text:
Elizabeth Hyett
1730 - 1792 (62 years) Has no ancestors but more than 300 descendants in our family tree.
John Winterbotham
Birth 1720 Oldham, Lancashire, England
Died 1797 Islington, London, England
Buried 16 Mar 1797 Islington, London, England
Father Male Winterbotham
b. Oldham, Lancashire, England
Mother Female [Winterbotham]
Family Elizabeth Hyett
b. 1730, Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, England
Married 19 Oct 1760 St Mary at Hill, London, England
+ 1. Rev. William Winterbotham
b. 15 Dec 1763, Aldgate, London, England
+ 2. John Winterbotham
b. 1765, The Minories, London, England
3. Sarah Winterbotham
4. Joseph Winterbotham
b. Sep 1771, The Minories, London, England
5. Benjamin Winterbotham
6. Elizabeth Winterbotham
7. Thomas Winterbotham
Rev. William Winterbotham
Birth 15 Dec 1763 Aldgate, London, England
Christened 25 Dec 1763 Whitechapel, London, England
Died 31 Mar 1829 Shortwood, Gloucestershire, England
Buried Apr 1829 Stroud, Gloucestershire, England
Father John Winterbotham
b. 1720, Oldham, Lancashire, England
Mother Elizabeth Hyett
Family Mary Brend
b. 1768, Devonport (Plymouth), Devonshire, England
Married 26 Nov 1797 Holborn, London, England
St Sepulchre's Church
+ 1. Rayner Winterbotham
b. 21 Aug 1798, Plymouth, Devonshire, England
+ 2. Lindsey Winterbotham
b. 9 Dec 1799, Plymouth, Devonshire, England
3. Lauriston Winterbotham
b. 27 Dec 1801, Plymouth, Devonshire, England
4. Carlina Brend Winterbotham
+ 5. John Brend Winterbotham
b. 12 Aug 1805, Inchbrook, Gloucestershire, England
+ 6. Mary Brend Winterbotham
b. 8 May 1807, Inchbrook, Gloucestershire, England
Birth 1765 The Minories, London, England
Christened 16 Jun 1765 Whitechapel, London, England
Died Mar 1828 Whitechapel, London, England
Buried 23 Mar 1828 Finsbury, London, England
Family Sarah Bragg
b. 1759, Stepney, London, England
Married 5 Oct 1788 City of London, England
St Botolph's Without, Aldersgate
b. 18 Sep 1789, Aldgate, London, England
+ 2. Thomas Winterbotham
b. Abt 1795, Edmonton, London, England
b. 14 Feb 1797, Finsbury, London, England
4. Ann Winterbotham
b. 8 May 1799, Finsbury, London, England
5. Hannah Winterbotham
b. 19 Dec 1802, Finsbury, London, England
Sarah Winterbotham
Christened 11 Feb 1770 Whitechapel, London, England
Joseph Winterbotham
1771 - 1772 (~ 0 years)
Birth Sep 1771 The Minories, London, England
Died Apr 1772 The Minories, London, England
Buried 3 Apr 1772 Whitechapel, London, England
Benjamin Winterbotham
Christened 10 May 1772 Whitechapel, London, England
Elizabeth Winterbotham
Christened 3 Apr 1774 Whitechapel, London, England
Died Jan 1776 The Minories, London, England
Buried 1 Feb 1776 Whitechapel, London, England
Thomas Winterbotham
Christened 1 Aug 1779 Whitechapel, London, England
Name Elizabeth Hyett
Born 1730 Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, England
Died Sep 1792 City of London, England [1]
Bread Street, St Mildred's Parish
Buried 7 Sep 1792 Islington, London, England [1]
Bunhill Fields (Common Grave)
See City of London, Bunhill
Headstones Submit Headstone Photo
Person ID I14077 Winterbotham Families
Family John Winterbotham (ID:I14076)
d. 1797, Islington, London, England (Age 77 years)
Age at Marriage She was 30 years and 10 months - He was 40 years and 10 months
+ 1. Rev. William Winterbotham (ID:I14071)
d. 31 Mar 1829, Shortwood, Gloucestershire, England (Age 65 years)
+ 2. John Winterbotham (ID:I15579)
d. Mar 1828, Whitechapel, London, England (Age 63 years)
3. Sarah Winterbotham (ID:I15581)
4. Joseph Winterbotham (ID:I15582)
d. Apr 1772, The Minories, London, England (Age ~ 0 years)
5. Benjamin Winterbotham (ID:I15583)
6. Elizabeth Winterbotham (ID:I15584)
d. Jan 1776, The Minories, London, England (Age 2 years)
7. Thomas Winterbotham (ID:I15585)
Born - 1730 - Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, England
Married - 19 Oct 1760 - St Mary at Hill, London, England
Bread Street, St Mildred's Parish - Sep 1792 - City of London, England
Bunhill Fields (Common Grave) - 7 Sep 1792 - Islington, London, England
[S6104] Winterbotham Families, Melanie Winterbotham (Reliability: 3), 11 Dec 2010.


text:
THE 9:01
The 9:01: Tennessee could execute Irick today — the state's first since 2009
The 9:01 is a weekday column on all things Memphis
Ryan Poe
Bill Ray Irick's execution is scheduled for 7 p.m., barring Supreme Court intervention.
Memphis isn't big on the Titans. Here's why.
How much did candidates pay per vote in the Aug. 2 election?
Remember Share the Pennies, the auto-donation on your MLGW bill? Here's an update.
Good morning from Memphis, where the fires of Memphis' strong dislike of the Titans still burn bright. But first, on a more troubling note...
Today is the day Billy Ray Irick's life could end.
Irick, convicted of raping and murdering a 7-year-old girl in Knoxville in 1985, could become Tennessee's first execution since 2009 at 7 p.m., barring an intervention by the Supreme Court of the United States.
The case, like most death row cases, is hotly debated. Irick had a history of mental illness, although a psychiatrist found him in his right mind after his arrest. There's a question about whether the drugs the state plans to use will cause unnecessary pain — essentially torturing him to death — although legal challenges haven't succeeded.
Christians are deeply divided on this topic. Pope Francis recently declared the death penalty "inadmissible" in all circumstances, appealing to the idea that all humans are made in the image of God, sparking a controversy in his church. Memphis Diocese Bishop Martin D. Holley earlier this year joined with other bishops to ask Haslam to stop this year's executions.
On the other hand, Nashville-based Southern Baptist Russell Moore and others strongly disagreed, also appealing to the idea of the imago Dei.
Either way, CA opinion editor David Waters made a good point in a recent editorial when he argued that we should all "witness" the execution. If he's speaking literally, I disagree for a number of reasons — but I appreciate the sentiment. We should recognize the gravity and horror — even if a needed one — of what we, as a state, are contemplating.
Is life in prison a sufficient consequence for taking the life of an innocent person? Is that justice? Those are questions above my pay grade, but Irick's pending execution should make us think about those questions and whether Tennessee is valuing life and justice.
On a lighter note...
Memphis' beef with the Titans: Local attorney Jonathan Louis May brought this article to my attention, and he's right about it being nice to have a refresher:
But even though Memphis' soured relationship with the NFL is a prominent reason...it's also about Nashville, as several people pointed out on Twitter:
Here's an excerpt from the article, on why the Titans' brief time playing at the Liberty Bowl was such a dumpster fire:
Nashville and Memphis loathed each other, Memphis seeing Nashville as a pretentious, hopelessly conventional suburban enclave and Nashville seeing Memphis as a trying-too-hard, affected-cool backwater river town. The two cities have spent a century trash-talking each other for everything from music (country vs. blues) to food (hot chicken vs. barbecue) to on-brand nicknames (Smashville vs. Grind City). Assuming Memphis fans would support a Nashville team was as naïve as assuming, say, New York Giants fans would go to Jets games, or that Houston fans would babysit a Dallas team. A full 20 years before the Chargers' brain trust assumed San Diego-based fans would make the drive to Los Angeles, [Titans owner Bud] Adams figured the three-hour drive between the cities would be no hurdle at all.
He figured wrong. When the NFL came calling one more time, expecting a warm reception, Memphis – burned so many times before – wasn't biting.
Additional reading: Greg Akers, currently editor of the Memphis Business Journal, wrote an excellent two-part series for the Memphis Flyer (yes, two!) in 2012 on why Memphis should hate the Titans.
Money isn't everything: Eric Schelzig, editor of the Tennessee Journal, did the math this week on the per-vote cost for the Aug. 2 gubernatorial primary, which ended with wins for Democrat Karl Dean and Republican Bill Lee:
Similarly, local journalist Wendi Thomas compared second-quarter and pre-general fundraising with the Aug. 2 tally, in which Democrat Lee Harris beat out Republican David Lenoir:
Make of that what you will, but it's interesting that Lee and Harris spent less but receive more of the vote. Perhaps that's a testament to their more positive campaign styles.
Additional reading: Local political commentator Susan Adler Thorp has an interesting analysis on how Republican support for partisan elections has come back to bite them.
Share the Pennies update: In her quarterly newsletter, Memphis City Council member Patrice Robinson gave an update on the Share the Pennies program.
As you may remember, MLGW — prodded by the council — changed its policy last year to automatically round-up customers' utility bills to fund a weatherization program for low-income homeowners. In other words, the opt-in donation became an opt-out.
Here's what's happening to the money:
"Share the Pennies has been a great success thanks to the generosity of the citizens of Memphis and Shelby County. In the first 5 months of 2018, funding of the Share the Pennies program increased from $45,000 at this time last year to almost $624,000! Wow! Now, the program will be able to weatherize 172 homes by the end of September with expenditures up to $8,000 per home."
This isn't the first time suspended Kingsbury High principal Terry Ross has been accused of creating an unsafe school environment, Jennifer Pignolet writes.
Raven Copeland looks at the response of a local mother to her son's suicide.
Bleed blue? Time to show it, writes sports columnist Mark Giannotto.
Sounds like the stakeholders involved in the overhaul of historic overlay districts are mostly onboard, according to the Flyer. That said, I'm still hearing lots of criticism from homeowners on what they perceive as a concession to builders.
The cost of modernizing Memphis International Airport is rising (again), according to The Daily News. The new price tag: $250 million.
The local owners of Downtown's One Commerce Square could sell the office building to a New York-based real estate firm, the MBJ reports.
Happening today:
11 a.m.: Matt Thompson, director of Animal Programs at the Memphis Zoo, will talk about the zoo's history and conservation programs at a free Lunch & Learn at the Morton Museum of Collierville History, 196 N. Main.
5 p.m.: The Shelby County Office of Sustainability will send off Mayor Mark Luttrell at the FedEx Events Center at Shelby Farms.
6 p.m.: The Memphis Botanic Garden hosts its "30 Thursdays: Cocktails and Canvasses" outdoor nature painting event, which is where non-members pay the daily entry fee, bring their own cocktails and painting supplies, and go to town.
7 p.m.: The book "One of Us: Stories of Prostitution & Addiction" by Cindy McMillion launches at in Cheney Parish Hall at Church of the Holy Communion, 4645 Walnut Grove, with refreshments, music, and a brief program and book-signing. Buy a book for a suggested donation of $16, all proceeds benefiting the Lisieux Community.
7:30 p.m.: The "world premiere" of Memphis Silhouettes, an interdisciplinary and collaborative performance arts work, is free at the U of M's Theatre Building (TH), 3745 Central Ave.
Also: It's Food Truck Thursday in Downtown's Court Square.
For more happenings, check out The CA's events page and its summer events roundup.
The Fadeout: The Lamplighter Lounge, 1702 Madison, has an excellent lineup at 9 p.m. today ($5 cover). Memphis' Crystal Shrine and Grandpa Grew Trees perform, along with New Orleans-based Guts Club.
An aside: Local musicians should check out this new grant program.
Here's a video of Crystal Shrine:
Reach Ryan Poe at poe@commercialappeal.com and on Twitter at @ryanpoe.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
Q: Dismiss iOS Keyboard on website I want to dismiss the iOS keyboard when the user hits the return key on the virtual keyboard my (HTML/CSS/JS based) website. Is this possible?
The current form looks like:
<input type="email" class="form-control" placeholder="Enter Email"
    id="email-form" autocorrect="off" autocapitalize="off">

thanks

A: Dismiss iOS Keyboard on website
The keyboard dismissal is disabled when you present your UIWebView using a modal ViewController with presentation style UIModalPresentationFormSheet!
You have to override your ViewController's disablesAutomaticKeyboardDismissal method:
    - (BOOL)disablesAutomaticKeyboardDismissal {
return NO;

}

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


EVER CONSIDERED BEING A SCHOOL GOVERNOR?
Want to develop new transferable skills and enhance your CV? Are you community minded and want to use your existing skills to help others? Have you ever thought of becoming a school Governor?
Why not come along to the school Governor information event on Wednesday 23rd January 2019 5-6pm. We're working with Cumbria County Council to offer you the opportunity to chat to serving school Governors; Cumbria County Council's Governor Team and their Team Manager who are all happy to answer any questions.
School Governors come from all walks of life and are able to bring a mixture of skills and experience to the role. It offers the opportunity to use your existing professional and intellectual skills in a new setting. Many people do not realise that the everyday skills from their personal and professional life can add huge value to a school. Having Governors who are separate from education offers a fresh insight and different perspective, which allows broad and representative decisions to be made on behalf of the school. Volunteering as a school Governor is a great way to make a valuable contribution to a local school and be inspired by the impact of education.
As well as benefiting your local community, becoming a School Governor can be an extremely rewarding personal experience, you develop different transferable skills (a bonus for your own professional development) and let's face it, it doesn't look too shabby on your CV!
We're fully aware you may need some support to step into the new role of a Governor so you'd be provided with all the training newly-appointed Governors need, including a full induction programme.
Why not come along to Abbey House Hotel on Wednesday 23rd January 2019 5-6pm and find out more. You'll have the opportunity to speak to existing Governors and decide if this rewarding role is something you'd like to consider.
Anyone aged 18 or over can be a Governor. You do not need to have children or be a parent of a child within a school. If appointed your term of office would be four years, although should your circumstances change, as a volunteer, you can resign. Governors play a key role in leading, supporting and improving schools, and becoming one can be a rewarding experience.
If you think this could be for you, we'd love to see you at Abbey House Hotel on Wednesday 23rd January 2019 5-6pm. If you want to learn more, then please register your interest in the form below.
This information is only required so we can provide Abbey House with the number of attendees and enable us to send you an event reminder. We will not share your contact details with anyone.


Louise and Dave's wedding in Yatton Keynell was the epitome of relaxed summer fun! With a beautiful small village church and a short walk to the village hall and marquee, it was chilled out and filled with laughter.
In the morning, Louise got ready in a cottage on the edge of Yatton Keynell with her bridesmaids and it was a short drive to the local church where I met the Dave and his groomsmen, who looked very dapper in their waistcoats and bowties! After the ceremony, we headed over to the Market Cross which Dave and his family actually helped to construct.
After the photos it was a short walk back to the village hall where we did some really fun photos with friends and family. The afternoon was passed playing games (the coconut shy was a particular hit- no pun intended) and drinking in the sun on the lawns. Heading inside the village hall, it was lovely to see how gorgeous Louise and Dave had made the venue look with handmade decorations and a lot of bunting! You could tell everyone was very excited for the hog roast wedding breakfast which is always a winner in my experience.
Louise and Dave decided against a first dance, instead opting to get everyone on the dance floor as soon as possible! Once the band set up, the evening immediately launched in to FULL party mode – I've never seen the dancing get kicked off with such excitement! Big shout out to Whitemanferno who were fantastic and pulled everyone up on to the dance floor. I left a while in to the evening after capturing some amazing moments with some blow up saxophones! What a great day.


The server now self-diagnose every 30 minutes for every single unit and reset itself if any problems found. Testing on one of the servers holding 1078 units.
It successfully revived many processes that were killed. And none of them died for a week.
Therefore if DDNS address is pingable, then problem source suspect will be the DVR or Port Digger at the site.
You can find the problem source by restarting the device one by one.
If Port Digger (USB version) has solid LED lights on, I recommend you to restart the DVR first, and the most problems will be solved.
This is why Port Digger needs a separate power source to find out the problem source. If Port Digger USB connected to the DVR, you would not find the real problem source because both will turn off same time. And Port Digger gets the blame.
To prove how sturdy Port Digger is, If Port Digger was using the separate USB power, Try to restart the Port Digger first and let the DVR stays onward. The problem most likely won't go away.
DVR uptime inevitably reduced and some services like network port, USB port, one of any ports are in the sleep state and would not wake up.
This probably why even your correctly configured manual Port Forwarding requires you to trip many times again.
Once you find the problem source, the next step should prevent it from happening again.
The good news is, our next product will be able to restart the DVR remotely. Stay tuned. We are coming up with the permanent solution this time in very soon.
MKIII UFO - Patch note.
Why did my installation on Cable Modem/Router fail last time?
[MKIII:UFO] 75Mbps upload speed and ISP upload throttle limit bypass.
Port Digger unit achieved 60Mbps upload speed.
There is no such 100% server uptime. Maybe 99%.


text:
J. S. Bach Suites for Violoncello Solo
Morten Zeuthen
Suite No. 1 in G-Major BWV 1007 (Prélude)
Suite No. 1 in G-Major BWV 1007 (Allemande)
Suite No. 1 in G-Major BWV 1007 (Courante)
Suite No. 1 in G-Major BWV 1007 (Sarabande)
Suite No. 1 in G-Major BWV 1007 (Menuetto I & II)
Suite No. 1 in G-Major BWV 1007 (Gigue)
Suite No. 2 in D-Minor BWV 1008 (Prélude)
Suite No. 2 in D-Minor BWV 1008 (Allemande)
Suite No. 2 in D-Minor BWV 1008 (Courante)
Suite No. 2 in D-Minor BWV 1008 (Sarabande)
Suite No. 2 in D-Minor BWV 1008 (Menuetto I & II)
Suite No. 2 in D-Minor BWV 1008 (Gigue)
Suite No. 3 in C-Major BWV 1009 (Prélude)
Suite No. 3 in C-Major BWV 1009 (Allemande)
Suite No. 3 in C-Major BWV 1009 (Courante)
Suite No. 3 in C-Major BWV 1009 (Sarabande)
Suite No. 3 in C-Major BWV 1009 (Bourrée I & II)
Suite No. 3 in C-Major BWV 1009 (Gigue)
Partita in D-Minor BWV 1013 (Allemande)
Partita in D-Minor BWV 1013 (Courante)
Partita in D-Minor BWV 1013 (Sarabande)
Partita in D-Minor BWV 1013 (Bourrée Anglaise)
Suite No. 4 in E Flat-Major BWV 1010 (Prélude)
Suite No. 4 in E Flat-Major BWV 1010 (Allemande)
Suite No. 4 in E Flat-Major BWV 1010 (Courante)
Suite No. 4 in E Flat-Major BWV 1010 (Sarabande)
Suite No. 4 in E Flat-Major BWV 1010 (Bourréee I & II)
Suite No. 4 in E Flat-Major BWV 1010 (Gigue)
Suite No. 5 in C-Minor BWV 1011 (Prélude)
Suite No. 5 in C-Minor BWV 1011 (Allemande)
Suite No. 5 in C-Minor BWV 1011 (Courante)
Suite No. 5 in C-Minor BWV 1011 (Sarabande)
Suite No. 5 in C-Minor BWV 1011 (Gavotte I & II)
Suite No. 5 in C-Minor BWV 1011 (Gigue)
Suite No. 6 in D-Major BWV 1012 (Prélude)
Suite No. 6 in D-Major BWV 1012 (Allemande)
Suite No. 6 in D-Major BWV 1012 (Courante)
Suite No. 6 in D-Major BWV 1012 (Sarabande)
Suite No. 6 in D-Major BWV 1012 (Gavotte I & II)
Suite No. 6 in D-Major BWV 1012 (Gigue)
Other Albums by Morten Zeuthen
Paul Bazelaire: Complete Works for Cello and Piano
Koppel: Works for Cello & Piano
Ruders: Bravour Studies / Holmboe: Cello Sonata
Poul Rovsing Olsen: Music for Cello & Piano
Olsen, P.R.: Music for Cello & Piano
Ricordanza (Remastered)
Erling Møldrup
Gudmundsen-Holmgreen: for Cello and Orchestra / Concerto Grosso / Frere Jacques
Danish Cello Pieces
Wellejus: Concerto Choregraphique / Cello Concerto / Our Childhood Friends
Norgard: Works for Cello
Norgard: Viola Concerto, 'Remembering Child' / Between


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Photo Flash: Inside Opening Night of CTG's 'VANYA AND SONIA' with Director David Hyde Pierce, Christine Ebersole, Kristine Nielsen & More
by Tyler Peterson
BroadwayWorld.com Feb. 10, 2014
Christopher Durang's Tony Award-winning comedy "Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike" opened last night, Sunday, February 9 at 7 p.m. at the Center Theatre Group/Mark Taper Forum. BroadwayWorld brings you a look back at the opening night festivities with the cast, crew, and attendees below!
The hysterically funny and affecting new play is directed byDavid Hyde Pierce, based on the Broadway direction of Nicholas Martin, and will run through March 9, 2014.
The cast includes (in alphabetical order) Mark Blum, Christine Ebersole, Shalita Grant, David Hull, Kristine Nielsen and Liesel Allen Yeager. The production features sets by David Korins, costumes by Gabriel Berry, lights by David Weiner and original music and sound by Mark Bennett. Casting is by Mark B. Simon, CSA and Daniel Swee, CSA and the production stage manager is David S. Franklin.
Set in 21st century Bucks County, Pennsylvania, with hints of 19th century Russia, "Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike" is a riotous comedy with the Chekhovian set-up of a middle-aged Vanya and his stepsister, Sonia, who live together in their ancestral farmhouse, complete with a pond and a cherry orchard.
Their normally quiet existence is thrown into upheaval by the surprise visit from their glamorous, movie-star sister, Masha, and her 20-something boyfriend, Spike, the unlikely prophecies of their cleaning lady and an all too important costume party.
Tickets for "Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike" are available by calling (213) 628-2772, visiting www.CenterTheatreGroup.org, or in person at the Center Theatre Group box office at the Ahmanson Theatre. Tickets range from $20 - $70 (ticket prices are subject to change). The Mark Taper Forum is located at the Music Center, 135 N. Grand Avenue in Downtown L.A. 90012.
Photos by Ryan Miller/Capture Imaging
Tim Daly, Hacer Bozkurt
Barry Bostwick, Sherri Jensen
Kelsey Grammer
Sharon Lawrence, Mark Blum
Andrew Rannells, David Hull
Christopher Durang, Kristine Nielsen
Andrew Rannells, Christine Ebersole
Mark Blum, David Hull
David Hull, Christine Ebersole
David Hyde Pierce, Mark Blum, David Hull, Christopher Durang
Liesel Allen Yeager, Kristine Nielsen, Shalita Grant
Kristine Nielsen, Shalita Grant, Christopher Durang, Christine Ebersole, Liesel Allen Yeager
Shalita Grant, Kristine Nielsen, Christopher Durang, Christine Ebersole, David Hyde Pierce, Liesel Allen Yeager
VIDEO: Claybourne Elder Talks Giving Back Through COMPANY Tickets on PIX11
Nic Rouleau
Corey Mach
VIDEO: Liza Minnelli Appears on CBS Sunday Morning
CBS Sunday Morning reporter Jane Pauley interviewed Liza Minnelli this morning, discussing her famous parents, her legacy, collaborators throughout he...
VIDEO: Watch Ariana DeBose in SNL SOUND OF MUSIC Parody
One sketch from last night's SNL show, a parody of The Sound of Music, features a misfit bunch of children that McKinnon, Maria Von Trapp, was unable ...
VIDEO: MOULIN ROUGE! Says Goodbye to Four Cast Members, Makes Donation to Project ALS
Following yesterday's performance of Moulin Rouge, Aaron Tveit took the stage to give a speech honoring the cast members who were leaving the show, in...
VIDEO: Watch Ariana DeBose and Kate McKinnon Sing a WEST SIDE STORY Medley on SNL
Ariana DeBose, who most recently won a Golden Globe for her performance in Spielberg's West Side Story as Anita, made her SNL debut as the hostess las...
ONLY MURDERS IN THE BUILDING to Feature Amy Schumer and Shirley MacLaine in New Season
The hit Hulu show, Only Murders in the Building, has announced that stars of stage and screen Shirley MacLaine and Amy Schumer will appear in season t...
Wake Up With BWW 1/17: Four Broadway Shows Close, Ariana DeBose Hosts SNL, and More!
Today's top stories include yesterday's closing of four Broadway productions, including Flying Over Sunset, Clyde's, Ain't Too Proud, and To Kill a Mo...


text:
Shopping Malls, Outlet Malls in Detroit, Michigan (MI)
A list of major shopping malls, outlet malls in Detroit, Michigan. People living near or visiting the Detroit-Windsor border will find this list useful especially if you are planning to shop in Detroit, MI.
There are a ton of great deals on major name brand clothing, perfume, electronics like HDTVs, iPod, iPhones in Detroit. Have fun and shop till you drop!!!
mummum | 3/24/2008 12:58:25 PM | 124756 views
Shopping Locations
Fairlane Town Center
18900 Michigan Avenue, Detroit, MI 48126
http://www.shopfairlane.com
Shop at over 150 stores including major stores such as Macy's, JCPenney, and Sears
Somerset Collection
2800 W. Big Beaver, Troy, MI 48084
http://www.thesomersetcollection.com
Somerset Collection is an exclusive upscale mall in Detroit. With over 180 stores including major department stores Nordstrom, Macy's, Neiman Marcus, and Saks Fifth Avenue. Some specialty shops and restaurants includes Tiffany & Co., Cartier, Louis Vuitton, Barneys Co-op, Crate and Barrel, P.F. Chang's China Bistro, J. Alexander's, Brio Tuscan Grille, Bon Vie, McCormick & Schmick's, The Capital Grille, California Pizza Kitchen, and the Peacock Café food court.
Great Lakes Crossing
4000 Baldwin Road, Detroit, MI 48326
http://www.shopgreatlakescrossing.com
Over 180 stores include Bed Bath & Beyond, Burlington Coat Factory, Bass Pro Shops, The Children's Place Outlet, Circuit City, Marshalls, Neiman Marcus Last Call Clearance Center, Off 5th, The Sports Authority, and TJ Maxx
Ammex Duty-Free Shops
3400 West Fort Street, Detroit, MI 48216
http://www.ambassadorbridge.com/ammex
Duty free shopping. No taxes on women's perfume, men cologne, liquor and cigarettes.
Eastland Center
18000 Vernier Road, Detroit, MI 48225
http://www.shopeastland.com
88 stores including Macy's, Sears, Steve & Barry's and Target
Birch Run Premium Outlets (Formerly Prime Outlets - Birch Run)
12240 South Beyer Road, Birch Run , Michigan 48415
http://www.primeoutlets.com/cntrdefault.asp?cntrid=1015
Birch Run Premium Outlets have over 140 brand name stores including Coach, Nike Factory Store, Banana Republic Factory Store, Ann Taylor Factory Store, Calvin Klein, Gap Outlet, Old Navy, Polo Ralph Lauren Factory Store, Tommy Hilfiger.
Oakland Mall
498 W 14 Mile Rd, Troy, MI 48083
http://www.oaklandmall.com
Oakland Mall features over 120 store including anchors like Borders, J. C. Penney, Macy's and Sears.
His and Her Gift Ideas
BestBuy - Dearborn
16221 Ford Rd, Dearborn, MI 48126
http://www.bestbuy.com
BestBuy - Allen Park
3349 Fairlane Dr, Allen Park, MI 48101-2874
BestBuy - Taylor
23000 Eureka Rd, Taylor, MI 48180-6039
Target - Dearborn
http://www.target.com
Target - Allen Park
3100 Fairlane Dr, Allen Park, MI 48101
Target - Eastland
18000 Vernier Rd, Harper Woods, MI 48225
Circuit City - Dearborn
5600 Mercury Drive, Dearborn, MI 48126
http://www.circuitcity.com
Circuit City - Madison Heights
32399 John R. Road, Madison Heights, MI 48071
Circuit City - Taylor
23351 Eureka Road, Taylor, MI 48180
Circuit City - Roseville
20550 East 13 Mile Road, Roseville, MI 48066
2800 W Big Beaver Road, Suite N112, Troy, MI
http://www.apple.com/
Buy your iPhone, iPod Shuffle, iPod nano, iPod classic, iPod Touch, Apple TV, MacBook, MacBook Air, MacBook Pro, Mac Mini, iMac and Mac Pro at the Apple Store.
27520 Novi Rd, Novi, MI
652 Briarwood Cir, Ann Arbor, MI
Warehouse Stores
Costco - Roseville
27118 Gratiot Avenue, Roseville, Michigan
http://www.costco.com
Costco - Madison Heights
30550 Stephenson Highway, Madison Heights, Michigan, 48071
Costco - Livonia I
13700 Middlebelt Road, Livonia, Michigan, 48150
Sam's Club - Southgate
15700 Northline Rd., Southgate, MI 48195
http://www.samsclub.com
Sam's Club - Madison Heights
31020 John R Road, Madison Heights, MI 48071
Sam's Club - Southfield
22500 Eight Mile Road, Southfield, MI 48034
Sam's Club - Roseville
31720 Gratiot Ave., Roseville, MI 48066
Ontario/US border traffic and road conditions
Checkout the road conditions and plan ahead before going to the border. It can save you alot of time.


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text:
kolmapäev, oktoober 28, 2009
kaljukitse pöörijoon
I was looking for a belt. A brown one. Your regular old brown belt. I needed one to hold up my trousers. You need a belt there. It's like Jerry Seinfeld says, you feel naked without a belt.
I couldn't find my regular rihm, so I went searching for one in Tartu. A replacement. But if you are searching for something as simple as a regular brown belt in Tartu, you are out of luck.
I found some other belts at the Tasku shopping center. Tasku is kind of like the Solaris of Tartu, except the ceiling hasn't caved in yet. But what I mean is that the developer -- a patron of the local Reform Party, no doubt -- got the prime real estate of the old bus station smack in the center of town. In return, he promised to build the city a new bus station. That he did. He built a pint-sized bus station and a gigantic shopping center around it. "If they have to wait, they can wait in my shopping center." That was the line. I have nothing personal against the guy. He was out to make a kroon or two. They all are.
They have belts in Tasku. White leather ones. Big fat black ones with giant belt buckles. You 'd think only pirates or floozies shop there. But nothing for a boring, normal human being like myself. One belt I fingered cost 449 Estonian kroons ($42, €29). I thought that was expensive. Then I found another tolerable one. It was brown, alright, but fundamentally flawed. Flaw number one was that it cost 669 EEK. Flaw number two is that the belt buckle spelled out the brand name. C A M E L. Do you think I'm going to move around this city with a giant belt buckle that says C A M E L on it? As if I was Sean Combs or something? It's not going to happen.
I just wanted a belt. A simple brown belt. I wanted to look timeless. I don't remember seeing any photos of Ernest Hemingway hunting in Africa with a C A M E L belt. F. Scott wasn't wearing some white, false diamond-studded fashion accessory when he was putting up with one of Zelda's moods. Jimmy Joyce wasn't parading around Dublin on Bloomsday flaunting his designer jeans. I'm a writer, damnit, I tore into myself. I need a belt!
I didn't find a belt, but I found my book at Rahva Raamat. Minu Eesti. 352 pages of the lurid details of my life. How I met my wife. Our courtship. The highs and lows of bicultural marriages. What's it really like living with a person who eats smoked fish and blood sausage? This book will tell you. It's all true, and yet, when I look back on what really happened, Minu Eesti is quite tame. It's PG. The real story is so twisted and convoluted that I couldn't explain in 1,000 pages. Or even explain it all. Who really can explain the way things happen? Nobody can. All non-fiction is but a fairytale. All memoirs are lies. Vague recollections. We experience our own lives, but when asked to explain something, we're instantly all like Reagan up there on the witness stand, talking about Nicaragua. "I don't recall."
I started writing it in February and completed it in July. The first 50 or so pages just rolled off my fingertips. Then I had to blast through the middle of the book. That's how I envisioned it. "Ok, here's some dynamite, now WRITE!" Boom. Boom. Boom. I was blasting a way, hitting the hardest rock imaginable. But I knew I'd make it through to the end. Just one more stick of dynamite. The last week, I was racing to meet a deadline. I cranked out a chapter a day, but not more. The brain can only do one chapter. My brain at least. Then it's dry. It's a terrible feeling to be dry. You need some time to recuperate.
All through the process, my editor Bolling was rubbing my face in it. "What's this? This is a cliche, Giustino. We can't have a book with cliches." Or, "How many times are you going to use the word 'laughed' in this friggin' book? Grow a vocabulary, son." Bolling showed me tough love. He didn't even have to say it sometimes. He'd just take his pipe out of his mouth and glare at me in his study, as if to say, Don't waste my time with this nonsense. And so I'd go do another rewrite. I swear, it was like The Karate Kid. I wanted to learn the martial arts, but Mister Miyagi had me washing cars and sanding floors. Only now that I've done the crane can I truly understand the value of those lessons.
I was racing to complete it so that Raivo, the whiz tõlk, could translate away. Raivo did a great job, in my opinion, and I'm not just saying that because that's what you are supposed to say. He managed to render English-language scenes into Estonian-language ones. People of different linguistic persuasions react the same way to the same things at the same points in the book. Reading my translated work in Estonian has introduced new words and expressions to me. My favorite expression is Vatvat! I don't even know what it means. It just feels good to say it. It sounds boisterous, kind of like. "How's the wine, darling?" "Noh, Vatvatvatvatvat!"
Minu Eesti is about my life. But real life is more complicated. There are characters in that book that are maybe two people put together. Scenes in that book that took place, but in different locations on two separate days of the same week. I didn't lie to you, Estonia. I just wrapped the truth up in a nice chocolate box. Maybe call it a slightly fictionalized autobiography. That's how I think of it. But, whatever, it's all been printed now and is available for any pirate or floozy to read in Tasku while they wait for their bus. It's on its own now. It's got to learn to fend for itself. Live by its own wits. Next month it will be available in English. Then some of you can read it as well.
How to feel about it? I don't know. When I read it, parts of it still make me laugh. But at least I don't hate it, like most tortured artists come to hate their work. It can always be better, but, for me, it's good enough. This was the first volume. Another is coming. I'm patching together some ideas. I'm thinking of the time we visited Signe in Oslo and the first thing she said was:
"What are you, some kind of mama's boy?"
"No," I said.
"No," she mocked me. "Yes, you are, I can tell a mama's boy just by the way he stands. My ex-husband was one."
Signe drank all the vodka we brought her. She drank bottle number one the first day. That was the day we lost her at the Vigeland Sculpture Park.
Poor Signe. She used to associate with an Estonian television personality named Hannes back in the day. Hannes and I don't know each other, but the people we interact with do. I never see him, but I see his shadow, and if you know Hannes, then you know he has a recognizable shadow. Hannes. Peculiar fellow. He's off on vacation now. The only place where an Estonian celebrity can be free. You think that Estonia is so small that you can be a celebrity and sauna and swim with the rest. But you can't, because you're buying some Georgian wine at Selver late at night and some drunk comes up and tells you he wants to be a millionaire.
It happened to me the day after I came back from talking and singing about the book on Terevisioon. I stopped to get gas in Mäo and the attendant was looking me up and down. Then I saw she was watching ETV on the gas station TV. And I was wearing the same clothes, naturally. I took one look at that striped shirt and realized I might not ever be able to wear it in public again. Such was my first real brush with fame. "Hey look, honey," passersby might say, "there goes that writer who wears the striped shirt." But no belt, my dear Estonians. No belt.
I don't even know how I became a writer. I don't even know why I am writing this right now. It just spills out of me. The inner monologue bursts forth. It has a life of its own. It's not me in a way. Somebody else. I remember I wrote an article for the high school newspaper about the arrest of the entertainer, Pee-wee Herman. The kids loved it. They made their homeroom teachers read it to them. Then I got involved with an alternative newspaper and we got in all kinds of trouble. Those were the days.
Sometimes I think musicians have it easier. As a musician, all you have to do is sing a song. But then your song lyrics are misinterpreted and, before you know it, the Chinese have banned you because of some unintended allusion to Tibetan independence, or the CIA is smoking banana peels to see if they are bound to be the very next craze. That's just how it all is. It's inescapable. You try to lead a private life and then you wind up on a reality TV show with Flavor Flav.
You stand there on the rooftops of Manhattan apartments experiencing the hummingbird buzz of human existence, looking south towards the gaping space where the Twin Towers once stood, and you know, in your bones, that you make no difference. You lie in the snows of Karlova awash in the faint glow of the lights from Annelinn, and feel as lucid as a stone or spare tire. You can breath or not breath, swim or not swim. You can do nothing or anything, because everything is possible. And then you go and write a book, and people read it, even like it, and you still waste your time wondering about such things. Maybe the best thing is just to shut up and enjoy it and eat your piimasupp.
neljapäev, oktoober 22, 2009
the hardest working man in show business
I was asked earlier this week on Terevisioon, ETV's daily morning news and entertainment program, what I thought about Estonian politics, like I could actually muster an articulate sentence in Estonian about such things.
If I had been a bit sharper at 8.20 am, after zooming north through a snow storm in central Estonia blasting James Brown at the crack of dawn, I might have said something like this.
The most interesting dance in Estonian politics right now is taking place in Tallinn, where Edgar Savisaar's victorious Centre Party has invited Jüri Pihl's Social Democrats to negotiations on forming a center-left coalition in the Tallinn City Government.
Why is it interesting? Because if the results of the 2011 parliamentary election are anything like last week's municipal election results -- where Centre received 31.5 percent of all votes cast in Estonia, followed distantly by Reform at 16.7 percent, IRL at 13.9 percent, and SDE at 7.5 percent -- then a KESK-SDE coalition in Tallinn could be a trial run for a similar coalition in the next parliament.
In some ways, a center-left coalition in Estonian politics has been a long-time coming. For the past 10 years, Estonia has either been led by conservatives or liberals, partially due to to the success of their policies and partly due to a weak, polarized political left. But, as in all parliamentary democracies, the pendulum swings. Eighteen years of Thatcher and Major in Britain gave way to the past 12 years of Blair and Brown. If Estonia is to grow up politically, it must come to terms with the idea that the national idea is bigger than its right wing politics. It can't just have the liberals and the conservatives rotating seats until the end of time.
Savisaar has earned a lot of "political capital," as W. would say, but how he spends it will have a major effect on Estonian politics. Thanks in part to his victory many parties could have less reservations about cooperating with a political force referred to as roheline koletis -- the "green monster" -- both for its colors and its approach to governance.
For SDE, which was tossed out of the ruling coalition in May, it makes sense to at least entertain the idea of a center-left coalition in Tallinn. They are in a weak position, and yet, at a national level, they did better this time around than they did in 2005. Besides, the most common critiques of Savisaar's party -- that they are arrogant, uncooperative, and out to fill their own pockets -- are often lobbed at SDE's former partners, Reform, who fired them. So what exactly do they have to lose? That was the argument SDE founder Marju Lauristin made to the party list this week.
As for the agrarian Rahvaliit and the Greens, they are in an even less favorable position. Both of these parties are on life support, Any invitation to share power with the big vote winner will probably be welcomed. Having party members in power creates the impression of competence, and competence is a major factor in winning a person's vote. For all of these parties, the opportunity to have even a little power could translate to future electoral victory. Rahvaliit, as of my writing this, has already been asked to merge with the Centrists. That will give Savisaar's party a modicum of support in places like Jõgevamaa, where Rahvaliit, for some odd reason, continues to win.
At the same time, the Centrists still don't seem to get the point that they may have won the most votes, but that doesn't mean they have the authority of a national salvation committee. It's hard to pick the most embarassing moment so far, and it's only been a few days. Was it the call for early elections or Centre's clumsy overtures to form a coalition with IRL (which were immediately rebuffed)? Don't worry, there'll be more of them. And as they pile up, the people's memories will stack the decks in favor of the sweet boom years, paving the way for the eventual return of right-wing rule.
And what of the right-wing parties? It wasn't a total loss for them. In Tartu, Estonia's second biggest city, Reform solidly held onto its position as the leading party. It also won the most votes in Võru, Viljandi, Kuressaare, Haapsalu, and other towns. IRL, too, did not fare poorly. And, they should take any loss to Savisaar as a temporary set back as Savisaar's base includes two large divisions of people that continue to decline in numbers, pensioners and Estonian Russians.
The current crop of pensioners are people who spent most of their adult lives in service to the ESSR. But the next group of pensioners, those who came of age during the Singing Revolution, are unlikely to shift their allegiance to the roheline koletis. As for the myth of the Russian "fifth column," as of Jan. 1, 2009, but 36 percent of Tallinners identify themselves as ethnic Russians. Savisaar can continue to pander to them (I saw one advertisement strongly hinting at the relaxing of naturalization requirements), but it's not a recipe for a long-lasting majority.
The decline of the base is Savisaar's weak point. His political campaigns create the illusion of a state beset by anarchy where huge masses of have-nots join hands and overcome the starry-eyed Friedmanites that assuage everyone that, if we just follow the holy scripture of Saint Milton, everything will turn out alright. But, unfortunately for Savisaar, the masses aren't that huge, and he manages to capture their votes because they exist in places where rival parties dare not tread.
If Reform, IRL, SDE or even the Greens seriously put some efforts into attracting candidates that could compete in Centre Party strongholds, then they wouldn't get their asses so severely kicked in municipal elections.
So here are some suggestions for next time. These are very simple thoughts, forgive me. Ahem.
Reform's keyword is "reform." Once they get new leadership, they might be able to sell "reform," as most aspects of Estonian life require reforms. It's such a simple point, they themselves might have missed it. They can stick to their liberal principles, too, but also think of ways to attract voters who aren't wowed by references to economic theory. It's not unthinkable.
IRL? You'd think their keyword would be Isamaa -- "fatherland" -- but I would say their keyword should be "integrity." That's why people vote for Mart Laar -- because they believe he won't ever sell out the national interest. They should be the party of good governance. They should call other parties on every sleazy real estate deal, every sell out of Estonia. There are people who vote for Centre who know quite well how corrupt their politicians are. They just need to be called on it.
SDE? Their key word is "solidarity." If they stopped dressing up in bogus red and actually went door to door, they might be able to get people to believe in their values. They should spend less time at Tallinn wine and cheese events and more time in Estonia's shanty towns. Get a bus and go on a listening tour of Võrumaa or Ida Virumaa. I'm sure the people there will have a lot to share.
This will all take time. But I do believe a day will come when the green monster will lose big in districts it once held captive. And they'll deserve it.
Postitaja: Giustino kell 11:11 PM 70 kommentaari:
esmaspäev, oktoober 12, 2009
sügisetuul
Autumn in Setomaa to me is more appealing than summer. Sure, summer is just like one big sõir* and sauna party. But you can barely get any work done without being harassed by sweat and insects.
In autumn, you are alone with your thoughts and the pleasing cool colors of the northern foliage. From an American perspective, you might as well be somewhere deep in the mountains of Vermont. You develop a sudden urge to hear pedal-steel guitar licks and twangy vocal harmonies, even if you've never really enjoyed country music.
This is the mindset that sweeps in as you put up one wall of an outhouse. I said I was going to build one, and I am building it, even if it takes a really long time. Even if it falls over after its first Christening. I am building the outhouse to prove to myself that I am not only useful for writing funny blogposts and changing diapers. I am building it to show that I am capable of building an outhouse. Other people do sillier things -- run marathons, scale buildings, sail solo around the world -- to test themselves. And here I am with my powerdrill and saw. This is my test. The outhouse will be built. I can feel it.
Poor Indrek Teder. The chancellor of justice stepped it in earlier this month. He got up in front of the Riigikogu and did the Estonian political equivalent of asking for diarrhea. He suggested Estonia change part of its citizenship requirements for stateless persons. The procedure for naturalization in question concerns minors born to stateless parents. At the moment, the parents must request that their stateless child be given citizenship in order for the child to receive it. Teder suggested that the child be given citizenship automatically. Why deny the Estonian-born child a passport if his or her parents are too lazy to do the paper work?
Now, to be fair, it's not like it was his idea. When Thomas Hammarberg, the Commissioner for Human Rights at the Council of Europe, last visited Tallinn, he suggested the same change be made. That is because, in most of the world, statelessness is viewed as a problem. Diplomats undertaking human rights missions are mandated to urge countries to reduce it. Estonia officially says it is working hard to cut its number of stateless persons. It has, slowly and steadily. Over the past six years, the number of stateless persons has been reduced from 12 percent to 7.5 percent of the population, or around 100,000 people. An issue, though, is that many of the newly naturalized do not acquire Estonian citizenship. They acquire Russian citizenship which, if you take the Russians' moral imperative for intervention in Georgia last year, can cause big headaches for a state trying to maintain its sovereignty.
But proponents of the current policy say that they cannot force Estonian citizenship on anyone, even children without a passport. The Estonian state is run by nice people. They don't even force ice cream on anyone. It's up for the parents to decide, they argue. Of course, they might force an Estonian integration program on you in schools, or mandate a certain level of linguistic proficiency for you to hold certain jobs. But, that's just their way of helping you get along so that one day you can get that passport. According to this line of thinking, an Estonian passport is like the ripe, sweet cherry atop the multi-layered cake of integration.
The argument against naturalizing more people at a faster rate through the years has rested on several concepts. One is legal continuity and the idea that those who are currently stateless did not enter Estonia with the permission of its citizens, who were under a military occupation (and they were, you needed special permission to visit Hiiumaa). Plus many of those stateless persons were born in Russia and did not have longstanding ties to Estonia. A significant chunk of them went back to their mother country in the nineties (about 150,000 people, off the top of my head). But, from the vantage point of 2009, it looks like those who are still here are here to stay. They're not going "home." They are "home."
Another argument rested on loyalty. How could Estonians know that those stateless people were not Intermovement-backing saboteurs? How could they be trusted with the right to vote for the parliament at such a critical time in the nation's history? This argument also made sense, considering the large number of Russian military personnel and pensioners in Estonia in the early 1990s. And Estonia was trying to navigate its way into the EU and NATO, two Western clubs that didn't especially want it, but seemed like the best antidote to post-Soviet detritus.
That argument made sense for a long time. But then came the Herman Simm case, where a birthright Estonian citizen traded security secrets to the Kremlin so that he could buy up more land in Viljandi County. Those who opposed the merits of the "loyalty argument" in the citizenship discourse suddenly found themselves with a powerful counterargument: citizenship does not guarantee loyalty. Just look at Herman Simm.
For some one with nasty social democratic tendencies like myself -- and they are hard to shake -- I tend to be attracted to the idea of the state as a steamroller, or even a crazy monster from a Japanese science fiction movie. The Estonian Godzilla emerges from the Baltic Sea. Everywhere you hear air-raid sirens. People are fleeing this way and that. There's chaos on the streets of Tallinn. But the Estonian Godzilla does not care. It does not ask its stateless victims if they want to be citizens or not. There's no paper work. With a determined, pissed-off look on its face, it grabs them, tosses them towards its killer jaws, and gobbles them up. "Mmm, tasty," it belches as it breaths fire and heads towards Lasnamäe. "Who's next?"
And you can't help but cheer on Godzilla. I mean, why should the lizard just stay there lounging in the ocean when real fun can be had on the streets of Eestimaa? Sometimes, you need a little bread and circus. Entertain us, oh Estonian state. Then again, I never get eaten in those movies. I'm always sitting safely with my passport and loved one in the theater.
But Teder didn't sell the proposed change to his skeptical audience that way. He's too polite. He said that Estonia is too "nationality-centered" right now, and that he wants to build a happier country where citizenship, or state identity, is paramount. You're not defined by your language or the folk costume hanging in your closet, according to this line of thinking. You are defined by your nifty, society-leveling state-identity card. That's a sweet, bureaucratic thought, but the current coalition isn't going to change anything related to citizenship laws. And why would they? These are the kinds of issues that elicit hundreds of angry comments on Postimees' online edition. As I said, it's like asking for an intestinal disorder. Anybody who opens up that shit box is destined for ruin.
An interesting aside is that Estonia is "nationality centered" because Estonians actually are the largest group of people in Estonia. Seven out of every 10 individuals on the soil of this land speak Estonian with their mom and/or dad. And one of those 10 is loyal to Dmitri Medvedev or some other president -- typically Yuschenko, Lukashenka, or Halonen, so they aren't part of the parliamentary equation. That means that people speak Estonian in the Riigikogu because that's the language that most people speak. These days, the official language is de facto, not just de jure. But don't tell anybody that. It'll be our little secret.
When you are building an outhouse, you learn that life is a series of compromises. Oh yeah, you think you measured those posts correctly and spaced them evenly apart. You think that your outhouse frame is a model of geometric perfection. But then you take a few steps back and realize how badly you've messed the whole thing up.
So you hammer a bit here, and dig a bit there, and screw in an extra piece of wood here, and lean on it a bit there, and, when you look at it again, it's not perfect, but it's standing. It might even last the winter. And you see that every last piece of it is a compromise. The whole structure hangs on slight alterations, each fixed to the other. To put in another way, the sturdy whole is built on interlocking flaws.
I turn over mismatched concepts as I saw another piece of wood. Russia claims a "sphere of privileged interest" in the post-Soviet space, which includes Estonia. NATO reiterates that the cornerstone of the treaty is collective defense, which includes collective defense of Estonia. Nuclear-armed NATO also does not see little Russia as a real security threat, supposedly because if Russia did threaten NATO, the organization would drop an Article 5 bomb on Moscow. At the same time, Russia has decided that Ukraine will not join NATO, and there are some tremors of badness originating from the Crimean peninsula. I read about this everyday. I read about geopolitics so much I even dream about it.
Our friends regularly make the pilgrimage to the Russian side of Setomaa. I've even thought of getting a multiple entry visa so I can see what life is like over there in Asia. Supposedly, the bake shops in Petseri are not to be missed! But I'm worried they've got me in their secret files. I'm worried Russian Ambassador Nikolai Uspenski has a dossier that reads, Giustino: Enemy Blogger.
"I haven't written nice things about Putin," I told my spouse. "I'm sure they'll deny any application I put forward."
"Then why don't you write something good about him for a change?" she suggested.
"Good? About Putin?"
The other night, I dreamed I was in a beautiful European city filled with canals and fountains and outdoor cafes. I thought I was back in Turku, or Stockholm, or Amsterdam, but no, I was in St. Petersburg drinking beer at an outdoor cafe with Putin.
"I read your blog all the time," Putin says and guzzles his beer. "It's pretty funny, but why do you write so much nasty shit about Russia all the time, eh?"
"Nasty? Like what?" I feign innocence.
The waiter comes and asks if we want another round. Putin tells him we do, and that it's on him.
"You said our ambassador Nikolai Uspenski is incapable of smiling," Putin glares at me. "How would you feel if I said that your Estonian ambassador is incapable of smiling?"
"He probably is. I mean, he is Estonian."
Putin laughs, and when Putin is drunk and laughs, he really loses it. He's slapping his knees. He's pounding his fists on the table. After a minute, he wipes the tears of laughter from his eyes.
"You're not so bad, Giustino," Putin says. "You should spend more time in Russia. We have pretty girls. Old buildings. Great literature. Here," Putin rummages through a knapsack. "have you ever read The Brothers Karamazov?"
"Take it, take it," he hands the book to me. "How about," he dips again into his bag, feeling around, "Anna Karenina?"
"I haven't read that either."
"You haven't read it? My God. Here, here, take it. It's yours." Putin pushes the other thick book across the table.
"Thanks," I say, flipping through the Cyrillic text, "but I don't know Russian."
"Don't play with me, Giustino," Putin sneers. "Everybody knows Russian."
"Ok."
"Wait, I think I have something written in fascist, I mean English," Putin chuckles, feeling around in his book bag. "Here!" he thrusts a third book in my hands. I look down. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov.
"You'll love it," Putin says. "It's right up your alley. Sick," he chuckles again, "sick." He chugs his beer and slams the glass on the table.
I put the books aside and finish my beer. "You know, Putin, you're not so bad," I say, wiping the foam from my mouth. "You should come to Tartu sometime. We've got pretty girls. Old buildings. Great literature."
It snowed yesterday in Tartu and I was a little annoyed. I am enjoying autumn. I want it to extend for as long as possible. Some people are summer people. They're hedonists. Their idea of a good time is grilling meat in their swim trunks eight days a week. Other people like spring. The river ice is melting. The pollen's in the air. The girls are apt to try out exotic fashions. It's mating season. A third group of oddballs enjoy winter. It's so dark and sinister, and yet, by withstanding all that pressure, you are ultimately enlightened. For them, winter is like a really good Radiohead album.
But me? I am enjoying autumn, especially autumn in Setomaa. I want it to last. I want the trees to stay the way they are. They soothe me. Yes, I think I've decided. I am an autumn person. I want to finish the outhouse before it's too late, before it starts snowing every day from now to April 1.
In the distance, I hear a the muffled explosion of a gunshot. Our neighbor and some of the other locals have gone off hunting deer. It's all supervised by the state. When you drive into this corner of Võrumaa, you can see the hunt supervisors, dressed in neon orange vests, making sure nobody gets out of line.
I know I am not like the locals. They are country boys. They build outhouses that actually are geometrically perfect. The Estonian giant mythological figure Kalev himself could use it. The locals are different. They speak Võro language, albeit only when they are drunk or joking. But they don't mind me. Maybe they'll even compliment me on the outhouse when it's finished. Nothing like a New York tenderfoot greenhorn trying to manage in the Montana of Estonia. But I enjoy it. I could just stay here in this moment for a long time, powerdrill in hand, having a meaningful dialogue with a half-finished outhouse.
* Sõir is a kind of cheese popular in Võromaa and Setomaa,. The word sõir is of Slavic origin (the Czech word for 'cheese' is sýr) . The local varieties of sõir are soft, often with caraway (not rye) seeds mixed in. The Estonian word for 'cheese' is juust. It is of Germanic origin (the Swedish word for 'cheese' is ost). The etymologies of these words could be seen as examples of the different influences on Estonian and Võro/Seto culture.
Postitaja: Giustino kell 9:37 AM 38 kommentaari:
enam ei ole
Estonian months carry a variety of names. For instance, July or Juuli is also referred to as heinakuu -- "hay month" -- a month where, I guess, you are supposed to make hay.
Oktoober's alter ego is viinakuu -- "vodka month" -- named so because of people's fondness for vodka making. But, if I were printing calendars, I would give it a different name, õunakuu -- "apple month" -- because it's the month when people are busy trying to think of creative ways to get rid of the avalanche of apples in their backyards.
Estonians treat apples more kindly than they treat one another. Harvesting begins not with ascending a ladder to pluck nature's bounty from your personal orchard, but with searching the ground for apples that have dropped over night that might still be good. Good apples are never wasted. Even the bruised ones can be sliced and made into jams or used to sweeten cakes.
Only after you have personally judged the quality of every grounded apple can you move to the trees. Using both methods, we collected about eight bags of fruit two weeks ago, resulting in liters and liters and liters of apple juice. We also have jars and jars and jars of sweet apple jam. But the apples kept coming. Last weekend, I scavenged, picked, and cleaned four more bags of fruit. A group of Estonian guys up in the Tartu neighborhood of Veeriku work morning til night every night making juice for Tartu residents for a fee. For 180 kroons our apples were turned to raw juice overnight. We boiled the juice and packed away even more jars of the stuff for the months to come. But there were still more apples. So this weekend I picked six more bags and brought it to the Veeriku õunavabrik. This time though, I went without my spouse.
The leader of the Veeriku pack is a guy who looks to be in his 50s or 60s. He wears an old sweater, and has a salt and pepper beard and a ruddy face that looks like he's seen too many saunas. He also suffers from south Estonian mud tongue -- that is, he sort of mumbles in a deep voice. Only other Estonians can truly understand the system of grunts and sighs that make up this variety of the language. I manage to make it through most of the conversation. Then he points at my apples and says something about "Antonovka." I figure that he thinks my name is Antonovka -- that I am an Estonian Russian. I do have a noticeable accent.
"No, my name is not Antonovka," I tell him.
"No, no, these apples, are they Antonovka's?" he grunts.
"No, they're our apples, not Antonovka's."
"I know they are your apples. But what kind of apples are they?"
Now, I attended pre-school in the United States, so I know the names of different apples. The big yellow ones are called Yellow Delicious. The big red ones are called Red Delicious. And the tart green ones: Granny Smith. How would I translate 'Granny Smith' into Estonian, I ponder. Vanaema Sepp? But the reality is that none of our apples look like those American apples. They're all a little different.
"Well, some of our apples are red and some are yellow," I tell the Veeriku õunamees. "Those are the kinds of apples we have."
He sighs and takes down my number. I give him Epp's name though. I don't even want to go through the process of spelling out my name or, even worse, being reminded that I share a name with American pop singer Justin Timberlake.
I ask Epp about Mr. Antonovka when I get home. She just laughs, and tells me that Antonovkas are a kind of apple. There is no Mr. Antonovka. My mistake! Later, when I bring my daughter to visit a friend, I discuss the dilemma of Estonia's overproductive apple orchards with her father. Margus is standing at the top of the drive way, twisting the top of a juice press. Beside him is one large wheelbarrow filled with apple pulp, another tub filled with raw juice, and then two more plastic tubs filled with apples.
"I've been drinking apple juice for weeks," he says proudly. "I won't need to buy juice from the store all winter."
I relate my tale to Margus. "I went to get the juice pressed in Veeriku, and the man kept asking me about Antonovka -- I thought he thought it was my name!"
Margus laughs. "There are lots of different kinds of apples in Estonia that you probably don't have in America. Antonovka apples come originally from Russia. They don't taste so great, but they last a long time."
I realize he's right. They probably don't have Vanaema Sepp apples in Estonia. And I haven't seen any Yellow Delicious at the store. I'm still a foreigner in a foreign country. It's like John Travolta's character says in Pulp Fiction. The funniest thing about Europe is the little differences. "I mean they got the same shit over there, we got here," he tells Samuel L. Jackson's character, "but it's just there's a little difference."
Making juice causes logistical headaches. When is the right time to begin boiling? Who will be on straining duty to skim off all the nasty foam that rises to the top? And worst of all, what do we do when we run out of jars?
You'd think the answer to the last question is just to head to the store. There are always more jars, right? This is a capitalist country. There is supply and demand. If the people demand jars, then the stores will order more. Sure, Estonia is on the east coast of the Baltic sea, but it's not the middle of nowhere, is it? Such simple things as jars must be as plentiful as, well, as plentiful as apples in a Tartu backyard.
I am sorry to report that there were no more jars at the Zeppelin shopping center in Tartu. Nor were there any at Eedeni Keskus. The Rimi Hypermarket was also out. And Selver didn't have any either.
Kas teil purke on? (Do you have any more jars?) We asked the sellers.
Enam ei ole. (Not any more) They replied.
Enam ei ole. Enam ei ole. I heard that line so many times. How could it be? This is a city of 100,000 people. There must be jars in it, somewhere. As we found out there are, just not at the stores. After searching around, friends began to volunteer huge bags full of empty containers. Apparently, there are ladies all around town that have jars stashed in their cellars. They have more containers than they can fill with fruit byproducts. And the best part of this social networking experience was that we got all our jars for free, though I did spend 51 kroons to buy 30 jar lids this morning. You see, even after boiling juice by the gallons, there's still one more giant aluminum canister to work through.
"Don't worry," our friend Pille tells me. "If you run out of jars, my neighbor has plenty." Pille spends her weekends in Võrumaa, in the southeastern corner of the country. I am informed that they have enough apple juice down there to swim in.
"How much apple juice do you drink?" I ask.
"I average about a half liter per day," she says.
And maybe I do too. I must confess, when I'm in the mood for something quick, I might just grab a jar of juice, a jar of chunky apple jam, and a spoon. They say an apple a day keeps the doctor away. But what about 40 apples? Am I adding years to my life?
As I write this, the sunny morning has given way to a gray, windy noon. The only bits of light that catch my eye from the second floor window are the golden orbs that are suspended before me -- the highest-hanging fruit of our personal orchard. It almost makes me sick to look at them. I feel guilty for not making use of every last goddamn apple. But there's only so much juice and jam a family in Tartu can make.
reede, oktoober 02, 2009
alati valmis
My wife sensed that our younger one had a cold coming on. The solution? Küüslauk -- garlic. But she didn't dice it up and feed it to her. No, she took a thread and stitched the slices of garlic into a necklace, which she hung around our daughter's neck to ward off evil spirits.
I never really thought of Estonians as the folksy east European gypsies one might encounter in 19th century British literature. They always struck me as slow and steady northern peninsula people with marvelous cheekbones. But the natural remedies they push anytime anyone gets sick makes me think twice. Maybe the garlic serves other, unspoken purposes.
I fell ill on the 20th, the day before my father's 62nd birthday. In Estonian, they call what I got angiin -- which should correspond to the English 'angina' but means something entirely different. My angiin meant acute tonsillitis plus four days of aches, pains, and recurring fevers. For those few days, all I could do is gurgle in a voice that, to me, sounded a bit too much like Humphrey Bogart's, and ask my abikaasa -- spouse -- to bring me some more throat-soothing Coldrex and Theraflu.
"Thanks for the Theraflu," I would murmur to my abikaasa. "Here's looking at you, kid."
Theraflu was the only kind of remedy I received that came in a paper box. The rest was straight from the garden. On the morning I fell ill we were in Karksi, a small town on the Latvian border where my wife's people dwell. Somehow my wife's cousin Helina got word that I was in bad shape. I was dispatched to see her mother, Randi, who had some ideas about how to mend me.
In Randi's kitchen I was given astelpaju berries mixed with honey. I have only encountered astelpaju derivatives -- jams, juices, et cetera -- in Estonia. In English, it's called sea-buckthorn, but I don't recall ever seeing sea-buckthorn juice on sale in Manhattan. Maybe it is, in some organic grocery in the East Village. But it's not the kind of thing you find in your American grandma's kitchen, which is a shame because it's supposedly high in anti-oxidants and vitamin C.
Astelpaju berries remind me of cranberries, just as powerful but lighter and softer and sweeter in every other way. While I swallowed the astelpaju and honey, I told Randi about a remedy I had seen for prostatitis at a country fair -- dead wasps floating in vodka. Supposedly, the double-punch of insect venom and vodka would wipe any prostate clean of invaders. I didn't try it though. You can question my masculinity all you want -- I'm not one for drinking dead bee juice.
Randi made for me something entirely different -- chopped onions and garlic in a jar.
"You should wait awhile until the syrup rises," she said, holding the jar of chopped alliaceae before me in the kitchen sunlight. "Then you have to take it. Three spoonfuls a day."
Mick, Randi's British beau entered the kitchen. His real name's Michael, but in Estonia it helps to have an Estonian name. Mick, or Mikk rather, it is. They met while she was working in the UK. Mick's the same age as my father. I am always intrigued by these guys -- the young men of the 1960s. I imagine that Mick was there on Carnaby Street in '67 with Dr. Strangelove and Austin Powers. Everything was just shagadelic and groovy, and people were guzzling beers out of those old-fashioned tall containers and smoking because, as everyone knew back then, smoking was good for you.
"I just got a new guitar," Mick tells me. "It's called Variax -- like a variety of axes." Using his 'Variax' Mick can get the sounds of different makes of guitars -- Rickenbackers, Gibsons, Fenders. He's one of these guys that really loves guitars. I have several -- an acoustic, a classical, and an acoustic bass guitar, but I think Mick belongs to a whole other caste of musicians, the type that really loves guitars and cannot resist the temptation of acquiring a new axe. Each time they pass the window of a music shop, they inevitably fall in love. So maybe Variax is the best solution for Mick. It's like buying several guitars all at once.
When you're sick, people are nice to you but nobody wants to shake your hand. And so I waved Mick and Randi farewell as they left to go visit relatives. But the talk with Mick made me realize that it had been too long since I had played guitar. Life has a tendency to interfere with joyful activities. But music is like that. It can't let you go. When you're in, you're in for life. It's a neverending activity perpetuated by a group of enthusiasts. Sure, sometimes you slack off, but then the others remind you that you and your guitars are headed in but one direction. If you fall out of rank, they'll step in and force you to pick up the pace. "Forward!" the guitarists charge, axes in hand, eager to conquer the world of sound. "Edasi!"
Later that day, we arrived in Suure-Jaani, the seat of my wife's childhood. Everytime we go to Viljandimaa, there are always little stories that pop up. The bubbles of memories just can't be suppressed. It's just pop, pop, pop. Here's the school house that my father-in-law attended a billion years ago as a child. And that's where my wife's grandfather was a school director. And over there, that's the place where one time ...
We had watched a film on Soviet Estonia a few nights back. It was filmed probably in the mid-1970s, but to me, as an American, the haircuts and clothing dated to 1964. There's a weird lag in time between American and Soviet styles. You think that somewhere in Los Angeles they came up with that look around the time of the Kennedy assassination and it took a whole decade for it to reach Main Street USSR.
In the film young Pioneers waded down the aisle of a gathering where they spouted Communist slogans and then, in a militaristic way, put their hands up and proclaimed that they were alati valmis -- always ready -- to defend their socialist superstate from the imperialists with their platform shoes and Mott the Hoople LPs.
My wife was one of those children. They used to have to sing songs about Lenin in school. Lenin. It's been 90 years and I still can't believe they killed the tsar and his family. I mean, ok, they killed the tsar. But his four daughters? Anastasia, Tatiana, Olga, and Maria - executed by one Yakov Yurovsky, later chief of the Soviet State Treasury. Yakov Sverdlov approved their execution. For that and other accomplishments, the city of Ekaterinburg was renamed Sverdlovsk in his honor in 1924. It reverted to its original name in 1991. But they sang songs to Lenin. And if you ask most Estonians of that generation today, Brezhnev's kids, they look back on their bizarre Red youth with a certain nostalgia.
I actually drove to Viljandi from Karksi, keeping an ill-man's pace on the Viljandimaa roads. But Epp's brother Aap had to take over for the trek from Viljandi to Suure-Jaani. Fortunately, Estonia's asshole drivers tend to stick to the Tallinn-Tartu road. We made it to Helle's apartment in one piece, but the first thing I did was make for the spare bedroom and collapse into delirium and pain.
This is the first bed I slept in when I moved to Estonia back in early 2003. That day was cold and life obliterating. I'll never forget how I walked on the ice with Epp towards her aunt Helle's place from the bus stop and took a spill on the frozen blackness, my whole body sliding down part of the street. Man, that was rough. But at least I was well back then. This time I was sick.
I guess my fellow travelers grasped by this point that I was done for. All Helle could do is pile blankets on me and keep her fingers crossed. There's nothing like having your wife's aunt tuck you in and bring you tea. Talk about extended family. "You actually care about me?" you ponder as she lays another blanket on top. "You care if I am well or sick?"
But Estonians care. If you get sick, there is a group effort to get you well. Aunt Randi contributed the garlic and onions and astelpaju. Aunt Helle kicked in the blankets and teas. And the next day, back in Tartu, I got a phone call. A phone call from Laine.
"Epp's downstairs," I croaked to her. I always have a hard time talking to Laine and Karl -- Epp's grandmother and grandfather. Maybe it's because I am insecure about my linguistic abilities. But their language is different. It's not the clipped, decipherable Estonian that you hear on the radio. It's this meandering stream of vowels and consonants, where the grammar is otherworldy. Somewhere in the back of my head, my brain is still deconstructing those phrases and reassembling them in English. I don't notice it, but it creates a slight strain on my thought process.
"But I didn't call to talk to Epp," Laine said. "We were worried about you. How are you doing?"
Worried about me? I was shocked. "I can barely talk," I told her of my condition. "But I don't have a fever right now."
"You should drink hot teas," said Laine. "Lots of hot teas." In the background, I heard Papa Karl mutter something. "Papa recommends hot milk," Laine added. "He says hot milk with honey works best."
That night I wished my father a happy birthday via Skype. I could see my unshaven, pärslane image on the screen of the laptop. I looked bad. And, you know, I was supposed to go on a business trip to the UK the next morning. I kept thinking that the illness would pass, but my wife pulled the plug on the whole thing as I lay in bed, molested by changes in body temperature.
"You're not going," she decided. "I spoke with the doctor. She said there's no way you can travel like this."
Could you imagine what would have happened if I went? If I had gotten to Stansted, sweating from illness, unable to talk because of the angiin. They would ask me how long I intended to stay in the UK, and I would respond in sign language or scratch them a few sentences on a sheet of paper. Maybe they would have denied me entrance, or shipped me off to wither away in some British hospital. It certainly pays to have an abikaasa. Someone who can talk sense into you. Someone who knows when it's time to cancel the business trip. Someone who brings you teas when you are down.
But still, hot teas? Garlic and onion syrup? Milk with honey? It was like firing arrows at a destroyer. The next day a doctor was called to the house. Heavy duty antibiotics were prescribed. We were going to napalm the shit out of my illness. No germ would be spared. It was curtains for angiin. Die, you bastards, die. It took two days, but finally the beast was subdued. I could swallow again. Given some time, I might even return to something resembling 'normal.'
I still don't feel that I am there yet.
As the autumn light filtered through the windows, I recovered and watched the news on TV or read newspapers and books. I have to admit it, I like Jüri Pihl, see mees kes teab ja välja veab. That's the electoral slogan of the Social Democrats -- it means that he knows things and fixes mistakes. I'm not really sure what he knows or doesn't know. I just like him because he seems amused whenever he is interviewed.
During one program, the reporters asked the Tallinn city council candidates random questions as part of a poll, things like, 'How much does a liter of vodka cost?' And there was Jüri, looking amused. "Everyone knows that a liter of vodka costs between 120 and 180 krooni" he shook his head from side to side, apparently entertained. And he was right. He got the most questions correct out of all the other candidates. It's like they say, Jüri teab ja välja veab. I guess that after decades in the security services, getting asked dumb questions by reporters is amusing.
But mostly I spent my recovery with Haruki Murakami and his book What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. Not that I am about to pick up running. Murakami says that certain bodies, like his, are designed for traveling long distances via athletic shoes, and I've come to conclusion that my body isn't one of those bodies. Still, I enjoyed the simplicity of it all. The freedom of a mind traveling down a road, savoring ideas like the little tufts of clouds that float by above.
That's the hidden benefit of illness. Clarity. You realize that you've been spending 90 percent of your time engaged in full pursuit of counterproductive crap. You require a clean slate -- to disengage, to step back from it all, and see things as they really are. To not think in disjointed paragraphs, but to approach the world one perfectly crafted sentence at a time. It's like Jüri and the reporters. You can either be threatened by the outside world and its cascading waves of troubles, or you can enjoy it for what it is. Maybe you'll even find it amusing.


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Iceland Grand Theft: 600 bitcoin-mining computers robbed.
Why is Iceland so popular amongst the cryptocurrency industry? Iceland has become a magnet for cryptocurrency farms, blockchain technologies, and data centers. Why? Because of its cold climate which is instrumental in cooling the energy-consuming servers, and its low electricity prices.
At the most basic level, mining bitcoin involves computers solving complex mathematical equations in the hope of 'discovering' a coin.
On Wednesday (7th March 2018), police in Iceland reported a series of large-scale robberies, as a result of which about 600 computer farms for mining bitcoin and other cryptocurrencies have been stolen.
In it, as part of the investigation of the incident, 11 people were arrested, one of whom worked as a security guard. On Friday, the Reykjanes District Court expressed restraint, leaving only two people under arrest.
As per reports, the cost of damage is estimated at almost $2 million.
Around 600 Bitcoin-mining computer servers were taken from data centers in Reykjanesbær, near Reykjavik airport, and Borgarnes on Iceland's west coast in a number of series occurring in the month of January and February, this year.
Police and investigators are still trying to locate the missing equipment, worth about £1.45million, that was likely stolen to mine digital currencies. Millions of pounds can be made from mining Bitcoin, however, it requires large and expensive computer servers to do so.
This was described as a "highly organized crime". Iceland specifically is said to be a haven for mining due to lower electricity costs, making it easier to turn a profit. Since the beginning of the investigation, 11 suspects have been arrested.
Icelandic authorities have called on local internet service providers (ISPs), electricians and storage space units to report any unusual requests for power.
Of course, if the servers have been carved up and shipped out, that could well turn out to be a dead end.
In what Icelandic media have dubbed the "Big Bitcoin Heist," 600 servers have been spirited out of data centers in four burglaries. Three heists happened in December and a fourth took place in January. According to reports, authorities have kept it on the hush-hush while they've worked on tracking down the culprits.
Investigators haven't found the servers yet.
However, this is not the only recent example of bitcoin-related crime spilling over into the physical world. A couple weeks back, Taiwanese police said they suspected four gangsters of violently assaulting two men and forcing them to transfer Bitcoins into the gangsters' account.


text:
Vilém Závada (ur. 1905, zm. 1982) – czeski poeta, w początkach twórczości przedstawiciel poetyzmu (antytradycjonalistycznego, awangardowego prądu artystycznego w latach 1920. w Czechosłowacji), później reprezentował mroczny nurt poezji czeskiej, liryk pesymistyczno-patriotyczny i społeczny, tłumacz poezji, zajmował się głównie filologią czeską, francuską, słowiańską, a w tłumaczeniu filologią: niemiecką, rosyjską, francuską, rumuńską, słoweńską, słowacką, polską, bułgarską, hebrajską, perską/irańską, węgierską.

Zobacz też
 Zawada

Bibliografia
 Leszek Engelking, Cierń, który kłuje i jątrzy, "Literatura na Świecie" 1985, nr 3
 Encyklopedia PWN na serwerze WP.pl, artykuł: Vilém Závada
 Wykaz dzieł na serwerze Narodowej Biblioteki Republiki Czeskiej
 Вилем Завада/Vilem Zavada na www.Peoples.Ru
 Vilém Závada, Nocne czuwanie, wyboru dokonał i wstępem opatrzył Józef Waczków, Katowice 1983.

Czescy poeci XX wieku
Czescy tłumacze
Czescy twórcy literatury dziecięcej i młodzieżowej
Urodzeni w 1905
Zmarli w 1982

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


Wrong-way crashes are often caused by drunk or drugged drivers who aren't cognizant of traveling against the flow of traffic. An accident in North Carolina has claimed two lives and left one in critical condition at the hospital. To learn more, visit "Wrong-Way Crash Kills 2 in Winston-Salem, NC."


One of the most spiritually dangerous mistakes we can make is to compartmentalize our thinking into separate sections: Facts/values. Sacred/secular.
Worst of all, God/real life.
If Jesus truly is Lord—and His word says He is—then there is not so much as a solitary atom, much less an entire compartment, where He does not belong. So I love, love, love it when writers and speakers help us tear down mental and spiritual walls to help us live life as a unified whole. And now there's a new voice to help women think biblically and rightly about how we glorify God in our homes.
This week marks the release of Gloria Furman's book Glimpses of Grace: Treasuring the Gospel in Your Home. I've never read a book that so thoroughly explores the way God's grace can so fully and vibrantly radiate into even the most mundane and seemingly unimportant parts of life.
Her great, dry sense of humor is studded throughout the book, such as: "I need God's grace and something baked with peanut butter and chocolate." What's not to love?
• God can use the ordinary moments in your life to glorify himself by conforming you into the image of his Son. That is precisely what he intends to do. Dirty dishes in the sink or red crayons smushed into an electrical socket by a curious toddler are not just worrisome ordeals in your otherwise uneventful day. They're opportunities to see glimpses of grace.
• Jesus apparently believes that the most satisfying thing for us in all eternity is to behold his glory in his very presence. He is not absent from our noisy, chaotic lives. He is with us, even to the end of the age (Matt. 28:20). And if he's with us even to the end of the age, then he is with us even to the end of our carpooling route. He's with us even to the end of the meat in the fridge when grocery day isn't for another four days. He's with us even to the end of a long night of waking with a crying baby. He's with us even to the end of a party that we'd rather not be at or be hosting, for whatever reason. He's with us even to the end of a hectic morning of rushing around trying to get out the door. He's with us even to the end of a dreadful day when nothing seemed to go as planned.
• God's efficacious grace could be described in terms of the different ways you put pajamas on a baby. My son prefers to streak after he takes baths. He even tries to climb out of the tub early before everyone is soaped up and rinsed in order to increase his odds of getting to run around in his birthday suit. . . . But it's all fun and games until a naked baby has an accident on the carpet, so I quickly chase him down to put on his diaper. Some nights he runs away shrieking and hides under tables and behind chairs trying to avoid the inevitable. Some nights he quietly lies on the bed while I diaper him, and he might even stretch his legs into the pajamas I hold up. Either way, whether I have to wrestle his clothes onto him or he peacefully submits to the work I am doing, that boy has never gone to bed without a diaper and pajamas on. Of course, we should love to submit to God's efficacious grace as he purposes to make us more like Christ! But sometimes we're like a naked baby hiding behind the couch, reluctant to hold still and thankfully allow God to work in our hearts and get us ready for what he has next.
• We're destined for joy forever because of Christ's exquisite hospitality in opening a way to God through his own body. We can serve others with gladness, knowing that the carrots we peel and the diapers we change are as unto the Lord. . . . When we show hospitality in this way, we can see how "God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may about in every good work" (2 Cor. 9:8). Our role is to serve with the strength God supplies, and it's God's role to do with our service whatever he pleases. He supplies the strength, and in his abundant hospitality he also gives us joy! God's grace in Christ is for us to enjoy and share with others. When I have this grace in mind, I can see my possessions and others' needs in light of eternity.
• My disgusting kitchen floor and its propensity to absorb filth is a picture of our hearts. No matter how hard we scrub, we cannot erase our iniquity. The shame of our sin is like the phantom stain on a shirt that reappears after you've dried it. The stain is deep in the fibers of the shirt, and when the right temperature of heat is applied, the stain rises to the surface of the fabric. The stain is permanent.
• Not making an idol out of our homes is tricky. I've personally experienced what it feels like to be obsessed with the idea of organization in my home. I thought I was being driven by the maxim "God is a God of order and not chaos." I thought that if everything had a place, then my heart would feel at peace because strict orderliness is godly. But instead of worshiping God, I just wanted to be in control. I was worshiping my image and thought it wouldn't be so bad if others admired me, too. . . .I've also had struggles with the idol of self-expression, seeing my home primarily as an extension of myself. If something was out of place or not just so, then I felt it reflected poorly on my personhood or character. Again I was serving my own image—not God's.
• Jesus is the sovereign Lord over every square centimeter in your home—from the pipes to the television to the mattresses. He is Lord over it, and he desires that you use what he's given you to glorify him. That doesn't mean that your home needs to be perfect by the world's standards or even by your own personal standards, but consecrated by God's standards. . . . In Romans 12:1-2 we see a description of what it means to set ourselves apart for God: "I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect." Since Jesus is lord over all things and God is subjecting all things under his feet (1 Cor. 15:27), including our homes, by his grace we use our homes to worship him.
See why I loved this book? Let the gospel permeate every square inch of your heart and your home. I bet Glimpses of Grace can help.
This blog post originally appeared at blogs.bible.org/tapestry/sue_bohlin/glimpses_of_grace_knocking_down_mental_walls on June 4, 2013.