And just to say, after a few months of doing it, I am really feeling the benefits of yoga (despite still being ridiculously unflexible) - what I thought would be a mildly fashionable way of getting flexible has turned out to have multiple benefits - my sleep problems are all but gone, I feel really positive, and somehow more 'centred'. I have a long way to go before I'm any good at it, but for now, it's living up to the hype.
I am moving to Madrid in the middle of August and I was curious about yoga classes. I'm glad I found your blog.
Hi Rachel, hope you enjoy Madrid :-) The yoga places i've posted on are in the centre, but if you are living elswhere give me a shout as I have other recommended studios.
I'm a British-Sudanese girl living in Madrid. I work in marketing and I love interior design, architecture, writing, yoga, good food, travel and beautiful things. This blog is a rough chronicle of the stuff I like, do and think. I also touch upon the subject of happiness from time to time.
Celebitchy plastic surgery - have they or haven't they?


text:
"Where Angels Rest"
Chromaluxe Metal
Chromaluxe Metal / 12x30 / High Gloss (Recommended) - $450.00Chromaluxe Metal / 12x30 / Matte (Zero Reflections) - $450.00Chromaluxe Metal / 15x36 / High Gloss (Recommended) - $650.00Chromaluxe Metal / 15x36 / Matte (Zero Reflections) - $650.00Chromaluxe Metal / 20x48 / High Gloss (Recommended) - $1,299.00Chromaluxe Metal / 20x48 / Matte (Zero Reflections) - $1,299.00Chromaluxe Metal / 25x60 / High Gloss (Recommended) - $1,999.00Chromaluxe Metal / 25x60 / Matte (Zero Reflections) - $1,999.00Chromaluxe Metal / 30x72 / High Gloss (Recommended) - $2,999.00Chromaluxe Metal / 30x72 / Matte (Zero Reflections) - $2,999.00Chromaluxe Metal / 35x84 / High Gloss (Recommended) - $3,799.00Chromaluxe Metal / 35x84 / Matte (Zero Reflections) - $3,799.00Chromaluxe Metal / 40x96 / High Gloss (Recommended) - $4,899.00Chromaluxe Metal / 40x96 / Matte (Zero Reflections) - $4,899.00Paper Print / 10x24 / High Gloss (Recommended) - $75.00Paper Print / 12x30 / High Gloss (Recommended) - $125.00Paper Print / 15x36 / High Gloss (Recommended) - $200.00Paper Print / 20x48 / High Gloss (Recommended) - $400.00Paper Print / 25x60 / High Gloss (Recommended) - $600.00
Charleston, SC - This behemoth oak tree is thought to be one of the oldest oak trees in the country at an estimated 1500 years old. It was incredible to try and capture this tree in its entirety and think about all the history is has been witness to!

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


Use these options to specify physical and conceptual names for the table and whether to synchronize the names as you work on this tab.
You can specify a name space value for the table to distinguish it from similarly named tables in the model.
This category also displays information reported by the host database management system (DBMS) about the database owner and the path of the source database. The Defining type box is available only when a table is empty; it lists all composite data types so that you can create a typed table.
Type the name of the table as it appears in the database.
Type the name of the table as it appears in conceptual modeling.
Type a value that can be used to additionally distinguish between otherwise identically named model elements, such as elements in Oracle databases.
Shows read-only information about the selected table's owner reported by the host DBMS during the reverse engineering process.
Shows the database from which the selected table was extracted as reported by the host DBMS during the reverse engineering process. The value is read-only.
Lists all composite data types so that you can create a typed table for an object relational database. The Defining type box is available only when a table is empty.
Select this check box to synchronize the conceptual and physical names when you change either one.


Our preschool program at North Mahaska creates a challenging, engaging, and diverse environment that uses a research-based curriculum. Knowing that early literacy, cognitive development, social-emotional development, and physical skills are key to a successful child, our preschool offers the support for growing minds. We encourage learning through hands-on tools and opportunity for children to attain the specialized support they need in order to foster growth and positive learning experiences. Family and community are an integral part of these early years and our staff encourages involvement through volunteer opportunities, weekly email updates, phone calls and website updates. The preschool program is tuition free and offers transportation at no cost. Children who are 4 years old as of September 15 of the school calendar year are encouraged to attend.
Lana has been teaching for over 20 years in early childhood education and enjoys the learning community created here at North Mahaska. Her favorite part of teaching is seeing the surprise and excitement when something new is learned. Lana encourages family involvement so they may experience the exceptional care that is provided to the students first hand and be an active participant in their child's education right from the start.


In Socorro, New Mexico, 35-year-old Alice Hyatt (Ellen Burstyn) is a nervous housewife who referees battles between her husband and their smart mouthed, 11-year-old son Tommy (Alfred Lutter), who lays on the floor between speakers blasting Mott the Hoople. To push Dad's buttons further, Tommy puts salt in the sugar bowl and is chased out of the house. But fate intervenes, and Alice and Tommy find themselves on their own.
Alice packs her son into a station wagon and sets out for her childhood home of Monterey, where she made a living as a singer before she met her husband. Their first stop is Phoenix, where Alice gets a perm, buys some new outfits and impresses a sympathetic bar owner with her audition at the piano. She later gives in to the advances of a 28-year-old bar patron (Harvey Keitel) and when that relationship goes bad - real bad - has to flee town with Tommy.
With $90 to her name, Alice stops in rustic Tucson, where the only job she can find is at Mel & Ruby's Café. Her fellow waitresses – the kooky Vera (Valerie Curtin) and brassy, devil-tongued Flo (Diane Ladd) – get on her nerves, but Alice toughs it out, earning the respect of fry cook and owner Mel (Vic Tayback).
She attracts the attention of a customer, a divorced rancher named David (Kris Kristofferson), who Tommy takes a liking to. Alice wants nothing more to do with men, having sworn she'll get her son to Monterey before the start of the school year. But the more time she spends with David, the more they open up, and Alice has to decide what she wants to do with her life. Stay, or move on.
Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore began as a spec screenplay by Robert Getchell. Warner Brothers chairman John Calley offered it to Ellen Burstyn - who was finishing The Exorcist for the studio - to not only star in, but direct as well. Burstyn didn't feel she was ready to act and direct at the same time, and asked Francis Coppola who he would recommend.
Coppola told her to look at a movie called Mean Streets. Burstyn did, and was impressed that it didn't have "a polished, movie, Hollywood reality". She wanted to do the same thing for the single parent women she knew. Calley sent the script to the film's director - Martin Scorsese - who loved its sense of humor, and became even more intrigued when Calley told him other people were saying Scorsese couldn't direct women.
Burstyn wanted a female consciousness to the film, to express the shift taking place in American society where women were starting to assert themselves as being equally valuable as men. Scorsese agreed, and was influenced by John Cassavetes, whose films were improvisational in nature, and had no plotlines. The emotions of the characters were the plotlines.
With Burstyn in front of the camera and Scorsese behind it, Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore may be the best situation comedy anyone's made in the last thirty years. There's never any question it's headed toward a happy ending, but there isn't anything you can point to – script, casting, camerawork, editing, music – that isn't perfect.
Encouraged by Scorsese to improvise, Burstyn, Diane Ladd and Valerie Curtin use Mel's Café as a stage for some of the finest improvisational acting ever done. Burstyn has the brilliant ability to take tense - even tragic - domestic situations and find humor in them. Ladd and Curtin are beautiful in this. Kristofferson's role as male lead is well written, and the actor makes a solid impression with his character's limited screen time.
Harvey Keitel rages through one of the most memorable character bits of his career, and Scorsese managed to fit Jodie Foster into the movie as well. She nearly steals it from the adults in her four scenes, playing a 12-year-old tomboy who asks Tommy if he wants to "get high on Ripple." Alice advises her son that she may have been too mature for him. "I didn't think she was mature. I thought she was nice," he replies.
This movie should be required viewing for screenwriters. It demonstrates that a genre film - a "rom-com" with a feel-good ending - can be based on life, not formula. Instead of telling jokes, the film shows characters behaving the way real people do. They struggle, aren't always "nice" to each other and make mistakes. But by drawing inspiration from reality – as opposed to other movies – the film never ceases to be involving, funny, and easy to relate to.
Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore was nominated for three Academy Awards, including the performances of Ellen Burstyn - who won a deserved Oscar for Best Actress – and Diane Ladd. Alice, the sitcom based on the film, ran on CBS from 1976 to 1985. Neither Burstyn nor Scorsese were involved, but Vic Tayback reprised his role as Mel, while Ladd joined the cast briefly in season six as a new waitress.


text:
Osram realigns top management into future corporate structure
CEO Olaf Berlien will be leaving the company after the Annual General Meeting end of February 2021
Chairman of the Supervisory Board Peter Bauer will resign his mandate in mid-December
Ingo Bank will take over as CEO of the dominated OSRAM Group from March
Thomas Stockmeier will become Chairman of the Osram Supervisory Board
All decisions will be implemented by mutual agreement
Munich, Germany -- OSRAM Licht AG has announced it is making changes to its Management Board to align with its new management structure as part of the ams Group. The Supervisory Board will therefore enter discussions with CEO Olaf Berlien about the termination of his contract with effect on February 28, 2021.
Since taking office in January 2015, Olaf Berlien has consistently driven the company's transformation from a traditional light bulb manufacturer to an innovative high-tech champion. Most recently, he has steered Osram through a competitive bidding process, which culminated in a Domination and Profit and Loss Transfer Agreement with ams at the start of November. This agreement was accepted by a large majority of the shareholders.
Since Osram went public, the value of the company has more than doubled to 4.9 billion euros at its most recent valuation. "We would like to thank Olaf Berlien for the entrepreneurial strength with which he has driven change over the past six years and more," said Peter Bauer, Chairman of the Supervisory Board.
"By combining Osram and ams we are creating the world's leading supplier of optical solutions. Olaf Berlien has broken new ground with Osram and has given the company a highly promising future in combination with ams. We thank him for his valuable and focused support in preparing for the upcoming integration process," said Alexander Everke, CEO of majority shareholder ams."
The new situation is also being reflected in the Supervisory Board: Peter Bauer will resign as chairman and as a member of the Supervisory Board in mid-December 2020. He has used his experience to carefully guide and support OSRAM through turbulent times since the IPO in 2013.
The Osram Supervisory Board plans to appoint Ingo Bank as the new CEO with effect from March 1, 2021. Ingo Bank, the current CFO of ams and former CFO of Osram, will take on a dual role. "I am delighted that Ingo Bank, someone who knows Osram from the inside, is taking over at the top," said Olaf Berlien.
The new Chairman of the Supervisory Board will be Thomas Stockmeier, who is a current member of the Supervisory Board of Osram and also a member of the Management Board of ams. Christine Bortenlänger will resign as a member of the Supervisory Board at the next Annual General Meeting in February 2021. Christin Eisenschmid, Managing Director of Intel Germany, and Ulrich Huewels, ams Division General Manager, will be proposed at the Annual General Meeting as successors to Christine Bortenlänger and Peter Bauer.
Marcel-Breuer-Str. 6
Email ir@osram.com
E-mail: webmaster@osram.com
Web Site: www.osram.com


text:
By Our Readers • September 1988
It's a steaming summer afternoon in New York City. I'm walking up Seventh Avenue in the Village. In an instant, I see a yellow car coming down the street with a pig-tailed black girl leaning out the back window. She's peering through an instamatic camera and grinning with the biggest teeth I've ever seen. Gleefully she snaps a photo as her car races by an abundant sidewalk nursery I'm just passing.
We're in two worlds. In her world, she's thinking she just took a fab photograph.
In my world, I'm thinking: "What an idiot! That was a wasted shot."
Barbara Moss
When I was getting married, everyone warned me that I was leaving behind a familiar world for a new and difficult one. "You'll have to consider another person," they said. "There will always be two, not one. You're such a free spirit. Do you know what you're doing?" When I was considering having a baby, the warnings were just as clear. "Oh, you'll be giving up your freedom," they said. "You'll always have to consider the baby. Aren't you too old, too set in your ways?"
Now I am married and have a six-month-old daughter. I know more than ever that there is only one world, and one choice — to enjoy or to complain about one's life. I am the same; I breathe in and out, love the seasons, laugh and cry. If there is a new world, it asks only that I be less divided and more at home here.
Karya Sabaroff Taylor
Jim's ranch is tucked into the southeast corner of Utah. Gatehouse, bunkhouse, and stables, all connected by a winding dirt road, look like a doll village under towering red buttes and mesas. The place seems dreamlike as we drive through the front gates. From my Eastern perspective, it looks unreal, like a Wild West stage set.
We have a picnic up on a bluff, then bounce in the truck down to the corral where the horses are saddled and waiting. Jim says that Fourth Indian, the prettiest horse, is difficult. I can handle Fourth Indian, I say. We ride over dry, rocky terrain, up into gulches and across streams. About an hour into the ride, Fourth Indian begins to act crabby, wagging his head at the slightest suggestion from the reins.
We ride on, lunge up a hill in a pack, head for the road home — a long stretch, flat, even, layered with soft dirt. A fence runs alongside the path, rail posts with barbed wire in between. Something inspires the horses — maybe the long, unbroken stretch of the path, maybe the lowering sun in the western sky, maybe the knowledge that this is the way back to the corral. A wave of energy springs up and the horses begin to pound home. Fourth Indian catches the wave and goes crazy. He becomes a streak in the wind, a blur of color across a canvas, an unleashed fury. My alarm dissolves into fear and then into pure awareness: I'm out of control and there's no way in the world I'm going to stop this horse. Horrified and hypnotized, I give in and let go, as if I were on a raft lunging over a waterfall. I have no choice.
My body is flung into the air, way up in a slow, easy arc. It bounces off something, and I hear a crack — is that me or the fence post? I hit the ground. The air leaves my lungs and I'm sinking. I know not to move, though oddly there's no pain. My body is as light as a spring coat, gentle and weightless. I feel calm, clear: I am all right. I am not this body, and I am all right.
In the ambulance a man sits steadily on his haunches in front of me, holding me up under the armpits, keeping the pressure off my broken torso. A woman continually takes my blood pressure and reads dials on a machine. What is there for me to do but meditate and float in this calm? This upsets the woman. She starts tapping frantically on my cheeks, calling my name, flashing her fingers under my nostrils. What's she doing? Can't she see that I'm fine, floating calmly and gently along? I ignore her, moving deeper into the meditation. Now my road divides and I'm at a crossroads. It's no big deal, but a choice, I know, between dying or staying in this world. There's no fear at all. The decision feels almost insignificant, like choosing between vanilla and chocolate. I can go on straight where the road is wide and clear, or I can turn left down a narrow side road, which would mean staying and working through some of the pain that's here for me to resolve. Quietly, I feel myself choose to stay, and I make the left-hand turn.
Peyton Budinger
I struggle on my roller skates, legs heavy, arms wobbling. The music beats loud. I watch where I'm going, careful, knowing the pain of a fall. Children splat to the ground, cry, whine, hobble to their feet. I roll past them, reminding myself they are not mine. The voices calling "Mom" are not for me.
In the center whirl of the rink, my daughter, lithe and breathless in jeans and a midriff shirt, folds her arms across her chest and effortlessly skates backward. She speeds past the stumbling children, breezes past my awkward progress. She doesn't look behind her; she doesn't worry about bumping into someone or falling. She is the center of the rink, and everyone gets out of her way.
Deborah Shouse
It is late afternoon of just another day. The refrigerator hums. Somewhere, in another room, a faucet drips. I am alone in the house, sitting at the small oak table in the living room, writing in my journal.
Willow-Cat lies on the couch. Cody is stretched by the door. The refrigerator hums. The faucet drips. I write.
But then, without warning, I feel a turning, a shifting, a slipping, as though along some fault line in the universe. Very slowly, I lift my head, barely breathing, knowing that the moment has come again — and that it is delicate as a dew-laced web.
Outwardly, the room might look the same to someone else — but for me it is now alive, suffused with a soft, flowing energy, startling in its newness.
Willow-Cat is curled on her back in perfect, thoughtless grace, one delicate paw across her eyes. Cody's gray and black wolf-body is a breathing memory of forest and snow and mountain stream. Outside, the late afternoon sun has gone gold and soft, and the world is melting. A ray of light has bounced off glass and is streaming into the living room. Shadows of ivy leaves are dancing on the wall.
I breathe very softly, trying to blend with the moment, knowing that it cannot be grasped, only joined. For a tiny while, I am able to let go. I feel my own lines melting. For just a moment, I am not I.
I am the dancing leaves upon the wall. I am just-born, wet and crying. I arch and turn in Willow-Cat's sleep. I am with my mother in the operating room, holding her hand. I stretch and sigh in Cody's dream. I lie old and dying in a nursing home.
And then the wind gusts and the web tears. The fault line shifts back again. The world freezes.
The refrigerator hums. The faucet drips.
G. Lynn Nelson
I have decided on my purple silk dress, a strand of pearls, sheer stockings, and pumps. I decorate my face, highlighting my cheeks, my eyes, my lips. A final dab of perfume, and I'm off to the cocktail party. With miniature stilts on my shoes, it feels awkward to negotiate the steps leading away from my cottage.
The party is Southern upper-middle-class at its finest, a celebration of an upcoming marriage. There are bare, tanned backs, Dixieland music, oil portraits, steady high- then low-pitched laughter — and, of course, lots of alcohol. Black servants in lightly starched white tuxedos carry trays of sterling silver laden with cheese toast, sausage twists, and chicken salad in miniature pastry puffs. I screen the contents quickly, accepting the cheese toast. I want to start conversations about factory farming and tortured animals, but I decide not to. Instead, I mingle and smile and imitate gaiety. I seek out people who have had some role in my earlier life — a cousin, a sister's best friend, somebody who held me when I was a baby. History can be salvation at a cocktail party.
My party spirit has not been aroused. Pretending has made me tired, and I decide to go home. The attendant pulls up to the curb as I wait on a wrought-iron bench. My car is eight years old, has a hole in the muffler and save-the-world stickers across the back. I am very proud of my car.
On my dark, quiet road, the moon is brilliant — just recently full. It is so wonderful to be back in my cottage. I take off my clothes and jewelry and pull on my worn-out T-shirt. I drink a cup of peppermint tea while I sit in a "moonpatch" on the living room floor. Judging it too lovely to sleep inside, I slip on my sandals, fetch a flashlight, and head for my tent — now a permanent fixture in my back yard. I bid the hiding critters good night, gaze at the moon for a few moments, then crawl into my soft sleeping bag. I can feel sweet happiness rocking through my veins.
Squatting to pee under the moon in the middle of the night, I remember where I've been only hours ago, and laugh.
Debbie W. Hill
I have schizophrenia. I have learned much and suffered much in the world that does not exist, surrounded by the voices of the dead — listening to the death rattle of the devil in the back seat of a Dodge Colt, as my husband patiently drove me through Armageddon. I have lived through the real death of the real soul, human no more, looked at my once-beloved children, and have seen only white pallor, have heard only gibberish.
I learned that if I stretch out my hand and pat those little heads, they have the power to blow on the ember of my burned-out soul. I have one message with which I have been entrusted, and am desperate to share: "Every little boy is Jesus Christ, and every little girl is Mary."
Clinton, Arkansas
She was sitting on the rock, wearing a few pieces of bandana material for a bikini. The rock lifted her up to the sun, while I gazed in envy at her image. Beyond the envy was anger. The rock was my refuge, and I needed it now.
Too hot in my black cotton draw-string shorts and T-shirt, I ambled toward my goal, wishing the woman would leave. My unshaven legs seemed starkly rude to me as I saw her glance my way. Both books in my knapsack competed to be read, and I looked up at the woman, silently pleading for the end of her turn on the rock.
Beyond us, the ocean's sheen attracted me. I moved to the water's edge, slipped off my sandals, and laid down my sack. I slid my toes into the water. As I pattered around in the shallow tide, I felt, rather than saw, her retreat. The shadow of my overweight body played on the waves and I waited, feeling her movements. When I turned back, the rock was empty.
Finally occupying the summit, I rested, panting, uneasy. I noticed a piece of blue paper, folded once, lying securely in a hollow — saved from the wind by a small row of stones. I scanned the beach, looking for the approaching sun god whose communiqué I had just decided to read. I saw only a retired salesman in trousers, sailing shirt, and mesh oxfords. He was expertly running a metal detector over the sand.
With apprehension I unfolded the paper and began to read:
"Woman in the Water"
So solid, even on sand,
You play before me
In the cool laps
That wash your feet.
I sit and gaze in awe
At your completeness:
The perfect female complement
To this rock beneath me.
I watch and see and finally,
I know what "woman" means.
I read the poem a third, fourth, and fifth time. Finally I climbed down from the rock and left. To my knowledge, I never saw that woman again. She looked like any perfect twenty-year-old blond beacher, and I knew I could never distinguish her from the others.
Since that day, I often go down to the shoreline before climbing the rock. Sometimes, when the beach is almost empty, I dance, making my shadow glide across the wave crests. I think of S.L.B. and write poems to her in the sand for the ocean.
H.L. Whitney
When I was a small child, I would journey from Norfolk, Virginia, to Boston to spend time with my grandmother Maudie. I would be teased about my Southern accent and my (to them) hilariously automatic use of "Sir" and "Ma'am." A natural mimic, I would have a thick Boston accent by the time I came home. It sounded pretentious to Southern ears and was quickly teased back out of me. When I was twelve, my grandmother and mother had a quarrel, and I never saw my Boston relatives again.
When I was twenty, I moved to Washington, D.C. — a Southern town to some, but the North to me. I remember blinking back tears when a server in a cafeteria couldn't understand me. "Some snap beans, please," I repeated. "Whaddaya want?" she said, loudly. "People are waiting." A man behind me said, "String beans. She wants string beans."
George Washington University chose for my roommates six Jewish girls from Great Neck, New York. They ironed out my Southern accent in only a few months. As a result, Northerners make disparaging comments about the South and Southerners right in front of me. When I speak up, they reply, "But you don't have a Southern accent," or "Norfolk isn't the South," pronouncing it like the "folk" in "folk music," which people from Norfolk never do.
The ancient Celts were fascinated with the idea of two worlds and of the boundary region between them — the delicate, tense place between life and death, sea and air, night and dawn, dew and rain. In this neither-nor state, they believed, lies power. The trick is just to be there; to squirm there; to know you don't have to make an impulsive choice.
Susan Shaughnessy
In the summer before I entered fifth grade, my mom went back to work and my dad spent most of his time on the farm. I lived in town with my mom and played with Vanessa as much as I could.
"Just leave me alone!" I shouted at Mom when she told me I couldn't visit Vanessa.
"She's very confused and she doesn't tell you the truth. Besides, Vanessa's too old for you," Mom said.
I played with Vanessa anyway because she was my best friend. I didn't care if she was two years older than I; I thought she knew everything.
She told me a lot. If you dream you're falling and don't wake up before the dream ends, you'll die. Bats are miniature vampires, and if you don't cover your neck at night they'll suck your blood. If you bury a piece of glass and dig it up exactly one year later, it'll be a lucky charm.
I believed everything she said. I could tell that she knew things ordinary people didn't know. I thought she would show me how to grow up if I stayed around her long enough.
Vanessa, Michelle, Brian, and Keith were foster kids at the Klooses. Ness was eleven; Michelle was nine, like me; Brian was six. Keith was retarded, and I never knew how old he was. I never asked him because he couldn't talk much. He just made a high-pitched screaming sound and hit his head with his hands. Once, Vanessa told me that when he was little he had to live in the streets and eat out of garbage cans; that was what made him retarded. It horrified me to think that he had been made retarded — as if someone had erased away part of his brain. I kept waiting for him to snap out of it. I figured that one day he'd start talking and playing with the rest of us. He never did.
When Ness and I were alone, she showed me how to smoke by pretending a twig was a cigarette. She also taught me how to lie by crossing my fingers when I made a promise, and how to find ghosts by looking through my ring at twilight.
At the end of that summer, Ness started the seventh grade. She rode a different bus to school and had classes with five different teachers. Worst of all, she had to take showers after gym class.
I felt her slip away from me when she made friends with girls her own age and talked to boys who hung out at the Little Store, smoking real cigarettes. I felt left out because she wouldn't talk to me anymore. I wanted to be in her world with her cool girlfriends, but I could tell she was going to grow up without me, and I'd never be able to catch up with her.
Last year I dreamt about Vanessa. I hadn't thought about her for almost fifteen years when this dream opened inside me like an invisible letter.
I dreamt that she had written to Mrs. Kloos and asked about everyone in the neighborhood. Then she told of her life. This part of the letter moved through me slowly, dragging me down. She said that she was going to have her sixth child but didn't want it. I remember her saying, "Why don't they just leave me alone?"
The letter was enclosed in a card that had a picture of a cow on it. When I looked at the cow, I could see Vanessa locked in a closet and crying about having her sixth child. When I opened the card, I could see an embryo in the cow's outline.
I don't know what has actually become of Vanessa. She must have told me something in that dream. She must have told me something one last time.
Jennifer Jesseph
There's the real world of concrete, flesh, maple syrup, oxygen. There are jobs, homes, bills, families, friends. Then, too, there's the REAL world of ever-changing patterns of energy and form and formlessness; the remembrance that this whole life is just a motel-stop on the eternal road of learning and growing in consciousness.
If I lost my job and my home and my husband, I would be upset — very upset. Yet from the very start, I would know this was a test that I needed to pass. I would know that the test was useful, even necessary. Remembering not to be too attached to anything in this world is a wise, and ultimately secure, state of being.
I once heard a story, which moved me deeply, of a couple very much in love and very devoted to God. After several years, the woman died. Everyone expected the husband to be totally devastated by the loss of his beloved wife. Instead he said, "I loved her before God, I married her before God, now I give her to God." Both the wife and the husband were liberated by these words.
Guru Nam Kaur Khalsa
Leverett, Massachusetts
When it is time to be ordinary, be ordinary in a heroic way. When it is time to be heroic, be heroic in an ordinary way. This is the secret of the heroic and the ordinary.
Richard A. Stewart
I've heard it said there are two kinds of people in the world — those who think there are two kinds of people in the world and those who don't.
C.P. Snow thought there were two cultures — the artistic community and the scientific community. He thought there should be more communication between the two groups.
I did my part. All through college I dated a geology student. He classified people according to what kind of rock they were. We broke up when he told me I was sedimentary. I wanted to be igneous.
At an aunt's funeral, the Church of Christ preacher said there were two kinds of people — good and bad. He should have known better than that.
Recently, I've started to think there are two kinds of people — those who smoke and those who fly into a blind rage when they see someone smoking.
Mary Umberson
I was in boarding school for four years and got out when I was eleven. I moved in with my newly married mother and stepfather, feeling like an intruder. After a few months in the hot attic apartment in Jersey City, we moved into a big house in the suburbs, fresh with the promise of a new life, the chalky smell of white, newly painted walls, doors that slid into walls, huge rooms.
Instead of expanding into this new space, I felt an awkwardness with my stepfather and our "family" that grew into estrangement. I thought I was to blame whenever there was strain between my mother and her husband. I squirmed with vague feelings of guilt and shame. As their relationship grew more troubled, I unconsciously tried to make myself more invisible. I was quiet, read a lot, withdrew into my own fantasy world.
When I was fourteen, they sent me to Switzerland for six weeks to "learn French." This was a tradition in my mother's family, a requisite of the proper education of young ladies. I was already used to traveling across the Atlantic, because I had spent most of my summers with my grandparents in Germany. For the first time, I was alone. My mother chose my "boarding school" from a catalog, basing her final decision on price. She chose the cheapest.
My hopes rose when a handsome young man (the proprietor's son) picked me up at the Geneva airport in a shiny red convertible sports car. This looked promising. We arrived at the school after a long, winding, romantic drive through beautiful mountains and valleys.
I was fed a farmer's meal in the cellar dining room on a bare wooden table with long, ancient, carved benches. I still remember the smell of the green pea soup with bacon, and the crusty black bread. The afternoon sun shone in one long beam through the small, high window covered with dust. I sat alone in the silence after the most perfunctory of welcomes, my heart sinking.
Whatever fantasies and expectations I had of "the French boarding school for young ladies" were cruelly thwarted. The handsome young prince was engaged to the young Parisian woman who worked there.
I was the oldest of several boarders. In my aloneness, anger, and frustration, I found no one who was sympathetic. My French was laughable, and French lessons were non-existent at the boarding school. But I learned quickly, motivated by my utter loneliness. At night I slept on my cot, radio to my ear, listening to German, American, and English radio stations, which provided a meager connection with home and intimations of a larger world. My long letters home were not acknowledged.
The stars at night were the most brilliant I had ever seen. Looking out from the bathroom window at night, I was given moments of what "God" means. I danced on my balcony in the starlit darkness in shorty pajamas. The headmistress put an end to that when a neighbor complained.
I was allowed to walk anywhere in town and outside of it, because it was safe. I was sent to the bakery for cookies and bread, to the grocery for vegetables, envelopes, and other necessities. I also went to pick up milk fresh from the cows that walked through the town twice a day, their bells ringing. My loneliness faded as my focus shifted to my surroundings.
I went on long daily walks, past wheat fields spread on rolling hills, and into the woods. Sometimes to supervise the smaller children, sometimes to be alone, I wandered for hours, exploring distant nooks, lonely paths that wound under cool, shady canopies. Once I went to the next town and walked into the small, unadorned, rustic medieval church, where I sat on a bare, hand-stained creaky bench to pray. Once, during a summer festival, I was swept up in a crowd at night, feeling anonymous in the darkness, but still a part of the group. We walked to a big field I often passed. In the center of the circle of people, a huge bonfire blazed, shooting sparks into the sky, which was so clear that you could see the individual stars in what is usually the haze of the Milky Way.
Without realizing it, I was connecting to everything around me, no longer conscious of myself as a personality. Looking back, I would call it meditating, but I didn't know the meaning of that at the time — or the value.
I did not realize how happy I was until my mother, six months pregnant, walked in the door. I remember that I was sitting at the table eating lunch when she appeared. I looked up at her nervous, frantic figure and realized in an instant the worlds that had opened up inside me. My whole being suddenly felt threatened by her. I realized for the first time in my life a sense of self so strong, clear, and unique that it was infinitely precious. Guarding myself from her needy, intrusive attitude, I vowed never to lose this sense of myself. A sinking feeling told me that I would, in the course of time, be redefined by family terms. My mother, grandmother, stepfather, and I left to travel through France. We stopped at a restaurant where my mother took a picture of me eating fondue. I still have it. It is one of my favorite pictures. It recorded, in my eyes, the sweet feeling of knowing myself. That feeling has not always been with me, but, years later, I still find it now and then.
E. Reiner-Russell
World Number One is darkness, life feeding on itself, forms eating other forms until they are eaten themselves. In this world, everything born is fated to be eaten by something — wild animals, vultures, insects, worms. microscopic bacteria, cancer cells. Every living thing, from the most "noble" king to the lowliest maggot, will disappear into the mouth (or roots) of some other living thing, thereby vanishing.
Common sense tells us there is no afterlife. Sure, we might become part of the shark if we are eaten by a shark, or part of the worms if we are eaten by worms. But that is not an afterlife worth mentioning.
Nor do we live on in our children. We may look like them a bit. We may emotionally identify with them while we are alive. We may even have something to do with the shapes their lives take. But we don't live on in them in any significant way.
World Number One exists only as an eternal present. There is no actual past. Remembering is always in the present. There is no future, either. Whatever comes to pass will do so in the present. Imagined futures are already present.
The central activity of this eternal present is eating other forms of life, and being eaten by them. People live this out symbolically as well as literally — in the battle of the sexes, for example, or in the dog-eat-dog competition of the business world.
World Number Two is another kind of darkness, exclusively human. It is the world of human illusion, of unconscious pretending. Some of the pretending is very crude and obvious (except to those absorbed in it, of course). For example, some pretend there is literally a human soul, which we cannot see or touch or taste or smell or hear, but which is supposed to be more us, more real, than our actual bodies. And this soul is supposed to live on apart from our bodies after our bodies have been eaten.
There is also the more subtle illusion in World Number Two that individual lives are important. This importance is usually described in terms of another illusion, which conceives of the universe as going in some particular direction and suggests that each individual (if she or he doesn't want to be left behind and forsaken — i.e., eaten) must help it along. The tools for this movement are called love, truth, justice, compassion, generosity, sacrifice, and so on.
World Number Two generally hates World Number One — hates even the thought of it — and spends its whole existence denying it, making up all kinds of fancy theories and rituals based on nothing but the fear of being eaten. World Number Two is willing enough to eat — a process dressed up and disguised with rituals and manners — but not to be eaten.
Occasionally, someone from World Number Two wakes up from this dream of eating without being eaten and re-enters the reality of World Number One. Because those who are awake always have greater power than those sleeping, this person then seems to get an extra measure of living, as he or she comes to peace with the world of eating and being eaten, and as the past and the future drop away. Since there is no direction in World Number One, this person lives without hurry or ambition, without claim on any virtue.
One who awoke, Jesus, said that release from the grip of World Number Two made earthly existence feel as light as air, which he called heaven, its darkness bathed in glorious mystery, which he called light. And another, Buddha, had compassion for those who found the sleep of World Number Two restless and uncomfortable, and said that he could help them come out of their suffering if they wanted to wake up.
But World Number Two doesn't generally want help from those who have escaped its illusions. Indeed, the very nature of illusion is the psychological need to believe in it. For Jesus' help, they crucified him. And to quiet his disturbing ripples, they encased him in a church and made drowsy monotones of his sayings to abet them in their sleeping.
Jim Ralston
Petersburg, West Virginia
Watching him struggle with a washcloth, I wondered whether I should offer to scrub his back. But he seemed to be managing and wasn't asking for help, so I let it pass. Then, just as I finished dressing and was heading for the door, he held out a single sock and grunted in my direction.
"Want me to help you with that?"
"Ng-hnn," came the reply.
Our eyes had met several times in the shower, and I had been surprised to see how clear his were. Usually, I avoided the glance of disabled people, not wanting to embarrass them or myself. But I felt no discomfiture with him; and after an hour's swim, it was nothing for me to meet his gaze.
Once I got that first sock on, he made it clear he wanted help with the other, too. I was hired. What did he do when no one was around? Anyway, I was happy to help. But when I reached for his T-shirt, he stopped me, pointing instead to the long johns in his pack. We pulled them on, limb by twisted limb. He sometimes used his teeth. He actually had some muscle; it was just that his range of motion was greatly constrained.
The trickiest part was his insulated jacket. When I remarked that the lining was a bit of a bother, he said, "Nyeah, bud id keebs me warm." I smiled and pulled each knotty hand through. He would drool a little from time to time, but that seemed all right with him. I tugged the brown corduroys up next. Then, once I'd gotten his boots on, he motioned for me to fasten him in. The belt had three loops; when I slipped the Velcro end through only two, he insisted I put it through the other as well. I stuffed his wet suit and towels into the gym bag on the bench and gave him his portable radio, whose shoelace strap went around his neck and under his left arm. What a trooper! Holding the locker room door open for his motorized chair, I couldn't help grinning at the words on his green T-shirt: "Kiss me — I'm Irish."
He was ready for the world.
Frederic Sibley
In the fall of 1936, my then-fiancé and I emerged from a theater in Philadelphia where we had just seen an Alfred Lunt-Lynn Fontanne show. (I believe it was "Watch on the Rhine.") I said, "What a wonderful play," and he said, "I didn't like it at all. I really don't like plays." I told him then that I sometimes thought we lived in different worlds.
It is as true now, more than fifty years later, as it was then, but we are still together. There have been some wonderful times and some very difficult times. We are both glad our marriage has lasted.
Our potentially (and often actually) explosive differences in viewpoints and values have provided problems we wouldn't have had with mates more nearly echoing us in interests and attitudes. But we do enjoy being together; and although each never truly enters the other's sphere of interests and activities, much is learned on both sides: the need to listen, to share, to compromise. And after our many unsuccessful attempts to change each other, I think we are learning, reluctantly perhaps, the true meaning of love: unconditional acceptance.
Helen Bryans
Wayne, Pennsylvania
On my twenty-fifth birthday, my mother had the good sense to have me committed to an institution. The events that led up to that day consisted of sleepless nights, unintelligible conversations with the radio, long and languid walks (usually in the middle of the night), and overall unacceptable, inappropriate behavior.
During that time, I was experiencing two totally different, incompatible worlds — love and fear. I would walk for hours, listening to sounds of love's melodious voice. I would speak to strangers of love and friendship. Most of them instantly drew a barrier between us; a few cautiously countered my offering with a strained response. I remember the feeling of compassion that would come over me for all the lonely, isolated people in the world who thought they could deny love's presence. But mostly I remember, in the world of love, a total absence of fear, a complete and perfect peace. There was no doubt, no anxiety, no confusion.
Then, one night, I began to allow fear to command my thoughts. The fear arose from the idea that pure love — all the time — was not normal! My state was causing a lot of people much distress. I began to wonder whether the love I was experiencing was real or imagined. Thus, I embarked on a different journey, with apprehension as my companion. I walked through the various horrors, an unforgettable excursion that ended in a "holding cell" of the local police department, where I was sexually assaulted and beaten by two female inmates.
The county hospital's psycho ward was a haven of rest — the final resting place for some in my condition. I was checked in, analyzed, diagnosed, and treated. What would happen to me, ultimately, was to be my decision. At the time, insanity seemed much more to my liking than the so-called real world, the world of fear.
Fortunately, I still believed in love. That's difficult when there is no evidence of it anywhere. I certainly didn't see it in the eyes of the hospital staff. Even my mother could not hide her fear when she came to see me. And, although they were kind, my ex-husband and his family came only because they wanted custody of my son. Without the love of one dear friend, I probably would have chosen to stay in the refuge of insanity.
My friend gave me something synonymous with love — honesty. With nothing to gain or lose, he came to me and said, "Karen, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but you don't belong here. If you don't straighten up and play by the rules, they're going to put you away forever."
Do you know how long forever is? I had time to think about it. I couldn't imagine spending it in a hospital where people, doctors and patients alike, were hiding from a world that didn't exist.
I was released six weeks later. I learned how to play by the rules, and a great deal more than that — I learned that my life is my choice. The doctors gave me a prescription and told me I would be back within six months if I didn't take their medication. I threw the prescription away as I left the hospital.
That was seventeen years ago. I have undergone a slow metamorphosis, learning how to let love be the motivating factor in all that I say and do, while my fears play hide and seek with each other. I no longer have a "split mind." Today I know there is only one Mind, and anything else is child's play.
Karen Holmes Taylor
Naples, Florida.
In the Astor Place subway stop, there are two worlds, doubtless: the men on the floor who slept here last night, and the women in mauve riding to work.
What's the difference? Color is one. The women are the color of the paper in paperbacks (which they also read); the men who slept are the color of soil.
Also, the men are more weary — they slept on tile and wood, the women on futons. (This is a hip neighborhood.)
And the women know where to go: to work. The men don't seem to have any ideas.
Later, when they get hungry, they'll need ideas.
On the train, the conductor announces: "Please be aware of chain snatchers and pickpockets who are on this train."
Did someone get an idea?
The 6 Train
Kudzu Dreams
By Susan Hankla
The Flag-Draped Coffin
By Jerry Oglethorpe
No Pretty Country
By Joyce Allen
By Ellen Carter
Fear Of Rest
By Wayne Muller
By Wayne Harrison
Sy Safransky's Notebook
By Sy Safransky


text:
Public may ask Tulare to open cooling center
David Castellon
dcastell@visaliatimesdelta.com
Like much of the Valley, residents of Tulare endured their second day of triple-digit heat on Thursday, with no prospects of even a little relief until next week.
And while the city of Visalia had its downtown Transit Center open as a cooling center for people trying to beat the heat for a second day in a row, officials in the City of Tulare hadn't opened their cooling center.
But to do that, people may have to ask, said Tulare Fire Chief Willard Epps.
"If there is a need, we will open it," he said, adding that normally his city's policy is to open its Meitzenheimer Community Center at 830 S. Blackstone St. as cooling center when temperatures hit at least 105 degrees, he said.
And for the past four or five years, Epps said he's heard of no requests to open the center, and when the city has opened it, nobody showed up.
Visalia opens cooling center, Tulare doesn't
So for now, if people in Tulare without air conditioning or living on the streets inquire where they can cool off, Tulare city staff are directing them to go to the city's library or to the lobby of the Hillman Healthcare Center, the latter at 1062 S. K St.
If anyone wants to request that Tulare open up the Meitzenheimer center as a cooling spot, they can go to a city police or fire station, any Parks and Recreation office or City Hall to make that request, Epps said.
As for how long these cooling centers might be needed, the National Weather Service reported a high temperature at the Visalia Municipal Airport of 104 degrees on Thursday, and the forecast is the high temperature to go up to 105 on Friday and 106 on Saturday before a slight temperature decline begins on Monday.
Fire burns through 1,000 acres in south county
But the area's temperatures aren't expected to drop below 100 degrees until Thursday of next week — but just for a day — and then waver back to the triple digits the following Friday and Saturday, according to AccuWeather.com.
After that, the next significant drop in temperatures isn't expected to begin until June 12, when temperatures should drop that week down to the high 80-degree and low 90-degree range, the website reports.


"Is the inflammasome relevant for epithelial cell function?" by Patricia T. Santana, Jan Martel et al.
Is the inflammasome relevant for epithelial cell function?
Inflammasomes are intracellular protein complexes that sense microbial components and damage of infected cells. Following activation by molecules released by pathogens or injured cells, inflammasomes activate caspase-1, allowing secretion of the pro-inflammatory cytokines IL-1β and IL-18 from innate immune cells. Inflammasomes are also expressed in epithelial cells, where their function has attracted less attention. Nonetheless, depending on the tissue, epithelial inflammasomes can mediate inflammation, wound healing, and pain sensitivity. We review here recent findings on inflammasomes found in epithelial tissues, highlighting the importance of these protein complexes in the response of epithelial tissues to microbial infections.


E20-I represents unprecedented value in dropper posts. With fit and function that rival top end contenders, E20-I is on a mission to get every rider on a well-performing dropper post at a price that is friendly to the wallet. Designed for internal cable routing, E20-I is available for all major seat tube diameters from 27.2mm to 31.6mm and for all rider preferences from 65mm to 150mm.


text:
'Keep the love of dance alive': Nickerson-Rossi Dance aims to inspire with updated space
Brian Blueskye
The smell of fresh paint and new wood hits your nose first when walking into The Palm Springs Dance Academy.
This summer, the 6,000-square-foot space at Palm Springs' Sun Center got a new 30-by-50-foot sprung dance floor, which Executive Director Chad Allen Ortiz said is important so students don't injure themselves. Some schools just lay over a laminate on concrete flooring, he noted.
"It's very expensive to do what we did, but this is what we're about, the preservation of quality," Ortiz said.
Nickerson-Rossi Dance is a multifaceted organization consisting of three parts: a professional, bi-coastal contemporary dance company with hubs in Palm Springs, Los Angeles and Philadelphia; a nonprofit that organizes the annual Palm Springs International Dance Festival; and The Palm Springs Dance Academy, which offers comprehensive dance education for pre-professional dancers.
As a nonprofit, the dance company receives grants from organizations, including local nonprofit Anderson Children's Foundation, to fund its operation. Ortiz said the annual spending averages $300,000 a year.
The pandemic hasn't thwarted private donations, he added, which is backed by recent accounting showing the studio has raised $52,350 since last year.
While many local nonprofits and art institutions were shut down during the first several months of the COVID-19 pandemic, Nickerson-Rossi began to build this space and a 2,000-square-foot location next door that is also used for classes.
"(The pandemic) made us go inward and look at our organization and how we can operate more efficiently," said President and Artistic Director Michael Nickerson-Rossi. "The answer to that was easy, get our own space. We were always renting different facilities."
But it's not just a studio. The space is also part of the company's outreach work with the Barbara Sinatra Children's Center at Eisenhower Health in Rancho Mirage, offering dance therapy classes for abused children and working with cancer patients at Desert Regional Medical Center in Palm Springs.
There have been challenges in building both spaces. The price of lumber is rising and went as high as $1,600 per thousand board feet in May from $400 at the beginning of 2020. Renovations such as kitchen cabinets, hardwood floors and additions requiring framing are more costly.
"Our parents, students and volunteers have been great with assisting us," Nickerson-Rossi said. "The dance floor needed to be specific to accommodate the caliber of professional dance and that cost was astronomical."
Dancers must adhere to rigorous training schedules to stand a chance in the professional world, so Nickerson-Rossi staff assist students not just on the dance floor, but with physical recovery and proper nutrition.
"Our responsibility is to keep that love (for dancing) alive," Ortiz said. "It can be difficult when we have such a rigorous program and they're dancing 20 hours a week with us, that's a lot and they get burnt out for sure. We step forward and aid them through that process."
A professional program for aspiring dancers
The Palm Springs Dance Academy offers a beginner program for children aged 5 to 11, an intermediate class for those aged 7 to 15 with previous training and adult classes for new and experienced dancers. The disciplines focus on classical dance, Russian ballet (known as the Vaganova Method), contemporary jazz and other techniques.
There are currently 30 students in the youth programs and 17 in the adult class. The company plans to add more programming that's recreational, aka for those not pursuing dance on a professional level. Nickerson-Rossi said the academy students are screened one-on-one to determine their fit in the program, which is focused on professional outlets and college circuits.
"We bring in professional and college directors to look at our kids because they are training 14 to 20 hours a week, and that's a very small group because it's a conservatory-like program," Nickerson-Rossi said.
Since 2015, the organization has put on the Palm Springs International Dance Festival, featuring world-renowned dance companies of all artistic and cultural backgrounds. The fall festival will be held from Oct. 21-24 at the academy and Desert Rose Playhouse. The spring festival is at the Annenberg Theater. Over 700 students have participated in the festival and the academy has awarded nearly $60,000 in scholarships.
The company has also expanded into outdoor venues and private estates, utilizing unconventional spaces for dance programming.
"I call it the 'Palm Springs Lifestyle and Experience,'" Nickerson-Rossi said.
In February, Nickerson-Rossi Dance Company collaborated with Modernism Week for an event at The Gala House in Palm Springs built by the Stergios family in 1973. The event was titled "The Gala House - Modern Home for Modern Dance." The school was connected to Modernism Week through the Coachella Valley Culture Leaders group, which was formed during the pandemic by local art and cultural organizations to help each other navigate changing state guidelines and safety protocols through the pandemic.
Other members of the group include representatives from Desert X, Sunnylands Center and Gardens, Palm Springs Art Museum and many others.
"Their participation during Modernism Week has brought a heightened element of culture and community to the events," said Modernism Week Executive Director Lisa Vossler Smith. "It has been wonderful to combine the elements of dance and music with design and architecture. The Academy has demonstrated their immense creativity and professionalism and we look forward to working with them again in the future."
Although it couldn't hold the Palm Springs Dance Festival last March due to the pandemic, the company did continue with an event that featured film submissions, a photo exhibit and a dance art auction. Organizers received 65 international dance film submissions.
Nickerson-Rossi said there's a possible collaboration with Desert X in the works for its next biennial art exhibition in 2023. Desert X Executive Director Jenny Gil said the organization, which partners with Sunnylands Center and Gardens, Modernism Week, James O. Jessie Desert Highland Unity Center and many more, would "love to partner with Palm Springs Dance Academy in the future."
"Michael is great, and along with all my colleagues in the Coachella Valley Leadership Group, is doing such difficult and important work by building communities through the arts with his dance company and the academy," Gil said.
Nickerson-Rossi immersed himself in dance as therapy as a teenager
Growing up in the Turlock area of Northern California, Nickerson-Rossi's mother died during his teens and he also endured the loss of his father three years later. He enrolled in junior college at 19 and experienced a live dance performance that changed his life.
"I saw the content and just the way the bodies were moving, it was everything I was feeling inside. I got into it therapeutically, fell in love with it and I danced professionally for a while," Nickerson-Rossi said.
As a proponent of higher education, Nickerson-Rossi is an adjunct faculty member at Johns Hopkins University Peabody Institute in Baltimore, Maryland and partners with the Riverside County Office of Education bringing professional development programs to district teachers and dance education in schools throughout the county.
Nickerson-Rossi Dance has worked with the Los Angeles Unified School District and Palm Springs Unified School District's "Art Share!" program bringing dance to Cielo Vista Charter School and Bubbling Wells Elementary School in Desert Hot Springs.
"I'm so in love with the outreach work because that's how I got into the art form and it sustained me. It's a lifeline and allowed me to be who I am and opened my mind to other things I never thought were possible."
Ortiz grew up in Temecula, where he says there's a large dance scene. His brother was also a professional dancer and teacher. He put aside aspirations to attend college and a career as an architect for dance, studying under his brother at a ballet academy before joining Nickerson-Rossi Dance under an apprenticeship program. He's also served in roles for social media, educational and now the co-owner of Palm Springs Dance Academy.
"I like to provide our students with my experience beyond dance, like how you do Excel spreadsheets, market, design, graphics and that's something we're installing into our program," Ortiz said.


LAFAYETTE — Stem Ciders' upcoming cider house and restaurant in Lafayette has brought on two renowned area chefs.
Kelly Whitaker, chef and owner of Basta restaurant and co-founder of Id Est Hospitality group, and Daniel Asher, chef of River and Woods, have signed onto the project.
The two chefs will create the menu for Acreage, the 200-seat restaurant that will be part of the cider house, production facility and administrative offices Stem Ciders is building in an apple orchard in Lafayette.
O'Rourke said Whitaker and Asher had known each other for years, were part of the Colorado Chefs Collaborative together and were a good fit to work together on the project.
Asher added that the location also added to him wanting to do the project.
Asher added that, while the menu is still being developed, it will be Basque-inspired and will source from local ranchers. What is more, all the cooking will be done not on stovetops or in ovens, but over live fires, something that will make the food delicious but will be technically challenging for chefs.
The $7 million cider house and eatery will open at the end of January, O'Rourke said, and Stem Ciders will relocate to be out of Lafayette. She added that the cider company's current RiNo location in Denver will be remodeled to host events and be used for experimental projects.


text:
Jerusalem, the Old City, IDF House
Rina Avner, Donald T. Ariel and Julia Rubanovich
During October 2007–March 2008, a trial excavation was intermittently conducted beneath the IDF House in the Old City of Jerusalem (Permit No. A-5276, map ref. 222164–5/631569–70; Fig. 1), following plans to renovate the structure and convert it to a dwelling. The excavation, undertaken on behalf of the Israel Antiquities Authority and underwritten by Daniel Landski Architects Ltd., was directed by R. Avner and Y. Billig, with the assistance of Y. Ohayon (administration), T. Kornfeld (surveying), T. Sagiv (field photography), M. Avissar (ceramics), C. Amit (studio photography), C. Hersch (pottery drawing), D.T. Ariel and A. Berman (numismatics), R. Cohen-Amin (identifying the Persian inscription), J. Rubanovich (literary study of the Persian inscription) and N. Amitai-Preiss (architectural elements).
The IDF House is located at the southwestern corner of the intersection of the Chain Street and Ma'alot Ha-Rav Getz Street. The ground floor of the building is at the level of the Chain Street (Fig. 2). It is delimited between the building's outer walls and is divided by square pillars that support cross-vaults (Figs. 3, 4). The square architectural space beneath each vault is referred to below as a "bay".
The excavation was conducted in six bays (1–6). Most of the excavated architectural finds date to the Ottoman period. Fragments of pottery vessels dating from the sixteenth–nineteenth centuries CE were found in the fill. Several potsherds from the Early Islamic period were discovered in Bay 5 below a floor that was cut by the IDF House.
Bay 1 (Figs. 5: Section 1–1; 6: Section 3–3).The bottom part of a rectangular-shaped cistern (L100; length 5.4 m, width 2.25 m, preserved height 3.45 m) was discovered. The sides and floor of the cistern were coated with gray plaster (thickness 0.15 m), applied to a core (thickness 0.3 m) that contained soil and potsherds. The sides were built of two rows of medium stones bonded with gray plaster and small stones.
The southern side of the cistern was higher than the other sides and supported a vault. The opening of a conduit that was dug in Bay 2 (below) and blocked in a later phase was identified in the middle of this side.
Fragments of pottery vessels from the Ottoman period were found in the eastern side of the cistern (L101), including potsherds of black clay characteristic of Gaza Ware and other pottery vessels that dated to the seventeenth–nineteenth centuries CE.
Bay 2 (Figs. 6: Section 3–3, 7). Four strata (I–IV) were identified and are described below from the earliest to latest.
Stratum IV. A cross-vault (L306; length 4.15 m, width 2.2 m) is ascribed to this layer. The excavation of the vault was suspended before its complete exposure. The vault was built of medium-sized fieldstones and dark gray plaster. A lighter color plaster was noted in several places within the vault, indicative of localized repairs that were done to the vault, as well as its long period of use. The fill excavated inside the vault (thickness c. 1.7 m) contained pottery from the Ottoman period, including fragments of tobacco pipes and a potsherd bearing a Persian inscription (see Rubanovich below). The date of the vault's construction is unknown.
Stratum III. A channel (W3; min. length 2.6 m, width 0.6 m, depth 0.8 m) is ascribed to this layer. Its sides were built of meticulously hewn medium and large ashlars that were not plastered. The channel was covered with large stone slabs and extended to the east and west beneath later walls. The bottom level of Channel 3 was higher than the floor of Vault 306 of Stratum IV (Fig. 7: Section 1–1). An opening (width 2.2 m, height 0.5 m) in the middle of the channel's northern wall conveyed water to the cistern in Bay 1; the opening was blocked in a later phase.
Stratum II. A wall (W5) attached to the northern part of Vault 306 eastern wall belongs to this stratum. Wall 5 adjoined the vault's wall at an oblique angle. The wall, preserved six courses high, was built of medium-sized ashlars with a layer of gray plaster between them (thickness c. 1 cm).
Stratum I. Two walls (W7, W8) that formed the northwestern corner of a space, whose nature h was unclear, belong to this stratum. The two walls were built of medium-sized fieldstones and gray plaster mixed with pieces of animal bones and eggshells. Each course of W8 comprised two rows of medium stones with a thick core of earth between them (width 0.9 m). Wall 7 (length 3.1 m, width 0.9–1.0 m, preserved height 1.3 m), survived by six courses, was attached in a later phase to the upper part of the western wall of Vault 306 (W6).
Bay 3 (Fig. 6: Section 2–2). Below the present eastern wall of the building, fill was excavated and three courses of an ancient wall were noted (W2; min. length 1.5 m, height 1.2 m) on which the present wall was constructed. Wall 2 protruded west from the western side of the present wall. The wall was built of large meticulously dressed ashlars with a layer of gray plaster between them. Potsherds from the Ottoman period were found in the fill excavated near W2; however, they are insufficient for dating the wall.
Bay 4 (Fig. 5: Sections 1-1 and 2-2). Dark wet soil fill (thickness 1. 2 m) was excavated in the northwestern bay. Below the fill, medium and large fieldstones were discovered. Between the stones was soil and traces of gray plaster and ash (L404), probably the upper part of a vault. The vault continued to the south and was related to a channel (L411; min. length 2.1 m, width 0.75 m, depth 0.8 m) built of carefully dressed ashlars. The channel, which was not plastered, continued west, beyond the limits of the IDF House.
Fragments of pottery vessels from the Ottoman period and a fragment of a roof tile were found in the fill inside the channel. Based on the thickness of the roof-tile fragment, it probably belonged to the Roman period; although it might be from the Byzantine period. The time when the channel was constructed is not known; however, it is clear it continued to be used at the time when Vault 404 was used.
Bays 5 and 6 (Figs. 5: Sections 2–2 and 3–3, 8). A water reservoir that had a cross-vault (L405; length 5.7 m, width 1.35 m, depth 4.6 m) was excavated. The sides and floor of the reservoir were coated with white-pale yellow plaster (thickness 7 cm). A depression (diam. 0.7 m, depth 0.15 m) was discerned at the bottom of the cistern, near the northwestern corner. The cistern's ceiling was built of small and medium fieldstones with gray plaster and soil in-between. The original opening of the cistern was discovered close to the northwestern corner of Bay 6. The square opening (0.35×0.35 m; Fig. 9) was built of three courses of carefully dressed medium-sizes ashlars with a thin layer of gray plaster between them. The cistern's northern side (W1; Fig. 10) was built of large stones, one of which had drafted margins, and a door socket that was originally utilized as a threshold stone and was incorporated in the wall in secondary use.
Wall 1 was abutted from the south by a white plaster floor (L407), of which only a small section was preserved (c. 0.5×1.2 m). Fragments of pottery vessels from the Early Islamic period were found below the floor (L408), indicating that the cistern and the floor that abutted W1 did not predate this period. Because of the limited scope of the excavation, the possibility should not be negated that the cistern's opening, the floor and Wall 1 are later than the Early Islamic period.
A wall (W110; Fig. 5: Section 3–3) separated Bay 6 in the west from Bay 2 in the east. Fill containing fragments of pottery vessels dating to the seventeenth–eighteenth centuries was excavated next to the western side of W110; it is possible that this fill was brought after the building was constructed. Wall 110 was abutted by a white plaster level, perhaps a floor (L203; elevation 740.44 m; Fig. 5: Section 3–3). Dark brown fill was discovered below the floor and an ancient wall (W10) was identified below the fill. The wall was built of large ashlars and was integrated in W110. The potsherds from the layers of fill above and below Floor 203 are for the most part from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries CE and therefore its exact date is not clear.
The Coins
Donald Tzvi Ariel and Ariel Berman
Sixteen coins were found, of which ten could be identified in general; however, none of the coins can be precisely identified.
Description (dates CE)
Weight, Dimensions
Æ, fourth century?
0.89 gr., 15×17 mm
Æ, 450–550
0.43 gr., 10 mm
Æ, Follis, Byzanto-Arab, 645–670
Cf. SICA
1*: Type E
, Fragments of a dirham, Mamluk, fourteenth century
Æ, fals, Mamluk, fourteenth century
Double strike
Æ, fals, Mamluk, fourteenth–fifteenth centuries
Æ, fals, Mamluk, fifteenth century
Coin-like jewelry, Ottoman
*SICA 1: S. Album and T. Goodwin. 2002. Sylloge of Islamic Coins in the Ashmolean 1: The Pre-Reform Coinage of the Early Islamic Period. Oxford.
Based on the finds discovered in the fill it appears that the building was constructed in the early nineteenth century CE. It was built on ancient remains, such as Floor 407 that abutted Wall 1 and Channel 411, which are ascribed to the Late Byzantine–Early Islamic periods. Presumably, Channel 3 also belonged to an earlier period, but no finds that could date it were discovered.
A Persian Inscription on a Pottery Vessel
Julia Rubanovich
The inscription appears on the upper part of the vessel, at the point of connection with the wide neck of the jar (Fig. 11). The inscription is only partially preserved. It is written in classical Persian, in the nasta'līq handwriting, typical of Persian manuscripts from the second half of the fourteenth century onward (Yūsofī, Ḡolām-Ḥosayn. 1990. "Calligraphy". Encyclopaedia Iranica IV: 696–97). Below are the remains of the text of the inscription in Persian script and in transliteration:
ی بینی
دستیست که در کردن یار بودست
- ī bīnī
dast-ī-st ki dar kardan-i yār būda-st
The inscription preserves one complete line that constitutes the fourth and final line (miṣra'), as well as the vestiges of the third line, of a rubā'ī (quatrain). Originally, in conformity with the rules of the genre, the poem consisted of a quatrain, whereby the first, second and fourth lines rhyme according to the "a-a-b-a" rhyming pattern and end with the poetic device of radīf, a kind of epiphora, i.e., the repetition of a word, phrase or personal pronoun.
The line originates from a rubā'ī ascribed to Abū al- Ḥaf ṣ 'Umar ibn Ibrāhīm (1048–1131/2) known as Khayyām (literally: "tent builder") or Khayyāmī (literally: "son of tent builder"; for the discussion of his nick-name, see: de Blois, F. 1994. Persian Literature. A Bio-Bibliographical Survey Begun by the Late C.A. Storey. Vol. V, part 2: Poetry ca. A.D. 1100 to 1225. London: 356–357; for the ascription of this particular rubā'ī to 'Umar-i Khayyām, see Csillik B. 1934. The Principal Manuscripts of the Rubá'iyyát of 'Ummar-i-Khayyám in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris. Vol. I: Original Texts of the MSS Suppl. Pers. 1417., Anc. Fonds 349, and Suppl. Pers. 823. London: 3, 83, nos. 11, 142). The transliteration and translation of the entire poem is as follows:
īn kūza chu man 'āshiq-i zār-ī būda-st
v-andar ṭalab-i rū-yi nigār-ī būda-st
v-īn dasta ki dar gardan-i ū mībīnī
dastī-st ki dar gardan-i yār-ī būda-st
This jug was once a plaintive lover, like myself,
And was in pursuit of the face of a beauty;
This handle that thou seest upon its neck
Was an arm that [lay] around the neck of a beloved.
In some manuscripts the second line appears in a variant form (see: Hidāyat 1342/1963. Tarāna-hā-yi Khayyām. Tehran: 91; E'tessam-zadeh A.-G. 1931. Les Rubaiyat d'Omar Khayyam. Tehran: 33; Csillik 1934: 121, no. 108; Rosen F. [tr.]. 1930. The Quatrains of 'Omar Khayyām. London: 29, no. 20), as follows:
dar band-i sar-i zulf-i nigār-ī būda-st
He was captive in the loop of a beauty's curl
'Umar-i Khayyām, born in the city of Nishapur in the eastern Iran, was a polymath—an astronomer, mathematician and prominent philosopher. Even though there is no mention in contemporary sources of 'Umar-i Khayyām having composed poetry in the Persian language, by the mid-thirteenth century a considerable number of quatrains - mostly hedonistic, fatalistic and even anti-Islamic in nature - had been ascribed to him. Modern scholarship is rather unanimous in rejecting the ascription of the rubā'īs to 'Umar-i Khayyām, customarily treating the corpus attributed to him as a collective work by numerous authors of different periods (de Blois 1994: 363–366). At the same time, it should be noted that the rubā'ī discussed here, appears in the earliest manuscripts (e.g., Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, Suppl. Pers. 1417, dated to 1475) and unlike other quatrains, it was never attributed to some other poet (Csillik 1934: xxviii–xxix).
The inscription on the original vessel presumably extended around the entire upper part of the jar and contained four complete lines, whereby each line was separated from the other by means of a simple geometric design, a kind of twisted X. At the same time, given the high degree of textual fluctuation and variability, characteristic of the rubā'ī genre in general, the possibility that the original text of the jar differed from the one presented above cannot be ruled out.
In terms of handwriting, I shall mention the absence of the second line above the letter "g" (ک instead of گ), which is typical of Persian manuscripts from about the tenth till the fifteenth centuries. However, since this is a single occurrence in the inscription, it remains uncertain whether we are dealing here with a period-specific orthography which could aid in dating the production of the vessel, or with an idiosyncrasy of a particular artist. Moreover, one should keep in mind the discrepancy which must have existed in modes of spelling in manuscript versus pottery production.
As for the dependability of the inscription upon its source, the meter of the only complete line is flawed (yār instead of yār- ī). It seems that the error stems from the lack of poetic expertise on the part of the artist who was not receptive enough to the required rhythmic pattern; alternatively, it can be explained by the insufficient physical space available to the artist, which forced him to omit the indefinite article. Assuming that the text on the jar was identical to the variant presented above, the selection of this particular rubā'ī to adorn the jar is certainly remarkable for its direct connection between the subject of the poem and the jar as a physical object. In the rubā'ī, the jar, its handle and the neck of the jar metaphorically signify a lover. The location of the inscription at the point where the body of the jar meets the neck, is not fortuitous, allowing the wordplay with the word "neck" (gardan) that appears twice in the quatrain; hence "the neck of the jar"= "the neck of the beloved". This rubā'ī might have been incorporated into the "inventory" of poetic verses used by potters to decorate their vessels. Thus, in at least one manuscript (Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, Suppl. Pers. 823; the part including the rubā'īs of 'Umar-i Khayyām is dated to 1528), the poems are grouped according to a thematic principal, whereby the theme of the "jar" is represented by a corpus of twelve poems (see Csillik 1934:118–120, nos. 99–110; and the discussion therein: xlix–xl).
2. A view inside the northern door of the IDF House that opens onto the Chain Street.
3. The southwestern vaults, general view to the south.
4. Plan.
5. Sections.
6. Bays 1–3, plan and sections.
7. Bay 2, plan and section.
8. Bays 4–6, plan and section.
9. The cistern's opening, looking west.
10. Wall 1 which incorporates a threshold stone in secondary use, looking south.
11. Locus 306, a potsherd bearing a Persian inscription.


text:
Bygone Muncie: The canal that never was
Chris Flook
Hoosiers once loved canals. We loved canals so much that the state almost went bankrupt over them!
In 1836, the Indiana General Assembly passed legislation known as the Mammoth Internal Improvement Act designed to enhance the transportation infrastructure in the state. To gain wide support for the bill, the authors included money to expand canals, roads, turnpikes and railroads.
Indiana already had several state roads, the Ohio Falls Canal, part of the Wabash and Erie Canal and a section of the Whitewater Canal. The bill authorized the state government to borrow millions of dollars, an enormous sum for 1836, to implement the proposed extensions and new thoroughfares. It was generally believed at the time that significant revenue would be generated from those traveling and shipping goods.
The act proposed the following: the development and extension of the Whitewater Canal; the extension of the Wabash Canal; a Madison to Indianapolis railroad; a New Albany and Vincennes Turnpike; a New Albany to Crawfordsville Railroad; improvements on the Wabash to ease river transportation; the paving of several roads and "traces" around Indiana; and the development of a Central Canal to connect Logansport to the Ohio River, running through Muncietown, Anderson and Indianapolis.
The news was well received in Muncietown, Yorktown, and in certain sections of Delaware County. In 1837, the Muncietonian newspaper wrote that "The contemplated Central Canal will pass through this place, and the connecting link, either by canal or railroad, between the Central and White Water Canals, will, in all probability, terminate at this point, as the Board of Canal Commissioners have reported favorable to such termination."
According to the historian Thomas Helm, Yorktown was platted in part to take advantage of the proposed Central Canal route that was to be completed through the area. Residents of that good community will note a Canal Street that runs parallel to the Buck Creek in the old part of downtown Yorktown. This is no coincidence.
Helm indicated that Daleville was also initially designed as a canal town and that "Great things were expected of Daleville, and great advantages were to accrue to it, in the earlier years of its existence, from the fact of its location upon one of the arteries of commerce — the canal."
MORE BYGONE MUNCIE:
►The Muncie Streetcar Riot of 1908: The state cracks down
►The White River has gone by many names
►For a time, Riverside neighborhood was Riverside City
By the 1840s, the Mammoth Internal Improvement Act proved to be nothing but a mammoth disaster. After the Panic of 1837 ruined the economy, the state lost significant revenue from taxes. The canal and road projects competed with each other for land and funding, which further compounded the situation. The state responded with borrowing more money to pay interest payments and even raised property taxes as much as 400 percent in certain places!
In the end, the state government was able to negotiate the debt down to 50 percent of the original sum lent by British creditors. In time, the canals proved to be inefficient, costly and prone to sabotage by muskrats. Of the proposed projects in the act, only two were completed (by creditors). In the ensuing decades, the canals could not compete with the railroads, and by the 1880s, trains had come to dominate shipping and transportation in the Hoosier State.
Although often considered one of Indiana's biggest legislative blunders, the act did vastly increase the value of land in the state for those living along the new roads and railroads.
The state's credit was ruined for a generation and prompted a call for a new constitution. After an 1850 convention, Indiana adopted its second constitution in 1851. In Article 10, Section 5 stated that "No law shall authorize any debt to be contracted, on behalf of the State, except in the following cases: to meet casual deficits in the revenue; to pay the interest on the State dept; to repel invasion, suppress insurrection, or, if hostilities be threatened, provide for the public defense."
In the 1868, the Anderson Hydraulic Company was established to build the Hydraulic Canal between Anderson and Daleville. Using what remained of the pre-dug Central Canal channel, the new canal would be used as a power source, to run mills in the Daleville, Chesterfield and Anderson area. The Hydraulic Canal began just north of Daleville, in the now-extinct hamlet of Summitsport (or Mount Summit). Part of this system was dug, but the whole venture, like its predecessor, failed and Summitsport became a ghost town.
Today, remnants of the state's various canal systems are still visible if you know where to look. Parts of the channels and reservoir for the Hydraulic Canal remain visible in Delaware and Madison counties. Indianapolis, of course, has built up the Central Canal channel as a scenic walk for residents and tourists, while the town of Metamora operates a flatboat on what's left of the WhiteWater Canal.
Chris Flook is the president of the Delaware County Historical Society and is the author of "Native Americans of East-Central Indiana." For more information about the Delaware County Historical Society, visit delawarecountyhistory.org.


At Banyan Treatment Center our mission is to help those struggling with substance abuse and addiction reach their goal of a healthy, happy and productive sober life through an array of professional treatment services. Our customized treatment programs ensure each client is receiving the highest standard of quality care. Our drug and alcohol treatment programs provide an alternative to traditional treatment as a step down from a higher level of care. We emphasize and try to instill the importance of consistency, accountability and responsibility along with the vital importance of a 12-step program in daily life to achieve the goal of sustained sobriety. At Banyan Treatment Center we believe in giving our clients all the tools they need through our complete continuum of care so when they return to normal day to day life, they will be productive members of society. Start life in recovery today with the help of Banyan Treatment Center, we have facilities nationwide.
This short two week PHP program is specifically designed for incidents of relapse in order to help guide a client back into successful recovery.
Banyan's continued family of support, lifelong friends are met in treatment. This program gives you a chance to stay in touch after treatment has ended.
Our Faith-based, non-denominational recovery treatment program, available for those interested in a Christ-centered recovery program.
Catherine Manley is the Executive Director at Banyan Treatment Pompano and Banyan Detox facilities. She earned her Master's degree at Nova Southeastern University in Mental Health Counseling and is licensed in the State of Florida. Working in the field of substance abuse treatment, Catherine has led staff in multiple roles as Primary Therapist, Detox Supervisor, and Clinical Director. In addition to her experience in human services, Catherine received a Bachelor's degree in Business Administration at Florida International University in 2003. She has a background in marketing, advertising and project management. Catherine brings a great balance of education, compassion, and business acumen to the Banyan family. The driving force behind her ambition is centered on helping individuals struggling with alcoholism and addiction.
Marla Sriskand graduated from Florida Atlantic University in 2002 with her Masters of Social Work degree. She is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker who proudly utilizes her clinical skills to promote change and save lives. Before working at Banyan Treatment Center, Marla worked with children and families in school-based programs for over 10 years. She has been a Certified Addiction Professional (CAP) since 2014 and specializes in addiction counseling. Last year, Marla began another lifelong mission, which was to reduce the stigma surrounding addiction and to promote counseling in her country of origin, Sri Lanka. Marla also enjoys sharing motivational stories with her coworkers, in order to help them continue to feel empowered in their work and maintain workplace morale.
In 2018 Anthony was selected as a Global Goodwill Ambassador representing the USA with the GGA. In 2015, the National Alliance of Mental Illness, Broward Country awarded Anthony it's volunteer Recognition Award. In 2014, the National Association of Social Workers, Broward County awarded Anthony it's Public Citizen of the Year.
Josh McPherson was born and raised in Frankfort, Kentucky. His own personal struggle with alcohol and drugs relocated him to South Florida in 2013. His new purpose after getting sober was geared entirely around helping others. Josh started with Banyan in October 2014 as a Behavioral Health Technician. He has been blessed to grow within the company as the company grew itself. His growth landed him with his current title of Director of Operations for the Pompano Beach PHP and IOP levels of care. One of his favorite parts about Banyan is that he is involved in training when facilities open out of state. He loves being a part of the new growth and goals. Josh is honored to be a part of the Banyan Family and eager to see where this journey continues to take him.
Richard Mayora is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker who has taught at The Institute for Addiction Studies and The Academy for Addiction Professionals. He has chaired Broward's Recovery Month event several times and will act in this capacity for 2017. Richard has been in private practice, served as the Clinical Coordinator at Community Healthcare/CenterOne, and was a clinician at Broward Health Medical Center's psychiatric unit for many years. In 2014, Florida Atlantic University named him Supervisor of Year and mentoring students is his greatest passion.
Ryan Steinberg MS works as the PHP Clinical Director at Banyan Treatment Center, specializing in solution focused therapy, client-centered therapy, as well as disease concept and education about the Twelve Steps. Ryan has worked extensively with adult and adolescent client populations in Inpatient, Residential and Partial Hospitalization settings. He combines his clinical experience with his personal experience in recovery to provide the most effective treatment to his clients. Ryan is also an advocate for the LGBTQ community and he has received advanced clinical training in sexuality/gender related issues. A South Florida native, he received his Master's Degree in Mental Health Counseling from Nova Southeastern University.


Whether it be a holiday, birthday or special event, there's always an occasion to give the gift of math!
If you're like many parents we know, you've done Duplos. Dolls. Craft kits and stuffed animals. Maybe your imagination is flagging. Which is where we come into play. At DragonBox, we believe the very best gifts aren't just irresistible to play with; they also nurture young minds. If you agree, DragonBox should be in your gift rotation.
Launch the App Store app on your iPhone or iPad.
Choose the app you want to buy (quick links below). To browse all of the DragonBox Apps, see our full profile HERE.
Next to the buy button, click on the downward facing arrow.
Tap Gift in the menu that pops up.
Fill out the email of the parent who manages the device and write a cheerful message.
You may already know that you cannot directly gift an app through Google Play. No need to fret. Simply purchase a gift credit or gift card and tell the child or parent that it is for the DragonBox App they desire.
Pick your gift and follow the onscreen instructions to buy and send your gift.
The gift will be sent via email. If the receiver can't find the email with the gift code, you can forward them your copy of the gift email.
Note: This feature is only available in the United States.
If you live outside of the U.S. and would like to gift a DragonBox App, you can easily do so by buying a Google Play Gift Card. See here for details about how you can send this to that special someone.
If you are looking to gift DragonBox to someone who has an Amazon device, it has a similar set-up to the Google Play store. Amazon also requires a gift card in order to give our apps to someone as a present.
Follow the prompts for purchasing and sending a gift card.
Once it has been gifted, gift cards can be easiliy redeememed under the "Buy" button on the app page.
Remember, you can give the gift of math anytime of the year. It also makes a perfect birthday present. At Easter, forgo the chocolate bunny. When you're struggling to come with a creative gift idea, think math.
Now, relax. Enjoy, for a just a moment, this thrilling thought: You've just dodged a trip (or three or four) down the toy aisle.
See the latest news from the blog.
Why we believe kids should learn chess. Yes, even during the Football World Cup.
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text:
EU IDEA
EU Integration and Differentiation for Effectiveness and Accountability
This project studies the past, present and future of differentiated integration models in the European Union's governance with the aim of facilitating policy-making, problem solving and policy implementation in the EU.
Número de proyecto: GA: 822622 Duración: 2019-2021 (Abierto) Presupuesto: CIDOB: 219.536,25€; Total: 2.991.471,25€
WEB DEL PROYECTO
@IdeaEu
The evolution of the EU's politics and policies has demonstrated that differentiation can no longer be treated as an anomaly in the integration process, posing a key set of questions to academic and policy-makers alike: whether, how much and what form of differentiation is not only compatible with but also conducive to a more effective, cohesive and democratic EU. The EU IDEA project will conduct an historical and philosophical investigation of the origins of differentiation, within and outside the EU (WP 1); analyse differentiation – in relation to issues of governance and accountability (WP 2) and narratives on EU constitutionalism and identity (WP 3); investigate the practice of differentiation in three key policy areas (WPs 4-5-6: Economic and Monetary Union, EU Foreign security and defence policy and Area of Freedom, Security and Justice, including migration) and in light of the prospects for Brexit (WP 7); and assess the political and public preferences at national level (WP 8). The findings of the analysis will be instrumental to defining the criteria – at institutional, policy and societal levels – to assess future scenarios of differentiation as a tool of Integration (or disintegration) and to develop policy recommendations for EU and national policy-makers with an aim to a more effective and accountable Union (WP 9).
CIDOB's responsibilities and tasks in the project include conducting research and coordinating the work of the thematic package dedicated to the Area of Freedom, Security and Justice, including migration. Our expertise will also contribute to the study of the historical and philosophical foundations of differentiation, the analysis and comparison of differentiation practices in the Economic and Monetary Union and the study of treaty-based mechanisms for differentiation in the EU Foreign security and defence policy.
The project is composed by a European consortium of 15 partners led by the Istituto Affari Internazionali (IAI).
Coordinator:
Istituto Affari Internazionali (I.A.I.)
Centre For European Reform (CER)
(CIDOB) Barcelona Centre for International Affairs
EGMONT - Institut Royal Des Relations Internationales
European Policy Centre (EPC)
European News Service SRL (Eunews)
Finnish Institute of International Affairs (FIIA)
Institut Za Demokratija Societas Civilis Skopje (IDSCS)
Ustav Mezinarodnich Vztahu V.V.I. (IIR)
Notre Europe - Institut Jacques Delors Association (JDI)
Norsk Utenrikspolitisk Institutt (NUPI)
Sabanci Universitesi (SU)
Institut Fur Europaische Politik Ev (IEP)
Universite De Geneve (UNIGE)
Rijksuniversiteit Groningen (RUG)
Researchers involved in the project:
Elena Sánchez-Montijano
Áreas de investigación:
POL MORILLAS
DIRECTOR DE CIDOB. INVESTIGADOR SÉNIOR
ANNA AYUSO POZO
INVESTIGADORA SÉNIOR
JORDI BACARIA COLOM
INVESTIGADOR SÉNIOR ASOCIADO
Resultados del proyecto
EU IDEA - Presentation of Work Packages - 03/2019 Brexit Reviewed: Process, Consequences, and Scenarios. - 05/2019 EU IDEA - Presentation of the project - 03/2019


CAS is operated from a non-client facing work shop on the South Eastern Coast of Massachusetts. Our business is done sometimes in person but mostly through e-mail, online and by delivery. We come to clients to meet or consult in person but we no longer meet with clients at our location. We understand this isn't for everyone but we have learned over the years that these meetings are much more efficient and effective when done through e-mail which reduces costs necessary to offering such affordable margins. Get in touch and let's set up a time when we can come to you.