to last st, K1. P 1 row (38 sts).
K1, (K1fb, K7, K1fb) to last st, K1. P 1 row (46 sts).
Work decrease rows as follows:
K1, (K2tog, K7, ssk) to last st, K1. P 1 row (38 sts).
K1, (<PERSON>, <PERSON>, ssk) to last st, K1. P 1 row (30 sts).
K1, (<PERSON>, K3, ssk) to last st, K1. P 1 row (22 sts).
K1, (<PERSON>, K1, ssk) to last st, K1. P 1 row (14 sts).
Thread yarn through rem sts and fasten off.
Nose:
Using orange 4 ply yarn, cast on 5 sts.
P 1 row.
K2tog, K1, K2tog (3 sts).
Sl1,
|
64f8bb5f-76f4-ea90-5aa5-1aaa4693de0a
|
['47a8f784-1de9-d287-2530-305b7ab620f3']
|
knitting needles
3.25mm crochet hook (optional)
Measurements:
Approx. 6.5cm (2½in) tall
Instructions:
Stocking:
Using red yarn, cast on 12 sts.
Row 1 (WS): P5, PM, P2, PM, P5.
Row 2: Cast on 4 sts, K to M, M1, SM, K2, SM, M1, K to end of row (18 sts).
Row 3: Cast on 4 sts, P to M, M1, SM, P2, SM, M1, P to end of row (24 sts).
Row 4: Cast on 6 sts, K to M, M1, SM, K2, SM, M1, K to end of row (32 sts).
Row 5: Cast on 6 sts, P to M, M1, SM, P2, SM, M1, P to end of row (40 sts).
Row 6: K to M, M1, SM, K2, SM, M1, K to end of row (42 sts).
Starting with a P row, work 3 rows in SS.
Next row: K to 2 sts before M, ssk, SM, K2, SM, K2tog, K to end of row (40 sts).
Next row: P to 2 sts before M, ssp, SM, P2, SM, P2tog, P to end of row (38 sts).
Rep the last 2 rows six more times until 26 sts rem.
Remove markers and work 12 rows in SS.
Change to cream and work 11 rows in GS.
Change to gold yarn and K1 row.
Cast off as follows (picot cast off):
* Cast on 2 sts, cast off 5 sts, pass st back to left-hand needle. Rep from * to the last 2 sts, cast off these sts. Fasten off yarn.
Hanging loop:
Using the crochet hook and cream yarn, make 12 chain sts. Fasten off. Alternatively, plait a length of yarn to make the loop.
Making up:
Sew the stocking's side seam, bearing in mind that the GS top will fold over so the WS will show. Sew in the ends. Attach the hook inside the stocking at the back after folding the top over. Stuff a little toy filling into the stocking.
A Very Mini Christmas!
These tiny stockings make perfect tree decorations, or you could put them out as table presents, filled with miniature gifts.
<PERSON>
Materials:
35mm (13⁄8in) curtain ring
Small amount of chunky yarn
Brown, green and red 4 ply yarn
Red beads and sewing thread
Sewing needle
Needles:
1 pair 2.75mm (UK 12, US 2) knitting needles
Measurements:
Approx 8cm (31⁄8in) diameter
Instructions:
<PERSON>:
Using the brown 4 ply yarn, cast on 14 sts.
* Work 4 rows in SS.
Next row (RS): K10, W&T.
Next row: P6, W&T.
Next row: K to end of row.
P 1 row.
Rep from * until the knitted strip is long enough to wrap around the curtain ring. Cast off on a K row.
Holly leaves (make 9):
Using green 4 ply, cast on 3 sts and work 2 rows in SS.
* Next row: Kfb three times (6 sts).
Next row: P3, M1, P3 (7 sts).
Next row: Cast off 2 sts, K to end of row (5 sts).
Next row: Cast off 2 sts, P to end of row (3 sts).
Rep from * once
|
6476eb0c-f437-ea09-6561-fea6c4144d40
|
['4818460d-3f49-911c-f043-0c5b33a8f033']
|
much, to complete worlds outside of herself. She feels the pride in her, deep down. She is proud of her accomplishments. Just like her mother.
"I learned a lot from books," she repeats. "I have read a lot of books."
<PERSON> nods, in a way that seems to respect this method of learning, imported from a place that clearly has so much more than they do. Encouraged by <PERSON>'s reaction, she continues.
"You can know much from the body. Such as the pressure in a patient's blood vessels. The Blood Pressure. We can measure it. When it is too low or too high it can be dangerous. And the heart." <PERSON> raises her right hand to her chest, places it just under her left breast, places her fingers between the ribs there and feels the organ pushing out between the ribs and touching her fingers. "The heart can push too hard, beat too fast, or it can push too slow. When that happens, fluid collects in the lungs, and the patient will have trouble breathing."
"And then?" says <PERSON>. "And then what? What can be done?"
"It depends," says <PERSON>, "it's complicated." She looks over at <PERSON> and <PERSON> is smiling, looking at her.
"You enjoy it." This is not a question. <PERSON> has seen something in <PERSON>, something she has never seen herself.
"And you? You enjoy learning from <PERSON>?"
<PERSON> runs a hand across her head, across the short-cropped hair that follows her scalp so closely. "It is difficult at times. He has me practice a lot in the garden. Once in a while he will leave me with someone. Someone who is ill. He will just leave. And I am expected to listen. If I listen carefully enough, I can hear them. And then I know." She stops herself, as though realizing she has gone too far, said too much. She looks around.
They are alone as they approach <PERSON>'s aunt's hut. The village is quiet. The sun is low down and red. It is <PERSON>'s favourite time of day. But now she thinks of <PERSON>, spending his second night on the mountain. She looks over at it. It is awash in sunset red that creeps slowly across the rock. The other side, the side not facing the sun is dark. Almost black. She wonders which side he is on, which blanket covers him now. The red or the black.
<PERSON> takes her hand. "Let's go in and have some food."
She leads her through the fence where <PERSON>'s aunt is waiting.
*
Something tickles <PERSON>'s arm. This is what wakes him, this tickle on his arm that progresses from his wrist to his elbow in an instant. Feathery but firm, a certain weight to it, pressing on his skin at points in rapid succession. He opens his eyes to see the spider treading up his arm, advancing with a menace that only a spider can possess.
<PERSON> jerks upright and shakes his arm. The thing drops off with a weight. He can hear it land. He is standing
|
12687f63-3f68-15f3-c465-3ec9d4d9c3ec
|
['4818460d-3f49-911c-f043-0c5b33a8f033']
|
them leave, not a smudge of curiosity on her face.
<PERSON> hears the patient as he turns the corner into the ward. The woman —young—another one too damn young—breathes as though underwater. She is surrounded by the usual mass of sick patients, no hospital staff. The boy points needlessly to the patient in trouble, then bows his head and ducks out of the ward. <PERSON> mutters, "Need a crash cart." As though there were one to retrieve. He scans the room anyway, hoping to see its familiar red bulk. Nothing. He represses the urge to say, "Call a code blue" to the space where there should be people—nurses and other doctors—milling, trying to organize their rising panic into something productive. He moves over to the patient. He grabs her arm—slippery with sweat—feels for a radial pulse, then reaches for the shallow groove in her neck and under her jaw where the carotid pulse should be, then shoves aside a wet sheet to feel in her groin for the femoral pulse. Nothing. Pulseless. Fingers cold, nail beds blue. The woman's underwater breathing sounds have stopped. When did they stop? Couldn't have been more than a minute ago.
Feeling a rising energy and nowhere for it to go, he crosses his hands over the woman's sternum and plunges down. Pump. Pump. Pump. There is a nurse—over by the clean utilities. "Get me some oxygen, and an endotracheal tube—#7, and a laryngoscope. A clean one." He hears his voice—hoarse, tight with the excitement of this attack on impending death. Crack. Crack. The ribs break beneath his hands as he compresses again. Pump. Pump. Pump. He stops for a moment to feel for a pulse. Nothing. He grabs the oxygen mask from the nurse, fits it over the woman's mouth, pulls her jaw forward, opens the valve on the tank. "Continue the CPR," he says to the nurse and she stares at the woman's chest, puts her hands over her sternum and leans forward, unsure. <PERSON> moves the mask aside and picks up the laryngoscope. He snaps open the blade, tilts the woman's head back, slides the blade into her mouth and uses it to push the bulk of her tongue over. The light shines down on her tonsils, then on her esophagus, then on the reedy, white triangle of her larynx. He passes the thick plastic endotracheal tube through it and into her trachea, removes the laryngoscope, and attaches the oxygen supply to the blunt end of the tube that now sticks out of the woman's mouth. He compresses the black bag, squeezes some air into the tube. The woman's chest rises with each compression.
<PERSON> looks at the nurse—<PERSON>, he thinks her name is. "Let's take her to the ICU."
Euphoria moves through him like a current of energy. He has been shaken awake. He forgot how it feels. He looks over at <PERSON> and she smiles back—shy, tentative. They transfer the patient to a gurney and then push the gurney, weave it squeaking through the beds, run it along the hallway. They rush.
|
97a83dd2-b212-0028-31e1-ec91ec06c500
|
['481b35ad-bdd7-ab07-af22-3d2ec2856830']
|
under that huge black sky. He told me he stood there, in the parking lot, for a long time.
He remembered, he said, every detail of the drive home through Brighton streets that night. His head spun with panicked questions. Would he ever see his parents or siblings again? Where were he and his wife going to live when their Brethren mortgage had been withdrawn and they had to sell the house? Where would they go when his Brethren employers sacked him? What if his wife didn't want to come with him?
When he reached home he told his wife he'd been withdrawn from. To his relief, she put her arms around him and said that if he had not walked out, she would have left him.
My grandfather, who was still in the Vale Avenue meeting room as the chants subsided, told my father the rest of the story.
<PERSON>, his blood high now that he'd expelled so many, now that he'd gotten the chanting started, took the microphone again. If Mr. <PERSON> wanted to take _his_ wife, <PERSON>, to bed, he said, he'd feel honored.
He'd miscalculated. This was the straw that broke the assembly's back. My grandfather now rose to his feet. He could not, he said into his microphone, condone what had transpired in Aberdeen. If anyone in the room agreed with him, they should join him in walking out now. Half of the people in the meeting room stood up and headed for the door. Two hundred of them.
I wish I'd seen it.
# 2
My father parked his car on the drive, climbed the steps, opened the front door, and told my waiting mother that he'd been withdrawn from. She showed him the bags she'd packed, told him, just as <PERSON>'s wife had done, that if he hadn't been withdrawn from she would have left on her own and taken the children with her. My parents must have sat in the tidy sitting room looking nervously at each other. Perhaps he poured himself a whiskey. Perhaps they prayed.
Twenty minutes or so would have passed before they heard the sound of cars, voices coming up the front steps: my grandfather, my cousins, old people, young people, in family groups or alone, <PERSON> and his wife among them. I think of my mother opening the door, wondering where she'd find chairs for everyone, boiling the kettle, opening boxes of chocolate marshmallows, pouring tea, hoping the voices wouldn't wake the five children she'd spent so long trying to get to sleep. I sat at the top of the stairs out of sight, holding my stuffed rabbit, listening. My younger brother came to sit next to me, rubbing his eyes. Eventually we crept back to bed, falling asleep to the murmur of those voices downstairs.
They must have had to do head counts. Who had walked out? Who was still in there? What were they going to do now? They'd have given thanks for their release; they'd have prayed for the Lord's guidance. They agreed that to
|
8514d4cf-9297-3b8c-6ee0-3b7819a9993c
|
['481b35ad-bdd7-ab07-af22-3d2ec2856830']
|
and to revive the oyster-beds, oyster production began to pick up slowly again.
| Artists dining on oysters at the London restaurant Wheeler's in 1962. <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON>, <PERSON> and <PERSON>, photograph by <PERSON>.
---|---
In the late 1950s and '60s as post-war austerity waned, interest in foreign food rose dramatically: men and women queued in supermarkets for Italian pastas and French wines and ate in Asian restaurants. Once again oysters became the food of the epicure, the bohemian and the artist. In the photo above <PERSON>, <PERSON> and friends eat oysters and drink champagne at Wheeler's in London in 1962. <PERSON>, <PERSON>'s biographer, writes:
Once he had done his morning's work in the studio, <PERSON> would arrive around noon in Soho, have a few glasses of white wine, then move on for lunch . . . to Wheeler's, his favourite fish restaurant, around the corner in Old Compton Street . . . His guests would often include other artists, writers and intellectuals – as well as some drunken bruisers or East End toughs. Wheeler's became the ultimate club for <PERSON>, a place where he knew everyone, could sign for meals and cash a cheque.
If the oyster-shell has been used as a way of dating rock strata or early archaeological sites, oyster flesh can be used as a way of marking changing food cultures from the Romans to the present day. If <PERSON>, the Roman poet, was outlawed from the oyster-eating tables of his wealthy patron, these twentieth-century painters were now at the centre of the bohemian oyster feast; they needed no patrons to provide their oysters.
As food, then, oysters have been all things to all people, rising and falling in popularity as prices have been effected by conditions of farming and supply and transport systems. Wherever they are eaten, however, by <PERSON> at midnight on the street, or by the city banker discussing business over lunch in the early twenty-first century, or by the factory worker at an oyster stall on Blackpool beach, oysters are the food of the transient moment and of the epicure, rich and poor alike.
## 4 Oysters and Gluttony
Since the Romans the oyster has been associated with gluttony and acts of gluttonous bravado and used for moral homilies about the consequences of greed. In <PERSON> seventeenth-century fable 'The Rat and the Oyster', a rat 'of weak mind and brain' sets forth to travel the land. On the shoreline he finds an oyster-bed and, spotting an oyster with its shell open, reaches forward to consume the flesh, only to find itself caught in the oyster's tightly closed shell. <PERSON> offers several morals: that those who are ignorant of the world 'judge every trivial object to be an astonishing revelation' and that 'the would-be trapper is often trapped'.
The animal oyster eater – whether fox, rat or mouse – in animal fables around the world is almost always portrayed as a warning against greed or stupidity. The animal driven by hunger is blinded
|
3d9ede01-beb2-e4e0-0c9c-c2d78f50cffb
|
['490ce588-b30d-33eb-2949-084a87adaa1c']
|
again to find its proper place. For it enters into a new relationship with the industrial landscape, filing itself alongside architecture and public works. Sculpture becomes co-determinative for spatial planning" (KPR 6). Such public art (öffentliche Kunst) comes to be the least open (offen) of all. It feeds a culturehungry public with lived experiences that accumulate in an interior. <PERSON> also takes issue with art critics whose extensive writings only paper over the fact that our art no longer speaks but stands in need of commentary (unlike the Greeks, we have a "literature about art"; KPR 7). Documenta is again singled out in this regard, for without naming names <PERSON> cites the motto of Documenta III by curator <PERSON> ("a respected art expert and art writer") as typical of contemporary thinking about art: "Art is what important artists make" (KPR 8). Here <PERSON> points out the circular character of such a saying, art is what artists make and artists are the ones who make art. The explanatory approach of this manner of art criticism (and not only of art criticism) flees the matter at issue in order to explain it away by recourse to something else. Documenta, then, is exemplary of art in the public sphere as a key nexus of the culture industry. Artists like <PERSON> and events like Documenta cater to lived experience and further the program of industrial society. As <PERSON> writes to his wife <PERSON> on the day after his speech, "I do not fit in with this modern art industry" (MLS 354 /291; tm).
FIGURE 2.1 <PERSON>, Die Flamme (The Flame), 1962. Bronze, 700 cm. Photo courtesy of the Bernhard Heiliger Stiftung.
© 2009 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn.
Nevertheless, <PERSON> agrees that the sculptor is capable of effecting a confrontation with this space: "Who is a sculptor? Answer: an artist who confronts [auseinandersetzt] space in his own way" (KPR 8). "He enacts [vollzieht] a confrontation with space" (KPR 7). The nature of this confrontation is lost on critic and artist alike: "Can the sculptor as sculptor, that is, by means of a sculpture, say what space is and what a confrontation with space means? He cannot" (KPR 7). This is no failing on the part of the artist, <PERSON> insists, but a result of the fact that "art as such is not a possible theme for artistic shaping" (KPR 7).
Yet <PERSON> himself is not quite at ease with this exclusion of the artist from thinking of art, as a note appended to the text at this point reveals: "but poetry—of the poets" (KPR 18, n. 3). The poet would be able to poetize poetry (one thinks of <PERSON>'s poetizing of the poetic vocation, <PERSON>), why not the artist art? The sculptor's confrontation (Auseinandersetzung) is capable of interrupting the smooth functioning of the plan, of setting (setzen) apart (auseinander) a place that will disturb the seamless field over which proceeds the unending circulation of ersatz commodities. The sculptor brings about this confrontation by setting forth in the work something
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['490ce588-b30d-33eb-2949-084a87adaa1c']
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means: To gather the glass, as that which can contain something, into its having been freed [sein Freigewordenes versammeln]. To empty the collected [aufgelesene] fruit into a basket means: To prepare for them this place. The empty is not nothing. It is also no lack. In plastic embodiment the empty is at play in the manner of a searching-projecting instituting of places" (GA 13: 209 /AS 7; tm). The examples present a certain economy of exchange. In emptying the glass, the glass is gathered to itself as vessel. In emptying the fruit, the basket is prepared. The entry of the fruit is the preparing, the drinking of the wine is the gathering. Gathering and preparing describe the coursing of what flows from place to place, in a departure that gathers and an arriving that prepares. Such is the relationality of place.
FIGURE 4.3 <PERSON>, Yunque de sueños II (Dream Anvil II), 1954–58. Iron and wood, 66 cm. Photo: <PERSON>, Paris.
© 2009 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / VEGAP, Madrid.
But this would mean that emptiness is never empty, that there is no void (as Chillida seems to have learned). Without a void, how would things occupy their places? They would not occupy them, they would be those places: "We would have to learn to recognize that things themselves are places and do not merely belong to a place" (GA 13: 208 /AS 6). Things are particularly concentrated places, knots of space, thickened, poetic places (verdichtete Orte) .
What are the consequences of this thinking of emptiness for the artwork? It effects a transformation in the notion of tool. If the artist is no longer separated from the world by a divide, if there is no longer the confrontation with a recalcitrant material, but instead some manner of mutual interpenetration, then the idea of the tool as literally a stopgap measure for bridging such divides must be abandoned. Thought on the basis of presence and absence, and despite all appearances, the tool provided direct access to a removed world. If there is only one mediator there is no mediation (mediation takes four, or two, but never three). Mediation is not a matter of interposition between two otherwise present parties. Mediation is the fact that nothing is present, everything is given, and everything leaks and bleeds outside itself, as participation in a medium (Lichtung, Element). <PERSON>'s later thought removes the ecstatic privilege from <PERSON> and sees it as integral to all appearing whatsoever. Nothing remains within its bounds. The limit becomes a site of encounter and transformation.
The artist would be no artist at all if he or she were to work on an opposed reality. The creativity of the artist cannot be channeled through tools that would otherwise remain unaffected in the process (tool as interposed). The artist does not employ tools as means to an end, where the end would be the artwork and the means completely ancillary to the production. If there is to be mediation, the tool itself can no longer function as intermediary but must
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|
all powers and faculties are distributed to every particular being" (748), and "the inaccurate workmanship of all the springs and principles of the great machine of nature" (749)—all of which give rise to the miseries of natural evil—it may be far more reasonable to conclude that the world is "the first rude essay of some infant deity, who afterwards abandoned it, ashamed of his lame performance" (720), or "the work... of some dependent, inferior deity and... the object of derision to his superiors" (720), or "the production of old age and dotage in some superannuated deity and ever since his death, has run on" (720). (Is it?)
# <PERSON>'S WATCH
**I** n crossing a heath, suppose I pitched my foot against a _stone_ , and were asked how the stone came to be there; I might possibly answer that for anything I knew to the contrary, it had lain there forever; nor would it perhaps be very easy to show the absurdity of this answer. But suppose I had found a _watch_ upon the ground, and it should be inquired how the watch happened to be in that place.
_Source:_ <PERSON>. _Natural Theology, or Evidences of the Existence and Attributes of theDeity Collected from the Appearances of Nature_. 1802. As reprinted in _A Modern Introduction to Philosophy: Readings from Classical and Contemporary Sources_. 3rd edition. <PERSON> and <PERSON>, eds. New York: The Free Press, 1973. 419–434. 419.
**P** aley's response is that "the watch must have had a maker" (420) because "its several parts are framed and put together for a purpose [that being to tell time]" (419). He then reasons that since the natural world shows not only as much but more design toward a purpose, it too must have had a maker. This "argument from design" for the existence of a creator god is actually, then, an argument by analogy: the watch is to the watchmaker as the natural world is to the creator god.
But is the analogy sound? First, _is_ the natural world as "framed and put together" as a watch? One can point to several instances that suggest not. <PERSON> would respond that he needs only one instance of design—and he focuses on the human eye—in order to conclude that there is indeed a designer. One might then point out that the human eye isn't very well designed; for example, it's useless unless there's light. But, <PERSON> would respond, imperfections in design are relevant to the _attributes_ of a creator (such imperfections might suggest, for example, an unimaginative or inept designer); he is establishing only the _existence_ of a creator.
Second, _do_ the parts of the natural world work together "for some purpose"? One might respond that the purpose of much of the natural world, ourselves included, is not as evident as the purpose of the watch. <PERSON> might respond that it doesn't matter whether we understand how the parts work together—it matters only that they are designed to do so. But if we don't know what the purpose of the natural world is,
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the boy?
_Source:_ <PERSON>. _Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man_. 1785. As edited by <PERSON>. London: Macmillan, 1941. 213.
**T** his thought experiment is intended to illustrate a weakness in <PERSON>'s theory that personal identity depends on our consciousness or memory of our thoughts and actions and can be extended backwards only as far as that consciousness or memory goes. If that were so, <PERSON> says, then the officer is the same person as the boy, and the general is the same person as the officer, but the general is _not_ the same person as the boy. And yet logic indicates that the general _is_ the same person as the boy (if A = B and B = C, then A = C). <PERSON> therefore rejects <PERSON>'s view (and accepts the logic). But is the logic applicable in this case? Does "=" mean the same as "is the same person as"?
<PERSON> suggests, instead, that the succession from A to B to C is sufficient for identity: "My thoughts, and actions, and feelings change every moment—they have no continued, but a successive existence; but that _self_ of _I_ to which they belong is permanent, and has the same relation to all the succeeding thoughts, actions, and feelings, which I call mine" (203). (See "Parfit's Teletransporter.") Perhaps, then, part of the problem is just our sloppy way of talking—do we really mean that the officer _is_ the same person as the boy or that the officer is the person the boy has _become?_
<PERSON> points out further problems with <PERSON>'s view: it confounds consciousness with memory (are they the same?), and it confounds personal identity with evidence of personal identity (can't you have the one without the other?). Memory is _evidence that_ I am who I was, says <PERSON>; it is not what _makes_ me who I was (remembering that you did something doesn't make you to have done it).
Pointing to our ever changing consciousness, <PERSON> also asks, in further critique of <PERSON>'s view, "Is it not strange that the sameness or identity of a person should consist in a thing which is continually changing and is not any two minutes the same?" (214).
Lastly, <PERSON> says, if our personal identity consists in consciousness, then "as our consciousness sometimes ceases to exist, as in sound sleep, our personal identity must cease with it. Mr. <PERSON> allows that the same thing cannot have two beginnings of existence; so... our identity would be irrecoverably gone every time we cease to think, if it was but for a moment" (216). And that is, <PERSON> implies, absurd.
So if it's neither consciousness nor memory, what is it that makes you the same person tomorrow—or ten years from tomorrow—as you are today? (Or are you someone else every time you wake up?) (And do you have a problem with that?)
# <PERSON>'S KING OF CHINA
**L** et us suppose that some individual suddenly became King of China, but only on condition that he forgot what he had been, as if he had just
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and all the title deeds with it...."
"Ah; burnt down. And I knew that?" asked <PERSON> dryly.
"Aye, you did," replied <PERSON>.
"So no one can prove whether or not this—this deed of emancipation—has ever been recorded there?" said <PERSON>.
"No one—"
"Except Judge <PERSON>—"
"Who is dead," finished <PERSON>.
<PERSON> said, "Could it be shown whether he ever in his life went near this Leonardstown? Wherever it is?"
"He did go there, though, <PERSON>. Aye, he did; I saw his daybook for 1822. Think back, my dear; didn't he accompany you and Miss <PERSON> down the Potomac from Alexandria, when you were on your way to Scotland, all those years ago? Down as far as Norfolk?"
"Yes...he did," said <PERSON>, after a moment.
"And didn't he go ashore at Leonardstown in St Mary's County on business of some kind?" If <PERSON> closed her eyes, she could see even now his handwriting, his entry on that page: ashore at Leonard's Town in Maryd on business but my horse (Athelstane) badly cut going ashore.
"Did he? I don't remember that. He might have done."
"And didn't he, at that same time, grant to you his promise to emancipate your baby daughter <PERSON> on her eighteenth birthday? And didn't he write up the very deed himself, and go and have it recorded at the Leonardstown Courthouse; and upon his return to the ship, didn't he give this very deed into your hand? Isn't that the way it happened?"
"Why would he have made me any promises?" said <PERSON>.
Why indeed? <PERSON> mustered her courage, and dared: "In recognition of...of <PERSON>'s paternity, perhaps?"
<PERSON> rounded on <PERSON>: "Do you suppose that you know something about that?"
"No," said <PERSON>. "I don't know anything about that."
<PERSON> paced three lengths of the cell before saying, "He never in his life emancipated any slave of his, and he made sure no other masters did either, if he could hinder them."
"Well, that would explain why he waited, then, in this exceptional case of yours, to do it in Maryland, where none of his usual associates would get to hear of it."
"Haven't you become the sly one," said <PERSON>, and added, "Don't scratch that rash, that poison oak. Leave it alone."
"It's driving me to distraction. Why must poison oak exist? If it were of some use, like lacquer trees in China, I could forgive it. But it's not. There are no lacquerers in America. The plant is of no earthly use here."
"Oh...," said <PERSON>. "It was useful to me, on one occasion. Indeed, I cherish a certain fondness for it—bordering on gratitude. Shall I tell you...? A bullying young gentleman who had presumed once already to insult me—the grossest insult that can be offered a woman—surprised me one evening near the creek, and offered to repeat that insult. I defended myself with the only weapon that came to hand—which was a bough of most luxuriant poison oak. I believe he regretted his presumption, for he suffered in consequence a terrible and long-lasting rash over his
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along, though invisible behind and beyond the small part which was visible in day's light. Now the other, larger part—the part which emitted its own faint light—became discernible. The Changing was not to be dreaded, not feared; but only marveled at, and delighted in. To think that it recurred every night! It was the nightly reminder of—well, what, exactly? What might be the meaning of this? If meaning it had?
Something leapt from the water, splashed; but she was an instant too late to quite see it. So much of understanding was like that: a flash, a quick movement at the corner of one's eye—at the periphery of one's understanding—one nearly apprehends—but then it is gone, again! And yet, there are the ripples, spreading outward; something really had been there; something really had emerged—ever so briefly—and then fell back again, sunk, submerged, leaving ripples, and the memory of the sound of the splash, and the memory in the mind's eye of the dark quick movement at the very edge of perception. One has never quite seen it; but one suspects that it does exist, and if only one were slightly quicker of apprehension! And of comprehension....
<PERSON> was saying, "I do not pretend to know that the deity of my neighbors is merely a comforting fiction invented to explain the inexplicable. I only doubt the explanation which my neighbors embrace. I do not know them to be wrong; but neither do I share their passionate and furious conviction that they are right. I remain, comfortably enough, in doubt."
"Oh, aye, comfortable enough," said <PERSON>, "so long as our neighbors do not suspect us, or try to elicit our sworn testimony. I do rather resent being told that I am only living and dying as a beast; that I deserve to be cast out from all human society; and that I cannot be trusted to distinguish truth from falsehood."
"Who said that?"
"Mr <PERSON>."
"Rude of him—unless he was seeking to prepare you for the ordeal ahead. He may succeed in demolishing <PERSON>'s witnesses. That dreadful <PERSON> woman did not come off very well. It is quite possible that you will be permitted to take the stand after all, my dear."
"<PERSON>! I do not know what to hope. I hope that the world will come to an end. That some plague will descend upon the city, and bring all human affairs to a halt. I hope that—that something will happen to prevent my testifying."
"What! Why? Was that a shiver? We can go back, if you're cold."
"No, I am not cold, and I do not want to go back; not yet," said <PERSON>. "But I am in trouble, my dear; I am very deeply troubled indeed, and I do not know where to turn, what I may do. If Mr <PERSON> succeeds—if he does defeat Mr <PERSON>'s attempt to impeach me, and I am indeed called to testify—then I must either make for myself a very large mental reservation, and give false testimony; or else I may hew to the truth,
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address is real and is being checked by the customer.
Over time, your database has accumulated e-mail addresses that have been collected in a wide variety of ways. The quality of those addresses also varies widely. Some may no longer be active. Some are opted in. Some are opted out. You will even find some that have done both. Still others never were given the opportunity.
A one-time mass-mailing version of the double opt-in approach can be used to clean up your e-mail address list. By clean up, I mean dramatically pare down the list. In addition to ensuring compliance with CAN-SPAM, doing this occasionally confers a few other advantages:
It improves response rates.
It lets you purge e-mail addresses that are no longer active.
It keeps you out of trouble with your e-mail service provider.
E-mail service providers are extremely sensitive to being used as vehicles for spammers. They are the ones holding the smoking gun if the Federal Trade Commission should come calling about CAN-SPAM violations. If a large number of your customers are reporting your e-mails as spam, then you will eventually be dropped by your provider.
Speaking of e-mail service providers, choosing one is among the most important decisions you will make. You'll rely heavily on your ESP — not just to execute e-mail campaigns, but to ensure CAN-SPAM compliance and e-mail address deliverability. The ESP will also provide reporting on which e-mails have been viewed and which customers have clicked links in them. The best ESPs provide this information in real time on the web. A good ESP can also provide this data back to you at the customer level so that you can incorporate it into your database for analytic purposes. Because you rely so heavily on your ESP, you should get proposals, including client recommendations, from several providers and evaluate them carefully before making a decision.
Tracking e-mail effectiveness
As I say in Chapter 2, it's important for marketing campaigns to have a clear call to action. You need to communicate exactly what you want them to do. In the case of e-mail campaigns, you typically direct the customer to your website. In fact, most campaigns contain a link to your website in the e-mail itself.
The simple way to think about responses to e-mail campaigns is that the customer proceeds in a straightforward fashion. They click the e-mail. They read the e-mail and become interested. They proceed to your website and potentially end up making a purchase.
I discuss the purchase piece of the puzzle later in this chapter. In this section, I want to talk a little about the click part.
Who is getting to your website? Open and click-through rates
Customer behavior is actually a good deal more complex than a nice linear progression from clicking your e-mail to purchasing. They may read your e-mail on their smartphone and wait until they get home to browse your website on a larger computer screen. They may click the link to your
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site, even if they don't log in, you can recognize them by the information in the cookie (assuming, of course, that the user hasn't deleted the cookie). A significant number of users do delete cookies. Estimates run as high as 40 percent. These estimates are a little murky, though, due to some nuances related to cookies. I discuss this subject in more detail in Chapter 13.
Incenting registrations by offering content
Earlier I mentioned newsletters as a vehicle for collecting e-mail addresses. You can publish your newsletter online rather than mail it out. In fact, requiring readers to register on your website to view the newsletter can provide you with a steady stream of new prospects. One advantage of this approach is that it comes with a built-in opportunity to advertise your newsletter — and in turn, your brand — online. You can place links to the newsletter on various web pages. And you have some control over what web searches will return a link to your page. I talk in more detail about marketing online in Chapter 13.
The same approach works for other content that you may want to publish online. Some companies have blogs that are partly intended as lead-generation tools. Similar considerations apply to social media marketing. For a much more detailed discussion of this topic, check out Social Media Marketing For Dummies (Wiley, 2012).
Incenting registrations by providing enhanced website features
In Chapter 3, I describe an experience that my wife and I had when buying new furniture. We were shopping around online. One company's website had a particularly slick application that allowed us to enter the dimensions of various rooms. We could then click on various pieces of furniture and move them around the room to get a feel for how we wanted to arrange things. We had to register on the website to use this feature, which we were happy to do.
Offering access to enhanced website features in exchange for registration can be a very effective way of identifying shoppers. People who register in order to use these features tend to be very good prospects. What's more, in using these features, those prospects become even more engaged with you. The longer these potential customers spend using your website, the more likely they are to follow through with a purchase.
I've seen an interior decorating site that allows you to upload pictures of your house. You can then select different paint colors, curtains, light fixtures, and other options. The site then gives you a virtual view of how all those options would look in your house.
I noticed another campaign being run by a home improvement store. Customers were encouraged to register so that they could keep track of past purchases. The hook was that you buy some things — like water filters, for example — quite infrequently. If you're like me, you never remember which one of the 50 filters available actually fits your refrigerator. By registering on the site, you make this information available in the store, either through
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end of his long neck as he looked around for more worthwhile conversational pickings.
>
> 'I really must have a word with <PERSON>,' he said. ( _J_ , 29)
<PERSON> has long since equipped himself to cope with reactions such as this by virtually eliminating all telltale signs of his Welshness (such as his accent), developing what so many of those who get closest to knowing him call his self-protective 'carapace', and adopting an archness both of outlook and of expression which is evident when he has to endure two of his self-important and over-promoted colleagues busily ingratiating themselves with the College Principal:
> There was little point in screaming. His whole nature demanded an exit of such dignity that it would drive <PERSON> and <PERSON> like a pair of panting bullocks into the shade of his spreading magnanimity. But this was not easily done. These were protected specimens of an academic herd not easily stampeded and professionally unastonishable: wrapt in impenetrable increments of complacency and compound self-satisfaction. ( _J_ , 38)
_<PERSON>_ therefore repeatedly showcases <PERSON>'s satiric vision at its most sardonic. It also features deft switches of register, that become increasingly important as <PERSON>'s Welsh past encroaches ever more pressingly on his carefully policed self-protective present. The change is, for example, succinctly signalled when <PERSON>, now back in the solitude of his own meagre bachelor flat, briefly exults in his victory over <PERSON> only to collapse into ominous, morose self-dissatisfaction:
> he was vouchsafed a clear vision of <PERSON>'s glistening features sagging under the gravitational pull of irreversible mortification. But <PERSON>'s cup was no longer capable of running over. His own face was sagging. With obsessive concern he fingered his cheeks and the loosening skin around his neck. ( _J_ , 39)
_<PERSON>_ is full of witty exposés of such creatures of the great metropolis as the predatory hedonist <PERSON>, who wags his finger at his Welsh friend while admonishing him to remember that '<PERSON> believed in marriage as the final solution.' ( _J_ , 58) The London Welsh are also fastidiously skewered, as in the case of the velvet-collared MP of <PERSON>'s home constituency whom he meets outside a Welsh chapel in London and who 'occupied more space on the pavement than anyone else': his eyes, even as he is unctuously addressing his constituent, 'moved about, screening the members of the congregation as they passed by'. ( _J_ , 41) And then there is the galaxy of female sophisticates successively seduced by <PERSON>'s increasingly practised charms as a renowned 'ladies' man', many of whom also skilfully pander to his genuine and discriminating aesthetic tastes. Because <PERSON> is sympathetically portrayed by <PERSON> as a complex character part of whom really does blossom in a London context that, unlike the Wales he has known, can indeed nourish his highly developed, exquisitely cultured, sensibilities.
And that, of course, is the very nub of his insoluble difficulties. It is in part his attachment to London and identification with the self that the city has enabled him to become that inexorably distances
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their devotion was sealed by the spectacular ascent of <PERSON> from Criccieth to key leadership roles in government during the first two decades of the twentieth century, culminating in his wartime service as Prime Minister. Those of <PERSON>'s novels that are concerned to examine the life of this era therefore concentrate of necessity on this Liberal ascendancy but only to critique it.
His was a deeply sceptical dissenting interpretation of the trajectory of <PERSON> glittering political career. From his perspective it was the story of the complete betrayal of his early principles by a brilliant young Welsh nationalist who had all the gifts requisite for an authentic national hero, and his willing conversion into a lavishly rewarded and garlanded stooge of the English imperialist establishment. <PERSON> great adversary, in <PERSON>'s account, was his polar opposite <PERSON>, who had remained true to his nationalist convictions and whose life and writings were a devastating indictment of the kind of social-climbing, London-orientated Welshness so typical for <PERSON> of the Welsh people in general throughout their sorry history ever since the fateful Act of Union with England of 1536. <PERSON> duly came to view <PERSON> as a combination of the two types of figures that have recurred throughout Welsh history and functioned as heroic guardians of Welsh identity: the prophet and the sacrificial victim.
Another of <PERSON>'s polar opposites for <PERSON> was <PERSON>, the popular champion of a Welsh industrial proletariat and a glamorously left-wing figure in a determinedly centralist and unionist Labour Party that came to totally dominate the political life of Wales for a century following the Great War. An incomparable orator, rousing Socialist, self-proclaimed internationalist, generally credited with establishing the NHS within the Welfare Government of the post-war <PERSON> government, <PERSON>, in <PERSON>'s reading of his career, had followed <PERSON> route to near the pinnacle of Westminster politics and had become similarly tamed by the English establishment. As for the gospel of Socialism preached by <PERSON>, <PERSON> had some sympathy for its core aspirations as enshrined in the early Welfare State, but he soon became suspicious, rather like <PERSON> of _Animal Farm_ , of its cult of the collective. And the strong centralist culture it developed seemed to him to replicate the animus against the respective national regions of the United Kingdom that had characterised a wartime Britain fixated on promoting a basically English and Imperialist patriotism embodied in the bellicose bulldog figure of <PERSON>.
Having grown to manhood during the 1930s, <PERSON> had witnessed at first hand the malign collectivist experiments of Fascism and <PERSON>'s Communism and become convinced that humankind needed, for its own good, to respect that insistence on the rights and related moral responsibilities of each and every individual, subject only to a strong concern for the general good, that had characterised nineteenth-century Welsh Nonconformity at its best. So strongly was he of this opinion during the 1950s that he took to styling himself a Protestant novelist – as distinct from his friend <PERSON> who was a self-confessed Catholic
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giving her her moment before she pushed on. "That's where I found him. He was in bed with his rookie partner—the two of them were playing a very raucous game of good cop/bad cop. I'm ashamed to say that although seeing them in bed together was even more of a shock than getting my pink slip, a part of me already knew about that, too, but I guess I was in denial. Well, maybe I didn't know it was his rookie partner, exactly, that he was cheating with; but deep down, I knew it was someone."
She looked up at him and smiled sheepishly. Although she'd tried to be glib, he could see the pain in her eyes. He wanted to reach out to her but knew she wouldn't appreciate it. Not just yet.
"So you see," she went on, her voice deceptively light, "I lost my job and my husband all in one morning."
He threw some bills on the table. "Let's get out of here." An idea had been hatching in his head while he watched her gaze at the sailboat sailing out of the harbor. It was a bit nuts, but now, after listening to her, he knew he had to act on it.
"Where are we going?" <PERSON> asked as <PERSON> bounded out of the restaurant, heading in the opposite direction of their car.
"Come with me," he said, glancing back at her. He held his hand out, challenging her to take it.
Still wondering why she had told him about <PERSON>—not that she regretted it, for oddly enough, she felt better, freer—she took his hand.
He guided her across the street, onto the pier, and toward a small building, which proclaimed: "Boat Rentals: Sail, Fishing, Jet-Skis." Suddenly, she knew exactly what he was up to.
She held back. "<PERSON>, we can't."
"Why not? It'd do us both good to let our hair down for a while."
"But this is crazy. We've got to get to the island."
"Actually, it's not all that crazy. You said you loved to sail. I figure if you can navigate San Francisco Bay, you can handle a little run up to Washington Island. It's time to put your money where your mouth is, <PERSON>. We'll make it a one-way trip. After we finish our business on the island, we'll take the ferry back and get someone to drive us down for the car."
"But my laptop..." Although she'd grabbed her tote bag when they went into the restaurant, she'd left her laptop sitting on the back seat of the car. "I need to work on those files."
"The car's locked; nobody will disturb it."
<PERSON> couldn't believe he was serious—they didn't have time for a joy ride. But looking out across the sailboats moored in the bay, she saw a sleek little day-sailor that yanked at her heart. At twenty-three feet with a mainsail and jib, a little fore cabin below deck, it had the smooth lines that she knew would cut through the water like a knife. Suddenly, she itched to
|
2257f93e-c951-68e8-4c7b-2939629d5120
|
['4d409d5a-8bae-7b43-caaf-70aae9498f65']
|
off the shooter's fingerprints as well as his own. However, given that it looked like a professional hit, his guess was, the shooter hadn't left any fingerprints, either.
"I want to make one more stop before we leave the island," <PERSON> said when they reached Jackson Harbor Road. "Let's head down toward the airport."
"<PERSON>—" <PERSON> started to protest. As far as she was concerned, they couldn't leave the island fast enough.
"I just want to take a look at <PERSON>'s plane."
Thankfully, no one was in attendance at the island's small, grass strip airfield. While <PERSON> made his way toward the half-dozen or small planes that were tied down outside a low hangar, <PERSON> stayed out of sight behind a copse of trees and minded the bikes. When he returned, <PERSON> didn't look any happier.
"The guy's tidy," he said. "Keeps his plane as neat as his yard. I'm afraid his log book wasn't in the plane, either." He looked off up to the north, out over the waters of Lake Michigan. "I suggest we get a move on it."
<PERSON> followed his gaze. A long low cloud was sliding toward them. Its gray hulk masked the line between water and sky.
"Let's avoid town this time," <PERSON> said. "I think it's best if we keep a low profile."
<PERSON> nodded. But they hadn't ridden more than five minutes when the late afternoon sun was suddenly blocked out by the advancing cloud. Seconds later, a dense fog descended upon them, enveloping them in its misty shroud and obliterating everything in sight.
"Damn," <PERSON> swore.
"Didn't you check the weather forecast this morning?" <PERSON> asked.
"There's a cold front coming in, but it wasn't supposed to arrive until tonight. They predicted storms, but it didn't say anything about fog. What time have you got?"
<PERSON> checked her wristwatch. "Four thirty-five. Everett, the last ferry off the island is scheduled for five o'clock."
"Then we keep riding."
The fog's damp tendrils sent fresh chills snaking up <PERSON>'s spine. She wanted to stop to slip on her sweater but dared not waste the time. More than ever now, she wanted to get off the island and back to Milwaukee to check on <PERSON>.
They were forced to travel slower, unsure of the road in front of them as the visibility decreased to less than twenty feet. <PERSON> knew they were traveling past farm fields and sometimes forest, but the only way she could tell which was which was by the occasional trees that seemed to pounce out at them from out of the gloom. Pedaling as quickly as they dared, they reached the ferry dock at four fifty-five, only to find that the ferry had left five minutes earlier, its captain trying to beat the fog across Death's Door.
The office clerk, an older man in his mid-fifties with a weathered face and a quick smile, apologized. "Sorry, folks, but we figured everyone going over to the mainland was already here. I was just getting ready to lock up and head on home for
|
4894168a-ca51-790f-dcde-615c7f18d343
|
['4e42965e-a286-8cf4-3fce-88ca5de05046']
|
close to that of the wild blueberry.
**Currants and gooseberry**
Black, pink, red, and white currants and gooseberries are all members of the genus _Ribes_. These plants were once widely grown in North America, but they fell out of favor because they are an alternate host for white pine blister rust, a serious pine tree disease. In some states, there are still restrictions against growing cultivated _Ribes_ plants, but they deserve to make a comeback as there are new resistant varieties, and the fruits can be used in such a variety of ways: cordials, jams, jellies, teas, and wine. And they are perfect for permaculture gardens because they will bear fruit in the shade, making them ideal members of the food forest.
_Redcurrants grow on long stringlike racemes and will ripen even in a semi-shaded understory. The fruit is bright red and sharp-tasting; you can use the berries to make jelly, juice, or syrup._
_The goji is a beautiful landscape plant that produces trumpet-shaped lavender- and cream-colored flowers that are pollinated by bees. They develop into small, bright red berries that can be dried and stored._
In general, currants and gooseberries will grow best in milder climates. Most require little maintenance, although the different types of currant bear on either two-, three-, or four-year-old wood, so be sure to verify the pruning needs of your variety before cutting back the plant in winter. Even if you only grow one of each bush, you will still be able to harvest enough fruit to make jam. _Ribes_ plants can be propagated by cuttings and they may self-layer. Give the plants a dressing of compost every year.
**Goji**
You may have seen dried goji berries ( _Lycium barbarum_ ) in the grocery or health food store. Goji originates in Mongolia and has been known for many years in Asia, but has recently been touted as a superfood in the West because of its high protein, mineral, and vitamin content. The berries grow on a sprawling shrubby vine that reaches up to 9 feet. If you don't have room in the vine layer, it can be trellised or pruned to a smaller shrubby shape. I love the flexibility of this kind of plant, which can be grown in a container, tolerates extreme low and high temperatures, and is mostly pest free. The fresh berries remind me of Jelly Belly candies, but you can dry them and then put the dried berries on cereal, mix them in smoothies, or bake them in muffins. The leaves of the goji can be made into a medicinal tea.
**Goumi**
Goumi ( _Elaeagnus multiflora_ ) is also known as cherry goumi because of its small, bright scarlet, silver-flecked fruit. This is one of those special multifunctional plants that permaculture designers really like. It's an ornamental deciduous bush that grows to 6 feet tall, with leaves that have silvery undersides and are dark green above. Goumi is a tough pioneer plant that can grow in a wide range of soil types, is drought tolerant, fruits prolifically, and fixes nitrogen in the soil.
|
dc9c8e5a-3cbb-50da-ff7a-445e3f329195
|
['4e42965e-a286-8cf4-3fce-88ca5de05046']
|
the next spring—like comfrey, sunchokes, and yarrow. The cut leaves can be placed around other plants as mulch, or tucked under existing mulch to add green material.
Sheet mulching is a technique of covering the ground with layers of organic matter, much like layering a lasagna. It's an excellent way to start new beds over weedy or unproductive soil, or to replace an existing lawn. This no-till method saves work and allows the material to decompose over time, and you can plant into the mulch right away with big seeds and transplants.
_Placing leaves in piles is a simple way of creating mulch. Keep the leaf pile moist (but not soggy), and after just a few weeks, the leaves will start to break down to make leaf mold._
_Woodchips make excellent mulch and can be used throughout the garden, both in the beds, along pathways, and in swales and drainage channels. Over time, the woodchips decompose and become soil._
_All kinds of creatures find shelter in a permaculture garden. Here a quail has laid her eggs in a sheltered spot amid leaves and small branches that have been chopped and dropped in place._
_Sheet mulching can help prepare a large area for planting by smothering an existing lawn or weedy patch. Helpers make the job go much more quickly._
**_Sheet Mulching_**
Your sheet mulching ingredients will depend on what's locally available. To begin with you need cardboard or newspaper. Sources for large cardboard boxes are bike shops and furniture stores, but be sure to remove any staples and packing tape. Do not use the glossy paper from magazines. You will also need amendments, if they were recommended by a soil test. These might include blood meal, bone meal, feather meal, guano, grass clippings, rock dust, or seaweed. You need whatever animal manure is available—chicken, cow, goat, horse, rabbit, or sheep. Finally, you need other organic waste in the form of kitchen scraps, brewery waste, coffee grounds, juice pulp, municipal compost, old potting mix, leaves, straw, tree trimmings, woodchips, bark, or sawdust. Do not use plywood or wood that has been pressure-treated. Diversity of the layers is a critical component so try to get a good mix of greens and browns.
The key is to really smother the underlying material, so pile the materials deep. It is better to start with a small area and make it 12 inches deep, rather than sheet mulch a larger area and make it too thin.
You can vary the mix for specific types of crops like fruit trees, shrubs, perennials, or annuals. For annuals, use straw and horse manure for faster decomposition. For trees and shrubs, use woodchips, tree trimmings, and sawdust for a slower decomposition.
For best results, sheet mulch in the fall and plant in the spring. For planting a sheet-mulched area right away, finished compost can also be added to individual plantings like potatoes, tomatoes, squash, and other large transplants.
**Instructions**
1. Water the area to be mulched for several hours.
2. Cut down existing vegetation and leave the trimmings or grass clippings
|
4bc313e2-41d2-fb1f-2b7a-396494bc616a
|
['4ee624ab-ac37-05dc-f3ab-790c3f16d969']
|
to keep pushing on and doing it themselves. They'd got a taste of making it in one market, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to give up on their dream just yet.
'<PERSON>, we can still be us,' she told him. 'Let's do our thing, do what we are, but in their band. We don't have to build an audience. They have one. This is a stage for us, a stage that already has a name.'
'Well, yeah,' he said. 'But I just don't know.'
'<PERSON>, let's do this. We have nothing to lose,' she said. 'And, hey, if it doesn't work out, we can always leave.'
This was just four weeks after <PERSON>'s departure and we were back in business. I couldn't believe our luck. We hired <PERSON> and <PERSON> as salaried members of Fleetwood Mac, paying them $200 a week. In the next month, <PERSON> returned home to see her family for a bit while <PERSON>, <PERSON> and I began rehearsing in a garage we rented in Santa Monica on Pico Boulevard. It was an appropriate start, jamming in a garage, the way a new band should. Once <PERSON> returned we had learned each other's moves and had a solid musical foundation for her to expand upon. We moved our rehearsals to the basement of the ICM building, where our agent at the time, <PERSON>, took it upon himself to subsidise us and oversee our development from the very start.
The first song <PERSON> played with <PERSON> and <PERSON> was 'Say You Love Me' and it was so natural and so powerful when they harmonised with her on the chorus that I could barely keep playing. The three of them became one voice and I could see that <PERSON> felt it too. <PERSON> had backed her up, but this was something else altogether.
It was going to work and we all knew it. <PERSON> had never been backed by a rhythm section as interwoven and nuanced as <PERSON> and me, and his playing positively took off. I knew immediately that we'd never need another guitarist; <PERSON> could do it all–leads, rhythm, moving effortlessly between the two, and all while singing, no less. I'm not sure anyone realises just how gifted he is. When you added <PERSON> to the mix, my <PERSON>, the combination was positively intoxicating. She was charming, witty, and her gorgeous voice literally blossomed before us in those early days as we figured it all out. <PERSON> was otherworldly, in possession of a vibrato as haunting as <PERSON>, filtered through the lens of a cowgirl beatnik poet.
<PERSON> and <PERSON>, for all intents and purposes, were already a band. They didn't join Fleetwood Mac, our two bands became one. They brought their identity into our midst, intact; they were the little machine that got swallowed by the big machine. I recognised <PERSON> right away as a writer and she reminded me of my dad, because she was writing in her journals all the time. <PERSON> wanted to bring mysticism into the band, which I supported
|
7e0bb29a-4707-f13e-f700-f84d54d1f1fb
|
['4ee624ab-ac37-05dc-f3ab-790c3f16d969']
|
to <PERSON>'s talent, because you could have heard a pin drop when he stepped up to sing a slow and pretty blues tune. I had even suggested that we change our set and do only the loudest material we knew.
'No, <PERSON>,' <PERSON> said. 'We're gonna do what we do.'
He was right. We did a lot of slow, poignant blues and the crowd was right there with us. They weren't bored, they weren't distracted, they were in the palm of <PERSON>'s hand. His control of his instrument was sublime.
That short venture was the first of our many forays into the drug-heavy West Coast rock scene. There were drugs back in England but the degree of acid, pot and other hallucinogens going around in the US were on another level altogether. It was ingrained in the music, in the experience, in the fashion, and everything else. We caught a glimpse of the centre of it all when we went to San Francisco to play a few gigs with Grateful Dead. <PERSON> and <PERSON>, who became great friends of ours, met us at the airport and had us stay at their house. We also met their friend and then-manager <PERSON>.
The London sixties scene was nothing like the American hippie scene and there's a clear reason for this: Britain was not at war. The US was entrenched in a losing battle in Vietnam, as thousands of young men continued to return home in body bags. The Civil Rights Movement had turned society upside down as well and more than a few student protests had turned violent. America was a tumultuous place.
Walking into that other world on the West Coast at the height of the 'Summer of Love' was an education. We saw it all first-hand–the Hells Angels, the acid-tests, the free love, the communal crash pads. The Grateful Dead were our tour guides and I really adored <PERSON> from the start. He was such a warm, amazing guy. They played all the time, so even though our first visit was short, we played a handful of gigs. We loved it because the Dead had a proper PA system that was leagues beyond the crap we were used to playing through in the pubs and clubs back home. The band and their fans already knew and loved <PERSON>, so we were accepted everywhere, and I think the Dead's noodling, inventive approach to improvisation really inspired <PERSON> to new musical heights.
On that first trip, despite <PERSON>'s best efforts, none of us indulged in the LSD he was constantly pushing on us. <PERSON> was still their sound man–the one responsible for that grand PA–and he'd alchemised his own mix of acid, called LSD-25. Frankly, there was enough to take in without hallucinogens. We were used to hash and fashion and music, so we declined at first.
When we got back home, we recorded _Mr Wonderful,_ an album influenced by our trip out west and the first one to feature <PERSON>. We knew she was a great pianist,
|
fcd26bbd-32e7-cdcf-5839-e9c2906bb676
|
['4f20de6c-d7f4-dbde-8ebd-5a83d0a4acc0']
|
Wheat flour
05 Egg whites
06 Eggs
07 Niacin
08 Ferrous sulfate
09 Thiamine mononitrate
10 Riboflavin
11 Folic acid
12 Celery
Contains 2% or less of:
13 Modified food starch
14 Salt
15 Chicken fat
16 Potassium chloride
17 Soy protein concentrate
18 Yeast extract
19 Sugar
20 Dehydrated mechanically separated chicken
21 Dehydrated onions
22 Cooked chicken skins
23 Sodium phosphate
24 Flavoring
25 Spices
26 Beta-carotene for color
27 Dehydrated vegetable broth
28 Disodium guanylate
29 Disodium inosinate
30 Dehydrated chicken
31 Egg yolks
32 Soy lecithin
## Doritos Cool Ranch Flavored Tortilla Chips
01 Corn
Vegetable Oil:
02 Corn oil
03 Canola oil
04 and/or Sunflower Oil
05 Maltodextrin (made from corn)
06 Salt
07 Tomato powder
08 Cornstarch
09 Lactose
10 Whey
11 Skim milk
12 Corn syrup solids
13 Onion powder
14 Sugar
15 Garlic powder
16 Monosodium glutamate
Cheddar Cheese:
17 Milk
18 Cheese cultures
19 Salt
20 Enzymes
21 Dextrose
22 Malic acid
23 Buttermilk
24 Natural flavor
25 Artificial flavor
26 Sodium acetate
Artificial color including:
27 Red No. 40
28 Blue No. 1
29 Yellow No. 5
30 Sodium caseinate
31 Spices
32 Citric acid
33 Disodium inosinate
34 Disodium guanylate
## Dr Pepper
01 Carbonated water
02 High-fructose corn syrup
03 Caramel color
04 Phosphoric acid
05 Natural flavor
06 Artificial flavor
07 Sodium benzoate (preservative)
08 Caffeine
## General Mills Raisin Nut Bran
01 Whole grain wheat
02 Sugar
03 Raisins
04 Almonds
05 Corn bran
06 Corn syrup
07 Brown sugar syrup
08 Partially hydrogenated cottonseed and/or soybean oil
09 Salt
10 Glycerin
11 Molasses
12 Cornstarch
13 Soy lecithin
14 Trisodium phosphate
15 Natural flavor
16 Artificial flavor
17 BHT added to preserve freshness
Vitamins and Minerals:
18 Calcium carbonate
19 Zinc
20 and Iron (mineral nutrients)
21 Vitamin C (sodium ascorbate)
22 A B Vitamin (niacinamide)
23 Vitamin B6 (pyridoxine hydrochloride)
24 Vitamin B2 (riboflavin)
25 Vitamin B1 (thiamine mononitrate)
26 A B Vitamin (folic acid)
27 Vitamin B12
## Hebrew National Beef Franks
01 Beef
02 Water
Contains 2% or less of:
03 Salt
04 Spice
05 Sodium lactate
06 Paprika
07 Hydrolyzed soy protein
08 Garlic powder
09 Sodium diacetate
10 Sodium erythorbate
11 Flavoring
12 Sodium nitrite
## Heinz Tomato Ketchup
01 Tomato concentrate from red ripe tomatoes
02 Distilled vinegar
03 High-fructose corn syrup
04 Corn syrup
05 Salt
06 Spice
07 Onion powder
08 Natural flavoring
## Hidden Valley The Original Ranch Light Dressing
01 Water
02 Vegetable oil (soybean
03 and/or canola)
04 Maltodextrin
05 Buttermilk
06 Sugar
07 Salt
Contains 2% or less of:
08 Spices
09 Dried garlic
10 Dried onion
11 Natural flavors (soy)
12 Egg yolk
13 Modified food starch
14 Phosphoric acid
15 Vinegar
16 Artificial flavor
17 Disodium phosphate
18 Xanthan gum
19 Monosodium glutamate
20 Artifical color
21 Disodium inosinate
22 Disodium guanylate
23 Sorbic acid and
24 Calcium EDTA as preservatives
## Hostess Twinkies
Enriched Bleached Flour:
01 Flour
02 Reduced iron
B Vitamins:
03 Niacin
04 Thiamine mononitrate (B1)
05 Riboflavin (B2)
|
a0901ba1-0e3e-a9c2-5fc2-7685564b4e93
|
['4f20de6c-d7f4-dbde-8ebd-5a83d0a4acc0']
|
this waste product had become a profitable processed-food ingredient.
In a concentrated form (creatively named "whey protein concentrate"), whey may be good for you (it's high in nutrients like calcium, lactose, and protein), but sweet whey is mostly used in baked goods. It aids browning and helps develop flavor, something particularly important in a recipe that lacks real dairy. Processed-food manufacturers like dry whey because it minimizes the need for eggs and milk, both of which are costly and fat-laden, and spoil easily. Because whey is considered a totally natural ingredient—the processing involves only separating and drying, no chemical reactions—you can have your cake and eat it, too.
Whey is popular with bakers of both bread and cakes because it helps bind water, slows staling, and keeps baked goods moist and "fresh" (as the labels claim) after days or weeks on a store shelf. But bakery products account for only about 10 percent of the whey produced. More than half goes into dairy products like yogurt, yogurt bars, frozen desserts, cheeselike products, cheese sauces, and macaroni and cheese mixes. It is the main ingredient in some cheese aerosol products. Whey and whey protein concentrate bind water in processed meats, like sausage and hot dogs, add substance to soups, and invoke the flavor of "cheese" or "cream" in snack chips. The amount of water retained is a major factor in processed food's taste and mouthfeel.
Whey proteins can also be whipped to create stable foams, making them an important component in chiffon cakes and whipped toppings. Whey is found near the top of the ingredient list in fat-free or low-fat dairy-accented salad dressings, like creamy Italian or blue cheese. As the bodybuilding industry discovered in the 1990s, whey is an excellent protein source with highly efficient muscle-building properties. It's now found in nutraceuticals, nutrition bars, sports and nutrition drinks, and infant formula.
Whey derivatives also act as bacteriostats and antimicrobial agents in products as diverse as shampoo, acne medicine, toothpaste, cosmetics creams, and chewing gum—possibly even as an oxygen barrier in plastic packaging.
Whey processing starts with cheesemaking. The milk is coagulated into (solid) curds and (watery) whey, the same light yellow–green stuff that sits on top of yogurt that hasn't been stirred in a while. The curds, looking like Styrofoam packing peanuts, are shunted off to be made into cheese while the whey is siphoned off and piped into a massive plant that looks like an absurd industrial disco. The room is filled from floor to ceiling and wall to wall with brilliantly polished 2- and 4-inch-diameter stainless steel pipes and shining, human-size conical centrifuges. There, the whey is filtered, sanitized, and cooled. It starts out as 94 percent water but can't be boiled (think scalded milk), so it is evaporated under a slight vacuum and boiled at 62 degrees Fahrenheit. Later on, it becomes a milkshake as the lactose crystals are frozen out. After reducing every ten pounds of milk to one pound of cheese, the remaining nine pounds of liquid has finally been reduced to mere ounces of whey. Apparently,
|
18332eb8-dd39-4183-d481-8840ef6122e8
|
['500e4a89-f5ad-632b-e18a-35c27d270aef']
|
obligations to individuals, and to pay close attention to the ways in which relationships within communities vary across different societies. Medical research involving collaboration between widely varying cultures is one context which is particularly problematic. It is to this topic that we now turn.
# Chapter 9
# Culture, consent, and community
Tomorrow's medicine is today's research. That is why the question of how we prioritize and carry out medical research is at least as important as the question of how we prioritize and practice healthcare itself. Medical research is in many ways more strictly regulated than medical practice. From a perusal of the innumerable guidelines on medical research you could be forgiven for thinking that medical research, like smoking, must be bad for your health; that in a liberal society, since it cannot be altogether banned, strict regulation is needed to minimize the harm that it can do.
The reason for this strict control lies in history. <PERSON> begins his novel _The Go-Between_ with the sentence 'The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.' It was the appalling experiments carried out by some Nazi doctors that led, in 1946, to the first internationally agreed guidelines on medical research involving people—the Nuremberg Code.
It was not only in Nazi Germany, however, that people were grossly abused in the interests of medical research. A study of syphilis undertaken in the 1970s by the US Public Health Service in Tuskegee in the US deliberately left untreated over 400 poor black men who were suffering from syphilis in order to research the natural course of the disease. The men were recruited under the guise of free healthcare, but were denied the penicillin treatment that could have ameliorated their symptoms.
The Nuremberg Code led to the Declaration of Helsinki which was first published by the World Medical Association in 1964 and last updated in 2013. This Declaration has many offspring, of varying legitimacy, in the form of guidelines for medical research. The guidelines highlight four main ethical issues: respect for the autonomy of the potential participants in research; protection of participants from the risk of harm; the value and quality of the research; and aspects of justice. In addition, research ethics committees have been created to scrutinize planned medical research to ensure that the ethical guidelines are followed.
# Governing research: three criticisms
Although the ethical principles that inform the regulation of medical research include valuing the good, for people in the future, that can come from the research, the main focus of the guidelines and of the process of regulation has been the research participants: their autonomy and protection. This has led to criticism, especially from researchers and advocates of evidence-based medicine, of current regulation and processes, and of the part played by medical ethicists. There are three principal criticisms.
First, that the regulation process significantly delays research, leading to delays in reaping the benefits of the research and to lives being lost.
Second, that guidelines are too paternalistic towards participants. Most guidelines state that research participants should not be put
|
1dec2494-fa12-126f-3890-d8e33966c53c
|
['500e4a89-f5ad-632b-e18a-35c27d270aef']
|
techniques enable more than two people to contribute genetic material to the embryo. It will soon be possible for an embryo to be created from the genetic material of two men; or from two women; or to create embryos from combinations of genetic material from both humans and non-human animals; and perhaps even to create human embryos completely synthetically. An ethics based on concepts such as parental rights, or even human rights, may need to be radically re-interpreted, or re-thought. Technologies that may at first appear to raise major new ethical issues, however, can become routine, with few people continuing to find them ethically problematic or complex. Such has been the case with organ transplants between humans and the use of, for example, pig heart valves in treating human disease. Whether the same will be true in the case of all the modern reproductive technologies remains to be seen.
We don't have to gaze into the future, however, to see medical ethics under challenge from the capabilities of modern technology. The everyday work of genetics clinics all over the world is forcing us to re-think the traditional ways in which we consider medical confidentiality.
Modern genetics, increasingly, enables us both to reveal the past and to foretell the future. And it goes further. A genetic test from one person can provide information about a relative. This was possible to a limited extent before modern genetics. What is new is the extent to which these possibilities can be realized.
Let us start with the revealing of secrets. Box 13 outlines a realistic case from a genetics service.
# Box 13 Case 1: genetic tests reveal secrets of paternity
A couple, <PERSON> and <PERSON>, have a baby who is born with an undiagnosed genetic disorder. <PERSON> and <PERSON> wish to know the chance that any future child of theirs will be similarly affected. To answer this question the genomes of <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and the baby are sequenced and compared. This analysis reveals that <PERSON> was not in fact the baby's biological father and that the baby's condition is the result of the unfortunate combination of a sequence in <PERSON>'s genome with that of whoever was the biological father of the baby. The baby's disorder is genetically like that of classical recessive inheritance. This means that the chance of any child of <PERSON>'s having the condition depends on who is the biological father. If it is the same man as the father of her baby then that chance is 25 per cent (see Figure 9). A future baby who is the biological child of <PERSON> and <PERSON>, however, is very unlikely to have the disorder. This is because <PERSON> has two copies of the normal gene that will prevent his children from having the disorder.
9. Autosomal recessive inheritance.
Should the geneticist disclose, to <PERSON>, the finding that he is not the father of the baby (see Figure 10)? Guidelines for practitioners vary in the advice they give on this.
10. Couple with baby.
Many geneticists would be prepared to tell a lie or fudge
|
da4d26b7-0b8e-462c-1bf1-cc76b0346b62
|
['521b0017-a10e-e267-718f-e5de50c3bbf2']
|
thing.
Ash from the cigarette
flies off in a western wind toward the Old City,
adding to the ashes there
from the Temples and the thorns of last year.
Capital crimes are not for the court
but when you love and burn and gild.
On the Ninth of Av every year my mother
riffles through the photos of her dead and not yet dead,
the ruins of my life.
Ashes and capital crimes. <PERSON> didn't intend
to set fire to the Temple. He only wanted to peek,
to lift the edge of a thick sacred curtain
like a teenager: just to peek.
But the panicked priests began to sing
songs of death and hallelujah, and he panicked and set fire
like a madman: ashes, capital crimes.
<PERSON>
Lullaby
Sleep, my child, sleep.
The song is not a song
and the cradle's not a cradle.
I am not by your side
but the distance lulls me there
and you here.
Sleep, my child, sleep.
In my heart there is nothing
even like the wildflowers
in the empty lot
after the rains.
But there are words in my mouth
for your sleep, there are words.
Sleep, my child, sleep.
The orange peels
will rise again
and make an orange
out of your dream, my child,
and <PERSON> again will find
his amputated arm. Sleep.
Sleep, my child, sleep,
free of all your clothes.
In a mosque we remove our shoes,
in a synagogue we wear hats,
in a church, we take them off.
You are without all these,
you should sleep, my child, sleep.
<PERSON>
I Am Their Last
Because it is time now. The courtyards are empty,
and half my life is shadowed by its final half.
Only peace and two cypresses. A single utterance.
Who else will speak and who will wander and who will rest?
Even in the awful houses there is a contraption
for a holiday flag, so that it may flutter and make us forget.
Leave me alone, <PERSON>, I am tired now,
do not intervene again with Satan. You won
and he won. I have blessed God and also cursed.
I have suffered this and that. Grant me a respite
between "while he was yet speaking" and "there came another."
Gather me into the combinations of my full unspoken name,
disperse my voice like ashes that have forgotten what came before
and remember me from a time when I was what I was, You will be what You will be.
My heart's visage still shows on my face.
Remember me with <PERSON>, <PERSON>, and <PERSON>,
add me to the list of the dead of <PERSON>
at the end of the dark stairs. I am their last.
<PERSON>
A Pity, We Were Such a Good Invention
They amputated
Your thighs off my hips.
As far as I'm concerned
They are all surgeons. All of them.
They dismantled us
Each from the other.
As far as I'm concerned
They are all engineers. All of them.
A pity. We were such a good
And loving invention.
An aeroplane
|
81aa3540-080e-82ef-ebfc-2f8ec8c778ad
|
['521b0017-a10e-e267-718f-e5de50c3bbf2']
|
your eyes wide open, full to the brim. Outside
cars wail. Machines get the voices of human beings
when the going is rough, when in pain, when there's no fuel,
in the great heat and cold of morning, in old age and loneliness,
and they wail and cry.
<PERSON>, son of <PERSON>, son of the dead like me,
the son of <PERSON> gave up his citadels in Galilee
and threw his sword on the table in front of me
a ray of light from outside. He saw
my name carved on the gate as on a tombstone,
thought my house too was a grave. Son of
the dead, of ashes, son of the lit lamp outside in the evening.
The people outside the window are the legions
of <PERSON>: they are storming Jerusalem
this Sabbath night, the cafés and the cinemas,
the lights and the cakes and the women's thighs:
the surrender of love, the pleading of love.
The rustle of trees
in the garden announces a change in my life
but not in my dreams. My inner garments
are unchanged, and the tattoo of my childhood
sinks deeper inward.
Go, happy commander, sad historian,
sleep between the pages of your book, like dried flowers,
pressed. Sleep there. Go.
My child still unborn is also a war orphan
of three wars in which I was not killed,
but he is a war orphan of all of them.
Go, pale commander of Galilee. I too
am always coming and going, as if into new apartments
through the barbed wire entanglements of memory.
You must be a shadow of water
to pass all those without breaking.
You're gathered again afterwards: a peace treaty
with yourself, a contract, conditions, like a real war.
A woman said to me once:
"Everyone goes to his own funeral." I didn't understand then.
I don't understand now, but
I go. Death is a senior clerk who arranges
our lives according to subject entries
in files and archives. This valley
is the rending of mourning in God's garment,
and nothing remains for poet or historian
except to hand over their citadels
and be mourners, for hire or gratis.
<PERSON> opens wide her gates: a great light
breaks out, light of surrender, that had to be enough
for the darkness of thousands of years.
Blast, long blast, sad tremolo,
the blower's lips have cracked in the long heat,
his tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth,
his right hand has lost its cunning. I remember
only the movement of a woman
pulling her dress off over her head.
What lifting of arms, what blind surrender,
what pleading, what passion, what surrender!
"I am no traitor." And between the columns my brother <PERSON>
disappears. "I must write history."
The columns are thick, their capitals leprous
with Greek decoration, whorled flutes and buds.
The house is sick. The English call a man "home-sick"
who longs for his house. The house
is man-sick. I am home-sick. Go, <PERSON>
my brother, flying flags also are curtains
in windows that no longer have a
|
b8b0229e-2c92-de9d-af30-e2313f544a76
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['52a5d3c6-56f5-5d28-5add-b3f139aa4263']
|
of landing the job? How can you prepare for the interview so that you will do your best? How can you _make success happen_? Taking steps to ensure that you will reach your goal will give you the authentic, realistic, and well-deserved optimism you need to do your best.
There are two more points that I want to make about the dangers of optimism. I have already discussed them both in previous chapters, but I think they are worth reiterating. First, remember that optimism is a bad idea when you are pursuing _prevention goals_. Anytime you see a goal in terms of safety and danger, anytime you are focused on what you have to _lose_ , you are better off motivating yourself with thoughts of what could go wrong rather than with confidence that everything will go right.
Second, remember that there is a big difference between believing you will succeed and believing success will come _easily_ (Chapter 1). In fact, believing success will come easily is another case of _unrealistic_ optimism _—_ it just isn't realistic to think that you will achieve any meaningful and worthwhile goal without lifting a finger. Reaching yours goals takes careful thinking, preparation, and effort. The good news is that each one of us has what it takes to make that happen, which is cause for optimism indeed.
# Increasing Optimism
Sometimes, believing that you will succeed is essential if you want to achieve your goal. This is particularly true for promotion-focused goals—those that we see in terms of what we have to _gain_. How can you increase your optimism, and grow more confident that you will reach your goal, when you are feeling a little unsure of yourself?
For one thing, you can take advantage of the strategies used by psychologists in their studies of attributional retraining. Most people feel unsure about their chances for success because they feel that they lack the _ability_ to succeed. More often than not, they are dead wrong. Question your assumptions. Consider other possibilities. For example, is reaching this goal _really_ about ability, or is it more about putting in the effort, persisting through the difficulty, and using good strategies like planning? If it's the latter (and it almost always is), then it is absolutely within your power to achieve that goal. It can be helpful to think about some role models—people who have succeeded in achieving the same goal. You'll find that high achievers, without exception, need to work hard and plan well to accomplish their goals, and that is something anyone can do.
For another, you can also boost your confidence by taking a page out of your own past. Reflect on some of your past successes—the challenges you faced and the strategies you used to overcome them. It can be very helpful to take about ten minutes and write about an accomplishment you are particularly proud of, and how you pulled it all off. Sometimes, when you are feeling insecure, all it takes is a little reminder of how capable you really are to change
|
2a655737-1039-9e86-1d48-eddc6fc5cca5
|
['52a5d3c6-56f5-5d28-5add-b3f139aa4263']
|
also learn by observing how the caretaker reacts to the responses of another person. For example, a child can see how his mother reacts to a brother's or sister's behavior, and infer which types of behavior their mother prefers. If my older sister <PERSON> gets yelled at for going into Mom's purse, maybe I'll think twice before diving in myself.
This collection of knowledge—Mommy wants me to be polite, Mommy likes it when I say "thank you," Mommy gets mad when I make a mess—becomes the child's very first _self-guide_.
##### The Three Self-Concepts: Actual, Ideal, and Ought
People tend to think they have a single self-concept—one coherent view of who they are that contains all that they know about themselves. But we don't actually develop one self-concept—we develop _three_. Together, these self-concepts help direct our decisions and behavior. So if you are considering going back to school to get a master's degree, your self-concepts will give you some of the information you need in order to make the decision ( _Is this something my mother hopes I will do? Is this something I believe I should do?_ ).
The first of the three self-concepts is what we call the _actual self_ —your mental representation of the attributes you actually possess right now. If you believe you are an average athlete, a below-average cook, and an above-average friend, this is the kind of information that gets stored in the actual self-concept. Next, there is the _ideal self-guide_ —your representation of what the ideal version of you would look like (i.e., the hopes, wishes, and aspirations for yourself). If you (or your mother or father) dream of your becoming a star athlete, a master chef, or an amazing friend—and feel that you'll be a disappointment if you aren't—then this is what goes into your ideal self-guide. Finally, there is the _ought self-guide_ —your representation of who you ought to be (i.e., the qualities or abilities that you have a duty, responsibility, or obligation to possess). So if you (or your mother or father) believe that you really should be a star athlete, a master chef, or an amazing friend—that you'll be failing your duty or obligation if you aren't—then this is what goes into your ought self-guide.
The actual self is what we usually think of when we think "self-concept," or _Who am I?_ But it's the ideal or ought self-guide that answers the question _What do I want to become?_ The ideal and ought selves function more like goals or standards we compare ourselves to ( _Am I good enough? Do I need to do more?)._ You may think you are a terrible cook, but that really doesn't matter unless "master chef" is in your ideal or ought self-guide. If it is, then you will feel bad about where you are now and will be motivated to take action to reduce the discrepancy between where you are (burning toast) and where you want to be (whipping up soufflés). In other words, you need to close the gap between your actual self and
|
bfba3d2c-b26f-c497-c537-b7442d006c58
|
['530e401b-9463-93c9-4456-f163d2835f5d']
|
kills you."
"What do you call him?" <PERSON> asked.
"Besides sonofabitch? <PERSON>," the Texan told him.
He didn't seem inclined to explain how a horse got his own last name.
Two months later, Dodge laid <PERSON> off again. Cattle towns needed all the law they could hire during the season. When the weather cooled off, toward the end of October, the streets went quiet. Didn't matter how well he did his job, <PERSON> was always out of work come winter.
He had harbored some hope that things would turn out different in Dodge. He'd worked there with his brothers <PERSON> and <PERSON> for two seasons running, and they got a grip on the town when it was still making national news for being the most violent and lawless place in the country, even counting Deadwood and New York City. When the <PERSON> brothers were hired in '76, their boss was <PERSON>. Fat <PERSON> was already close to three hundred pounds, too big and too slow to do much more than file the charges when somebody else made an arrest. By the end of '77, everybody knew <PERSON> was running the Dodge City police department. He honestly expected to be appointed city marshal at the end of <PERSON>'s term.
Which just goes to show you how dumb <PERSON> was.
Sure, he'd heard that jobs in Dodge were passed around from one insider to the next, but hearing things is not the same as understanding them. <PERSON> tried to explain what happened, but <PERSON> had no talent for politics and could not keep the shifting alliances and factions straight. All he knew was <PERSON> lost the mayor's race to <PERSON> by three votes. Suddenly the <PERSON> were on the outs, for no reason <PERSON> could fathom.
Mayor <PERSON> promptly reappointed <PERSON> as Dodge City marshal, which was a good joke, what with <PERSON> weighing upwards of 320 by then. <PERSON> thought he'd get chief deputy at least, but <PERSON> settled on <PERSON> for that.
<PERSON> asked why. Dog told him, but it didn't make any sense.
"Everybody likes <PERSON>," <PERSON> said.
Which was true, <PERSON> acknowledged, but kind of beside the point, in a marshal.
<PERSON> was personable, Dog said. He made a good impression on important people. He was chatty and had a winning smile.
<PERSON> had not smiled since 1855, and didn't like to say much more than six or seven words in a row to anyone but his brothers.
That same election, <PERSON>'s younger brother, <PERSON>, got voted in as sheriff of Ford County. <PERSON> had done the <PERSON> some favors over the years, like hiring <PERSON> and <PERSON> as buffalo skinners back in '72, when they were just a couple of kids who needed work. Seemed reasonable to expect that <PERSON> would return the favor now and hire <PERSON> as undersheriff, but that job went to <PERSON> instead.
So. There he was. Out of work again.
Disgusted with the situation, <PERSON>'s older brother <PERSON> packed up and moved to Arizona with
|
e4de443e-ed84-a12b-c58f-4a36e8ec0280
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['530e401b-9463-93c9-4456-f163d2835f5d']
|
grinned like the Cheshire cat as they started up the cliffside together. "Wait until you guys find out what <PERSON> told me yesterday!" The path narrowed at that point and they strung out into a line, <PERSON> chattering to <PERSON> about some long, elaborate story they'd been making up together until she saw <PERSON> and <PERSON>, and the children took off to play.
"It seems, my darlings, that we have been caught in a web of sexism, but so have our hosts," <PERSON> told them when they arrived at the apartment. It was filled with <PERSON>, but endless cross talk was normal to them now and she hardly noticed the other conversations. "<PERSON>: the <PERSON> think you are a lady, and the mother of us all. <PERSON>, you are taken to be an immature male. <PERSON>: an immature female. They don't know quite what to make of <PERSON> and <PERSON> and me, but they're pretty sure <PERSON> is a male. Isn't that nice, dear?"
"I'm not sure," <PERSON> said suspiciously, sinking onto a cushion. "How do they decide who's what?"
"Well, there is a certain logic to it all. <PERSON>, you seemed to have guessed correctly that <PERSON> is a little girl. Fifty-fifty chance, and you won the toss. The trick is that <PERSON> is <PERSON>'s mother, not <PERSON>. Yes, indeed, darlings!" <PERSON> said when they stared at her in shock. "I'll come back to that in a minute. Anyway, <PERSON> says that the <PERSON> females are the ones who do all the business for the village. Listen to this, <PERSON>, this is really cool. Their pregnancies are fairly short and they aren't much inconvenienced by them. When the baby is born, mom hands the little dear over to daddy and goes back about her business without missing a beat."
"No wonder I couldn't make sense of the gender references!" <PERSON> said. "So <PERSON> is in training to be a trader, and that's why they think I am also female. Because I'm the formal interpreter for our group, yes?"
"<PERSON>," said <PERSON>. "And <PERSON>, they think, is our mom because he's the only one big enough to seem like a full-grown female. That's why they always ask him to make decisions for us, maybe. They only think he's asking <PERSON>'s opinion to be polite, I guess." <PERSON> snorted, and <PERSON> grinned. "Okay, now here's the neat part. <PERSON> is <PERSON>'s husband, right? But he is not <PERSON>'s genetic father. Runa ladies marry gentlemen they believe will be good social fathers, as <PERSON> is. But <PERSON> says their mates are chosen using"—she cleared her throat—"an entirely separate set of criteria."
"They pick out a good stud," <PERSON> said.
"Don't be crude, dear," <PERSON> said. <PERSON> and her guests decided to go to <PERSON>'s to eat and suddenly the apartment emptied out. When they were alone, <PERSON> leaned forward and continued conspiratorially. "But yes, that was certainly the implication. I must say, the custom has a certain rude appeal. Theoretically, of course," she added when <PERSON> pouted.
"So why are they only 'pretty sure'
|
5e1c0867-32a8-18b0-3da0-a45fffb2cd6c
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['5311b0a2-d7ef-2b91-0340-83cb5090cdc9']
|
sticky on the birthday present in my cunt. I took the vibrator from him so he could put his hands on my hips to better work himself in and out. Every contour of his cock rubbed against the ridges of my asshole. When he came, he gripped my hips so hard I bit my lip to keep silent. I could feel the phone vibrating in the bag still hanging from my shoulder. He pulled his cock out and I reached into the bag to grab the cell. It was <PERSON>.
"Where are you, <PERSON>?" I asked, self-conscious about my breathing pattern.
"I'm still inside," she said. "I'm going to take a piss and I'll be right out."
"Okay, I'm still outside. I'll meet you out front in five."
"Everything okay?"
"Oh yeah, everything's good."
<PERSON> laughed when I said that. I hung up and turned around to see him running his hands through his sun-bleached hair. I put my phone and the toy in my bag and made sure that the vibrator wasn't sticking out where anyone could see it.
My skirt was a little crooked so I fixed it. When I looked up, <PERSON> was smiling at me. He kissed me quickly on the cheek. "Happy birthday, baby," he said before giving me a sexy wink and heading out into the parking lot.
"Oh my god, <PERSON>," <PERSON> said as we climbed into a cab. "That guy was so hot! Did you get his phone number?"
"Er, not exactly," I said, feeling his come dripping out onto the cab seat. "We just had a smoke and enjoyed each other's company."
"What, you mean you talked for a while and didn't even get his phone number or give him yours?" She looked shocked.
"Actually..." I trailed off and pulled out the shiny toy.
"<PERSON>!" <PERSON> exclaimed. "You naughty birthday girl! And you didn't even get his phone number?"
By the time we pulled up to the club I felt refreshed. My confidence had been boosted. I still had it in me even at thirty-four. The house, kids, and dog might have to wait, but at least, for a moment, I'd gotten the guy.
**ANAL SUBMISSION... OR NOT**
<PERSON>
**S** o, is it?" I asked. "Is it a submissive act, when I tell you to fuck me in the ass? Or, is your doing it the submissive act?"
The thing is, I love anal sex. I mean I really love it. I love receiving it and I love giving it.
He looked at me, somewhat at a loss. "Oh, come on. I know you know the answer to this one. All right, I'll make it easy for you. Would my fucking you in the ass make me the dominant and you the submissive?"
"Yes, Ma'am, of course it would," he said.
"Why?"
He paused. I could see the wheels turning. "Because when I'm naked with you, I'm always the submissive."
"That's a cop out, <PERSON>," I said. "We're talking about anal sex here. Answer the question."
"Okay, it's more than that.
|
319a3743-2ada-0804-3a1d-69822f7803f2
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['5311b0a2-d7ef-2b91-0340-83cb5090cdc9']
|
around every move she makes.
"That's right. Milk my good, big dick."
I'm just about to start screaming when her hand works its way round and insinuates itself against my clit. The cool leather strokes against my hard clit as she fills my arse again and again. I can't hold back and with my arse and clit being worked hard and my cunt empty and swollen to the night air I come so hard that all I can see is the rushing of red blood tissue before my eyes. It feels like she's come inside me, violating me further, flooding my walls, but I know this can't be true as it's only her silicone dick that is now being edged slowly out of me.
I sag against the tree as she plays the point of a knife up and down, up and down over my exposed flesh, before placing the handle in my hand. With difficulty I saw through the binding holding my wrists. Freed, I turn quickly round, rearranging my clothes. There is nothing but shadows and trees and bushes, a severed piece of leather and the rushing of the cold night air.
**BUSTED**
**<PERSON>**
**A** fter the movie, <PERSON> and I parked at the edge of the beach. It was too dark to see much except a hint of paler darknes where the surf hit the sand, but we cracked the windows so we could hear the crash of the waves and the murmur of the wind without getting too cold.
I don't think we intended for things to go as far as they did. I certainly hadn't planned on it, but when her warm tongue entered my mouth and her warm hand crept beneath my shirt and found my lace-encased nipple, all rational thought fled, except for a momentary flash of pleased surprise.
It seemed extra-naughty to be fooling around in a semipublic place with my girlfriend the cop.
Making out in a car is never easy, but when you're young and in lust and have been dating only three months, you make do and don't care about pretzeled limbs. You pretty much don't complain unless something cramps and you have to shake it out or scream.
I wasn't complaining. The briny air mingled with the tea tree scent of <PERSON>'s shampoo as she kissed me, leaning across the console to where I sat in the driver's seat. She had this ability to point her tongue and flick strongly, and when she did that against mine, I felt it all the way to my clit—where, sooner or later tonight, I'd feel her tongue for real.
She scraped her fingernails across my nipple and it rose to hard, aching attention. I moaned against her talented mouth and, encouraged, she used her nails to pinch.
Some of my friends laughed when granola-dyke me started dating a police officer, saying it was an obvious case of opposites attracting. But we really do have more in common than base physical urges. I like <PERSON>'s taste in old movies and her ability
|
417040ea-c9d0-84ba-fc3a-50f9cee50621
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['5401b250-4a11-48fe-3ee0-fbd20f3101c5']
|
and carrying a pistol-gripped Benelli M1014 shotgun barked in pain as a blade severed his spinal column where it attached to the base of his skull.
His body dropped behind one of the big sorting trays.
<PERSON> stripped off the poncho and hat, pulled them on, then grabbed the semiauto shotgun and charged back toward the Bobcat for protective cover. Three guards had ducked behind one of the unburnt trailers, hoping to circle back around the perimeter.
Trusting that the poncho, hat, and <PERSON> gave him cover as one of the guards, <PERSON> sped across the compound and ducked behind the shack, calling out to the others, "Hey, assholes!"
The three men turned around in unison. <PERSON> recognized two of them from the bar. Before they could raise their weapons, <PERSON> cut them down with eight rounds of double-aught buckshot in less than two seconds, flinging their shredded torsos to the dirt, with the smoke still curling from the barrel of the Benelli.
"<PERSON>! CAN YOU HEAR ME?"
Out of ammo, <PERSON> tossed the shotgun aside and pulled out the Glock. By his count, only three guards remained. He edged up to the corner of the trailer.
"<PERSON>! LAST CHANCE FOR THIS GIRL! COME OUT NOW OR I KILL HER!"
The voice sounded vaguely familiar. A European.
<PERSON> peeked around the corner. Slashing rain made it hard to see clearly.
In the flickering firelight, <PERSON> saw a man holding a pistol to the head of a woman kneeling in the puddle in front of him. Beside the man with the pistol, a dozen other miners knelt in the mud at the mercy of a second gunman armed with a rifle. And behind them, the remaining miners were huddled in the lean-to, covered by the third guard.
"<PERSON>! I see you! You have three seconds to come out from behind that trailer! Or the girl dies! One . . . two . . ."
_Damn it._
If he came out, they'd cut him down. No question.
But if he didn't, that girl would die, and so would the others on their knees.
<PERSON> overwhelmed him again. He was trapped. But he had no choice.
"Wait! I'm coming out."
<PERSON> held his hands high, still holding the Glock. He stepped toward the man with the pistol.
An LED tac light popped on, nearly blinding <PERSON> as it swept over him.
"Drop the pistol, <PERSON>. And keep coming forward."
<PERSON> tossed it aside. He closed the distance. The rain splattering against his boonie nearly deafened him.
<PERSON> couldn't believe his eyes.
"<PERSON>. You act as if we've met before." The man scratched his beardless face with the barrel of his pistol.
<PERSON> was sure they had.
Except . . . the tattoo. It was in the wrong place. The sword-bearing winged arm was on the back of his gun hand instead of his forearm.
But it was the face of the shitbird who killed <PERSON>.
_Wasn't it?_
Not quite. Nearly the same face. A fraternal twin or maybe a cousin.
"No, we
|
bb4cc5c0-68d3-800a-4d92-be75d83d501a
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['5401b250-4a11-48fe-3ee0-fbd20f3101c5']
|
discovered."
"Isn't your computer biometrically passcoded?"
"Yes, but the Red Team has developed a device called PassPrint to overcome that kind of security and—"
<PERSON> shut her eyes. "I'm such an idiot."
"What?"
"<PERSON> was the point person heading that up."
"How do you want to proceed?"
"Let me start by first rechecking the satellite software all over again and running a new diagnostic. I think it's important we find tangible evidence that this really is a problem. Not taking anything away from your people, but correlation isn't proof. I'd like to nail that down, and if I can do that, it might yield more clues."
"How long? Time is not our friend here."
"I can have something to you by EOB today at the latest."
"Good. While you're banging away on that, I'll have some of my people begin a discreet inquiry into Mr. <PERSON>."
"Yes, please do, and _discreet_ is the operative word. He's innocent until proven guilty, and if we're wrong about him and he finds out what we're doing, he'll be outraged and I'll lose one of my best people for no good reason. Worse, he'd blab about this thing all over town just to ruin our reputation. Maybe even sue us."
"I understand completely. We'll keep everything under wraps. I look forward to hearing from you by end of business today."
"Will do. And please keep me posted on anything you find out about <PERSON>."
"You have my word on that," <PERSON> promised.
The video call ended and <PERSON> texted the director of the NSA's counterintel outfit, referred to in the media as the Q Group, requesting assistance on the <PERSON> matter.
* * *
—
<PERSON> read the text exchanges between <PERSON> and Q Group a few hours later, highly amused.
# 70
<PERSON>, PERU
The overnight flight from Dulles to <PERSON> in Lima was the fastest <PERSON> could find, but it still had a layover in Dallas. His only luggage was a carry-on Osprey Farpoint 40 backpack toting the bare essentials.
Arriving a little after five in the morning, he splashed his face with cold water in the men's restroom after he deplaned. He grabbed a venti drip, dark roast, no-room Starbucks coffee, waiting until seven before boarding a one-hour puddle jumper to the regional airstrip near Anta in Carhuaz Province north of Lima.
In the colorful and scrupulously clean little town of a few thousand, <PERSON> found the store he'd located on the Internet, where he purchased a flimsy but serviceable folding knife and a disposable lighter, two items he couldn't carry on a plane. They were already over eight thousand feet, the air cooling considerably from Lima's. A snowcapped peak loomed in the distance beyond the low hills surrounding the town.
From Anta he caught a brightly painted GMC school bus that made the long and winding climb high into the Andes. The bus was crowded with locals, mostly working-class men, to judge from their callused hands, worn clothes, and meager belongings. Short-statured, with dark, almond-shaped eyes and sharp, broad
|
ac29f3d3-22de-8eab-a19b-1b713c6882d3
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['55dece2d-f8ab-ca77-9b88-d1773c497067']
|
that the moral issue is our reaction to the suffering before us. The truth that <PERSON> and His disciples were devoted to the healing and serving of others was never in question. This lavish act of love by <PERSON> teaches us how to serve. Her willingness to pour out a huge gift with humility and respect reminds us of our posture while pouring out our lives for the sake of others. <PERSON> ends the discussion by saying the poor will always be with us. That is a blessing, not a curse. There will always be <PERSON> women with us. They will always find their way from the streets of hell to a sanctuary of love as long as we are able to keep such sanctuaries open. Every one of the women will be a blessing.
<PERSON>'s pouring out of the oil onto the feet of <PERSON> leads us to a hallowed group. The story is a reminder to give extravagantly and lavish love on those we love but who won't be with us forever. <PERSON> was painfully aware that <PERSON> was heading toward Jerusalem and into the heart of the occupied nation to confront authority. She gave Him the best of what she had. Like <PERSON>, we must learn to pour out our fine oils and our finest teas. With the dedication of a religious act, I have tried to pour out tea daily for my husband. Serving and pouring the tea are an act of great gratitude for me that he has walked with me this whole way without asking much of me in return. I pour his tea with a full heart and without any need for him to reciprocate this act. I carry the tea to our room early in the morning so he gets to drink it before he has to wake up to the all the demands that the day will bring. Pouring tea out for him feels different to me from just serving tea to a group. This is more humbling and intimate. It is a glimpse of what it means to love in a way that you could lay your life down for another without the person even asking.
There are so many ways that I don't allow myself to be poured out. Ego creeps in and ruins perfectly good and humble tea that was willing to be steeped and poured for a friend. Those are the days I think I have just enough tea for myself or worry that the world may have short-served me or overcharged me for tea. Sometimes I think there is no reason to pour it out, because then I will have less. I don't want to pour it for someone who has neither the inclination nor the education to appreciate the quality of tea offered. Sometimes I recollect the person has never given me a cup of tea. Other days I feel like my cup is not close to half full due to no fault of my own. It just feels like there is barely enough for me to
|
05759d16-32a8-1a13-8926-03fd6ee6fd46
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tea, ever. One man was a Seventh-day Adventist; the other, with a thick-drawled country accent, explained that he didn't drink anything after coffee in the morning except water until he got off work, when he switched to beer. That is just how he was, he said. I said please and told them I'd be really grateful if they would just stop for a minute before we had to unload all these cabinets and just sit and try one cup of our thistle blend with me, but I was flatly rejected.
I was a tea evangelist failure and felt that if I had said it differently or maybe was different, they might have said yes. I get all caught up and confused by rejection. It trips me up and makes me question my abilities and myself. I think what I see and feel should be clear to everyone and that if I just say it again, they will see my light. That is truly messed up! Moments like these are when we get ourselves in the way of the beautiful light shining around us and trip on our own shadows. There is an image in the Gospels of the disciples finding no acceptance in a town. <PERSON> gives them the first liturgical dance move (followed two chapters later by <PERSON>'s "resurrection hop" as he comes out of his tomb in a shroud) of kicking dust off shoes and walking with peace. Instead it's like I stand at a door letting the dust swirl up around my head as I knock and knock, begging someone to tell me I am good and what I believe is right. When the two men said no thanks, I should have just kicked up my heels and said, "Great, let's unload the cabinets," but instead it took another fifteen minutes for them to tell me about their religious backgrounds, potential addiction issues, and most of their family histories and tragedies. I am sure they were as exhausted by me as I was by myself.
People have a need for others to accept their ideas as their own. But that is not the calling of the Gospels or the calling of the way of tea. That way is simply to live and serve others and get out of our own way. We unloaded the cabinets and marveled that the men built them for us. This whole thing is a gift, and I need to unwrap it more gently.
In the midst of light, it is not hard to see the shadows and remember how many things are hidden by what we have yet to uncover in this work and on our journey. The mysterious dark interior hills of China that were opened after the Opium Wars seem like a space where lightness and darkness danced in huge tea gardens spread over hillsides. The early tea botanist and spy <PERSON> made his way into places not everyone gets to travel to, to learn the secrets of tea. He marveled at the stunning beauty and light that only a handful
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then about the brewery and how they were all locked up inside it like in a zoo behind bars, and about the bars, and about the explosions down at the station, and that hot, black, wet tank and us getting over that fence and then suddenly I was thinking of Prague where they were probably really fighting now and the barricades were blazing in the streets and the Germans were probably murdering people and raping pretty girls, girls like <PERSON>, or maybe somewhere a girl, the girl I'd finally meet some day and marry, was going through hell right then, and then it astonished me, the thought that I probably hadn't even met the girl I would marry some day but that she must be living somewhere or that maybe she hadn't even been born yet, and that maybe I wouldn't get married until I was old and my bride would be young, except that I didn't believe I'd live to be very old, and suddenly I had a terrific desire to know her and I wondered what she was like and whether or not she really existed at all and I said to myself, that's all a lot of nonsense, I'll never meet one, and then I remembered I was supposed to be in love with <PERSON>, but then there I was back again thinking about _her_ again, that girl I was going to meet, and I tried to imagine how she looked but I couldn't, and all I knew was that she'd be pretty and I decided I could never love a girl who wasn't pretty and wondered how anybody ever could but then for a second that made me feel sort of ignoble, that all I thought about was physical beauty and not spiritual beauty, but I said to myself, skip the spirit, I don't believe in the spirit, I just believe in the body and only pretty ones at that and in all the pleasure you get out of looking and touching and I imagined myself embracing this girl I was going to meet and we were in bed together, both of us naked, and I was touching her breasts and kissing her and I went on dreaming it out in detail and then I felt worse than ever because it all wasn't real, and for a while I thought about Dr <PERSON> and about <PERSON> and about that guy I'd kicked in the stomach and about the communists and that, maybe, instead of just waiting around, the thing to do was to get out and do something. But why? And then back came the girl and I whispered I love you, I love you, and saw her in a pretty dress in Prague at the university and beside the river on a fall evening; so I went on and hardly knew any more quite what it was I was thinking about and what was real and what wasn't until I fell asleep with all these pleasant thoughts, without even knowing how.
# **Monday, May 7, 1945**
I
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['56d0c267-508a-bcfd-30c5-5e17939cffea']
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her funeral instead of her going to mine. That certainly roused plenty of feelings. And what feelings! How sad I would be and crushed and noble and alone. <PERSON>! I'd a thousand times rather be lonely than not be at all. Absolutely. But soldiers with guns were standing around me and that was a bad feeling. I thought about <PERSON> again, wondering if he'd make it. <PERSON>, let him make it! <PERSON>, let him get here in time! <PERSON>, please, please, <PERSON>, let <PERSON> get here in time!
Just then the door opened and there stood Dr <PERSON>. My throat tightened from joy. I forgot all about <PERSON>. Dr <PERSON> was wearing a black suit and he had his pince-nez on his nose. Dr <PERSON>. This was great. I felt safe immediately. I'd known it all along. Of course. They couldn't shoot us. That was all a lot of nonsense. I'd known it right from the start. They couldn't shoot us, now that Dr <PERSON> was here. Dr <PERSON> looked at me sadly and said, 'Mr <PERSON>, what in the world have you been doing?'
'Why, nothing, Doctor. I was at the square and they picked me up,' I said innocently. Now everything was all right again.
'You provoked them, didn't you? And you know what the situation is like. I'd thought we could at least depend on you students to be sensible.'
'But I really wasn't doing anything, Doctor.'
'Look here, Mr <PERSON>. We're negotiating now with the Commander about withdrawing the troops from the town so there won't be any needless destruction and you students are making things very difficult for us.'
'I'm really awfully sorry, sir. I really didn't mean to...'
'Well, all right, I believe you. Mr <PERSON> promised me he'd release you but I had to give him my word of honour that the townspeople will allow the troops to leave peacefully and take their arms with them.'
I remembered <PERSON>. <PERSON>! Dr <PERSON>'s word of honour wouldn't be worth a damn now. <PERSON>! All I wanted was to get out of there fast. So I said rapidly, 'Thank you, Doctor.'
'Don't mention it,' said Dr <PERSON>. 'But please tell your friends not to do anything imprudent. Everything will be arranged. Just be patient.'
'Yes,' I said. Mayor <PERSON> peeked out of the principal's office. The Kostelec city fathers were negotiating. I knew it. I could see the revolution was in good hands. Dr <PERSON> shook hands with me. 'Thank you, Doctor,' I said.
He smiled humbly. 'You're quite welcome. I'm glad I could help you. Remember me to your father.'
'Yes, thank you, I will.'
'Good-bye.'
'Good-bye.'
I turned around. <PERSON> came over to me. Dr <PERSON> hadn't shaken hands with <PERSON>. But <PERSON> didn't mind. I noticed he wasn't so pale any more. We hurried down the stairs to the main floor. It was all over and now I could start living again. And it'd certainly make an impression on <PERSON>. And maybe there'll be shooting anyway. Now all of a sudden I felt like
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f8cd8dc6-eec8-1d7f-b39d-ab5a05abd364
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stand mixer until soft, then add the sugar. Continue to beat until very light and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, alternating with tablespoons of the flour mixture to stop the wet mixture from curdling, then gently fold in the rest of the flour mixture. Stir in the buttermilk and vanilla extract.
3. Pour two-thirds of the batter into another bowl and stir in the zest and lemon juice to combine. Stir the rose water and pink food coloring into the batter remaining in the first bowl.
4. Pour the lemon batter into the prepared cake pan and spread it out evenly. Spoon the rose batter on top, then smooth it down and swirl through with a metal spatula to create a marbled effect.
5. Bake for about 25 minutes, or until well risen and firm to the touch. Remove from the oven, transfer to a wire rack, and let cool completely.
6. Meanwhile, make the frosting. Beat the lemon juice into the powdered sugar and gradually add cold water, half a teaspoon at a time, until it is the desired consistency—you should be able to drizzle it, rather than spread it.
7. When the cake has completely cooled, remove it from the pan and transfer to a serving dish. Drizzle the frosting all over it and decorate with the flowers to serve.
Almond Angel Cake
This cake has a light, bouncy consistency, which is given texture by the addition of ground almonds.
Serves 8
½ cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons cornstarch
¾ cup superfine sugar
5 egg whites
½ teaspoon cream of tartar
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon almond extract
1 teaspoon lemon juice
¾ cup ground almonds
To serve
½ cup sliced almonds
½ pound fresh summer fruits (a mixture of strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries)
2 tablespoons powdered sugar
whipped cream or crème fraîche
1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Grease a shallow 10-inch Bundt pan and then dust the inside surface with flour (see here).
2. Mix together the all-purpose flour and cornstarch, then sift the mixture at least three times so the ingredients are well combined and aerated. Add half of the superfine sugar and sift the mixture one last time.
3. Beat the egg whites together until they form soft peaks. Add the cream of tartar, then gradually add the remaining sugar, beating constantly, until the mixture is stiff and glossy. Stir in the vanilla extract, almond extract, and lemon juice.
4. Using a large metal spoon fold in the flour mixture and the ground almonds.
5. Spoon the batter into the prepared pan. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, or until golden brown with a springy texture. Let cake cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then remove it from the pan and transfer it to a plate.
6. Toast the sliced almonds in a dry skillet until they turn light brown.
7. To assemble the cake, pile the summer fruits into the hollow center of the angel cake. Dust everything with powdered sugar and scatter with the sliced almonds. Serve with whipped
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3e1418b1-8b87-7d8c-cf19-62e743a02722
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['58aa509a-d935-10e6-4b13-c45745cc085d']
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remove the cakes from the pans and transfer to a wire rack to finish cooling.
3. For the filling, whip the cream until just starting to form peaks. Place one cake on a serving plate and cover with one-quarter of the cream. Scatter with half of the chopped nuts, then drizzle with half of the maple syrup. Carefully spread another one-quarter of the cream onto this, then stack the second cake on top. Cover with the remaining cream, nuts, and syrup in the same order. Stack the remaining cake on top.
4. To make the frosting, break up the chocolate and add it to a saucepan with the butter and milk. Heat gently over very low heat until the chocolate has melted, stirring frequently. Remove from the heat and beat in the powdered sugar until evenly combined. Let cool, then swirl all over the top and around the side of the cake using a metal spatula.
Chocolate Marquise
Outrageously chocolatey, this soft, smooth-textured mousse is poured over a cookie-crumb crust, then chilled until set.
Serves 8
6 ounces baking chocolate (at least 70% cocoa solids)
3 tablespoons strong black coffee
3½ tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon whiskey
3 eggs, separated
½ cup + 2 tablespoons superfine sugar
For the cookie- crumb crust
3½ tablespoons unsalted butter
1½ cups chocolate cookie crumbs
To decorate
2½ ounces white chocolate curls (optional) (see here)
3 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder, for dusting
1. Grease the inside and line the bottom of a 9-inch round springform pan (see here).
2. To make the crust, melt the butter in a saucepan. Add the cookie crumbs to a bowl, pour in the melted butter, and stir to combine. Spoon the mixture into the prepared pan and press into the bottom in an even layer. Set aside.
3. To make the mousse topping, break up the chocolate and place in a heatproof bowl with the coffee, butter, and whiskey. Place the bowl over a pan of barely simmering water and let melt. Place the egg yolks and sugar in a large heatproof bowl over another pan of barely simmering water. Beat with an electric handheld mixer until the mixture is thick and foamy and leaves a trail on the surface when you lift the beater away.
4. Beat the egg whites in a clean bowl until soft peaks form and set aside. Fold the chocolate mixture into the beaten egg-yolk mixture, then lightly stir in one-third of the egg whites to loosen the mixture. Fold in the rest of the egg whites and pour the batter into the prepared pan. Spread evenly, then cover and chill overnight.
5. When you are ready to serve, remove the sides of the pan and peel the paper off. Carefully transfer the marquise to a serving plate and decorate with white chocolate curls, if desired. Dust generously with cocoa powder just before serving.
Note
If you make the crumbs for the crust yourself, don't process the cookies too finely or the crust will be dense and hard.
Cinnamon Cranberry Streusel
This streusel most closely
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7c99b199-94ab-8410-e98f-dac31ca0f9a9
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['58e482e1-f00e-e10c-f71c-597aab7e0f90']
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myself, I was so lost. It's only by the grace of God that I'm here at all. He saved me from the nightmare of my own mind. That's what the mind is, a nightmare, and to live day after day inside a mind as tortured as mine was a hell worse than anything death seemed to offer. I can say without exaggeration that, if I hadn't found salvation when I did, I would have succumbed to despair a long time ago, mijo, and you and your brothers and your sister never would have been born. So you see, it was all worth it in the end. It was all a part of His plan. Even marrying your father, and all the pain and loneliness I've suffered over the years, even that was worth it because it gave me my children. I know what you're thinking, but before you say anything, let me explain.
I was working as a waitress at a diner in Coalinga when I first met him. I'd been clean just over a year and most of the young men I knew through church were working as laborers for the farms in the area. They were rough and ordinary men who only wanted a wife because they had never learned to cook and clean for themselves. But your father was different. He was educated. He was successful. When I saw the car he was driving and how expensive his clothes looked, I figured he must be someone important. And when he took an interest in me, when he asked me out on a date, it made me feel like the girl in a movie, who catches the eye of a rich man who takes her away to a better life. It felt like my sins had finally been forgiven and good things were starting to happen for me again.
But it all started to feel very different once we got married and moved out here to run a farm. Faithless as they were, your grandparents were devoted to each other. I don't think I ever saw them spend a night apart. That was the example they set for me of married life, of how a husband and wife should be together. Then I get here and, as soon as the farm's up and running, your father announces that he's going away, and that I can only expect to have him home again two or three times a year. Business, mijo. That's the reason he gave for why he was away all the time. To make more money for us, to find the best prices for our crops, and to provide us with a better way of life. Even then it sounded suspicious to me, but I accepted my burden the same as if I had married a traveling soldier or migrant worker. I told myself it was the way it was done, that my parents had been an exception to the norm. But in my heart I knew better. I knew he was keeping something from me. What it was,
|
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those who had suffered through marriage to Daddy.
One of the tougher decisions that had to be reached early on was what to do about finding schools for the eight of us that still needed educating. <PERSON> was adamant about sending <PERSON> and <PERSON> to the private K–12 academy in Visalia, and after all the fuss it had taken just to get her this far, the other wives chose not to begrudge her that privilege. My sisters and <PERSON>'s brothers were sent to public elementary schools on opposite sides of the county—our mothers had decided on separating them to avoid drawing extra attention to the co-op, and to spare them the embarrassment of having to explain their half-siblings to the other kids. At fifteen, <PERSON> was legally old enough to make up his own mind about school, and in the end he opted to stay on the farm and learn machine repair from his brother. That left me, <PERSON>, and <PERSON> to attend the local high school, to ride the sweltering yellow bus eighty minutes each way in the early morning and late afternoon. Hardly anyone asked about our shared last name, and when they did we said that we were cousins. As popular as she was from the start, <PERSON> had a way of making people take her at her word, and as for me and <PERSON>, we didn't talk much.
The high school was situated on a concrete and asphalt slab northwest of Tulare, surrounded on all sides by short, untended grasses that were yellow-brown twelve months out of the year. You could ride the bus for miles in that part of the county and see nothing at all until finally a cluster of green, pagoda-shaped buildings rose up out of the ground and the silver mirage peeled back across the basketball courts. Even though <PERSON> was two class grades ahead of me, we had the same homeroom every morning and History twice a week after lunch. Beyond that, we each had some version of Math, English, Ag Science, and PE. Some of the classrooms were over twenty years old and still equipped with internet outlets, and gas ranges for science experiments we would never learn. The oldest rooms were sealed-off and used for storage space. Even then, there was no danger of overcrowding. Most of the kids in the area would follow <PERSON>'s lead the minute they turned fifteen. Our freshman class was already larger than the rest of the student body combined.
Our History course included students from all four grades. Only one semester of History was required to graduate, but some of the older kids retook it two or three times for the easy elective credits. The teacher was seventy-four years old and kept an American flag pinned to the wall above the whiteboard. He'd talk for thirty minutes on the lesson of the day and spend the rest of the time cursing dead Democrats and explaining how the US had perished through sin, decadence, and decay.
As the welfare state grew more unwieldy, he said, traditional
|
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|
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|
rather than a reformer. While the nineteenth century reformer sought state intervention when it was unavoidable, his twentieth century descendant in Independent India primarily relied on the state. This was despite the fact that his vehicle was a 'non-governmental organisation'!
This did not mean that activists lacked idealism, commitment, or the capacity to sacrifice material comforts, though it is also true that a number of NGOs were into racketeering. But the bigger problem was that ideology rather than idealism was the motivating factor for the new reformer. His paradigm was fundamentally different from that of the nineteenth century reformer. Wedded to the Marxist principle that political power in the hands of people can redeem the society, he was more interested in legislation and government finances for reform.
It would be interesting to study the mind of the activist. Merriam-Webster defines 'activism' as 'a doctrine or practice that emphasises direct vigorous action especially in support of or opposition to one side of a controversial issue.' A social reformer too, does the same. <PERSON> was one such person who emphasised direct vigorous action in support of the anti-Suttee legislation.
Over a period of time, however, words assume a life of their own. The word 'activist' is one such term. Though indistinguishable with the reformer of yore, the activist today is quite different from the reformer. While both stand for change, their attitudes towards the change are poles apart. The reformer wants the change to be gradual and, as far as possible, volitional; he relies on persuasion. On the other hand, the activist wants radical, drastic change—ban diesel vehicles immediately, implement food security at once, and so on. He wants to impose the change; and he relies on confrontation rather than persuasion. The reformer listens to the other side, and tries to address their concerns; the activist bulldozes the opponents who anyway represent 'vested interests.' This also explains the activist's endeavour to use the coercive instrumentality of the state to further his agenda. In short, reformers and activists have emerged as specimens of different species over the years. At any rate, reformers are on the verge of extinction. Unsurprisingly, the activist also has a disdain for experts, who use the scientific method of studying and analysing empirical evidence. The expert uses facts to come up with the big picture; the activist already knows what the big picture is and, thus, picks up facts selectively and fits them into it.
The new paradigm engendered two developments. First, the reformer, convinced of the class struggle and critical legal theories, focused on the fault-lines in society: he took up the cause of landless labourers, tribals, slum-dwellers, _etc_. Instead of helping the poor by enabling them to get out of the culture of poverty— _e.g._ , by building educational institutions, as Christian missionaries and <PERSON> do—the new reformer instigated the poor to demand more and more freebies from the state. He was and is interested in the quantifiable—more budgetary allocation for education, more outlays for the social sector, new schemes for landless labourers and
|
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|
reciting the _kalimah_ [testimony of faith].' <PERSON> was one of the carriers of the funeral bier. At that moment, <PERSON> declared: 'This uneducated young man has surpassed us, the educated ones.'
<PERSON> has been glorified in Pakistan as a great Islamic hero, a holy warrior, a ghazi, a shaheed, _etc_. There is a mosque commemorating his 'great deed.' In February 2013, the Chief Justice of the Lahore High Court heard arguments on the maintainability of a petition seeking the reopening of an 84-year-old Ilm-ud-Dincase. According to _The Express Tribune_ (21 February 2013):
The petitioner argued that the publisher had insulted <PERSON> (peace be upon him) and thus invited his own death. He said <PERSON> had no personal animosity towards <PERSON>, but acted 'out of love for the Holy Prophet (PBUH), like a true Muslim. He asked that <PERSON> be honoured with state awards and be given a funeral with state protocol.'
In October of the same year, at the two-day celebrations for the eighty-fourth annual Urs of Ghazi Ilm Din Shaheed in the Miani Sahib graveyard, thousands of devotees paid homage to <PERSON>. 'Addressing the participants, the scholars vowed to resist all conspiracies being hatched to amend the blasphemy laws under pressure from Washington. They said that no blasphemer could be tolerated in the country created in the name of Islam. They said countless lovers of the Holy Prophet (SAW) like <PERSON> would emerge if US-slave rulers tried to protect the blasphemers.' ( _The News_ , 13 October 2013)
The scholars warned that those denying the Islamic punishment of death to the blasphemers were also liable to the same punishment, _The News_ reported:
They accused the rulers and secular elements in the country of conspiring to amend the laws to protect the blasphemers from death. They warned that a countrywide movement would be launched against the rulers if conspiracies continued to amend the blasphemy laws. They demanded death to all those found guilty of committing blasphemy. They also demanded immediate release of <PERSON> who killed former Punjab governor <PERSON> for allegedly committing blasphemy. They also demanded inclusion of a chapter in the Islamiat syllabus about <PERSON>, explaining the reason why he killed the blasphemer <PERSON>.
The _Rangila Rasul_ episode epitomises the fundamental flaw of Orientals: while they are acquainted with the universal ideas and ideals of the Enlightenment—liberty, fairness, tolerance, limited government, _etc_.—they have neither fully imbibed these ideas and ideals nor put them above all other considerations; they have avoided the modern imperative.
In the case of Pakistan, as evident from the above-mentioned reports, even the pretense of clinging to the Enlightenment ideals has been given up over the decades since it became independent. Forget critical inquiry, even music is facing a grave threat over there, with jihadists imposing Islam in its purest form—Freedom of expression in Pakistan is practically dead.
In India, the situation is much better but, as we discussed in the previous chapters, the threats are many and varied, not the least from the
|
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|
this other guy who let us down.'
<PERSON> was already nodding. She saw his eyes flash when she mentioned the price quoted, and if there was any question of him squirming on the hook, it evaporated with the words 'cash in hand'.
'Aye, I could manage that.'
'Could you do it for the same money?'
'Sure, aye. Sounds fair enough. Unless it's like a mansion or something.'
'I wish. But see, the other thing is when. After all this time, as you can imagine, we're just sick looking at it, so the sooner the better. I don't suppose you could manage next week?'
He glanced away a moment, calculating. He wasn't much of an actor.
'I'd have to move something, but I could manage next Monday.'
'Oh, thank you, so much,' she gushed, with not entirely fake sincerity. 'You've really bailed me out of a hole.'
They traded mobile numbers and she gave him the address. What she had from the bodycam was probably plenty, but if that wasn't enough, it would definitely sink him to turn up with all his kit next Monday at <PERSON>'s flat in Hyndland.
As she watched him walk away, continuing as he had originally intended along Great Western Road, she felt this almighty endorphin rush, which combined with everything else that had flooded her system over the past five minutes made her whole body thrum. Suddenly, everything seemed possible. She could do this job. Not only that, she could act: she could play a part under pressure, she could improvise, anything.
She found herself hurrying back along Byres Road. She would join <PERSON> and her pals at their table and explain. <PERSON> would lap it up too: it was an amazing – and true – story, one that showed what a colourful character <PERSON> was, someone with background and depth, someone who was acting on a razor's edge like none of them had ever experienced.
She broke into a jog, then almost a sprint, slaloming pedestrians, giggling to herself as she turned the corner on to Cresswell Street.
The table was empty. <PERSON> and her friends had gone.
Of course.
<PERSON> screws up.
Whodunit
'Mum, what does whodunit mean?' <PERSON> asked, as <PERSON> tucked his Ben 10 duvet tightly around his shoulders.
'I'll tell you in the morning. Time for you both to go back to sleep.'
'It's who did it,' corrected <PERSON>, fifteen months his junior and ever eager to imply that he was smarter than his big brother.
'I know it's who did it,' <PERSON> retorted with a tut. '<PERSON>, I knew that when I was a P3. That's why I'm asking why people talk about a whodunit. What does it mean?'
Amazing how garrulous they became in the middle of the bloody night, <PERSON> thought. You could ask them a dozen questions throughout the day and receive one-word answers, and as for what was happening at school, it was easier persuading suspects to open up in interviews than to get an expansive answer on that subject. Yet when the time drew near for
|
b9231a1e-d2dd-50cd-282a-77faf4038ae4
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drinking before <PERSON> showed. It was tepid and bitter but his visit had left a worse taste, and now she was going to address it. She tossed the cup into her wastebasket and headed for <PERSON>'s office.
His door was open and he was typing, his attention so fixed upon the keyboard and the screen that he remained oblivious to her standing in his doorway until she deliberately cleared her throat. She held up the flash drive but said nothing, leaving it entirely in his court so that she could analyse his response.
He stared at her hand and then at her, confusion on his face at being yanked from his immersion giving way to annoyance as he deduced the reason for the interruption.
'What?' He sounded genuinely irritated, but it was a good gambit if he didn't want to give anything away.
'No chatter,' she quoted. 'No rumblings. Our pants are round our ankles. So what are you doing intercepting my subscriber check on <PERSON>'s mobile?'
'I didn't intercept it. It got sent to me by mistake.'
'Just at random? What, of all the folk it could have been accidentally sent to, by sheer chance it turned out to be the one person with the biggest interest in <PERSON> business?'
'No, of course not at random: that's the point. Somebody at Intell must have seen Fullerton's name and assumed the check was for LOCUST. I was going to bring it to you, but I'm up to my eyes here, so when <PERSON> came in . . .' He held out his palms and sighed with exasperation. 'Look, <PERSON>, not everything I do is a fucking conspiracy, okay?'
<PERSON> belatedly saw the logic in this and was bracing herself for a sheepish moment of apology, but it looked like <PERSON> was beating her to it. He seemed aware that he had lost the rag and appeared to be climbing down.
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Just a lot on my plate.'
'It's okay.'
'No, look, I've got something for you here.'
He sounded more conciliatory than <PERSON> could ever remember, and began rummaging in the chaos of his desk.
'I asked around about your symbol: you know, the thing on Fullerton's head. A couple of older guys recognised it. Goes back to the late eighties, they said: perhaps significantly, the time when <PERSON> and <PERSON> were partners in crime. It was, among Glasgow bampots, what might these days be called a meme.'
'A meme?'
'You know, an idea that replicates like a virus. It was associated with a brief spate of tit-for-tat gangland murders, and from there it kind of bled into the wider bam consciousness. Started off getting daubed on dead guys as a way of saying: "This is payback for the pal of ours that you killed and daubed this symbol on." Before long it's appearing as graffiti, daft wee neds putting it on folk's walls as a way of saying: "You're getting it." They were copying it because they thought it carried some kind of heavy hard-man kudos.'
'Tit-for-tat?'
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['5a66b626-8395-f8e3-4dd7-ee10855c73a9']
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sides together. The diagonal bias edge will create a _V_ in the center.
**4** Sew a ¼" (6 mm) seam and press open. The two joined triangles will now be in the shape of a parallelogram.
**5** Bring together the two edges perpendicular to the first seam line, which will be the non-bias edges, to form a tube. Offset the edges by the approximate width of your strip and pin in place.
**6** Sew a ¼" (6 mm) seam and press open. You will now have a tube with two overhanging edges.
**7** Begin cutting the continuous bias strip at one of the overlapped edges, measuring by eye.
**8** Once started, I place my arm through the tube and continue cutting the strip to the end. Keep the width consistent or gradually increase and decrease the width as you cut.
### technique
**BIAS STRIP PIECING ON THE CURVE**
When piecing bias strips on the curve, it is helpful to imagine manipulating the spaces between the warp and weft threads by easing—stretching the base curve and contracting the strip—as you sew. Mastering this technique may require some trial and error in order to develop a feel for how much stretch is required along the arc of the curve. These steps explain how to add the series of bias strips along the convex curves on petal shapes, as on the Bias Strip Petals quilt (pages 86–94).
**1** I prefer to attach strips with the curved edge (the petal) on the bottom and the strip on top. As you sew, gently stretch the petal edge while holding the bias strip loosely so that it doesn't stretch.
**2** The amount of stretch required along the arc of the curve varies. Stretch the petal less or not at all at the ends and more toward the center.
**3** Notice how the bias strip looks gathered along the deepest arc of the curve.
**4** Give the newly attached strip a good stretch to help expand the space between warp and weft. Steam-press the seam away from the center after adding each strip. Trim off the bias-strip excess.
_Bias Strip Petals quilt, detail,this page_.
**5** Shape the arc of the curve by trimming the edge of the newly added strip before sewing the next strip, or leave the strips in their natural shape.
### technique
**DARTING ALONG THE CURVE**
Bias-strip piecing on the curve is tricky. If bubbles of excess fabric appear along the curve, and keep the patchwork from laying flat, just take a dart along the seam to remedy the problem.
**1** Gently flatten the petal and press the bubble toward the seam where it naturally wants to gather.
**2** Press the excess fabric forward of the original seam along the line of the curve.
**3** Finger press and pin the dart in place. The original seam should be pressed away from the direction of the dart and the dart seam pressed forward of the original seam.
**4** Press with a steam iron as you remove the pins to get a clean sharp crease where the dart
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territory in this score by setting his curves to face outward. The deliberate shaping of his wedges in a slightly awkward way adds to the quilt's unexpected modern charm. Also of note is his use of a pieced low-volume, neutral background and broken borders.
score #10
Improv Is . . . Telling a Story
showing up
Stories are filled with colorful characters, interesting locations, and conflicts and resolution. Storytelling, like quilt making, is all about creating meaningful relationships or narratives among disparate elements.
If you are a reader like me, you have multiple books in rotation on your bedside table. Occasionally, I read a book straight through, but typically I read one book for a while then switch to another. I may get back to books in my stack the next day, the next week, a month later, or sometimes never.
I usually put a book down because I've stopped resonating with the text. When I pick up the book again, I pay attention to what has occurred since I last read it for a glimpse at the shifting horizon of my unconsciousness. The book "shows up" for me in a new way.
The narratives of contemporary life are juxtaposed, like a pile of books on a bedside table. We know ourselves as much through the connections we make among different experiences, or through the rhythm of our attention, as we do from any single experience.
<PERSON> noted the attribute of juxtaposition—the side-by-side display of evolving, contrasting, or otherwise dissimilar elements—as a common thread in his collection of African-American improvisational quilts. Contrasting color and values of fabrics, as well as contrasting patterns, are often juxtaposed in a single quilt with the intent of making the whole quilt "show up."
* * *
**SCORE** #10 **SYNOPSIS**
Identify your lexicon of shapes and methods.
Evaluate works in progress.
Create patchwork components.
Combine components into one composition.
* * *
#### Score for Showing Up
This score invites you first to evaluate and identify a personal lexicon of improvisational patchwork techniques and shapes and then juxtapose two or more of them into a single composition. It also introduces the technique for Natural Shaping of a Quilt Top (this page).
Draw on the entire vocabulary of skills learned from this book and from your existing knowledge base to create a composition populated with a complex cast of characters or narratives. How do they relate? How do they "show up" and occupy the space of the quilt in harmony and in conflict? How do their similarities and differences work together to create a complex community and an interesting story?
"How I start to make a quilt, all I do is start sewing, and it just comes to me. No pattern. I usually don't use a pattern, only my mind."
—<PERSON>, from _The Quilts of Gee's Bend_
#### step 1. identify your lexicon of shapes and methods
Throughout the previous scores in this chapter, you have been introduced to several different improvisational techniques and methods: Ruler-Free Strip Piecing (this page),
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commonplace of Georgetown commentary. "They just completely destroy people, and, yeah, they scare the hell out of you."
<PERSON>'s hulking body, mean stare, and profane street language enabled him to commandeer the sidelines; he carried a white towel over his shoulder, making him look more engaged in the sweaty labor of the game, his body and his aura another physical force thwarting the opposing team's will. His players, in a tactic new to the sport, used dead-ball time to huddle on the foul line and other spaces in a way that signified both territorial sovereignty and "all for one, one for all" team unity. Georgetown _owned_ the court and the sidelines; opposing players and coaches lined up to take their beating.
Either that, or they proved their manhood by standing up to the Hoyas. When <PERSON> was trying to win respect for Providence, which had been languishing in the lower reaches of the Big East, a key turning point came when he refused to back down from <PERSON> in a midcourt shouting match. <PERSON> called <PERSON> a "young punk." "Fuck you," <PERSON> fired back. <PERSON> later said he wanted to send a message to his team: "No more being intimidated by Georgetown. No more being patsies for the Big East teams."
Georgetown University, otherwise best known for training young diplomats for careers in the State Department, had become perhaps the most visible and assertive public symbol of masculine black power since the Black Panthers. Georgetown jackets and caps became de rigueur among urban b-boys and b-girls. The team was celebrated in rap lyrics and counted <PERSON> and the Furious Twelve among its aliases. To their admirers, <PERSON> Georgetown Hoyas stood for dignified, unapologetic self-determination; to their detractors, they looked like thugs and hustlers.
The media framed <PERSON>'s image as a racial warrior, an image that might have synchronized with the military, business, and religious values of <PERSON>-era America had it been attached to a white authority figure. But for the fact that its patriarch and his charges were black, Georgetown basketball might even have been a model for the family values rhetoric of the Moral Majority. Race changed everything, however. <PERSON> Georgetown existed in the national imagination as a symbol of black power, and for the white majority, the terms "black power" and "family" did not go together.
How very different the situation is when it comes to Italians. In the American mind, Italian American ethnicity is hardly ever imagined outside sentimentalized, stereotypical notions of "the family." The Italian family, in general, is a cultural figure shaped by myth, desire, and lack—perhaps never more so than in the United States, where tropes of Italian ethnic soulfulness, warmth, and loyalty serve as antidotes to the individualism, materialism, and capitalist instrumentality of the dominant culture. We see this in audience responses to _The Godfather_ and other Italian mob films and television shows, when viciously violent men are romanticized as protectors of their families, and even as sentimental and emotionally vulnerable. We see it in any number of media images of
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at large state universities. The first of these marks was <PERSON>, then still coaching at Iona, a small commuter school in Westchester County, just north of New York City. "Picture this," <PERSON> told the story of their initial meeting:
Two guys named <PERSON> and <PERSON> meeting at La Guardia Airport. <PERSON> reaches into his briefcase. Puts a check on the table. I look at it and say, "What's this for?" He pulls a sneaker out and puts it on the table. Like we were putting a contract out on somebody. He says, "I would like your team to wear this shoe." I said, "How much?" He says, "No. I'll _give_ you the shoes."
The big breakthrough came in the early 1980s when <PERSON> signed up Georgetown's coach <PERSON> just as his team was emerging as a symbol of black authenticity in the burgeoning hip-hop culture. <PERSON> went on to broker endorsement deals with <PERSON> and other black superstars, leading to <PERSON>–directed Nike advertisements that helped make the new black aesthetic of the 1980s central to US corporate consumer culture. Later, after defecting to Adidas, he brokered the multimillion-dollar deal that established teenager <PERSON> as the basketball face of that company (playing on <PERSON>'s "Italian roots" during the negotiation) and maneuvered behind the scenes to help engineer <PERSON>'s much-coveted signing with the Los Angeles Lakers rather than a team in a smaller media market. Meanwhile, <PERSON> tightened down his position as the single most influential force in the college recruiting process as the architect of the shoe company–sponsored summer camp—the ABCD camp—where his friend <PERSON> colorfully channeled his mother's uplift ethos.
Scorned by his critics as an oily "sneaker pimp," <PERSON> fashions himself as an avuncular "counselor" to young players, especially black boys from disadvantaged backgrounds. Why do inner-city kids trust the old white guy? According to sportswriter <PERSON>, "it's for the same reason _Scarface_ and _The Godfather_ are on every NBA player's favorite-movie list. Any minority who has busted his or her butt to succeed and has suffered that you-must-be-crooked look can relate. Any old Italian guy with lots of friends and money must be shady. A young black kid with fresh hip-hop gear and a nice car must be a drug dealer." The black-Italian affinity here is premised on a shared experience of social stigma—of being outside traditional American bourgeois normality—that underwrites a shared code of style, a glamour that carries a whiff of transgression. Hollywood gangster films and sports media are among those many culture industry spectacles that have propagated powerfully influential models of masculinity that run counter to traditional WASP ideals. Basketball's inventor, Presbyterian minister <PERSON>, envisioned the game as an outlet for young white men's moral education in hygiene and Christian virtue, a forge for building character. It has instead become, in the larger cultural framework enabled by its massive media presence, an arena for the display of personality, style, and image.
It is in this respect that sport is a generative and defining space of American consumer capitalism. The story
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<PERSON> and <PERSON> treated me with inordinate solicitude. I had only to glance at a table to have one or the other or both leap to get cigarettes, matches, a newspaper. I grew quite weary of their: "Now you relax—what do you think we're here for?" and was at the same time deeply touched.
One morning, shortly after midnight, I was awakened by the terrifying ferocious barking of the <PERSON>. They were my dogs but even so their vicious roaring made me prickle. I went to the window and looked into the pen. In the dim light I could see the two huge bodies racing from one end of the wire to the other, then snarling, hurling themselves against the barricade. I couldn't believe that anything so benevolent could be so fierce.
I called to <PERSON>, "There must be a prowler at Kerrs."
I stepped to the porch outside our bedroom and looked toward the house next door. The dogs continued roaring, snarling and hurling. "That's a warning if ever I heard one," said <PERSON>. "It makes my blood run cold." He went to the phone and called the police. My eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness and I saw two male figures race across the lawn beside <PERSON>'s study. A voice yelled a curse at the dogs. The men fled across the street and disappeared into the park. One was wearing a dark jacket and light trousers. That was all I could see. We went down to the living room. The dogs quieted. In but a minute or two the squad cars came. <PERSON> called, "They went into the park."
In less than an hour, in all those acres of rocks, trees and shrubs, the police apprehended two drunken young men. They had not effected an entry; the dogs had warned in time. "It's mighty comforting," said <PERSON> as we went back upstairs, "to know that our two gentle pets can be ferocious in time of danger."
Some time later we had the dogs indoors one evening and the house across Beach Avenue was burgled. One of the cops observed: "If <PERSON>' dogs had been out we'd have known about it."
November blew in, blustery, arrogant, and the excited sea spoke harshly and pounded on the sand. The children stayed healthy but I began to have difficulties, similar to those I'd had during previous pregnancies. Dr. <PERSON> sent me to bed with the opinion that I might have to stay there for the duration. There were days when I was not allowed bathroom privileges, a visitor, or a telephone call.
<PERSON>, of course, wrote <PERSON>, who telephoned as soon as she received the letter to say that she was quitting college and coming home. There was good reason for such consideration. It wouldn't be quitting but rather a year's leave. We had gotten a cleaning woman once a week, but <PERSON> was now single-handedly marketing, cooking, washing, ironing, making countless trips up and downstairs with trays for me and, most fatiguing of all, driving two round trips a day, forty
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of coffee. "My own coffee tastes like sheep dip," she said as she poured herself a cup. "I've had an idea," she said lighting one cigarette from another. "<PERSON> does a lot of practice-walking but she doesn't have a real goal, for when she gets to a house she can't go up the steps alone. I've been thinking of how she could walk with a productive purpose."
I sat down opposite her. "So have we—and we haven't come up with a thing."
"See what you think of this. A lawn mower is heavy. Now your lawn isn't flat enough, but if <PERSON> came to my house, she could use the mower for support—no crutches—walk behind it, and cut grass as she walked. A purpose—" she reiterated.
"That's a great idea. We'll try it tomorrow."
From my bedroom window I watched as <PERSON> tried this new approach. So did a lot of people who passed A.M.'s on the way to the beach. <PERSON> had no trouble keeping her balance and though she walked very slowly she was able to push the machine and leave a satisfying wake of mown grass. A couple of hours later they came home and they were both tickled. Walking without crutches and doing something productive.
A.M. stayed for lunch and she and <PERSON> spent a good part of the afternoon congratulating each other. About 5:00 p.m. I left them to go to Futterman's store for some carbon paper. I took my place beside two women standing at the counter. The first woman addressed her companion: "Do you know people named <PERSON>? They live on the corner of Park Avenue across from the beach?"
"I don't think so," the second answered.
The first woman leaned closer to her friend. "I don't think you'd want to," she said in a stage whisper. "Wait 'til I tell you ‥" she paused to make sure she had her partner's full attention. "This morning on the way to the beach, I passed <PERSON>'s house and—" she hesitated impressivley, "she had a _crippled child_ cutting her grass!" She slapped her hands to her temples, "Imagine!"
" _No!_ " gasped her companion.
" _Yes!_ " with happy malice. "Isn't that _awful!_ "
My laughter bubbled, then burst. They hadn't taken any notice of me before, but now they turned and watched me with amazed excitement. I finally controlled my sobbing hilarity, wiped my streaming eyes, introduced myself as the cripple's mother and went on to explain what a truly wonderful idea the grass cutting had been.
As I talked, the speaker looked to the right of me, to the left of me, and over my head. A deep flush suffused her neck and face and she clasped and unclasped the catch on her handbag. I began to feel sorry for her. I tendered some comfort, "We all misjudge when we don't understand—and so often we can't understand. Please don't be upset." I then negated by giggling whatever solace I might have offered.
She gulped and fled, her companion walking hesitantly in her wake.
As soon
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killed when a miner accidentally knocked a wire onto a trolley rail and ignited a flash fire. Rescuers needed 644 days to recover the bodies.)
By his seventeenth birthday, <PERSON> had concluded that coal mining was a dead end. He tried to punch his way out of it.
The one tool his older brothers had shown him how to use was his fists, and <PERSON> turned out to be a tough boxer. His reach was long, and he was skilled at withstanding punishment. He was patient. He threw few wild punches. After a full shift underground at the mine, he trained by running home. Sometimes between rounds he hacked up a wad of black mucus, but many of his opponents did the same. Within a few months, <PERSON> had won enough matches to advance beyond the local Golden Gloves. At the regional tournament in Pittsburgh, though, trouble struck. In a pre-fight health checkup, the ring doctor discovered that <PERSON> suffered from a heart murmur. That disqualified him from any more boxing. Boxing was yet another path that would not lead out.
By 1933, life beyond the Powhatan mine looked as grim as life inside. Across the country, 100,000 people a week were losing their jobs, and one of every four Americans lived in a house with no regular wage earner. As many as two million Americans wandered the country homeless. Tens of thousands of people settled in cardboard shantytowns in New York's Central Park, in Chicago, St. Louis, Los Angeles, and Seattle. Almost half of the nation's 25,000 banks had failed, wiping out savings accounts of nine million people. Food riots erupted in Minneapolis, Oklahoma City, San Francisco, and central Arkansas.
And that was just the man-made depression. On the Great Plains, where <PERSON>'s father had grown up, Mother Nature had vanquished any thoughts of the family returning. Drought and wind had conspired to turn more than 100 million acres of farmland into a Dust Bowl of despair. The natural disaster left a half million Americans both homeless and jobless. Billowing mile-high walls of black dirt clouds had blotted out the sun half a continent away in the Ohio River Valley. As if Appalachia needed the world any darker.
At home, <PERSON> expected more cuts at the mine and more bottles from his father. He needed a new direction.
In September 1935, <PERSON> joined a buddy for a weekend trip twenty miles up the Ohio River, to Wheeling, West Virginia. The plan was to cut loose, drink whiskey, and meet girls. Then the buddy persuaded him to stop inside a military recruiting office.
The more <PERSON> heard about the U.S. Army, the more he liked. Being a soldier was a job, a steady job, and it was above ground where you could breathe deep and see the sun. Sure, the military was all about confronting danger, but this was peacetime. America was still weary from the last world war, and <PERSON> knew no one who had the appetite for another. Could his odds of being killed in the peacetime Army really be
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daughters. Regardless of his native country, a long-deployed soldier could not help but be moved by a man bidding farewell to a three-month-old daughter he had never met. They also were struck by the one undisputed truth: Neither the American GI nor the Japanese Army surgeon wanted to be on Attu.
In the aftermath of the battle, soldiers learned even more about <PERSON> and his background. As the Americans sorted through the detritus of war, they found other possessions of the Japanese surgeon that gave them pause.
The first was <PERSON>'s personal Bible. Inscribed with the doctor's favorite verse, "Choose life," the recovered scripture made <PERSON> doubt his belief that the enemy in the Pacific was a pagan murderer. Just as in Japan, military brass in the United States did little to discourage racist hatred of the enemy. The realization that a Japanese and American soldier could share the same religion made <PERSON> think twice about exactly who he was trying to kill.
Second was <PERSON>'s address book, which also was found on the battlefield. It was written partially in English, and contained the names and addresses for dozens of his former college and medical school classmates in California and across the United States. <PERSON> had more contact information for Americans than <PERSON>. The <PERSON> address book made <PERSON> wonder even more about what he had done on Attu. His body had survived war, but his conscience battled on.
## 16
* * *
## Fog
The Japanese stationed 6,000 troops on Kiska, and the extra manpower allowed them to convert the island into a fortress, with miles of tunnels, an underground mess hall and hospital, an airfield, submarine base, seaplane base, observation tower, and antiaircraft guns around the perimeter. In other words, on Kiska, the Japanese had twice the troop strength of Attu, but with many multiples more weaponry.
Both the United States and Japan were determined to learn some lessons from the Battle of Attu.
For the United States, this meant steady leadership, a marked improvement in cold-weather gear for troops; longer and better training for the harsh Aleutians climate; much greater support via Air Force and Navy bombing; and a vast increase in troop numbers.
For the Japanese, it meant an audacious trick.
<PERSON> and the other survivors of Company H spent the weeks after the Battle of Attu trying to make the island livable. They built a camp. They hauled in supplies. They ate hot food and drank hot coffee. They nursed back their feet and hands and ears and everything else that had turned black and frostbitten. And they slept.
For the first few days it was hard to describe what <PERSON> did at night as sleep. It was a surrendering to exhaustion, an unconsciousness, even a hibernation. He would awake with a jolt and not know where he was. He felt like he had crawled into an extremely deep and dark cave.
And then the nightmares started.
Always there was fog and foreboding. Sometimes he saw his runner approaching. Other times a pile of Japanese
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sugar, so it's a good idea to check the label before buying to avoid, if possible.
**SERVES** 6 | **PREPARATION** 5 minutes | **COOKING** 8–10 minutes
---|---|---
185g/6½oz/ heaped 1 cup mixed unsalted nuts and seeds such as walnuts, Brazils, almonds, cashews, hazelnuts, sunflower seeds and pumpkin seeds
1 tbsp reduced-salt soy sauce (no added sugar)
1 Preheat the oven to 160°C/315°F/Gas 3. Place your chosen selection of nuts on a baking tray and roast in the preheated oven for about 6 minutes.
2 Add the seeds and turn until combined, then roast for another 2–4 minutes until they smell toasted and are light golden. Keep an eye on them because they can burn easily.
3 Remove the nuts and seeds from the oven and transfer them to a bowl. Leave to cool slightly, then drizzle the soy sauce over the top and turn the nuts and seeds with a spoon until they are coated all over. Serve.
_Storage_
Can be stored in an airtight container for up to 1 week.
**Health Benefits**
Pumpkin seeds are one of the few foods that provide useful amounts of both healthy omega-3 and omega-6 fats. They are also a good source of iron – essential for new blood cells – and zinc, which benefits the health of the skin, hair and nails.
_Food Facts per Portion_
Calories 188kcal • Total Carbs 3.4g • total sugar 1g • added sugar 0g
**Variation**
For spicy nuts and seeds, replace the soy sauce with a spice mix of your choice – Cajun spices are particularly good. After the nuts and seeds have been toasted, transfer them to a bowl and sprinkle over 1 tsp Cajun spice blend. Using a spoon, turn the nuts and seeds until coated.
## Indian-spiced Pulses
Chickpeas/garbanzo beans, when roasted, make tasty, crunchy little snacks, and are lower in fat than nuts or crisps. Carotina oil gives a wonderful golden colour to the pulses, but you could use olive oil instead.
**SERVES** 4 | **PREPARATION** 10 minutes | **COOKING** 1 hour
---|---|---
400g/14oz tinned chickpeas/garbanzo beans in water, drained and rinsed
1 tbsp carotina oil or olive oil
½ tsp low-sodium salt
1½–2 tsp tandoori spice mix
1 Preheat the oven to 170°C/325°F/Gas 3. Line a plate with kitchen paper and pour the pulses on top. Pat dry with another sheet of kitchen paper.
2Tip the pulses into a bowl and add the oil, salt and tandoori spice mix. Stir until the pulses are coated in the spicy oil mix.
3Spread the pulses over a baking sheet in an even layer and roast in the preheated oven for 1 hour or until crisp, turning them occasionally. Remove from the oven and leave to cool before serving.
_Storage_
Can be stored in an airtight container for up to 3 days.
**Health Benefits**
Chickpeas/garbanzo beans, like other pulses, are high in soluble fibre, stabilize blood-sugar levels and help to lower cholesterol. Their potassium content helps to balance body fluids.
Carotina oil is a combination of red palm oil and canola oil and provides more vitamin E
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complex carbs, low-fat protein and a small amount of healthy fats is recommended, not forgetting plenty of fruit and veg.
• Drink alcohol in moderation, and avoid drinking it on an empty stomach – not only is it high in sugar but it can also adversely affect blood-sugar levels.
• Check food labels (see Read the Label, page 13) to avoid hidden sugars.
### GLYCAEMIC INDEX AND GLYCAEMIC LOAD
The foundation of most low-carb diets, the glycaemic index (GI) is a way of working out how a food is likely to affect blood-sugar levels. All carbs have a ranking of 0 to 100. The lower a food's GI, the longerit takes to be digested and the smaller the rise in blood-sugar levels and insulin response. Foods with a high GI value have a more dramatic affect on blood-sugar levels, leading to yo-yoing energy levels, hunger pangs, mood swings and tiredness. There are some surprises in the GI: processing; ripeness of fruit; cooking; fat and protein and fibre content will all influence the rating.
One criticism of the glycaemic index is that some foods with a high GI may not necessarily contain a lot of carbohydrates, since the scale was formulated on a standard weight of carbohydrate (50g/2oz) and not based on an individual serving. For example, in the case of carrots, which contain only 7 per cent carbs, you would have to consume an unrealistic quantity to reach 50g/2oz carbohydrate content.
Consequently, the glycaemic load (GL) was created to take into account the amount of carbohydrate present in a single serving, and it is seen as a more balanced indicator of sugar content. You can, therefore, control your glycaemic response by eating low GI foods as well as by restricting your intake of carbs.
**GI levels of added sugars:** | |
---|---|---
Glucose | 100
Regular sugar (sucrose) | 65
Molasses | 60
Honey | 58
Maple syrup | 54
Fructose | 13–19
Agave syrup | 11–19
Xylitol | 7–13
### READ THE LABEL
Food labels can be a minefield, especially when it comes to working out how much sugara food contains. There are usually two figures for carbohydrates: 'Total carbohydrates xxg... Of which sugars xxg". Look for the latter figure. Some manufacturers unhelpfully omit this information, often if the food is high in sugar! If so, take a look at the ingredients lists to see if sugars have been added.
The figure given on the nutritional panel is usually the amount of total sugars in the food. It may include natural sugars from fruit as well as added refined sugars. So a food containing lots of fruit could well be a healthierchoice than one that contains lots of added sugars, even if the product contains a similaramount of total sugars. Check the ingredients list to see whether a food contains lots of added sugar or whether its sweetness comes from a natural source such as fruit.
Added sugar must be included in the ingredients list, which always starts with the largest ingredient first. Now sugar comes undermany guises: anything ending in
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589d2e45-6391-f548-0825-38938db76f4c
|
['5bb43dcb-13c8-452c-7a11-081eb95961a7']
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around whole systems thinking – a kind of osteopathy for the garden – which utilises the patterns and features found in natural ecosystems. The herb spiral is the perfect place to see – and demonstrate – the principles of permaculture at work. While not technically something that you will put in your shed, much of the building and planning elements are best done in a dedicated space.
This is basically a rockery designed to make the most out of the differing light and shade conditions, and different temperatures, you can create in your garden. Different plants have different needs, and by creating a spiral that is raised in the centre, spiralling down to ground level, lots of microclimates are created, some sunny and moist – for plants like basil – and some cooler – for plants like parsley – thereby catering to a range of species.
Plan out a 2-metre diameter spiral – this should be enough space to wind around a couple of times. Start with a cone of soil and rubble about 60 centimetres high. Then lay out the spiral design with whatever material is on hand, so stones, old bricks or bottles. Add soil in varied ways to provide weed protection, compost fertilising, moisture retention and air.
When planting the spiral, consider how each plant might affect the rest of the spiral, as some herbs don't like each other.
Consider putting a small pond near where the spiral spills out onto the ground. This will provide a good habitat for the frogs which will keep the area pest-free. It's also a good water source for plants like mint, which love water.
## 71.
Home observatory
The stargazing community may pray firstly for clear skies – generally, the best time for stargazing is when the moon is in a crescent or gibbous phase – and it's best to get to know the galaxy with binoculars and an old-fashioned chart.
Technology, however, allows us a deeper glimpse into space, and the modern astronomer will build a split shed, with a 'warm room' for computers (used for processing images), and an open area for your powerful telescope. You may wish to engineer your shed roof, so the open area is cunningly exposed by a roof segment that rolls away, on supported rails.
## 72.
Beekeeping log
The most ancient beekeeping likely involved adapting a hollow tree: the earliest recorded log hive was found in Switzerland, circa 3380 BC. You can recreate this primitive husbandry by suspending a chopped log from a tree, or by propping it up.
Typically your log should be around 1.5 metres long, with a girth of about 60 centimetres. You will need to clean it up before tempting the bees. Firstly use fire to hollow out the log. Start by drilling a hole right through the length of the log, starting at one end, with a long drill bit. Then prop it up at an angle and light a small fire at the base. You can direct the flames into the hole, and speed
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852158a1-23a5-ab16-746c-f394af831aed
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|
go unquestioned.
There were three more witnesses. Mrs. <PERSON>, resentful and angry not only at <PERSON>'s questions but because he kept her under a curb, forever checking her runaway tongue, nevertheless admitted that during the months while <PERSON> waited for her baby, <PERSON> left her alone almost every afternoon. 'And why wouldn't he?' she demanded. 'With her forever . . .'
'Wait, <PERSON> warned her. 'Just answer the questions, please. Now when was the baby expected to be born?'
'The doctor said May; but if you ask me . . .'
'The doctor said May. Did Mr. <PERSON> in March and April spend more time at home?'
'I tell you, she wouldn't let him. And at the last of it, when she was trying to . . .'
'How often did he leave her alone in April?'
'Right along. She got rid of him because she was trying to . . .'
'Twice a week? Four times? Everyday?'
'She got him out of the house so she could paint, and run up and down . . .'
'I'm asking you only what he did.
'Well, I'm a-telling you what she did; and I ain't told the half of it. Walking herself into . . .'
<PERSON> interrupted, himself angry now. <PERSON> understood completely what the old woman was trying to say; and he found himself for the moment on <PERSON>'s side, hoping the State Attorney would be able to silence her eager tongue.
'You'll tell me only what I ask you,' <PERSON> insisted. 'Nothing more.'
'Sleep-walking my foot!' the old woman exclaimed, and tossed her head, and <PERSON> said:
'You leave it that up to the day the baby was stillborn, Mr. <PERSON> left the house practically every day. Is that correct?'
'I said so, didn't I? But she . . .'
<PERSON> said curtly: 'That is all.'
'You mean you ain't going to let me . . .'
'That is all,' <PERSON> insisted, and looked at Mr. <PERSON>, and the big man came to his feet. But before he could move away from the table, <PERSON> caught his sleeve, and Mr. <PERSON> turned back. <PERSON> whispered:
'Let her go.'
<PERSON> looked doubtful. 'She's trying to tell something. The jury wants to hear it.'
'Let her go,' <PERSON> insisted. From this at least <PERSON> could be saved. 'She blamed <PERSON> for losing the baby,' he explained. 'But don't let her say so, please.'
<PERSON> caught <PERSON>'s eye, and she agreed. 'Yes, let her go.'
So <PERSON>, though with obvious reluctance, said: 'No questions.' Mrs. <PERSON> started to speak, but caught <PERSON>'s eye and was silenced; and <PERSON> called:
'<PERSON>.'
She was the maid who had served <PERSON> and Mrs. <PERSON> in Boston, and she said <PERSON> came regularly to see them, that he did not always see Mrs. <PERSON>, saw sometimes only <PERSON>.
Then Mr. <PERSON>, grunting and grumbling at the necessity of thus openly discussing the private affairs of his clients, took the stand to explain in detail how Professor <PERSON>'s estate had come almost intact into <PERSON>'s hands.
'Now,
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878f526b-e888-8dfd-df3d-bbbb45d8c295
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['5c342d9f-79c8-2518-66a5-46829e54ff7a']
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their analysis and that his models prove his hypothesis that the stem turtle could retract its head and extremities, making it an even closer relative to <PERSON>. "The initial evolution of neck retraction," he and his colleagues assert, "occurred in a near synchrony with the origin of the turtle shell as a place to hide the unprotected neck." But unless fossilized Proganochelys remains are found with legs and head pulled into the shell, the theory will remain just that.
Turtles, says <PERSON> when we meet, help people understand evolution. "If they see a turtle, they see evolution. The world changed but the turtle did not." Ever the scientist, researcher <PERSON> also displays a poet's approach to his field of study. "Sometimes turtles offer a little smile," he reports, "a smile that projects the wisdom of the earth."
Not that there aren't turtles today that can't do the head-in-shell maneuver. I met one—appropriately named the big-headed (Platysternon megacephalum)—when I ventured into that endangered turtle's Hong Kong range. There's simply no space in its shell for its big head; its bone-hard skull provides compensatory armor. Snapping turtles and alligator snapping turtles cannot retract their heads and legs into their shells. The aggressive snappers lure and stalk prey, counting on their nasty dispositions and vigorous sharp bite to combat enemies. With their armored legs and dragon-spike shells, snappers look closely related to Proganochelys. Today's sea turtles cannot retract their heads and legs either; they need their big flippers for efficient swimming and evolved with a streamlined body lacking adequate space to accommodate retracted extremities. The leatherback sea turtle and various softshell turtles—as their names suggest—do not sport hard Proganochelys-legacy carapaces.
Turtles live in the water, tortoises on the land, and terrapins commute between the two. They all bite with their beaks and chew without the help of teeth. The shell on the turtle and tortoise back—that trademark carapace—can be high-domed or all but flat and everything in between, depending on what a species needs in order for it to fit where it lives and protect against whatever predators may chase it. The carapace is the backbone and ribs spread out, fused together, and filled in solid by bony scutes that create the intriguing surface patterns prized by turtle collectors. Females stash sperm after they copulate, allowing them to lay fertile egg clutch after egg clutch without needing to engage another fellow. And the sex of their offspring is determined by the temperature where their eggs incubate: the hotties are female, the cool are male. Hence climate change influences the male-female ratio.
Turtles and tortoises are as varied as they are extraordinary. The critically endangered Australian white-throated snapper sucks in oxygen via the same rear-end opening—its cloaca—that it uses for excretion, mating, and laying its eggs. The Chinese softshell turtle voids urine through its mouth. The North American alligator snapping turtle sticks out a wormlike tongue appendage, tricking fish to follow it into its mouth. The South American red-footed tortoise clucks like a chicken. The Eastern musk turtle scares off attackers by releasing the odor that
|
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strolling around his house, basking under his lamp, wandering into his dark room. Or is he restless?
I cannot imagine he knows I've been thinking about saying good-bye and about his upcoming return trip to Arizona.
Now he is up high on his hind legs, scratching with his front legs at the wall, reaching his head toward his basking lamp. It is disconcerting for me to watch after seeing him so passive for so long. But I'm hoping he's just enjoying a stretch, getting some exercise, seeking more warmth from the lamp. Now he's on his hot pad again, just basking. That makes me feel better about his state of mind—whatever mind he may enjoy.
NINE
THE PITIFUL CASUALTIES
— Hare-Brained Cowboy Meets Tortoise —
"If you ain't a Nevadan you ain't shit," reads the text on a chipped enamel lapel pin I wore with pride when I lived in the Battle Born state. Nevadans idolize the myth of the independent Western character, a character free of the burdens and restrictions so many governments place on their citizens. When I moved up to Nevada from California, I embraced that legend—from the gun rack in the cab of my '56 Chevy pickup to the go-cups (legal in those Wild West days) where the End of the Trail saloon bartenders in Dayton would pour my tequila-and-tonics to help fuel my after-the-parties drives home.
The official Nevada reptile is a crusty and wizened curmudgeon that looks somewhat like a sun-weathered and wrinkled Nevada cowboy. That state reptile, the Mojave desert tortoise (Gopherus agassizii), looks a lot like old <PERSON>, the addled cattle rancher who likes to sport a copy of the U.S. Constitution in his cowboy shirt pocket despite the fact that, based on his seemingly endless orations to TV cameras in the spring 2014, he couldn't pass a grammar school civics course.
For those lucky enough to have missed <PERSON>'s fifteen minutes of Warholian fame (which unfortunately lasted much more than his allotted fifteen minutes), here's a brief primer on his antics (and a tip of the sweat-stained Stetson to reporter <PERSON> at The Washington Post, who assembled a <PERSON> timeline). The drama dates to 1989 when the desert tortoise was added to the Endangered Species List. Four years later the Bureau of Land Management set aside tracts of federal land—including one known as Gold Butte in southern Nevada—in an effort to preserve habitat for the tortoise. Ranchers—including <PERSON>—were ordered to end cattle grazing on those public lands—grazing that required both a permit and a fee. <PERSON> continued to run his cattle on the protected Gold Butte public land in defiance of the rules. He ceased paying federal grazing fees and he refused to pay the fines levied against him for the violations. <PERSON> kept a-grazin'—claiming rights to the land based on his family's long history using it, along with his rejection of federal government authority over public land. In the summer of 2013 the BLM informed him that its officers were going to round up his livestock.
That's the point when
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us in the church where everyone shouted.
We started selling and counting. Anything from earthworms and bottles to paper shell pecans. She saved green stamps and we ate pinto beans from dented cans. She found a house with bramble bushes. We found a lovely alley made dizzy circles. We found a house with attic rooms. A magic chef in the kitchen and a genie to keep it clean. We kept moving until we moved the neighbors out. They ran to Runaway Bay. They hid at Hideaway Lake. Those neighbors who were not neighborly, who didn't want us for neighbors.
The nuns were smart teachers, but she didn't care for them. They didn't care for her and called her friend a guttersnipe. The nuns in their brick _pan dulce_ magnolia convent, their virgin rose _tortilla de maiz_ garden grotto, their _Carnicería Chapultepec_ chapel. These nuns don't talk Spanish, you could say French. Parlor fluent frenchy, jumble lying crawfish pie filling gumball. They taught girls to knit. They taught her to hit the piano. They taught all the girls to say hell merry fuller grays, dolores wit chew, blast duh art dower mung wimmen, blast dis fruit uh duh loom, cheez whiz. <PERSON>, dull party, dull filly, dull spitter shoo sanity. I am my mother's daughter who put me in the water to see if I could swim. My hair went back to Africa. I baptize thee. Hiccup, hiccup, hiccup.
High school was a bluster. She wasn't a bother. High school was a thick brick. She was knocked out. High school was too high, she was too low. High school was too low, she was too high. High school was too many schedules she crashed. Who could remember the combination. High school was hormones and hers were a moan, she wasn't a whore or a harmed one. No one was too harsh. High school was hot, she wasn't cool. She loved the books and not the boys. They moved too much, they blur. Too many books on her head, her leaky calendar. Too much gossip, her unlocked locker. Too much mother, she wouldn't hop. She wasn't a case of textbooks. Never that. She was a cartoon. She was a poem. Anyone would stutter trying to recite.
After perusing all the pamphlets, she went where she had been, where she knew how. It was a place she knew she could. So big no one would notice in a green location. She knew the uniforms, not the sunbathers. She kept her eye on the tower, rehearsed her sitting ducks. She believed the room was haunted, the furniture walked. Her friend had gone to a school where she misplaced her mind. She never found her friend again, her box of comprehension. There were new girls now, the ones who ironed tortillas and made beans drunk. They knew that _sopa_ isn't soap, _ropa_ isn't rope, and butter is meant to kill ya.
If only she could play bid whist, if only she could tell someone. If only she had only eaten cassava, not listened to so much jazz.
|
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chip's going down? To Cuisinart our metaphors once again, let's just say that <PERSON>'s liquid protein diet could use some roughage to help with his next smooth move. A bloodsucker's got to worry about irregularity. So pollsters press the pulse, take specimens of the blood count. Pundits pooh-pooh as law and order candidate <PERSON> leaves his potty to go on a turd-pooty ticket: Libertarian runs on avowal movement platform. The result will be a better grade of guano piling up in the bat cave. Our constipation requires frequent amendments to feed the tree of liberty. Can you dig it? Can you dig it? Man, you're digging it with a shovel. When you're all pooped out, we're just breaking a second wind.
## She Swam On from Sea to Shine
Hide and seek, where the tree decided to sleep was where she ran. She ran away with a ruckus. The baby girl was stolen by a tipsy woman came to take her. Where they found her in the mud. She'd stolen a doll. Her doll got sick, she died. The brown doll from her father. The pink doll came from somewhere else. She had drowsy eyes like marbles. The rabbit was painted on the furniture in the room with pom-pom curtains. The pig slept at her grandmother's. The pig that ate money, not the country pig that ate molasses and sunglasses. Where her mother kept a canoe and paddle. Where stiff lace stood, in the city not the country, where they fed their stinky sheep. Paper shell pecans, climb high. Sweet figs and green plums in forbidden backyards.
She remembers sleeping on a train. She remembers a long sleep, rocking, rocking. She had her dress on all the way. Asleep, diving into dreams. Salty and warm, like ocean, like broth. Another time she slept, she dreamed of rats. When she woke up, the kittens were all killed. We're in a photograph with a handsome man smiling. Seersucker suits are what to wear in summer. That other man I don't remember, the one who made your hair fall. That's when the doctor said you need a root. You need your roots. You need a doctor who knows roots and will root for you. That's how we all got better. That's how we got to all your exes live in Texas. All the livelong day with the cowgirl you left behind.
Those saxophone streets and scratchy sidewalks. Those Baptist conventions. That steamy summer. The boy who threw tar on me. The boy who made me his tar baby. The one who broke my watch, knocked me down, pushed me over. The boy who threw rocks at me. The boy who lost his foot under the wheels of a train. The boy who bought me ice cream. The girl who was my friend. The girl who wanted to give me a kitten. The girl with burnt hands. The girl whose house was dark. The girl who never wore socks. The girl who said, "Poot on you." I had a ribbon in my hair. I was
|
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the fans up front. They request some of my earlier hits, but most of the songs I'm playing tonight are off our recent album.
"Okay, I have time for one more request," I say to the crowd.
"I have a request," a male voice yells from the front of the bar. I look for the person to come forward, but no one is moving.
"I have a request, I said!"
"Okay, let's hear it," I reply, still waiting for the man to show himself.
"My first request is that you leave my fucking fiancée alone. My second request is that you leave Beaumont and never come back. And my third request of the night is that you tell your son how much of a fucking loser you are so that when you leave, he won't fucking hate me for driving you out of town."
Drunk people suck.
<PERSON> is finally in view, he's swaying from side to side. He has a friend on each side trying to get him to sit down. Everyone in the bar is quiet, half looking at me, the other half at him.
I strum my guitar to get the crowd's attention.
"Can't you answer me, <PERSON>?"
"No, <PERSON>. This isn't the time or place."
"Let's go outside then hot shot."
I shake my head and remove my guitar. "Sorry guys, show's over. But don't forget about the benefit concert we'll be doing."
I pack up my guitar and keyboard as <PERSON> apologizes in my ear about <PERSON>. I tell him not to worry about <PERSON>, that he's drunk. I look around the bar for him, but he's gone so I decide to call it a night.
When I step outside he's leaning against a truck. I'm in no mood to talk to him if he's like this. I set my gear in the backseat and turn to face him. He's sauntering over to me, unable to walk a straight line.
"Where are your buddies?"
"I don't need them to kick your ass, Westbury."
"I'm not fighting you," I say as I move away from my car.
"Well, I want to fight you. I need to fight for my family. Ever since you showed up here, it's all <PERSON> this and <PERSON> that. My dad this, my dad that. I'm his fucking dad, not you. I raised him. I cleaned up the skinned knees and taught him how to play football all while you were off screwing half the female population.
"And my soon to be wife... god what a bitch she's been all because of you—"
"Don't call her a bitch, <PERSON>. You're drunk and you're going to regret it." I pull out my phone and text <PERSON> telling her that she needs to come get him before something bad happens.
"You left her. I picked up the pieces. I waited patiently for her to look in my direction and when she finally did, I was so happy. But no, you had to come back and screw shit up for us. She loves me, not you so
|
657958b4-f537-e43c-55cf-4bc196c259bb
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long-term commitment, and I'd give anything to change that view, especially where <PERSON> is concerned. Having him in my life, in <PERSON>'s, is a dream I wish for and I know with one sentence I can change everything.
But he'd hate me and I'd rather leave knowing that <PERSON> is taken care of. She's the only reason I'm doing this. Next week, we'll move into our own place and start a life that will be healthier than what we're doing now.
As soon as we arrived back from our day trip, <PERSON> went to the office, leaving me to sit and think. It's been almost two weeks since I've seen my baby and I miss her.
"Hey," <PERSON> says when she answers. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Second time you've called today. Either you're calling because you're really homesick or you're calling to tell me you aren't coming home." She sighs, before continuing. "And if you told me that, I'd tell you that I love you, but you need to come home."
"I'm coming home, <PERSON>. I promise."
"That's good. Do you want to tell me what's going on there?"
I shake my head, even though she can't see me. "I can't," I tell her, letting my thoughts wander a bit too much as I look out over the Vegas skyline. I could see myself living here, with <PERSON>, but we'd be alone and that's something I can't do to her. As much as I hate to admit it, I depend on <PERSON> and my mother to help out.
"Are you in trouble?"
"No, I'm not. I'm fine, <PERSON>. More than fine, really. And I'll be home tomorrow. Will you be able to pick me up?"
"Tomorrow?"
"Yeah, I need..." I don't know what I need except to get away from <PERSON> and the hold that he has over me. It's starting to take shape. My mind and body want more than he'll ever offer. Not that I expect him to change, but there is hope. "I need to be home."
"Okay, yeah, <PERSON> and I will be there."
"Speaking of, is she still awake?"
"Hang on." <PERSON> calls out for <PERSON> as I wait patiently, checking over my shoulder every few seconds, wondering if <PERSON> will come barging in. I know he's heard me saying <PERSON>'s name and believes that she's a man. I let him think that because I know it gives him some perverse pleasure thinking he's taking me away from someone else.
"Hi, <PERSON>."
My eyes close at the sound of her voice. Tomorrow, she and I will be cuddled up in a bed in some hotel because I refuse to go back to my mother's. The money <PERSON> has given me is more than enough to give us a fresh start at a new life. I don't know what I'm going to do yet, but after tonight, stripping is no longer an option for me. I want to find a career that <PERSON> can tell her friends about.
"Hey, baby. One more day."
"I know. I'm excited."
"Me
|
6850249d-30d6-dd90-621a-541f466cd239
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['5c74aced-dcac-a948-8995-fbc59989aeb3']
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out of the predicament in which he found himself. He could not use trails because of the extreme depth of snow, but in his mind he had a clear mental map of the slope down which he had to travel. It was made up of the impressions he had gathered before the darkness of snow-blindness settled over him.
Carrying a long staff, he set out on snowshoes to find the blaze marks on the trees which he had made on his forward journey. Making his way from tree to tree he thrust an arm into the snow, feeling the bark of the trees until he discovered the mark of the blaze. He resorted to the trees for the points of the compass. In his study of tree distribution he had learned that, in this locality, canyons running east and west carried limber pines on the wall that faced south and <PERSON> spruce on the wall that faced north. With limber pines on his left and <PERSON> spruces on his right he was now satisfied that he was traveling eastward and should be on the eastern side of the range. To check this, he examined the lichen growth of low-lying boulders and the moss which encircled the trunks of trees, concluding that the surrounding area must be such as to admit light freely from all quarters.
To get an idea of the topography of the canyon he shouted, noting from which direction the echoes came, their intensity and the cross replies—concluding from these that he was going into the head of a deep forest-walled canyon.
In the night a snowslide almost smothered him as he made his way and progress was made more difficult by the enormous rock masses and entanglements of fallen branches and leaves.
Suddenly he caught the scent of smoke, which he recognized as that of aspen, a wood burned in the cookstoves of the mountain people. Under favorable conditions a person with a keen sense of smell can detect aspen wood smoke for a distance of two or three miles. Going forward in the direction from which the wind was blowing, he emerged from the woods where the smoke was strongest and knew that human habitation was near. In fear of passing it, he stopped to use his ears. As he stood listening, a little girl gently, curiously asked: "Are you going to stay here tonight?"
## Chapter 2
## _How Early Man Found His Way_
"FOR TWENTY-FOUR HOURS there have passed by the ship a great many pieces of wood and fruits that we do not know; the sea is calmed down in spite of the strong wind from the south-east and these circumstances combine to convince us that there is land close by to the south-east of us."
In those words <PERSON> told, nearly two hundred years ago, how he knew that he was near the coast of Australia (although it was out of sight) on his famous voyage round the world. <PERSON>, like all great early explorers, kept a log, and like nearly
|
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|
there are some, such as the common spruce, the firs and the pyramid poplars, which usually remain straight and are uniformly branched on all sides in spite of uneven illumination. The cedars also remain straight unless they are very tall, when they have a tendency to bend towards the strongest light.
Cypresses and farm building in Provence in France. Note the large cypress tree with its bulge of greater growth on the southeast side, sheltered from the Mistral. Also of interest is the symmetrical shape of the small cypress sheltered by the large tree. The leafless trees in the foreground, on each side of the building, show the retarding effect of the dominant wind on the northwest side. The door of the farm building, on the sheltered southeast side, is typical of the Provence region. All of these features combine to give very positive evidence of direction to the traveler
So far we have considered only the separate effects of the wind and the direction of greatest sunlight on the growth and shape of trees. It is also necessary for the pathfinder to observe the combined effects of wind and light. In some cases these two influences will combine to intensify the effect; in other cases, one reduces the other. The sun has the stronger influence on some kinds of trees, the wind on others.
Early in 1955, my wife and I made a leisurely trip by car from the south of France through Belgium and Holland for the express purpose of observing and photographing the directional characteristics of trees. Similar observations were made in England and in the eastern United States. Following winding roads from the Mediterranean coast to Holland, we had no difficulty at any time in determining north, south, east and west by observing the trees through the car windows.
Through Provence in the south of France that chilling wind, the Mistral, blows from the northwest. The farmers in this region call the wind the "mud-eater" (" _mange fange_ ") because its dry, cold gusts have the effect of drying up the ground. The farmhouses of Provence (locally known as " _mas_ ") are built with their backs to the northwest, the direction of the Mistral, and have a minimum of windows on that side. The houses are usually sheltered from the wind by a row of cypresses which also shield the gardens. The position of these windbreaks would make it very easy for anyone to tell his directions, for they are naturally aligned northeast-southwest. The Mistral has a striking effect on the growth of individual trees, although it blows only for four or five days at a time, intermittently, during the winter. Every cypress in an exposed or unprotected position shows its bulge of greater growth on that part of the tree which is sheltered from the wind. Although trees in Central Europe actually receive the full benefit of the sun from morning to evening on the southern side, the wind's effects on their growth is much more pronounced than that of the sun. However, the decidedly greater
|
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found a concrete slab. He bent down and picked it up.
"Hold onto the cat, and I'll throw this at her."
"Isn't there any other way?"
"No. Just do as I tell you."
<PERSON> picked up the cat and held it around the stomach.
"Hurry up. This is real heavy."
"Go ahead. Just don't hit me."
<PERSON> held the slab and kept it poised for a few seconds.
"I'll count to three, then throw it. Ready. One . . . two . . ."
The cat sensed the danger. It's body suddenly regained its flexibility and, escaping from <PERSON>'s grasp, it jumped, landed two yards away, and disappeared into the bushes.
"What a jerk you are! You let her go!"
"I couldn't hold onto her. I don't know how she got away."
<PERSON> dropped the slab and sat down on the ground. <PERSON> was petrified. A minute later he began talking.
"We've got to go look for her. She's alive, and she's going to make her way back home."
"Now we really blew it. Call her and see if she'll come."
"Do you think she will?"
He did not know how long they looked for her, crawled through the bushes, dug into every corner of the park, called to her only to be heard by crickets, frogs, birds: the other sounds of the night that shielded the cat.
Exhausted and frightened, <PERSON> said good-bye to <PERSON>. He walked home with the fear of finding the cat in the armchair as always (the soft, elastic, immortal cat with nine gray lives).
<PERSON> was playing cards when <PERSON> arrived. The boy explained that there were a lot of people at the veterinarian's office and he had been the last to be called. <PERSON> attributed <PERSON>'s upset to the disagreeable nature of the task she had given him to do, one she should have done herself.
<PERSON> found him awake, sleepless, drenched in sweat under the twisted sheets. Every little sound seemed to be the cat's step. He stood up, grabbed the twenty-peso bill, and tore it to pieces in front of the window. The wind dispersed the little bits of paper but did not rid him of the fear. He sat on the edge of the bed and tried to dream or to wake up from the dream . . . In the other room, <PERSON> opened her eyes and searched by her side for the imprint of another's weight, of the soft, firm body she used to polish with caresses: slow, useless caresses that spent her, helped her to forget the days.
# THE CAPTIVE
At six o'clock in the morning an earthquake shook the entire town from top to bottom. We ran out into the streets fearing that the houses were going to topple down on top of us. And once we were outside, we were afraid the ground would open up under our feet.
The quake was over, but the women continued to pray. A few alarmists said that there would soon be another one of greater intensity. The general anxiety
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['5cd8c9ea-4a3f-7919-109a-1bdb155c157b']
|
me and said: You can go now, my friend. We'll send the test results to your dad.
My father was sitting solemnly in the waiting room surrounded by worn-out copies of _Life, Look, Holiday_ and glowing proudly because he could read them all fluently. He had just passed, at the top of his class, an adult night course in intensive English, and he studied every day with workbooks and records. It was so strange to see a person of his age—an old man of forty-two!—studying. Very early every morning, after his exercises and before breakfast, he reviewed his irregular verbs: _be, was, were, been; have, had, had; get, got, gotten; break, broke, broken; forget, forgot, forgotten_ ; and he practiced his pronounciation: apple, world, country, people, business. These words came to <PERSON> so naturally and yet were so difficult for my father.
Those were terrible weeks. Only <PERSON> defended me. Wow, you sure got it on! You scored quite some number there. I mean, you start making it now with chicks like her, hot stuff, better than <PERSON>, and what won't you do when you grow up? Hey, man? You're all right: trying to catch some action now before you're really up to it, instead of jerking off. I'm sure glad that neither of us turned into faggots even with so many sisters. But watch your step, <PERSON>; don't let that bastard set his goons on you and break your ass. But <PERSON>, my <PERSON>, it's not such a big deal. The only thing I did was tell her I was in love with her. There's nothing wrong with that. I didn't do anything else. Seriously, I don't understand what all the fuss is about.
You were bound to end up at a school for beggars what with your father's greediness, my mother insisted. He throws money away on _other_ expenses, but when it comes to his own children, he never has any. Can you believe it: letting the son of a woman _like that_ into the school? We must transfer you to a school for our kind of people, from our class. And <PERSON>: But, <PERSON>, what class are you talking about? We are right where we belong: a typical Roman Quarter family on the way down: the essence of the Mexican middle class. <PERSON> is just fine where he is. That school is precisely for people of our class. Where else are you going to put him?
### X Fire Rain
My mother always insisted that our family—that is to say, her family—was one of the best in Guadalajara. Never any scandals like the one I had created. Honorable, hard-working men. Devout women, self-sacrificing wives, exemplary mothers. Obedient and respectful children. Then came the Indian hordes seeking their revenge against decency and good blood. The revolution—the old chieftains, that is—confiscated our ranches and our house on San Francisco Street on the pretext that there were too many <PERSON> in the family. On top of that, my father—who, despite his degree in engineering, was held in contempt for
|
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|
est malade ? On mettra peut-être plusieurs jours à donner l'alerte, enfoncer sa porte. Dans quel état le trouvera-t-on alors, quand tout le sang aura séché, noir. Quand les cafards. Akainu compte l'argent dans sa poche. De quoi tenir une semaine, une dizaine de jours en faisant attention. Il renifle. Il murmure « pardon » sans se retourner et disparaît de nouveau par la fenêtre, prend bien garde qu'il n'y ait personne dans la ruelle lorsqu'il sort de la venelle étroite entre les maisons. C'est difficile de savoir quoi faire de sa tristesse, à quatorze ans.
La maison de geiko
* * *
<PERSON> avait besoin de se trouver un boulot, de se le fabriquer. Investir un peu de son argent pour assurer de quoi vivre quand il viendrait à en manquer – ce qui ne manquerait pas d'arriver, un jour ou l'autre. Un job qui passe inaperçu, que tout le monde puisse faire. Même dur. Un travail qui lui permette de bouger, au cas où.
Il y avait très peu de chances qu'on le retrouve, mais il devait rester prudent. Lorsqu'il avait commencé à se renseigner et à constituer ses dossiers pour comprendre ce qui lui arrivait, ses collègues ne s'étaient doutés de rien. Il passait de bureau en bureau, prétextait une recherche dans un listing particulier pour une affaire qu'il avait dans son portefeuille et pompait un maximum de fichiers sur sa clé en discutant tranquillement du championnat de baseball. Il imprimait le tout en cachette le soir et emportait les rapports et les tableaux chez lui, où il les classait patiemment. Il ne savait pas au juste ce qu'il cherchait. Au début il avait pensé à une erreur qu'il aurait commise, un lien entre un de ses clients et des pertes enregistrées par ailleurs qui lui auraient échappé. La plupart des clients de Kaze étaient eux-mêmes des sociétés d'investissement, des entreprises ou des holdings, parfois des fondations dont une partie de l'activité consistait à placer l'argent que leur rapportait l'autre partie de leur activité, pour la défiscaliser. Il était très difficile de faire des recoupements, parce que les identités de ces fonds se diluaient dans la prise de participation mutuelle qu'ils avaient les uns dans les autres à travers des séries d'investissements réalisés sur des paquets flottants de valeurs. Il y avait très peu de particuliers dans les comptes de la société : on ne gérait que de très grosses sommes. La plupart du temps, ils apparaissaient eux aussi derrière l'écran de holdings ou de fondations. C'étaient les gens avec lesquels son patron dînait une ou deux fois par an.
<PERSON> accumulait les chiffres, essayait de comprendre son erreur. Il n'y en avait pas.
Il se mit à chercher l'identité des clients importants, ceux que le vieux emmenait dans la maison de geiko à Gion, ceux dont il lui avait confié la gestion. Après tout, pourquoi l'avait-il invité là-bas pour le virer ? C'était une dépense inutile ou une cruauté extrêmement perverse. <PERSON> s'était toujours bien entendu avec son chef. Ne devait-il pas plutôt voir là une sorte d'indice
|
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|
qu'on se souvient, dans une pièce fermée, le regard tente de s'échapper. L'avocat fait alors une chose absurde, vraiment idiote : il lui saute dessus.
<PERSON> il essaie de faire ça, parce qu'il est assis dans son gros fauteuil carré, trop bas, son fauteuil chic trop près de sa moquette de riche, ce qui l'oblige à prendre appui sur les accoudoirs et à basculer son dos vers l'avant, dans l'espoir stupide de bondir, trop tard. Le coup est parti presque tout seul.
<PERSON> regarde le corps de l'avocat s'effondrer, le sang qui commence à noircir la moquette. Il y a une drôle d'odeur de poudre dans la pièce, comme pour les feux d'artifice du 15 août.
Tandis qu'il appuie avec un genou dans le dos de l'homme, se penchant sur lui jusqu'à sentir son souffle, au milieu de son long gémissement, il lâche enfin. Un nom, contre l'assurance que Kaze appelle une ambulance.
Il est plein de colère contre lui-même. Il conduit trop vite pour rentrer à l'auberge de la Tortue récupérer ses affaires. Il va falloir disparaître, encore.
Il est trop tard à présent pour revenir en arrière.
Le dernier combat
* * *
Ils sont revenus voir <PERSON>, l'étudiant voyageur. Il leur a donné rendez-vous chez lui, dans la maison de johatsu qu'il occupe alors au bord de la rivière. C'est une maison de style traditionnel, très difficile à chauffer. <PERSON> et <PERSON> arrivent en fin d'après-midi. <PERSON> a préparé un thé, mais il paraît plutôt rassuré lorsque <PERSON> lui demande s'il n'a pas quelque chose de plus alcoolisé. Il sort des verres à saké en plastique, imitation bambou, et deux ou trois _kampaï !_ plus tard, passés à le remercier et à lui faire des compliments en japonais, la conversation peut reprendre au sujet des disparus du Japon, là où ils l'avaient laissée la semaine précédente au café. <PERSON> est joyeux. Il parle légèrement mais sans cynisme du phénomène. Le cynisme n'est pas un trait du discours japonais.
« Il faut que vous sachiez d'abord qu'ici, au Japon, un adulte a légalement le droit de disparaître.
— Il n'y a pas d'enquête de police.
— C'est comme une fugue. On dit _yonige_ , ça veut dire « fuite de nuit ». Dans le fond c'est une sorte de déménagement, mais sans laisser d'adresse.
— Comment fait-on ?
— Je ne sais pas. On part. Il y a des gens qui se font licencier de leur entreprise. Ils ne le disent à personne. Ils ont honte. Leur femme compte sur eux, sur leur travail, pour faire vivre toute la famille. L'éducation des enfants, les cours du soir, la natation, le piano, tout cela coûte excessivement cher. Ils ne savent pas quoi faire, ils continuent de s'habiller, de prendre le métro tous les matins, à l'aube, ils passent la journée dans le quartier de leur ancien travail, dans un parc, parfois en bas de l'immeuble ou juste en face, parce qu'ils n'ont pas vraiment d'autre endroit où aller. Quoi faire ? Ça les rend fous, mais ils se sentent vraiment piégés.
|
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far. Only up to my waist. The shallow end was pleasantly non-threatening and only slightly green: more cabbage than spinach.
'It's the second week! Your legs are still five minutes behind the rest of you. Focus, <PERSON>!'
'I can't control them, <PERSON>. They don't get on with my arms. They want to be different.'
'Next week, it's the deep end. Tell your legs to get ready or you'll have to get a new pair that work properly.'
<PERSON> didn't have the patience required of a teacher. At six, I knew I was stuck with whatever God had given me: legs and swimming instructor. How could I get a new pair of legs? Tuh! <PERSON> was an idiot.
In the third week, panic set in as <PERSON> marched us around to the deep end. It was dark enough to obscure the bottom of the pool. There were probably skeletons down there and a family of skulking creatures that sharpened their teeth on little girls like me. My fears barely subsided as <PERSON> boomed out his lesson to us, a row of spindly children with splotchy skin.
'Today, we'll learn how to dive. Watch me dive into the pool. Watch how I hold my position through the air.'
We watched. He flew like a bullet into the green stuff. High on bravado, he repeated it twice. <PERSON> was a great swimmer. We gasped and admired him. Nothing appeared to be dragging him down into the murk and <PERSON> survived the deep end.
'Now, I want you to line up alongside the pool, equally spaced.'
We did this. <PERSON> wandered down to the end of the line where I was quaking in my costume.
'Focus, <PERSON>! Are you ready?' he shouted from behind me. He must have been five metres back, preparing himself to run at the water again, which was now becoming tiresome. Yes, <PERSON>, we all know you're an expert diver. Bravo.
'Yes, ready . . . again!' I yelled.
I waited for a second. Nothing happened. Oh come on, <PERSON>, stop wasting our money. Dad will be furious with this 'instructor'.
'I'm watching!' I shouted impatiently. Back then, I had confidence.
Come on, <PERSON>!
He pushed me hard from behind. Argh! I was in the water before I knew anything, sinking deep into the emerald pond, the water becoming opaque as the sunlight dimmed, and then black as I sank further. For a second, I couldn't see anything. For a second, I thought maybe I would die.
Fortunately, my direction changed. Upwards! It seemed to take forever. My head emerging from the surface, I thrashed and flailed, but arms and legs somehow co-ordinated into a recognisable stroke, transporting me to the side of the pool, to the safety of dry land, panting furiously as I reached <PERSON>'s outstretched hands.
'You're not dead!' said <PERSON>. 'You see, the water doesn't kill you. Be friendly with the water. It's not your enemy. Now, you can swim!'
'Thank you, <PERSON>.'
Everyone cheered and clapped. My anger turned to pride. It was a life-changing moment.
'You'd
|
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fresh lemons, sliced in half and squeezed onto the bare feet, before hard scrubbing into the skin. His feet are soon sticky with lemon juice, the citrus tang pleasantly sharpening the air. We can all relax and breathe inwards.
Having completed the lemon juice treatment, <PERSON> wears sandals to go outside and wash his hands under the tap. <PERSON> arrives at the same moment, watching <PERSON> carefully.
<PERSON> is becoming as dispiritingly regular as the metal bowl ritual. Inside the doorway, <PERSON> instinctively glances at the metal bowl. It all seems so obvious to him. He thinks <PERSON> is washing his hands because he's been slashing the neck of a chicken now twitching away under the bowl. Tadelle theatrically sucks in the air of our house.
'Ah, lemons again!' he says knowingly. Typically, lemon juice is used with salt to clean skinned chickens before cooking. Tadelle's saliva glands are instantly activated.
I often imagine Tadelle has been plucked from the Bible and placed two millennia hence without physical alteration. The shaggy beard, ragged tunic, haggard looks, tattered sandals, cracked staff and shattered body is not an affected image: he is an Old Testament natural, most at ease on <PERSON>' shoulder forging across the Sinai Desert with a couple of heavy stone tablets under his arm. The Old Testament is for <PERSON> a statement of fact, a guide to life. The coming of <PERSON> was an unnecessary appendix, an anti-climax no less.
'Judaism was already gathering pace. <PERSON> just rushed things along. His miracles throw doubt on the Bible's authenticity . . . we don't need the New Testament's superficiality and its easy answers . . . before <PERSON> came along, we had the Testament . . . no silly comparisons of old and new . . .' <PERSON> is explaining to <PERSON> in the doorway.
'You said that yesterday,' says <PERSON>. She says that every day to <PERSON>.
'But it's still true today, <PERSON>.'
Of course it is. They are inside an eternal loop. Repeated conversations are part of the conspiracy to blind us to the speeding sands of time. God allows us to repeat ourselves ad infinitum: we think we're being fresh and clever while we butcher the precious minutes, shifting lifecycles along a notch or two for no particular reason, though He must have His motives. Whatever those are.
'Sit down and drink coffee . . . we'll talk about it a little more,' offers <PERSON>.
Urgh. Again.
Perhaps <PERSON> thinks <PERSON> is 'available'. He looks considerably older than her. Mum retains areas of skin where wrinkles are scarce: her cheeks, for example, are as smooth as the neighbours' television screen. Unfortunately, her lack of teeth adds twenty years every time she opens her mouth, but like a television, we can buy a new set when the suitcase of money arrives. Mum can pass for thirty-five outside of fasting periods. Her actual date of birth, like many born outside Addis, is pure speculation. As for <PERSON>, there has to be an Old Testament chapter and verse referencing his birth, but
|
b5cd2fda-d77e-4fa1-b67a-c54cbecb4ada
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['5d9ee378-b66a-77e4-a67a-d3252d7cfbfc']
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two after I had come home from the secret place that I first really knew the nymphs. Nurse had shown me how to call them, and I had tried, but I did not know what she meant, and so I thought it was all nonsense. But I made up my mind I would try again, so I went to the wood where the pool was, where I saw the white people, and I tried again. The dark nymph, <PERSON>, came, and she turned the pool of water into a pool of fire . . . .
**Epilogue**
"That's a very queer story," said <PERSON>, handing back the green book to the recluse, <PERSON>. "I see the drift of a good deal, but there are many things that I do not grasp at all. On the last page, for example, what does she mean by 'nymphs'?"
"Well, I think there are references throughout the manuscript to certain 'processes' which have been handed down by tradition from age to age. Some of these processes are just beginning to come within the purview of science, which has arrived at them—or rather at the steps which lead to them—by quite different paths. I have interpreted the reference to 'nymphs' as a reference to one of these processes."
"And you believe that there are such things?"
"Oh, I think so. Yes, I believe I could give you convincing evidence on that point. I am afraid you have neglected the study of alchemy. It is a pity, for the symbolism, at all events, is very beautiful, and moreover if you were acquainted with certain books on the subject, I could recall to your mind phrases which might explain a good deal in the manuscript that you have been reading."
"Yes; but I want to know whether you seriously think that there is any foundation of fact beneath these fancies. Is it not all a department of poetry; a curious dream which man has indulged himself?"
"I can only say that it is no doubt better for the great mass of people to dismiss it all as a dream. But if you ask my veritable belief—that goes quite the other way. No; I should not say belief, but rather knowledge. I may tell you that I have known cases in which men have stumbled quite by accident on certain of these 'processes,' and have been astonished by wholly unexpected results. In the cases I am thinking of there could have been no possibility of 'suggestion' or subconscious action of any kind. One might as well suppose a schoolboy 'suggesting' the existence of <PERSON> to himself, while he plods mechanically through the declensions.
"But you have noticed the obscurity," <PERSON> went on, "and in this particular case it must have been dictated by instinct, since the writer never thought that her manuscripts would fall into other hands. But the practice is universal, and for most excellent reasons. Powerful and sovereign medicines, which are, of necessity, virulent poisons, also, are kept in a locked cabinet. The child may find the key
|
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at his club a gentleman of his acquaintance, named <PERSON>, who was famous for his intimate knowledge of London life, both in its tenebrous and luminous phases. <PERSON>, still full of his encounter in Soho and its consequences, thought <PERSON> might possibly be able to shed some light on <PERSON>'s history, and so after some casual talk he suddenly put the question:
"Do you happen to know anything of a man named <PERSON>—<PERSON>?"
<PERSON> turned round sharply and stared at <PERSON> with some astonishment.
"<PERSON>? Weren't you in town three years ago? No; then you have not heard of the Paul Street case? It caused a good deal of sensation at the time."
"What was the case?"
"Well, a gentleman, a man of very good position, was found dead, stark dead, in the area of a certain house in Paul Street, off Tottenham Court Road. Of course the police did not make the discovery; if you happen to be sitting up all night and have a light in your window, the constable will ring the bell, but if you happen to be lying dead in somebody's area, you will be left alone. In this instance as in many others the alarm was raised by some kind of vagabond; I don't mean a common tramp, or a public-house loafer, but a gentleman, whose business or pleasure, or both, made him a spectator of the London streets at five o'clock in the morning. This individual was, as he said, "going home," it did not appear whence or whither, and had occasion to pass through Paul Street between four and five a.m. Something or other caught his eye at Number 20; he said, absurdly enough, that the house had the most unpleasant physiognomy he had ever observed, but, at any rate, he glanced down the area, and was a good deal astonished to see a man lying on the stones, his limbs all huddled together, and his face turned up. Our gentleman thought his face looked peculiarly ghastly, and so set off at a run in search of the nearest policeman. The constable was at first inclined to treat the matter lightly, suspecting common drunkenness; however, he came, and after looking at the man's face, changed his tone, quickly enough. The early bird, who had picked up this fine worm, was sent off for a doctor, and the policeman rang and knocked at the door till a slatternly servant girl came down looking more than half asleep. The constable pointed out the contents of the area to the maid, who screamed loudly enough to wake up the street, but she knew nothing of the man; had never seen him at the house, and so forth. Meanwhile the original discoverer had come back with a medical man, and the next thing was to get into the area. The gate was open, so the whole quartet stumped down the steps. The doctor hardly needed a moment's examination; he said the poor fellow had been dead for several hours, and it was then the case began
|
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['5db7bfd8-d45f-6f88-6456-46b1e1e13c85']
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regulating this type of speech. Essentially, the critical determinations in upholding school district disciplinary actions against students are:
* whether the student is being punished for his or her on-campus conduct, not for his or her off-campus speech;
* whether the student is violating an educational institution's policy;
* whether there is a sufficient nexus to cause substantial disruption to the educational environment;
* whether the facts might reasonably have led school authorities to forecast substantial disruption of, or material interference in, school activities;
* whether the educational environment has been disrupted; or
* whether the student's conduct threatened, harassed, and/or intimidated school employees.
### **Students Allegedly Cyberbullying Educators and Educators Allegedly Cyberbullying Students**
State statutes, decided cases, and educational institutions' policies form the basis for employees' legal actions when they are victims of students' offensive and disparaging Internet content. Conversely, cases are beginning to be brought and decided against employees who post repulsive, insulting, or intemperate comments about students in their online social media. Below is an examination of both.
#### **_Statutes: Students Cyberbullying Educators_**
Within statutory mandates, some states prohibit cyberbullying not just against other students but also against school district employees. Nine states have enacted school code statutes that protect employees from cyberbullying.
**Arkansas** Arkansas prohibits electronic acts directed at personnel that result in substantial disruption, are maliciously intended to disrupt, and have a high likelihood of succeeding for that purpose.
**California** California's current statute provides that, in addition to numerous enumerated grounds in its education law, "a pupil enrolled in any of grades 4 to 12, inclusive, may be suspended from school or recommended for expulsion if the superintendent or the principal of the school in which the pupil is enrolled determines that _the pupil has intentionally engaged in harassment, threats, or intimidation, directed against school district personnel_. . . that is sufficiently severe or pervasive to have the actual and reasonably expected effect of materially disrupting classwork, creating substantial disorder, and invading _the rights of either school personnel_ or pupils by creating an intimidating or hostile educational environment" ( _emphasis added_ ).Additionally, the California Assembly is considering Bill No. 256, California 2013 to 2014 Regular Session, which proposes to amend this section of California's Education Code by adding "or bullying by means of an electronic act, as defined in the [statute]."
**Colorado** Colorado requires that each year each school must submit a report in a format approved by the state board to their board of education that in turn must be submitted to the state's department of education and made available to the public. Among the items that must be included in the report are the number of conduct and discipline code violations of "behavior on school grounds, in a school vehicle, or at a school activity or sanctioned event that is detrimental to the welfare or safety of . . . _school personnel_ , including but not limited to incidents of bullying." Electronic acts and gestures are included in the definition of bullying (
|
02d65a93-9c91-960b-eea4-dcf59c2659aa
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['5db7bfd8-d45f-6f88-6456-46b1e1e13c85']
|
with the viewpoint expressed," school administrators must be able to prevent and punish harassment and bullying in order to provide a safe school environment conducive to learning.
We are confident that <PERSON>'s speech caused the interference and disruption described in <PERSON> as being immune from First Amendment protection. The "S.A.S.H." webpage functioned as a platform for <PERSON> and her friends to direct verbal attacks towards classmate <PERSON> The webpage contained comments accusing <PERSON> of having herpes and being a "slut," as well as photographs reinforcing those defamatory accusations by depicting a sign across her pelvic area, which stated, "Warning: Enter at your own risk" and labeling her portrait as that of a "whore." One student's posting dismissed any concern for <PERSON> reaction with a comment that said, "screw her." This is not the conduct and speech that our educational system is required to tolerate, as schools attempt to educate students about "habits and manners of civility" or the "fundamental values necessary to the maintenance of a democratic political system."
<PERSON> argued that the speech took place at her home and should be outside the school's power to regulate, but the court concluded:
<PERSON> indeed pushed her computer's keys in her home, but she knew that the electronic response would be, as it in fact was, published beyond her home and could reasonably be expected to reach the school or impact the school environment. She also knew that the dialogue would and did take place among Musselman High School students whom she invited to join the "S.A.S.H." group and that the fallout from her conduct and the speech within the group would be felt in the school itself. Indeed, the group's name was "Students Against Sluts Herpes" and a vast majority of its members were Musselman students. As one commentator on the webpage observed, "wait til [<PERSON>] sees the page lol." Moreover, as <PERSON> could anticipate, <PERSON> and her parents took the attack as having been made in the school context, as they went to the high school to lodge their complaint.
There is surely a limit to the scope of a high school's interest in the order, safety, and well-being of its students when the speech at issue originates outside the schoolhouse gate. But we need not fully define that limit here, as we are satisfied that the nexus of <PERSON>'s speech to Musselman High School's pedagogical interests was sufficiently strong to justify the action taken by school officials in carrying out their role as the trustees of the student body's well-being. . . .
Given the targeted, defamatory nature of <PERSON>'s speech, aimed at a fellow classmate, it created "actual or nascent" substantial disorder and disruption in the school. See _<PERSON>_ , 393 U.S. at 508, 513; _<PERSON> v. Warren Hills Reg'l Bd. of Educ._ , 307 F.3d 243, 257 (3d Cir. 2002) (indicating that administrators may regulate student speech any time they have a "particular and concrete basis" for forecasting future substantial disruption). First, the creation of the "S.A.S.H." group forced Shay N. to miss
|
d517e60a-f048-8fb3-0afd-fe7fc21b4dca
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['5ef16ba7-2835-9df0-f9c0-1f6fba6b0bca']
|
Nightclub on SW 17th.
He drove up in his white 912 Porsche, turned it over to a fawning attendant, threw his cashmere topcoat to a, hat-check girl, and took the elevator to his private office.
<PERSON> was not one of your old-style <PERSON>. He was an American, born in Miami of Honduran parents. He grew up in the sunburned slums of Hialeah, where the youth gangs hang out under palm trees rather than streetlights. At the age of sixteen he attached himself to <PERSON> gang, Los Compañeros de Muerte, a mainly Cuban group dedicated to violent forms of self-betterment. When <PERSON> passed on to his reward, cut down in his prime at the height of a drunken argument with a visiting _machatero_ from Guatemala, <PERSON> became the right-hand man for <PERSON>, the fat, jovial Mexican hitman who for a few years terrorized southern Florida's Central American community for <PERSON>.
Things went along quietly for a while after that, but then trouble erupted among the various underworld factions in the Miami community. <PERSON> was found dead in his car, which was upside down in an irrigation ditch along the Tamiami Trail near 144th Avenue. Accidental death had to be ruled out when the investigating officers ascertained that he had been shotgunned to death and stuffed into the trunk.
And then <PERSON> ended his brief career in treachery and double-dealing hanging upside down from an iron grate in the dungeons of El Malecón after a trip to Havana that didn't work out. <PERSON> took note of these changes of fortune and decided life was getting too exciting. Suddenly he wanted security. When the Bahamas Corporation approached him for their gangster-in-residence program, he was more than willing to give up free-lancing in favor of the protection that only a big, well-run corporation can offer. <PERSON> was a little man, skinny and dark, with long sideburns which his barber shaped to scimitar points curving toward his well-tended mustache.
He opened the little sliding panel that afforded him a private view of the Tropicabana's stage. A line of chorus girls were doing "Flyin' down to Rio," and he hummed along for a few moments. He took a platinum stashbox out of his pocket and took up the equivalent of a line almost a foot long with a single powerful snort through the hollow ostrich bone he used as a snorter. Then he pushed a buzzer.
<PERSON> came in, a mournful little man in a heavily starched white guayabera shirt. He worked as a bouncer at the Tropicabana between engagements with <PERSON>.
<PERSON> explained what needed to be done. <PERSON> said he could be ready to roll at once. All they had to do was go to the locker and change into working clothes.
****
****
****
**29**
****
****
It was just after one o'clock that a beat-up Southern Bell telephone repair truck pulled up near <PERSON>'s house. Two men got out, both loaded with equipment, and with leather cases full of pliers dangling from their belts. One of
|
94d3f708-1856-624e-aad7-bd2e220f9238
|
['5ef16ba7-2835-9df0-f9c0-1f6fba6b0bca']
|
social service, we have expanded our program to include the elimination of assassins and terrorists and professional hitmen with friends in high places. They are the sort of people responsible for your wife's death."
"But the people who killed <PERSON> are dead."
"The ones who actually pulled the triggers, yes. But what about the permanent class of people behind them, middle-and upper-level managers of political and economic murderers?"
"Do you mean I could Hunt the people who set up the Paris atrocity?"
"Not the same people, but people engaged in similar work. The Hunt is not designed for personal revenge."
<PERSON> thought about it and found the idea appealing. He really did want to kill somebody, and it would be satisfying to kill the sort of person who had been responsible for <PERSON>'s death. Of course, there was no doubt a possibility that he could get killed himself. But there was no sense being negative this early into the thing.
"Well," <PERSON> said, "I'm interested. I'd like to hear more."
"Good!" <PERSON> said. "Why don't you come to one of our secret meetings, get a feel for how things work, then make up your mind?"
"All right," <PERSON> said. "Where do I go?"
"Oh, I can't tell you that," <PERSON> said with a smile. "Secret, you know. But we'll call you in a day or two and we'll set it up."
"Okay," <PERSON> said. "I suppose you have my office number, too?"
"Of course." He shook <PERSON>'s hand. "It's been a pleasure."
<PERSON> walked with <PERSON> to the front door and unlocked the bolts. <PERSON> disappeared into the night.
The adventure had begun.
****
****
****
**5**
****
****
<PERSON> was working that fateful fall as a free-lance book editor for Elsinore Press, a small publisher with offices on 23rd Street near 7th Avenue. <PERSON> called him at work two days later and gave him an address on 60th Street near 9th Avenue. <PERSON> agreed to be there at eight o'clock.
<PERSON> took the subway to Columbus Circle. Since he was early he stopped at the Cajun Fast Food Place on 58th and Broadway for a cup of coffee and a shrimpburger jambalaya with a side of bayou fries. Then he walked to the address he had been given.
It was a large new apartment building. As <PERSON> hesitated outside it, a car door opened nearby and a tall, dark man with long sideburns and wearing a chauffeur's uniform got out.
"Mr. <PERSON>?"
"Yes?"
"I'm the chauffeur. Mr. <PERSON> sent me. Please get in the car."
"<PERSON> told me to come here," <PERSON> said, indicating the building.
"Oh, that was just the first step, sir. Security, you know. I am to take you the rest of the way."
"The rest of the way where?"
"To where Mr. <PERSON> and the others are expecting you."
<PERSON> was starting to get a little annoyed. "Is this mystification really necessary?"
The chauffeur smiled regretfully. "Well, we _are_ a secret organization, sir."
"Oh, all right," <PERSON> said, getting into the back of the stretch Cadillac.
|
70bc554f-aa3a-a025-d2e7-d2427159682c
|
['5efb41d8-3d26-caee-8643-3f7d252b9976']
|
are toning the outer thighs, focus on powering out as you jump down and straddle the step. If you are toning the inner thighs, focus on powering in as you jump up onto the step. Using the aquatic step is the most difficult level since the force of gravity is increased.
FLEXIBILITY | FRIDAY
**_"Yoga is the fountain of youth. You're only as young as your spine is flexible."_**
—<PERSON>
**Add Variations of the Cat-Cow Pose**
Begin in basic cat-cow pose (see Week Twenty-Eight). Inhale and lengthen your spine. Exhale and draw your right knee and your chin into your chest while rounding your back. Repeat this pattern five times and then change sides. You can also try starting on all fours and shifting your weight onto your right hip. Inhale and lengthen your spine. Exhale and turn your head to look at your right hip. With each successive exhalation, try to bring your head closer to the hip. This action will create stretch on the left side of your body and contraction on the right side of your body. As you inhale, feel the breath come into your left side, which has been stretched and opened to receive the breath. Once you've gone as far as you can go (without aggressive action), come back to center, and then repeat on the left side. The cat-cow pose and its variations have the following benefits:
• They increase the flexibility and suppleness of the spine and its surrounding muscles.
• They work the entire spine.
• They stretch and tone the muscles of the back.
• They plump up the spinal discs and aid in fluid circulation in and out of the discs.
• They stimulate the nervous system.
• They're useful as a warm-up for other postures and as a way of stretching the backside of the body after back bending.
• They teach coordination of the breath with movement.
• They release tension in the back.
RECREATION | SATURDAY
**_"There can be no greater issue than that of conservation in this country."_**
—<PERSON>
**Become a Conservation Volunteer**
A great way to get exercise, learn about ecology, botany, local wildlife, and public land management issues, and make a valuable contribution to your local community is to work with local parks and recreation departments to restore natural habitats. Tasks might include constructing a path, clearing a hiking trail, dry stone walling, planting some trees and bushes, or whatever needs to be done to preserve or create green spaces in your community.
Another way to help is to make a donation to The Corps Network, an organization that carries on the tradition of America's Civilian Conservation Corps in restoring the environment. For information on the organization and to learn how to donate, see _www.nascc.org_.
CIVILIAN ROOTS
The Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) was a public work relief program created by President <PERSON> as part of the New Deal. It provided work for young men whose families were unable to find jobs during the Great Depression. During the time it operated, between
|
16efa648-e276-0638-bf49-7d01f354ad34
|
['5efb41d8-3d26-caee-8643-3f7d252b9976']
|
until tender.
2. Mix currants or dried cranberries into Brown Rice Nut Pilaf. Fill each squash with grains.
STRENGTH | TUESDAY
**_"I was captain and should have set the example. I would lift a minimum of weights. Mine was natural physical strength. I always thought quickness and agility were much more important."_**
—<PERSON>
**Work on Your Agility**
The standard definition of agility is the ability to change directions quickly. Most sports require players to stop and start their movements at the drop of a hat. Even dancers must train for agility. In soccer, for example, players run up and down the field with little to no rest throughout the game. They could be running in one direction and in an instant have to decelerate, stabilize the momentum of their bodyweight, coordinate the shift of that weight, create enough momentum to start moving that weight in a new direction, and accelerate as quickly as possible. This is why agility is dependent on strength, speed, coordination, and dynamic balance. If you can train for all of these elements, you will experience an improvement in your agility. The more you practice agility, and the components found within agility, the more your agility will improve.
You will grow stronger through strength and functional training exercises, faster through the practice of speed training and speed drills, more coordinated through functional training exercises where the limbs have to move correctly with each other, and create a better center of balance through the practice of balancing drills, all the while becoming a more well-rounded athlete.
MENTAL AGILITY | WEDNESDAY
**_"Give me golf clubs, fresh air, and a beautiful partner, and you can keep the clubs and the fresh air."_**
—<PERSON>
**Join a Social Club**
According to researchers, the more people participate in close social relationships, the better their overall physical and mental health, and the higher their level of function. The definition of social relationship is broad and can include everything from daily phone chats with family to regular visits with close friends to attending church every Sunday.
The MacArthur Foundation Study on Aging revealed that the two strongest predictors of well-being among the elderly are frequency of visits with friends and frequency of attendance at organization meetings. And the more meaningful the contribution in a particular activity, the greater the health benefit. And it doesn't always have to be people who believe what you believe. Studies show that the more diverse our innermost circle of social support, the better off we are.
**Start Your Own Club**
If you can't find a social club you want to join, consider starting your own. Pick something that offers exercise—physical or mental—and you double the benefit. Here are a few ideas:
• Choose activities that involve learning totally new skills, such as sculpting, photographing nature, printmaking, jewelry making, knitting, golfing, or woodworking.
• Choose activities that will require you to think or strategize, such as playing chess, having bunco parties, hosting book clubs, or attending lectures on neuroscience.
The point is to interact regularly with people who stimulate your mind
|
959f0f07-b8bf-0bac-03a7-1471045a0cc6
|
['5f3df8bb-8c6b-521a-82af-0091b7069c83']
|
residues and wastes from the kitchen are not always included because there is some odor associated as they rot and this can attract vermin. Pet and human waste are also not included due to the potential for disease organisms. There is perpetual debate in the gardening community about the wisdom of adding garden waste that might be infected with disease to the compost pile. The general consensus is, in an active compost pile with temperatures reaching 140 to 145 degrees Fahrenheit, all disease-causing bacterial, viral, or fungal organisms will be killed and not pose a threat to the next season crop. However, if you are not confident about your composting process, the safest approach is to discard diseased plant waste in another area away from the vegetable garden.
There are multiple construction options for building your compost pile that depend on the space you have available, the garden space you want to use the compost in, and the aesthetics that you want to achieve. There are multiple vendors selling plastic bins, some that are on stands that rotate easily. Other gardeners choose to build wood, block, stone, or wire enclosures with more aesthetic appeal. Having the sides constructed with openings helps to keep aerobic decomposition active. Many compost bins are constructed with three sides to facilitate accessing the pile for turning or using. The simplest approach is to pile the materials into a heap. This approach probably takes up the most space. While a simple pile of compost may not have the most aesthetic appeal, landscaping around the compost pile can create an effective disguise.
After the compost pile is collected, organisms in the pile will begin to decompose. The first phase of decomposition relies on bacteria in the compost. In this period, bacterial populations and the compost temperature grow rapidly. After much of the carbon in the mix has been decomposed, the bacteria begin to fade. Fungus and protozoans then take over the digestive process. In the final phase, earthworms, centipedes, and other insects continue the process. In warmer months, the temperature of the center of the pile can reach from 110 to 140 degrees Fahrenheit. Temperatures can continue to rise up to 170 to 180 degrees Fahrenheit, but at these temperatures, many beneficial organisms — including the composting organisms — begin to die off. As a result, decomposition slows down, the pile cools down, and organism populations recover. A long-stem thermometer is a handy tool for monitoring decomposition activity in the compost pile and provides guidance for the best time to turn the pile. The compost should be turned every week if it is decomposing and heating rapidly or every month in cooler weather, when the decomposition process is slower. Turning moves the cooler materials to the inside of the pile where they will decompose more readily. Good decomposition requires oxygen, so the other purpose of turning the pile is to aerate the compost. The time it takes for a compost to mature and be ready to add to the garden can be anywhere from three to nine months depending
|
7e0c8e79-b253-864e-6704-6226409b6bf3
|
['5f3df8bb-8c6b-521a-82af-0091b7069c83']
|
and delaying the local deer's interest in your garden. However, if there is a healthy population of deer in your area, a barrier fence is the only sure-fire technique for protecting your tomatoes. Deer droppings look like piles of small black pellets.
Rabbits: Rabbits will snack on the young, fresh foliage of almost any new plant in the garden. Once the plants are mature and hardy, rabbits are rarely a problem and there is scant evidence for them eating the tomato fruit. Rabbits do not tend to travel as broadly as deer, so clearing the area around your garden of weeds or high grass will also help to give them less places to nest and hide. The pellets of rabbit droppings are similar in size to deer droppings, but can be brown or black and are generally found in groups of only five to ten.
Squirrels: Squirrels are probably the most difficult animal to eradicate from your garden, due to their agility in climbing, small size, and sheer numbers. They will eat tomato fruit; both green and red. Fortunately, they usually do not eat tomatoes voraciously, so the best strategy is often just to share. If you have an overpopulation of squirrels and sharing is not an option, traps are another approach for ridding your garden of squirrels. As squirrels can be somewhat territorial and it is probably only one or two that are living off your garden, another option to consider is feeding them nuts on a regular basis to give them a better option than your produce.
Birds: Birds, like squirrels, can be very difficult to keep away from your tomato garden. Some believe that bird feeders help by diverting them to another food source. Others believe that feeders just attract more birds to the area. There is no definitive answer on this issue. Often, birds are attracted to tomatoes because of insects that are feeding on the foliage or the fruit. Therefore, insect control is the first line of defense. The only fail-safe option for birds is to use netting. Bird netting is available at a variety of garden and home improvement stores. Depending on the size of your tomato crop, the netting can be applied in sheets across multiple plants or cut in smaller squares to apply over individual plants.
Alarms and deterrents
While fencing always works the best for both rabbits and deer, there are some other options for those who want to avoid putting up a fence. These deterrents will work to varying degrees. Many will work for a short period of time before the animal becomes accustomed to the deterrent and decides that the snacks are worth the inconvenience. There are a number of deterrents for deer that use motion sensors to sense the deer and then activate something to chase them away. Radios are sometimes effective, especially tuning the station to a talk show. Lights can also work, as many animals will feed at dusk and dawn. Sprinklers can also be hooked up with a motion sensor switch to turn on and off and
|
85a244bb-55d5-49c4-7c90-f4e7af814216
|
['5f501d68-64de-4d71-1d22-b02c1e30a9a2']
|
<PERSON> has been coached by his father, <PERSON>., with help from his mother, <PERSON>. (In 2017, former world No. 1 <PERSON> was added to the coaching team.) <PERSON> was a member of the Soviet Davis Cup team in the 1980s. His mother was once ranked No. 4 in the Soviet Union.
<PERSON> attributes some of his precocity to his family's immersion in tennis and particularly to hanging around his older brother. <PERSON> followed <PERSON> around starting when he was about eight years old and <PERSON> was competing as a junior. The world of competitive tennis became familiar to <PERSON>. He knew the locker room. He knew the tennis courts and their atmosphere. It was natural for him to pick up a tennis racket. He was catapulted into the game.
"He was living it with his brother," <PERSON>'s agent, <PERSON>, has said. At his US Open pregame press conference on August 26, 2017, <PERSON> was asked about <PERSON>, another player with a brother on the pro tour. <PERSON> said: "I have known <PERSON> or <PERSON> knew me since I'm four, five years old, and it's always great, you know, to know that I have known them and know who I was before I even started playing on tour. I was always pretty welcomed by those guys, by <PERSON>, by <PERSON>, by other guys similar age, plus my brother played juniors with them."
But there's a mystery about <PERSON>. He's hailed as the future of tennis, but thus far can't seem to get anywhere in the Grand Slams, the most important measure of tennis success. His Grand Slam drought is exemplified by what happened at the 2017 US Open. This was the one that was going to be different. <PERSON> himself said as much, on several occasions, in several different ways. At a pregame press conference, he said, "I feel different about this Grand Slam than I have felt before about the Grand Slams. So, you know, it's obviously <PERSON> and <PERSON> are the biggest favorites still. I think how the year has been going, they are still on top of everyone. But, you know, I'm just going to go match by match and hopefully I can get to those guys." But he didn't get to those guys, not even close. He lost in the second round to Croatia's <PERSON>, ranked outside the top 50. At his postgame press conference, <PERSON> said, "It's upsetting. Today was upsetting. The way I played was upsetting. The tournament so far is upsetting for me. I know that I could have done some big things here. I know that I could have done something that I haven't done before. But I won't. It's just as simple as that."
**Losing to <PERSON>, Roland Garros 2017 first round.**
At the ATP finals in November, <PERSON> lost to <PERSON>. He told a reporter: "The end of the year was absolute crap for me. If I would have played the whole year like I did, by the end of the
|
fbf616c0-ce2a-af0e-22ed-0250ea17c006
|
['5f501d68-64de-4d71-1d22-b02c1e30a9a2']
|
all television shows about lawyers are successful. In 2005, NBC yanked _The Law Firm_ , which featured real lawyers conducting cases. The NBC website described the show this way: "Smart, strong-willed and fiercely competitive, the attorneys work together in different teams each week, battling tight deadlines, intense pressure and even each other as they strategize and prepare and try their cases." One critic said that the only merit of _The Law Firm_ was that it reduced fatuous litigation by tying up lots of lawyers for a few weeks. Now media betrayal of lawyers has come full circle, with the spotlight on fallen members of the profession. Sleazy lawyers are the centrepiece on the television series _Boston Legal_ , _Head Cases_ and _Just Legal_. ( _Head Cases_ attracted a very small audience and was quickly cancelled.) _The New York Times_ comments, "The fallen woman used to be a classic American redemption tale. Now it's the fallen lawyer.... we hanker for a lubricious peek at the modern equivalent of black garter belts: billable hours and personal injury scams."
For those who are themselves members of the legal profession, the story of a lawyer gone bad may elicit conflicting emotions. In principle, the behaviour of the malefactor is shocking to every upstanding member of the bar, and swift retribution is to be wished. (Is it really shocking to other lawyers? <PERSON>, a successful U.S. attorney and an important poet, in his book _Lawyerland_ , records these comments by a seasoned Manhattan lawyer speaking about his colleagues: "There are a lot of people out there in the edge of criminality. A lot of real desperadoes.") On the other hand, a lawyer who has over-docketed even once in his career may be cautious and nervous when considering the revealed bad behaviour of one of his brethren. The words of <PERSON>, uttered in the sixteenth century on seeing criminals taken to execution, may be recalled: "But for the grace of God, there goes <PERSON>."
One morning I had an appointment to review a disciplinary file at Osgoode Hall, home of the Law Society of Upper Canada. When I got there, I was put in a conference room with the file I wanted. A young law society employee said she had been instructed to sit and watch me while I went through the file, to make sure that I didn't tamper with it or remove anything. I protested this lack of trust. I said that, after all, I was a member of the Law Society of Upper Canada myself, nothing less than a barrister and solicitor.
The young employee assigned to watch me didn't budge. "So were the people you're writing about," she said.
TWO
THE NEW AGE
<PERSON> and <PERSON>
The new age of lawyers gone bad began in the late eighties. Two Toronto Bay Street solicitors—<PERSON> and <PERSON>—were dramatically present at its creation. <PERSON>, a flashy outsider, killed himself in a cheap hotel room shortly after he had been disbarred and just before his trial on multiple criminal charges was
|
c1f5f2bd-6bae-674b-98ac-6d54fdaf012a
|
['5febba26-60cc-dcef-44ea-be2bd5c913cf']
|
will want to hear! Better add a P.S. to your letter.'
## THIRTY-EIGHT
When I got back to the house at eight o'clock that evening, exhausted and hungry, I found <PERSON> upstairs in her bedroom, arranging her clothes in her sawdust-smelling dresser drawers 'so new they were trees last week', she'd said. I had only just taken off my sweater when the telephone bell rang.
'I'll pick up,' I called. I sat on the bench and lifted the receiver. It was <PERSON>.
'<PERSON>! How lovely to hear from you! How was the beach?'
'We had a fine time. <PERSON>—'
'Bet you're both busy as bees packing for the trip tomorrow. How long a drive is it?'
'About three days, depending on how we go. <PERSON>, is—'
'And is your mother there?'
'Well, no, we're going to Riverside tomorrow and say goodbye.'
'And drop off <PERSON>.'
'Well, that's what I'm calling about. Is <PERSON> there?'
'Here? No! Why – is she missing?'
'When <PERSON> and I got home, the house was empty. Of course, <PERSON> and <PERSON> were at work, but I thought <PERSON> would be here.'
'She's probably gone on a walk somewhere. She goes to the pictures sometimes.'
'That's what we thought at first, but it's been several hours, and it's getting dark.'
'Geez, I haven't seen her since <PERSON> and I moved out on Sunday.'
Hearing my end of the conversation brought <PERSON> to the head of the stairs. '<PERSON>'s missing?' she asked.
I pressed my lips together and gave a grim nod. 'You don't know where she might be, do you?' I mouthed. <PERSON> shook her head. '<PERSON> says she doesn't know where she is either,' I told <PERSON>.
'<PERSON> said she was here this morning when they left for work.'
'Have you checked the library?' I asked.
'Yes. She wasn't there, and they hadn't seen her today.'
'What about that woman down the street who has the puppy?'
'I've walked the street twice. No one's seen her today.'
<PERSON> had gone to the closet and was putting on her jacket. '<PERSON> and I are on our way, <PERSON>. We'll spread out to the other streets in the neighborhood. I've got my own motorcar now, so we can cover a lot of territory quickly. Someone will have seen her. Have you called the police?'
'Not yet. I was just about to.'
'Let me do that. I'll call <PERSON>. He found her walking along the sidewalks one day a few weeks ago and brought her home on his motorcycle. He might have an idea where she's gone. And he can alert the cops on patrol to keep an eye out for her.'
<PERSON> handed me my jacket as I dialed <PERSON>'s desk at the police station. Luck was with me: he picked up on the second ring.
'Evening, <PERSON>. Did you see the newspapers?'
'I did. I heard about the raid yesterday, just after it happened. I want to hear all about it, but not right now. We've got a problem. <PERSON> has gone missing.'
'When?' His voice took
|
0fa2800e-e46f-3a59-ef7e-b3f82b71e3a9
|
['5febba26-60cc-dcef-44ea-be2bd5c913cf']
|
my hand, and gave me a hard kick in the ribs for the fun of it. I heard her footsteps crunch on the uneven ground and the car door open. I guessed she was wiping away any fingerprints. The door slammed. I didn't hear anything for a while, and it made me suspicious. Was she watching me from a distance, waiting to see if I moved? Or had she taken off on her walk back to town?
I was frantic to move. What time was it? What was going on at the <PERSON> house? I knew the sequence, and it played out in my head like a film. They had finished dinner. They all rose from their chairs and ambled into the living room, oblivious to the peril that awaited them. Were the <PERSON> there tonight? Probably... certainly, if there were foreign dignitaries or other important guests in attendance. Were they making themselves comfortable in the sofas while the projectionist set up the film? What if the butler was opening the box of chocolate-covered cherries right at that moment? Had the <PERSON> excused themselves early, or would young <PERSON> eat the chocolates and kill her baby as well as herself? What time is it? What if I missed warning them by minutes? I almost groaned with frustration. But if <PERSON> was watching me and if I so much as twitched, she'd come back and wait longer.
Out of nowhere, I heard footsteps. Heavy feet, then men shouting from a short distance away.
"There she is!"
"Hold on, there, lady!"
I heard <PERSON>'s voice, gentle and calm, coming from the direction of the car. "She's over there, Officer. Thank God you're here. I tried and tried to talk her out of drinking the poison, but she wouldn't listen. <PERSON> broke off their affair—she's been out of her mind ever since. I was just going for help when you arrived."
I pushed up with one arm as they hurried to my side. Blue uniforms. Half a dozen of them. I opened my eyes to see a terrified expression on <PERSON>'s face.
Throwing himself on his knees beside me, he lifted me with one arm behind my back. "<PERSON>! <PERSON>, what happened?"
"She wasn't making any sense at all," said <PERSON>, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "Babbling about killing <PERSON>. Killing herself. She's too far gone now—"
"Don't believe her. I'm fine." I grabbed his coat with my good hand and watched the horror in his eyes fade to confusion. "There's no time to waste. Get to the caretaker's cottage and call the <PERSON> home. Warn them not to eat any chocolates! Quick!"
"What the hell...?" said <PERSON>.
"She poisoned his chocolates. Hurry, it's life or death."
"The poor child, she's delirious," said <PERSON> in a voice so convincing I almost believed her myself. "She's swallowed almost a pint of undiluted mercury bichloride, and it's affecting her mind."
<PERSON> didn't have to ponder over which of us to believe. He turned to <PERSON> standing behind him. "You get all that?"
<PERSON>
|
98840401-3fa7-8602-fdc4-9d6782730ff4
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['5ffda084-1771-9724-6523-3d48de064d38']
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devices that are available.
Luckily, your out-of-town guests probably will not be forced to share a room with your vegetables, as mine did. Unless, of course, your goal is to have less frequent visits.
Fish and flora live symbiotically in this aquaponic garden from Back to the Roots.
## 5
## DIY COUNTERTOP GARDENING
Gardening gadgets like the ones discussed in Chapter 4 are fun and fairly simple to use. Certainly, the more advanced the device, the better the results will be in your growing adventures. But some may be a little excessive if you just want to grow a few herbs or greens. Before these devices came out on to the market, many contraptions were fashioned out of household items.
As a blogger who built an entire website using common things in uncommon ways, I love to challenge myself with DIY projects and share fun ideas that encourage people to think outside the pot.
I have one predominant thought whenever shopping or visiting a garage sale: "Can I put dirt in that?" Everything becomes a possible planter in my world, although not all of them turn out to be practical. When we start looking at things from a new perspective, ingenuity kicks in and something that was otherwise junk may get a new lease on life, reinvented as a planter.
In this chapter, we will explore how you can make your own growing devices with just a few simple materials. We'll work our way through quick and easy edibles like sprouts and move on to bigger plants like tomatoes and salad greens.
Open your mind to these suggestions and do a mental inventory on items you may already have on hand, looking for things that might work for countertop gardening.
### DIY Sprouting
Sprouts are packed with nutrients and come in a variety of flavors, from mild to spicy. Have a batch growing at all times so you can quickly snip a few to add to a sandwich, throw into a salad, or jazz up a dip. Sprouts can dramatically change an everyday meal into something sensational without having to glop on extra sauce or extra calories for the sake of flavor.
### Mason Jar Sprouting Method
This method is so quick and easy to do that you can make a fresh batch of sprouts each week. If you plan it right, you can start a jar a few days before a dinner party and have fresh sprouts ready to serve to your guests.
Choose seeds intended for sprouting from a supplier that labels them as free of pathogens and chemicals. _Salmonella_ and _Escherichia coli_ outbreaks have happened with commercially grown sprouts that were grown from contaminated seeds. As with any food preparation, it's important that you use clean and sanitary methods to avoid any unintentional illness outbreaks when growing and using sprouts.
Start with some easy seeds like alfalfa or mung beans if you are new to sprouting. These common sprouts are familiar and mild tasting. Move on to mustard and radish when you're ready to try sprouts that offer
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9abf113a-fca6-aee0-e7e0-e4092941f2e2
|
['5ffda084-1771-9724-6523-3d48de064d38']
|
to a strong root system, which is the basis of all healthy plants. For this reason, it's best to plant in early fall, after the flowering season is over but with enough growing time remaining for the plant to extend roots.
Roots need air too. Oxygen is easily available in soil as long as it isn't saturated. This is why overwatering plants is as lethal as underwatering them. A soggy wet substrate suffocates roots and leads to rot. When plants are grown hydroponically, specialized fertilizers add oxygen to the solution, so it is important to choose plant foods designed for this purpose. Another accommodation for the need for oxygen is to actually incorporate air into the solution chamber via a pump or a bubbler that percolates oxygen down into the root zone.
Above the soil line or root zone, fresh circulating air is important for the prevention of disease and to assist in strong growth for young seedlings. A small desk fan set on low can create a gentle breeze, providing just enough air flow without blowing the plants over.
When assisting people in the seedling department, I always ask them to imagine what would likely happen if I gave them an unexpected push on the shoulder. The sudden shove would likely topple them back, since they weren't not anticipating it. However, if I were to try it a second time, a person would be expecting it and would brace themselves, resisting the push and standing strong.
Although the mechanics for this adaptation are complex, plants behave in similar ways in growing environments. Trunks grow strong and roots anchor down in resistance to the constant wind passing through their branches and leaves. A young seedling pushing up out of the soil will condition itself to the moving air in its surroundings, resulting in a stronger, healthier plant.
### Water
I will never forget the expression a professor once shared with our class back when I was a student and an aspiring horticulturist: "He who wields the watering wand, yields the profits." This statement stuck with me and has become a mantra I've repeated thousands of times in my training of new recruits at the garden center. I cannot stress enough the importance of this constant daily task to my employee team. Watering is an art and a skill that you develop over time. An experienced gardener can spot a flagging plant from across a greenhouse or across the yard, yet the part-timer watering right beside may not see that the plant is clearly distressed and in immediate need of a drink.
Don't let plants wilt completely; they may bounce back, but if it happens too often the repeated stress will lead to death.
Like any well-practiced skill, once you have been watering plants for a while, knowing how much or how little moisture a plant requires becomes second nature to you. In the meantime, here are some tips on how to properly water plants:
• Seedlings require gentle watering when they first emerge. Use a spray bottle to mist the soil while
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