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Secret Of Long Life Quotes & Sayings
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At long last, I felt a sense of accomplishment and a sense of closure. In the secret places of my very small heart, I had long entertained dreams of coming back in my next life as a moron. — Joe Queenan
It took my breath away, that evening. If you've ever dreamed that you walked into your best-loved book or film or TV program, then maybe you've got some idea how it felt: things coming alive around you, strange and new and utterly familiar at the same time; the catch in your heartbeat as you move through the rooms that had such a vivid untouchable life in your mind, as your feet actually touch the carpet, as you breathe the air; the odd, secret glow of warmth as these people you've been watching for so long, from so far away, open their circle and sweep you into it. — Tana French
But most of the time, with a contented resignation that comes normally to a man only at the end of a long and busy life, he sat before the keyboard and filled the air with his beloved Bach.
Perhaps he was deceiving himself, perhaps this was some merciful trick of the mind but now it seemed to Jan that this what he had always wished to do. His secret ambition had at last dared to emerge into the full light of consciousness.
Jan had always been a good pianist, and now he was the finest in the world. — Arthur C. Clarke
In the morning I walked to the bank. I went to the automated teller machine to check my balance. I inserted my card, entered my secret code, tapped out my request. The figure on the screen roughly corresponded to my independent estimate, feebly arrived at after long searches through documents, tormented arithmetic. Waves of relief and gratitude flowed over me. The system had blessed my life. I felt its support and approval. The system hardware, the mainframe sitting in a locked room in some distant city. What a pleasing interaction. I sensed that something of deep personal value, but not money, not that at all, had been authenticated and confirmed. A deranged person was escorted from the bank by two armed guards. The system was invisible, which made it all the more impressive, all the more disquieting to deal with. But we were in accord, at least for now. — Don DeLillo
Here's a secret: Everyone, if they live long enough, will lose their way at some point. You will lose your way, you will wake up one morning and find yourself lost. This is a hard, simple truth. If it hasn't happened to you yet, consider yourself lucky. When it does, when one day you look around and nothing is recognizable, when you find yourself alone in a dark wood having lost the way, you may find it easier to blame it on someone else
an errant lover, a missing father, a bad childhood
or it may be easier to blame the map you were given
folded too many times, out-of-date, tiny print
but mostly, if you are honest, you will only be able to blame yourself.
One day I'll tell my daughter a story about a dark time, the dark days before she was born, and how her coming was a ray of light. We got lost for a while, the story will begin, but then we found our way. — Nick Flynn
He [Dr. Juvenal Urbino] arose at the crack of dawn, when he began to take his secret medicines: potassium bromide to raise his spirits, salicylates for the ache in his bones when it rained, ergosterol drops for vertigo, belladonna for sound sleep. He took something every hour, always in secret, because in his long life as a doctor and teacher he had always opposed prescribing palliatives for old age: it was easier for him to bear other people's pains than his own. In his pocket he always carried a little pad of camphor that he inhaled deeply when no one was watching to calm his fear of so many medicines mixed together. — Gabriel Garcia Marquez
(Watching her) was a little like watching water lilies; rather more like smelling a dinner he was not allowed to eat. Was it possible to be starved for so long as to forget the taste of food, for the pangs of hunger to burn out like ash? It seemed so. But both the pleasure and the pain were his heart's secret, here. He was put in mind, suddenly, of the soil at the edge of a recovering blight; the weedy bedraggled look of it, unlovely yet hopeful. Blight was a numb gray thing, without sensation. Did the return of green life hurt? Odd thought. — Lois McMaster Bujold
Even though you read much Zen literature, you must read each sentence with a fresh mind. You should not say, "I know what Zen is," or "I have attained enlightenment." This is also the real secret of the arts: always be a beginner."
"When you are sitting in the middle of your own problem, which is more real to you: your problem or you yourself? The awareness that you are here, right now, is the ultimate fact. "
"Knowing that your life is short, to enjoy it day after day, moment after moment, is the life of "form is form and emptiness is emptiness."
"You may feel as if you are doing something special, but actually it is only the expression of your true nature; it is the activity which appeases your inmost desire. But as long as you think you are practicing zazen for the sake of something, that is not true practice."
"The most important thing is to forget all gaining ideas, all dualistic ideas. In other words, just practice zazen in a certain posture. — Shunryu Suzuki
Warm are the still and lucky miles, White shores of longing stretch away, A light of recognition fills The whole great day, and bright The tiny world of lovers' arms. Silence invades the breathing wood Where drowsy limbs a treasure keep, Now greenly falls the learned shade Across the sleeping brows And stirs their secret to a smile. Restored! Returned! The lost are borne On seas of shipwreck home at last: See! In a fire of praising burns The dry dumb past, and we Our life-day long shall part no more. — W. H. Auden
But walking through it all was one thing; walking away, unfortunately, has proved to be quite another, and though once I thought I had left that ravine forever on an April afternoon long ago, now I am not so sure. Now the searchers have departed, and life has grown quiet around me, I have come to realize that while for years I might have imagined myself to be somewhere else, in reality I have been there all the time: up at the top by the muddy wheel-ruts in the new grass, where the sky is dark over the shivering apple blossoms and the first chill of the snow that will fall that night is already in the air. — Donna Tartt
Everett was a loner, but he liked people too damn much to stay down there and live the rest of his life in secret. A lot of us are like that [ ... ]: We like companionship, see, but we can't stand to be around people for very long. So we get ourselves lost, come back for a while, then get the hell out again. Everett was strange. Kind of strange. But him and [Christopher] McCandless, at least they tried to follow their dream. They tried. Not many do. (Ken Sleight) — David Roberts
THE OPENING OF EYES After R. S. Thomas That day I saw beneath dark clouds, the passing light over the water and I heard the voice of the world speak out, I knew then, as I had before, life is no passing memory of what has been nor the remaining pages in a great book waiting to be read. It is the opening of eyes long closed. It is the vision of far off things seen for the silence they hold. It is the heart after years of secret conversing, speaking out loud in the clear air. It is Moses in the desert fallen to his knees before the lit bush. It is the man throwing away his shoes as if to enter heaven and finding himself astonished, opened at last, fallen in love with solid ground. — David Whyte
But for a long time, and probably far too long, I had a secret wish: the adolescently romantic idea that there was someone out there for me; someone I hadn't met yet who would ask me on a date and make sense of my life. I harbored the hope, I'm now embarrassed to admit, that like a girl in a Lifetime movie, I would look into someone's eyes and find a reflection of my inner life. But sometime between my teenage years and the first years in New York, that idea had pretty well evaporated. I'd grown up. — Diane Meier
Everything comes down to this: the reason for every word I have written and every word I will write. I am recounting my life for you so that you may know this secret without the pain of discovering it: We are unhappy because we think that love is something we require from someone else. Our salvation depends on a simple gesture that is nonetheless the most difficult act we can perform: We must give away the thing we most long for. Not to receive but to give. — Arthur Japin
In a marriage, in any long-term relationship, not to bother with lying. There's no time for that. If you have any sort of secret life, it will come back to haunt you. — Andy Garcia
Within Siddhartha there slowly grew and ripened the knowledge of what wisdom really was and the goal of his long seeking. It was nothing but a preparation of the soul, a capacity, a secret art of thinking, feeling and breathing thoughts of unity at every moment of life. — Hermann Hesse
Before the boiling of blood and the searing of skin comes the secret catastrophe: Before Life on Earth becomes finally merely impossible, it will for a long time before have become completely unbearable. — Tony Kushner
The secret of a long life is to never trust a doctor. — Luise Rainer
She said the secret to long life is to never stop moving. The moment you stop, you're dying." He poked me in the arm and sat back. "That's your lesson today. Expect a test tomorrow." I giggled a little. "Always teaching?" "I don't have to today," he said. "That was just a bonus." He polished off the last of the apple pie, licking the spoon like a lollipop. "Ready?" "For what?" "You'll see. — C.L.Stone
Power as I possess is not, as many believe, given in exchange for a soul. To hear the ignorant speak, one would think it is merely a simple bargain, an exchange of vows, perhaps, and the power one seeks simply flows from the fingertips for the asking. But no, it is not so easy as that! The truly great gifts are not gifts at all, but treasures obtained after long and difficult searching, prizes won only through hard-fought victories over relentless, near-invincible adversaries. [ ... ]
The ignorant speak of hidden arts, but they are not hidden. Indeed, there is nothing secret about them at all; they are freely open and available to any who would pursue them. Ah, but the price! The price is nothing less than the devotion of an entire life. So perhaps the simple-minded are right, after all, in thinking of the acquisition of power as a pact in which the soul is bartered. There is no other way.
- Morgian — Stephen R. Lawhead
Reading private correspondence is in poor taste, Lord Ackerly."
"Unless it is terribly interesting," Eleanor says, "which Jessamin's letters are not. Mine, however, are lurid tales of my near-death experience and subsequent sequestering against my will in the home of the mysterious and brooding Lord Ackerly. I fear I may have given you a tragic past and a deadly secret or two."
"Are we staying in a decaying Gothic abbey?" I ask.
"Naturally. When I'm finished, there won't be a person in all the city who isn't writhing with jealousy over the heart-pounding drama of my life." She pauses, tapping her pen thoughtfully against her chin. "I don't suppose you have a cousin? I could very much use a romantic foil."
Finn shakes his head. "Sorry to disappoint."
"Alas. As long as I'm not the friend who meets a tragic end that brings you two together forever through shared grief." Her line meets dead silence, and a sly grin splits her face. "Oh wait, I nearly was. — Kiersten White
There is a secret earth gyrm, a place where the unbelievable, the unthinkable, the terrible, takes place every day. A place hidden by the veils of ignorance and cowardice and fear. On occasions we glimpse it, when its hidden terrors fall through that veil into plain sight, but mostly we just dismiss it as something else, somewhere else, to be dealt with by someone else. Long ago I found the veil and lifted it. And knowing as I do what is behind, what those behind it get away with, with impunity ... I cannot grow old basking on the bank of some safe-haven, no. — Shaun Hick
Tell me your deepest secret," she said softly ...
After a long moment, he spoke. "The only secret I've borne my entire life is that I love you." He gave her a slight smile. "It was the one thing I believed I'd go to the grave without voicing." His eyes were so full of light that their loveliness almost stopped her heart. — Sarah J. Maas
Augustus Waters was the Mayor of the Secret City of Cancervania, and he is not replaceable", Isaac began.
"Other people will be able to tell you funny stories about Gus, because he was a funny guy, but let me tell you a serious one: A day after I got my eye cut out, Gus showed up at the hospital. I was blind and heartbroken and dind't want to do anything and Gus burst into my room and shouted, 'I have wonderful news!' And I was like, 'I don't really want to hear wonderful news right now' and Gus said, 'This is wonderful news you want to hear' and I asked him, 'Fine, what is it?' and he said, 'You're going to live a good and long life filled with great and terrible moments that you cannot even imagine yet!'"
Isaac couldn't go on, or maybe that was all he had written. — John Green
We are only chance visitants to this jungle of blind mutations. The natural world existed when we did not, and it will continue to exist long after we are gone. The supernatural crept into life only when the door of consciousness was opened in our heads. The moment we stepped through that door, we walked out on nature. Say what we will about it and deny it till we die
we are blighted by our knowing what is too much to know and too secret to tell one another if we are to stride along our streets, work at our jobs, and sleep in our beds. It is the knowledge of a race of beings that is only passing through this shoddy cosmos. — Thomas Ligotti
I did everything wrong," he said. "I misunderstood everything. Moon Child gave me so much, and all I did with it was harm, harm to myself and harm to Fantastica."
Dame Eyola gave him a long look.
No," she said. "I don't believe so. You went the way of wishes, and that is never straight. You went the long way around, but that was your way. And do you know why? Because you are one of those who can't go back until they have found the fountain from which springs the Water of Life. And that's the most secret place in Fantastica. There's no simple way of getting there."
After a short silence she added: "But every way that leads there is the right one. — Michael Ende
Over time, a commitment to challenging, focused work and leisure produces not only better daily experience, but also a more complex, interesting person: the long-range benefit of the focused life. As Hobbs put it, the secret of fulfillment is to choose trouble for oneself in the direction of what one would like to become. — Winifred Gallagher
As long as you live under my roof, you'll do what I say!" he shouted.
Then I'll find another roof, I thought.
"You understand me?" he said.
"Yes sir, I understand" I said, and I did too. I understand that a new rooftop would do wonders for me. — Sue Monk Kidd
That drinking thing, the night before an early morning start, I actually think it helps the productivity in some ways (as long as it's not spirits) it gives you that I don't give a fuck attitude, more relaxed, I'm getting away with it after all, I had a life last night, and now I may be hungover, but I had that secret world that you didn't have, and that you tried to take away from me, want to take away from me. But I still got that beer buzz. And I'll do it again, tomorrow night too. I'll never surrender. And when I'm working, I'll be thinking about it. Those moments of mine, truly mine, that you can never have or take away from me. — Robert Black
Why did I stay? My self-esteem was ruined for a very long time. I was socially isolated from my family and friends. I kept everything that was going on in my marriage a secret. I feared for my safety if I left him. I was financially dependent on my spouse. I am an educated woman who was working towards a master's degree when I met him. He persuaded me to stop school after the birth of our first son. Eventually, he trapped me in his web of lies. I believe I suffered from Stockholm syndrome for many years. It isn't easy to leave. Unless you have lived in an abusive relationship, a typical person wouldn't understand. It seems perfectly logical to an outsider that it would be easy to leave an abusive relationship. It truly isn't and walking away is terrifying for a victim. No one deserves to live his or her life as a prisoner. Love shouldn't hurt and abuse is not love. - Mary Laumbach-Perez — Bree Bonchay
In a sense, one could speak of the secret life of colour. Despite its outward beckoning, like true beauty, colour is immensely hesitant in giving away its secrets. Painters learn to respect the hesitancy of colour and endeavour to refine their skill to become worthy of its revelations. A painter learns the language of colour slowly. As with any language, you struggle for a long time outside the language. There is a willed deliberateness to how you sequence the strange words to make a sentence.Then one day the language lets you in to where the words dance to your thoughts with ease and fluency. Perhaps for the painter there is a day when colour lets him in, when his palette sings with synergy and delight. — John O'Donohue
I Have Loved Hours at Sea
I have loved hours at sea, gray cities,
The fragile secret of a flower,
Music, the making of a poem
That gave me heaven for an hour;
First stars above a snowy hill,
Voices of people kindly and wise,
And the great look of love, long hidden,
Found at last in meeting eyes.
I have loved much and been loved deeply
Oh when my spirit's fire burns low,
Leave me the darkness and the stillness,
I shall be tired and glad to go. — Sara Teasdale
The reason why Jane's spirit was not broken was that she had a secret. It was her own special secret and she had told no one else except Peggy. She locked it in her heart and hugged it to herself. It was this glorious secret that filled her with such irrepressible joy and exhilaration. But it was also to be the cause of her greatest disaster, and her life-long grief.
The rumour that her father was a high-born gentleman in Parliament must have reached Jane's ears when she was a little girl. Perhaps she had heard the officers talking about it, or perhaps another child had heard the adults talking and told her. Perhaps Jane's mother had told another workhouse inmate, who had passed it on. One can never tell how rumours start.
To Jane, it was not a rumour. It was an absolute fact. Her daddy was a high-born gentleman, who one day would come and take her away. She fantasised endlessly about her daddy. She talked to him, and he talked to her. — Jennifer Worth
She'd seen them on the news, compassionate Americans talking about how the United States should be more welcoming to people who came in peace. She believed these kindhearted people, like Natasha, would never betray them, and she wanted to tell Jende this, that the people of Judson Memorial Church loved immigrants, that their secret was safe with Natasha. But she also knew it would be futile reasoning with a raging man, so she decided to sit quietly with her head bowed as he unleashed a verbal lashing, as he called her a stupid idiot and a bloody fool. The man who had promised to always take care of her was standing above her vomiting a parade of insults, spewing out venom she never thought he had inside him. For the first time in a long love affair, she was afraid he would beat her. She was almost certain he would beat her. And if he had, she would have known that it was not her Jende who was beating her but a grotesque being created by the sufferings of an American immigrant life. — Imbolo Mbue
She was as lovely as ever, my Jessie Anne. I paused for a moment, taking her beauty in, laying up this vision of her in the deepest and most secret place of my mind, allowing the sight of her to renew my spirit. I stepped slowly down to the platform, never allowing my gaze to drift from her. Jessie Anne was looking toward the front of the car, and it was a moment or two before she turned and spotted me.
The bright and hopeful smile I had so expected and longed for darkened, just for a moment to be sure, but long enough for me to recognize a fleeting glimpse of shock and anguish, possibly of horror. No longer did she see the man she had known, the man she had given her life to. No, she saw me for the man I truly was, the man with blood on his hands. — Karl A. Bacon
It is known all over the world that there are no secrets in the ghetto and as long as you keep those secrets, you may keep your life. — Felix Alexander
The realization of what wisdom actually was slowly blossomed and ripened in Siddhartha - and he discovered what the goal of his long search was. It was nothing but a readiness of the soul, an ability, a secret art, to think every moment, while living his life, the thought of oneness, to be able to feel and inhale the oneness. Slowly this blossomed in him, was reflected back at him from Vasudeva's old, childlike face: harmony, knowledge of the eternal perfection of the world, unity. — Hermann Hesse
Not long ago, I reread Marguerite Yourcenar's Memoirs of Hadrian. I was amazed to discover what she had written in her note about the difficult composition of the book
which had taken her many decades:
Another thing virtually impossible, to take a feminine character as a central figure ... Women's lives are much too limited or else too secret. If a woman does recount her own life she is promptly reproached for no longer being truly feminine.
We all struggle with this
still. The woman who chooses to write disguised as a male character is hoping to avoid the problem. But you cannot avoid the problem of being a woman. — Erica Jong
Well I've made no secret of my life long love of MAD Magazine, it's probably my first and greatest influence in terms of my comic sensibilities. I've known John [Ficarra] for many years, and we've been friends. About four or five months ago, at a dinner in New York, John made the very nice offer of my being guest editor for an issue of MAD and I thought about it for about half a nanosecond and decided that was a pretty good idea. — Al Yankovic
Every human being on the face of the earth has a steel plate in his head, but if you lie down now and then and get still as you can, it will slide open like elevator doors, letting in all the secret thoughts that have been standing around so patiently, pushing the button for a ride to the top. The real troubles in life happen when those hidden doors stay closed for too long. — Sue Monk Kidd
Slowly blossomed, slowly ripened in Siddhartha the realisation, the knowledge, what wisdom actually was, what the goal of his long search was. It was nothing but a readiness of the soul, an ability, a secret art, to think every moment, while living his life, the thought of oneness, to be able to feel and inhale the oneness. — Hermann Hesse
Since the first human eye saw a leaf in Devonian sandstone and a puzzled finger
reached to touch it, sadness has lain over the heart of man. By this tenuous
thread of living protoplasm, stretching backward into time, we are linked forever to lost beaches whose sands have long since hardened into stone. The stars that caught our blind
amphibian stare have shifted far or vanished in their courses, but still that naked, glistening thread winds onward. No one knows the secret of its beginning or its end. Its
forms are phantoms. The thread alone is real; the thread is life. — Loren Eiseley
Before he'd met Anna, he'd thought he'd known what love was, thought he'd understood about friendship, romance, all of it, but he hadn't - not at all. Until he'd held Anna in his arms, until he'd let her see into his soul, until he'd heard her cry gently when he made love to her for the first time, he'd known nothing. And now, sometimes, when it was just the two of them, when he smelt her hair, caught her eye, he felt as though he knew all there was to know about everything, as though they knew the secret of life. A secret far more powerful than Longevity, far more long-lasting. — Gemma Malley
Deep in the secret chambers of my heart I muse my life-long hate, and without flinch I bear it nobly as I live my part. — Claude McKay
You resolve to reach the center of the galaxy, the center of everything, if you can, and that's where the game ends, now not a game at all but a campaign that's going to go on as long as your life does, no matter what you think of me now, because we are graduating from high school, from college, getting married, and now it's time for all cards to be turned over, all items identified, all secret areas revealed. And now at last maybe we can score this thing properly. — Austin Grossman
Making something secret makes it too important, elevates it to the point where it runs your life from the shadows. If you hide what's at your core from other people for too long, sooner or later you end up hiding it from yourself and waking up with no idea of who you are. — Michael Marshall Smith
Laugh and your life will be lengthened for this is the great secret of long life. — Og Mandino
I'm sure the red fern has grown and has completely covered the two little mounds. I know it is still there, hiding its secret beneath those long, red leaves, but it wouldn't be hidden from me for part of my life is buried there, too.
Yes, I know it is still there, for in my heart I believe the legend of the sacred red fern. — Wilson Rawls
The secret of health, happiness, and long life: If you simply learn how to accept and express love, you will live longer ... be happier ... grow healthier. For love is a powerful force. — Alfred Armand Montapert
All day long the thoughts that occupy your mind, your Secret Place, as Jesus calls it, are moulding your destiny for good or evil; in fact, the truth is that the whole of our life's experience is but the outer expression of inner thought. Now we can choose the sort of thoughts that we entertain. It will be a little difficult to break a bad habit of thought, but it can be done. We can choose how we shall think - in point of fact, we always do choose - and therefore our lives are just the result of the kind of thoughts we have — Emmet Fox
Little did I realize that from that day onwards I was never to be my old normal self again, that I had unwittingly and without preparation or even adequate knowledge of it roused to activity the most wonderful and stern power in man, that I had stepped unknowingly upon the key to the most guarded secret of the ancients, and that thenceforth for a long time I had to live suspended by a thread, swinging between life on the one hand and death on the other, between sanity and insanity, between light and darkness, between heaven and earth. — Gopi Krishna
The dishes of the present day are very light, and they have a particular delicacy and perfume. The secret has been discovered of enabling us to eat more and to eat better, as also to digest more rapidly ... The new cookery is conductive to health, to good temper, and to long life ... Who could enumerate all the dishes of the new cuisine? It is an absolutely new idiom. I have tasted viands prepared in so many ways and fashioned with such art that I could not imagine what they were. — Louis-Sebastien Mercier
It's genius simmering, perhaps. I'll let it simmer, and see what comes of it, he said, with a secret suspicion all the while that it wasn't genius, but something far more common. Whatever it was, it simmered to some purpose, for he grew more and more discontented with his desultory life, began to long for some real and earnest work to go at, soul and body, and finally came to the wise conclusion that everyone who loved music was not a composer. — Louisa May Alcott
THE MOCKINGBIRD All summer the mockingbird in his pearl-gray coat and his white-windowed wings flies from the hedge to the top of the pine and begins to sing, but it's neither lilting nor lovely, for he is the thief of other sounds - whistles and truck brakes and dry hinges plus all the songs of other birds in his neighborhood; mimicking and elaborating, he sings with humor and bravado, so I have to wait a long time for the softer voice of his own life to come through. He begins by giving up all his usual flutter and settling down on the pine's forelock then looking around as though to make sure he's alone; then he slaps each wing against his breast, where his heart is, and, copying nothing, begins easing into it as though it was not half so easy as rollicking, as though his subject now was his true self, which of course was as dark and secret as anyone else's, and it was too hard - perhaps you understand - to speak or to sing it to anything or anyone but the sky. — Mary Oliver
Live like a King, but Eat like a Peasant. The secret of long life. — Paul Gitwaza
All daughters, even when most aggravated by their mothers, have a secret respect for them. They believe perhaps that they can do everything better than their mothers can, and many things they can do better, but they have not yet lived long enough to be sure how successfully they will meet the major emergencies of life, which lie, sometimes quite creditably, behind their mothers. — Phyllis Bottome
Ever in my life have I sought thee with my songs. It was they who led me from door to door, and with them have I felt about me, searching and touching my world.
It was my songs that taught me all the lessons I ever learnt; they showed me secret paths, they brought before my sight many a star on the horizon of my heart.
They guided me all the day long to the mysteries of the country of pleasure and pain, and, at last, to what palace gate have the brought me in the evening at the end of my journey? — Rabindranath Tagore
The secret to living your life to its potential is to value the important stuff above your own comfort. Therefore, the critical first step to executing well is creating and maintaining a compelling vision of the future that you want even more than you desire your own short-term comfort, and then aligning your shorter term goals and plans, with that long-term vision. — Brian P. Moran
Sooner or later it must come out, even if other men rediscover it. And then ... Governments and powers will struggle to get hither, they will fight against one another and against these moon people. It will only spread warfare and multiply the occasions of war. In a little while, in a very little while if I tell my secret, this planet to it's deepest galleries will be strewn with human dead. Other things are doubtful, but this is certain ... It is not as though man had any use for the moon. What good would the moon be to men? Even of their own planet what have they made but a battleground and theatre of infinite folly? Small as his world is, and short as his time, he has still in his little life down there far more than he can do. No! Science has toiled too long forging weapons for fools to use. It is time she held her hand. Let him find it out for himself again-in a thousand years' time. — H.G.Wells
We know what happened to those who chanced to meet the Great God Pan, and those who are wise know that all symbols are symbols of something, not of nothing. It was, indeed, an exquisite symbol beneath which men long ago veiled their knowledge of the most awful, most secret forces which lie at the heart of all things; forces before which the souls of men must wither and die and blacken, as their bodies blacken under the electric current. Such forces cannot be named, cannot be spoken, cannot be imagined except under a veil and a symbol, a symbol to the most of us appearing a quaint, poetic fancy, to some a foolish tale. But you and I, at all events, have known something of the terror that may dwell in the secret place of life, manifested under human flesh; that which is without form taking to itself a form. — Arthur Machen
The secret of long life is double careers. One to about age sixty, then another for the next thirty years. — David Ogilvy
Perhaps real wisdom lies in not seeking answers at all. Any answer we find will not be true for long. An answer is a place where we can fall asleep as life moves past us to its next question. After all these years I have begun to wonder if the secret of living well is not in having all the answers but in pursuing unanswerable questions in good company. — Rachel Naomi Remen
Long ago, the gods argued over where to hide the secret to happiness, so that in finding it, the people would appreciate its importance. One god suggested a high mountain-top. Another wanted to bury it deep in some unknown land. And yet another said to hide it in the darkest waters of the ocean. Where do you suppose they hid it? They hid it in the depths of the heart. Happiness lies within one's heart. When you touch someone's heart, or your heart is touched, you feel happiness. People are made that way. — Kae Maruya
Francie looked at her legs. They were long, slender, and exquisitely molded. She wore the sheerest of flawless silk stockings, and expensively made high-heeled pumps shod her beautifully arched feet. "Beautiful legs, then, is the secret of being a mistriss," concluded Francie. She looked down at her own long thin legs. "I'll never make it, I guess." Sighing , she resigned herself to a sinless life. — Betty Smith
I have no idea what Paloma looks like-what she'll be like.
I have no idea what to expect.
I should've asked more questions.
I should've used the last ten hours to grill Chay until he broke-until he confided every dark and dirty secret Paloma is hiding.
Instead,I chose to eat.And read.And dream about some phantom boy with smooth brown skin,icy-blue eyes, and long glossy black hair-a boy I've never even met in real life.
Lot of good it did me. — Alyson Noel
Life is unlikely to end with humans, even if we burn in a nuclear holocaust. The relentless wheel of evolution will pick up from where we leave off and roll to it's predestined goal. If the human mind continues to evolve, enlarge, and expand, so that we are able to recognize our kinship with the creations around us, so that we are able to grasp our oneness with the cosmos, and so that we merge in yoga with the Divine, the long cosmic cycle will disclose its cryptic secret, and the long saga of billions of years of evolution will display its profound significance. — Roy J. Mathew
One knew nothing. One lived and walked about on the earth or rode through the forests, and so many things looked at one with such challenge and promise, rousing such longing: an evening star, a bluebell, a lake green with reeds, the eye of a human being or of a cow, and at times it seemed as if the very next moment something never seen but long yearned for must happen, as if a veil must drop from everything. But then it passed, and nothing happened, and the riddle was not solved, nor was the secret spell lifted, and finally one became old ... and perhaps one still knew nothing, would still be waiting and listening. — Hermann Hesse
The secret of my long life is that nothing has ever been dull for me. For all my life I have been interested in everything I saw and been anxious to see more. But I cannot stand to be bored, and I will not go to parties at which I expect to be bored, especially if they are my own. Therefore, to my next ball I shall invite one guest I am sure no one, not even myself, could possibly find boring. My friends, the guest of honor at my next party shall be Death himself. — Peter S. Beagle
McSorely's Tea verily the finest tea in the world" -Mister Snickering."
Author: Helen Ryan
Anella Wetter Quotes
Charles F. Stanley Quotes
George Jung Quotes
Guy Fawkes Quotes
James Michael Pratt Quotes
Jane Lythell Quotes
Jason McAteer Quotes
Jaya Wahi Quotes
Joe Kimball Quotes
Jordan Stratford Quotes
Mary Lou Kirwin Quotes
Susan Kay Quotes
T. Baggins Quotes
Teddy Jacobs Quotes
Walter Winchell Quotes
Quotes About Strategy In Sports
Quotes About Heaven And Friends
Quotes About Life Nicki Minaj
Quotes About Eyes And Life
Quotes About My Godmother
Quotes About Being Myself
Quotes About Having A Senior In High School
Quotes About Chooks
Cardinal Sin Quotes
Cloud And Townsend Quotes
Enjoyed You Quotes
Guilty Beyond Reasonable Doubt Quotes
Meeting A Good Guy Quotes
Sandisk Quotes
Things Are Just Not The Same Anymore Quotes


The future of catastrophe modelling company AIR Worldwide will include moving into unmodelled perils, according to president Ming Lee.
Speaking to GR at the Monte Carlo Rendez-Vous, Ming said that AIR's future had three dimensions.
Other perils that AIR could cover include pandemic flu, supply chain risks and cyber threats, he added.
The second area involves offering broader analytics to its clients, Ming added.
"The second dimension of AIR's future is our offering a broader set of data and analytics that our clients will find useful," he said.
This will include information on non-catastrophe losses and ways to improve data quality, therefore making underwriting more efficient, he said.
The final dimension involves continuing to launch and develop large software systems such as Touchstone, Ming said.


Maya Songbird: New Year, New Logo.
So here we are deeply and officially and fully immersed in 2018. With 350 days left to circle around the sun and already we might feel defeated. I hope we are all taking this as an opportunity to heal from the last few years as they have been really hard on all of us. I think we have to take the time to heal and find what works for us all to be happy.
I have taken on new things personally that I am excited to share them as they open and progress. This is the year where we are approaching Eight years full time as Maya Songbird so it is special to introduce new things showing growth and expansion. It has been a journey of expression that I never could have imagined. And here we are eight years later at the tender age of 35...Which is not to old as long as still can ride the groove. I am pleased to bring more excitement and expansion from my galaxy to yours. In hopes to inspire as usual.
I am happy to share this new logo that you might have slowly seen or taken a peek at last year.
So initially my good friend @LaurieShapiroArt (instagram) and www.looure.com, offered to make me into a painting.
Then the piece was featured in the San Jose Quilt Museum.
We both agreed that this would be dope as a logo and now we have the new logo.
And these awesome prints are available for sale soon at Maya's Magic Shop!
The original logo was created by Mike Dos in 2012.
And now here they are all together.
Thank you for reading. Thank you for sharing!
Maya Songbird's new logo is alive!


text:
Festival cold turkey
Climbing off the Festival crazy train doesn't mean I'm back to earth quite yet. Or that I'm done with funfair-ride metaphors. Just like blinking back into daylight after a twist on Disneyland's Aerosmith Rock n Rollercoaster (the chair ride at Alton Towers wasn't quite the imagery I was looking for…), re-acclimatisation is needed. The head has to stop spinning and the brain needs to recognise its surroundings.
The sun was out on a beautiful post-Gold Cup Saturday morning. Time to pause for breath.
For me, the relative success of a festival is judged by the interplay of a number of factors across the full four days: the ebb and flow of financial fortunes, the heart-stopping spectacle of the racing in the championship events, the mouth-watering illumination of potential in the novice events… and of course, the craic, the banter, and the company. Balancing all those criteria, I've never had a bad one. And this year was up there with the best.
On the wider stage, however, I recognise that the true barometer of success comes down to one race: The Cheltenham Gold Cup. Sat in the garden, welcome sunshine was making the newsprint of my Racing Post dazzle and glare. This was as much about the quality of the writing as the weather conditions. For a change. The RP exploits its dominance of the market place to dish up some pretty average, hackneyed, shallow and at times, I'd argue, partial reporting. But if there is a need to understand the significance of Friday's Gold Cup to the industry and to the majority of the public, then it was writ large in this edition. I noted the sage remarks of Robert Whaley-Cohen, the owner of new champion Long Run,
"This is the greatest four days of jump racing, this is the most important day of the four, that's the most important race of the day. What can be better than to win the best race on the best day at the best meeting."
And if you have the stomach for unashamedly dramatic and touchingly sentimental race reviews, Alastair Down's tour de force is an absolute joy. He's not everyone's cup of tea. But as a journo, he knows when to switch on the humility and needs no second invitation to go for the emotional jugular. In this piece he blasted both barrels in order to stake a claim for the race's place in history.
"…at Cheltenham yesterday an absolute epic of a Gold Cup lifted our sport to heights you might dream of reaching perhaps once or twice in a lucky generation."
But my own festival experience always has more twists and turns than this one great race. I was back home on Thursday morning easily in time for the first race of the third day. I can't remember the last occasion I was at home for a day of the festival. At least 12 years ago. But I enjoyed the change.
I enjoyed the pattern of the afternoon: baying at the telly in the Jewson, urging the gorgeous and talented Noble Prince up that lush hill and away from the stout Wishfull Thinking to land me a win single and the last leg of an each way Lucky 15. Then having to open the door to the dining room and apologise to Mrs A and Steve for disturbing their important music businessing.
The pattern, sadly, became the baying and the apologising. Less so the winning: my hollering was insufficient to see Kalahari King collar Albertas Run in the Ryanair, nor to urge Fiveforthree to threaten the remarkable Big Buck's in the World Hurdle. "Sorry guys! Bit exciting in here".
This wasn't the only repeating pattern either. Both Albertas Run and Big Buck's had won their respective races on the same afternoon last year. Buena Vista leading the field a merry dance in the Pertemps final – as he had also done last year – gave the day an eerie feeling of déjà vu. How I failed to back Buena Vista in that is a mystery to me. I was all over him last year and nearly chewed the long suffering Bacchy's ear off about how thrilled and stunned I was to have finally cracked the Pertemps conundrum.
Fantasy Festival was warming up nicely about now. Nev, perennial bridesmaid, was desperate to win this year. He had backed Albertas Run and Big Buck's to open up a £200 quid lead on the rest of us, but Colin, also courtesy of Big Buck's was handy in 2nd. I was off the pace, but had notched the first leg of double through that lovely Noble Prince. Landing the 2nd leg would put me back in the mix. Nick was lurking. He's good at that. Colin was well aware of all this and was on the text to me:
"Who's the second leg on, mate?"
"Sorry, not declaring that til tomoz afternoon. Adds spice don't it?"
"I don't want f**king spice in my afternoon!"
The banter on Facebook was quality. On Bacchy's wall:
Bryn: "Nev will blow it, he won't be able to resist a hefty punt along the way and then the pressure and booze will get to him."
Colin: "I will psyche him out, get inside his head space, take him to uncomfortable places."
Uncomfortable places! What Guantanamo talk is this? Cracking stuff! With this chilling encounter in prospect, I arrived at the Barley Mow. Nick and Colin were already there and had baggsied the comfy leather sofas in front of the giant drop down screen. Nev was next and then the rest of the lads arrived and the action at Prestbury Park began to unfold.
Despite my own extensive personal punting strategy for the afternoon, Fantasy Festival always dominates this day. It's not the money, it's the pride, the thrill and the matey competition. The lead often swaps faster than a Coalition Government policy position. Indeed the psychological warfare that Colin and Bryn have alluded to is something that party strategists could learn a lot from.
Zarkander bolted up in the Triumph. Lovely looking prospect. He was lung-burstingly roared home by me, Nev and Nick. Exposed to this full force wind tunnel, the gaggle of young ladies and gentlemen who had been sat under the screen quietly moved elsewhere. In the County Hurdle, Final Approach somehow managed to get his lovely nose in front right on the line with a very late lunge. I'd backed him, but wasn't celebrating. I couldn't see that he'd got there in time. Even the cameraman was focusing on Get Me Out Of Here. I was already bemoaning my luck to Nick, "Every punter groans about the ones that get away and there's another one to go with Rock On Ruby. Tssk." I was still whinging, when the result of the photo was declared in favour of my boy. Colin said he heard me shriek from the bogs. Two out of two. In the Albert Bartlett, red hot favourite Bobs Worth showed real class and smoothly ran out a handy winner. I was three out of three at that stage, including the second leg of my Fantasy Festival double. That put me right in the frame.
Heady stuff. And although I didn't get another winner for the rest of the afternoon, I was delirious. Gold Cup Fantasy Festival manoeuvres were by now in full swing. Nick had now overtaken Colin and was seriously in the hunt. Nick has previous in this event. Harder to crack than Nev, too. Colin's prophecy came true, though. Nev's uncomfortable place was an ill-judged, wide-eyed grab for glory at £150 notes each way on the Commander. The reigning champ burdened with the leader's hopes and fears at 4-1. Madness we all thought. Infact I think we tried to talk him out of it. "Shit or bust. You know me Dave". And we do.
The race, of course, is already seen as a classic. The brave old guard replaced by the new. The best horse in training landing an epic from two glorious ex-champions. Perfectly scripted. When Kauto Star led them out on the second circuit. Colin and I exchanged glances. "What's he doing? This isn't Kauto's game!" But we were grinning. The 11 year old was serving it up to the field, pouring on the pressure. Imperial Commander was on his shoulder, Denman and Long Run tucked behind. Commander's blunder at the fourth last provided the impetus for Denman to stake his claim. There was an audible gasp in the pub as the tank, absolutely flat to the boards, ranged up and past Kauto. "Gooo on Denman, Gooooo on son", independent shouts of encouragement around the pub for this gutsy warrior that were inspired by sentiment, not profit. For a moment, we thought he might do it. And then Long Run swept through. He rose beautifully at every fence when asked big questions by his articulate, well-groomed and thoroughly likeable amateur jockey, Sam Whaley-Cohen. He sizzled up the hill and won in a track record time. We all knew we'd seen some race.
But only the briefest of respective pauses before we knuckle down again for the decider in the Fantasy Festival. Nev knew his chances had now gone after the Commander had been pulled up. This left me a tiny few quid in front with only the Grand Annual to go, the festival closer, at 5.15. Bacchy, architect of this Fantasy Festival feast arrived in the pub a little before the off. It was great to see him, his participation in the four days having been limited by a punishing work schedule.
So, we were all in, all in for the decider. It's done by secret selection to avoid any advantage being gained by the leader. bad news for Nick. He and I managed to select the same horse and to the same stake. In a field of 23, this is some feat. it was a crusher for Nick, who now couldn't win. In the end, none of our selections got close. Nev's Anquetta briefly threatened, but the frame was filled with outsiders. This meant that I'd managed to cling on to the FF trophy by a few spawny pennies.
Late afternoon became early and then late evening in a blur of Doom Bar, Brakspears and celebratory double-Glenmorangies. Time to head home from this marathon session which has been, by turns, exhilarating, satisfying and shattering. At the end, we made big promises of a mob-handed return to the live action on course next year, just like the old days. Bacchy's missed it achingly this year, and has square jaw-edly taken it on the chin (how much more can I mangle this beautiful language of ours? I'm nearly at the end now, stick with it…). So we'll both be there next year. Bryn put his hand up for a couple of days too and did I hear Nev say the same? I reckon my Bruv will be back as well. So that sounds to be very much like a formidable army to go to war with next March.
Sitting in that Saturday morning reflective sunshine, I noticed an unread text message on my phone. I checked it out: "I love u 2 Davoski". Oh no. Warning bells. A quick flick to the sent box confirmed it. Yep, sure enough, a raft of emotional, sentimental, guff-filled texts has been dispatched late the previous evening, presumably on the train back home. "I really love you guys….what a brilliant day……great comp….love your enthusiasm….wouldn't be the same…." As I say, the festival is a roller coaster. I guess that was the nauseous bit!
As a post-script, the schedule of shame financial analysis, updated for the final time that Saturday morning, revealed a rather pathetic bottom line: £515 staked in 53 separate bets covering ante-posts, wins, doubles, each-ways, accumulators, Lucky 15s, exactas and placepots to give an overall PROFIT of £14. FOURTEEN QUID. Blood, tears, toil and sweat. Good research, bad information, ugly judgement. Near things, sure things, things can only get better. And some exultation, redemption and reward too. Is it worth it? You bloody well bet it is!
Posted by Davoski at Monday, March 21, 2011
Labels: At The Races
Champion Chase Day
Dank, grey, impenetrable. Never mind the weather. This was my mood today after the Champion Chase. A pall of low cloud hanging over Prestbury Park was obscuring Cleeve Hill and cloaking everything in cold mist. Cue clunky similie…. !
We were only two today. Dad's leg is playing up and he's decided against putting it through the rigours of another circuit of the racecouse. He's sportingly driven me and Bruv over here through fog and rain, and will return to watch the action back at our Stow nerve centre.
Betfair Biggles flying in
Approaching the track from the town centre is a very different experience to the walk through car parks from the north yesterday. Then we wove through endless Range Rovers tail-gate picnics of champers and smoked salmon, hosted by country couples wearing enough acreage of tweed and corduroy to carpet the home straight. Today, we dodge groups of lairy pint-pot screamers, fancy-dress debs and busking children (I kid you not). Bruv was unable to resist accepting a lovely yellow Betfair scarf handed out from a box in someone's front garden!
The crowds seem thinner today. Yesterday was as busy as I can remember in the Best Mate enclosure, confirmed by the Racing Post which put the total attendance at over 53,000. Much more elbow room today though. We watch the first from the rail by the winning post. I take a photo for a couple at their first festival. She looks at the image on the back of the camera and exclaims "Oh, that's not a very good one!" Her partner retorts, 'Well why didn't you smile then you daft tart!"I hand the camera back and beat a hasty retreat. I'd hate to be the cause of a domestic.
The early races are nothing short of carnage on the punting front and at least two are unsatisfactory on the racing front, too. The four-miler sees a convincing win for Chicago Grey, produced expertly by his amateur rider. Bruv collects a little, but is also getting excited about a horse we've both backed, Pearlysteps. Only he's cheering on the wrong horse! Wrong colours, wrong jockey!
The Neptune Hurdle is one of my favourite races and one I've had a good degree of success in. Today, Rock On Ruby gets mugged right on the line by First Lieutenant. In truth, ROR might have been scrapping for 3rd had not Oscars Well and So Young both smashed through the last, stopping their momentum as sure as slamming the gear stick into reverse.
My nap of the meeting, Wymott was up next in the RSA Chase. What a shambles. He was never travelling. Not interested. Spat out the dummy. He wasn't alone. Red hot favourite Time For Rupert was lethargic and sluggish at his fences. And two horses fell when tanking along. This left Jessies Dream and Boston's Angel to fight out the finish, with the latter prevailing under a gutsy, gritty and determined drive. Despite a shocking show from my team, I'm pleased for trainer Jessie Harrington who is a talented, self-effacing and engaging individual and who saw her charge, Oscars Well fluff his lines just now with the race at his mercy.
Champion Chase. Best spectacle of the meeting for me. Elite chasers fencing with accuracy and speed. But not any of the rags I backed. Sizing Europe wins well. French Opera is not up to this class. How could I ever think he was? What do I know? An ill-advised exacta perm is also a grubby little cash-grab.
I'm starting to lose reason, judgement and balance. And that's not just a result of the emptied hip flask. Bruv is having an equally bad time. Reflecting back on the first, he says, "Comes to something when the highlight of your day is cheering home an each way shout. And it's the wrong horse!" Even through my dark mood, I raise a grin. He goes on. "You know you're having a bad day when your get-out stakes is the Coral Cup!" I thought I'd cornered the pathos market.
Carlitto Brigante taking the applause on
his way back to the winner's enclosure
Ah, the Coral Cup. 2 ½ miles and 27 unfeasibly handicapped runners. BUT NOT TODAY! Through very different reasoning and obscure circumstance we have both backed Gordon Elliot's Carlitto Brigante in this minefield of a race. And he bolts home! We were celebrating long before the last hurdle fall of his nearest rival made the run-in academic. 20-1. That sounds lovely. Much high-fiving and back-slapping was set loose. We warmly applauded the horse home. (Just once, I'd like a winning jockey to doff his cap to the Best Mate enclosure. A small gripe, admittedly...)".
Paul collected his wedge there and then and I had that particular little thrill later in the Ladbrokes in town where I'd struck the bet. I love race horses. These animals are beautiful athletes, trained to perfection, running and jumping with fluidity, grace and verve. But sometimes that poetry takes second place to an outpouring of baseless, charmless, shameless and ugly greed. Filthy lucre.
Guilty as charged.
"I loved this horse last year and backed him in the Triumph." I declare, swell-chested. "He's been handled tenderly this year." "Is that so," says Bruv, "He first came to my attention because the Brigantians are the celtic tribe that originally settled in our part of Yorkshire." What kind of intellectual approach to punting-by-names is this? "So what's the significance of Carlito then?" I venture. "No idea, mate. Bounded up that hill though didn't he?!"
That changed the day, of course. We prowled around the bookies having little 'fun' bets on the remaining two races and generally feeling pretty pleased with ourselves. Infact, nothing else went our way, but that didn't matter.
We met Dad down the town. Back at the ranch, we wound down over a few beers and a medium rump steak with all the trimmings. We're ducking out of the live action tomorrow and heading back home.
But the action merely cranks up and moves venues. Bacchy's Fantasy Festival Competition is hitting top gear. A good few of the lads have entered this inspired and original competition based on fantasy wedge to punt on four festival races per day. The e-mail banter has been electric and plenty of scores have been notched. Winner takes all come the heady, charged denouement in a Westminster boozer on Friday afternoon.
But before then, I've got to pull some rabbits from a distinctly tatty looking hat that is tomorrow's card:
Jewson: Wishfull Thinking, Noble Prince
Pertemps Final: Duke of Lucca (ew), Alfie Spinner (ew)
Ryanair – Gauvain (e-w)
No bets yet in the rest:
Festival Plate
Kim Muir
Posted by Davoski at Thursday, March 17, 2011
First Day Fever
The first day at the Festival is the best. Four days of fine racing lie ahead and the expectancy and optimism has not yet been punctured. It is a perfect scenario. Alastair Down in this morning's Racing Post captures the mood perfectly: "Over the next four days the tumult will build to a series of spectacular crescendos…..for sheer sustained ferocity of competition coupled with unbridled emotion, there isn't a sport that can get within hailing distance of this cherished week". Fills you up doesn't it?
We are up and about early. There are some last minute additions to opening day portfolios. Bruv is jabbering away about bets that can only hint at the chaos going on inside his brain. "If Cue Card wins the first, well that's the key and sets everything up. And menorah. Just can't see him out of the first three. I can see Banjaxed Girl bolting early and leading them all a merry dance. Need to get 'em in a combination." These are classic signs of Festival Virgin Rambling. I know because I've been there. As a veteran of 12 years, I'm happy to watch Bruv grapple with the scale and the enormity of the thing. Desperately trying to resist backing every horse in every damn race of this puntathon, chasing the big money.
We head up to the King's Arms on the Square for a quality 'race-goers breakfast', including black pudding, lambs kidneys and a free Racing Post (served separately). RUK is on the telly and presenter Stuart Machin is banging his head against a brick wall trying to get an opinion out of his studio pundit Jonathan Neesom. This non-commital sage will simply not put his neck on the line in any race for anything. Isn't that his job? At one point Stuart looks at the camera and shrugs "I can only ask the questions. What else can I do?"!
We hit the track early and find a good berth in the seats by the uphill fence. The track looks beautiful. The two festival virgins on my right are still trying to wind me up. "So that's the famous Cheltenham hill is it? Towcester's worse. One of these runners has good Catterick form. Are you going to mention that in your blog, Dave? Gaffe track bunnies. And there's more behind. A smartly dressed welsh lad approaches his mates with a fist full of a placepot slips and cries "OK lads, who's the joker who picked number 11 in a ten runner race? You Dai!" Hoots of derision. Earlier they had asked us what the minimum bet was on a placepot? "Can you do a quid?" Last of the high rollers from the low valleys.
And then that famous roar when the tapes go up for the Supreme. A bone shaker. We are graced with a finish to suit the occasion. Four in line at the last. Sprinter Sacre looks like he might power away from re-hot favourite Cue Card, then Spirit Son stays on passed him and finally Al Ferof screams home for the Paul Nicholls yard. Nicky Henderson's horses 2nd and 3rd. Cue Card out of the frame. Hear that? It's the sound of a million combinations and accumulators being ripped up, accompanied by the riotous laughter of celebrating bookies. Another year, another loser in the Supreme for me. Still to break my duck.
The Arkle doesn't disappoint either. Finian's Rainbow is prominent and begins to turn the screw at the top of the hill. For a moment, I think he's got away, but Ghizao momemtarily challenges. Eventual winner, Captain Chirs begins to stay on after some right howlers early in the race. My boy Realt Dubh also stays on, but doesn't seem to have the pace up the hill to catch the leaders. I didn't think the jumping of Captain Chris would hold together under this severe examination, but he'swon this well. Henderson 2nd again. As he is in the next when Carole's Legacy can't quite get to Bensalem in a stirring battle up the straight. Bensalem's jumping is also suspect, but he managed to jump through all the holes that Reve de Sivola had punched in the fences. Much to my Bruv's disappointment.
I swear there was a respectful silence, a hush of expectancy across Prestbury Park before the Big One. Or maybe I imagined it as I wound myself up for the race of the meeting. It didn't disappoint, even if the result did. I am so far into Peddlers Cross, I can see what he had for breakfast and I'm gutted he couldn't nail this. The race panned out beautifully for him and there can be no excuses. Hurricane Fly found more on the run-in than I was ever expecting and he is a worthy champion. As they met the last together, Peddlers slightly the more fluent, I was convinced that my boy's proven stamina would come into play and burn off the Irish raider. But in a thrilling duel, the Fly dug deep and was actually going away at the line. Great race.
The cross-country event is perhaps an antedote to a great race. Though it does provide interesting obstacles with curious names such as the Aintree Fence and the Double Banks. It gives commentators plenty of material to play with. The contrived highlight must be Mike Cattermoles' food-related quip, "One Cool Cookie runs out at the cheese wedges!"
The rest of the day was a mixture of small wins and near misses for the three of us. Quevaga was again imperious in the Mares Race. I was out of the money in 2nd and 4th. Dad got the placepot up, but only to small fractions, so he didn't go home rich. We didn't go home quickly either. Messy car park exiting.
But a few beers and a welcome fish & chips supper have enabled me to lick my wounds, reflect on a very good day's racing, and reload. I'm recharged and ready for Day 2.
So, looking at remaining ante-posts, running accas and new top ups, my recovery strategy (and I've been here many times before at the end of Day 1) involves:
Four Miler: Pearlysteps (ew)
Neptune Hurdle: Rock On Ruby, Oscars Well, So Young (accas)
RSA Chase: Wymott, Time For Rupert (accas)
Queen Mother: French Opera (ew)
Coral Cup: Aegean Dawn
Fred Winter : Jubail
Bumper: Ericht
Once more into the breach….
Posted by Davoski at Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Festival Preface
We've been settling in to our base deep in the Cotswolds, readying ourselves for the onslaught tomorrow. Bruv has been hard at work, poring over the Racing Post to construct elaborate each-way Lucky 15s and accumulators.
Our Festival bunker is in the hamlet of Maugersbury, tacked on to a spur of Stow on the Wold, overlooking gentle hills and wooded valleys. We have wi-fi, which is a pre-requisite these days. Bruv was checking the decs earlier and says "Ooh, Sedgefield tomorrow. I'll just have a look. "Sedgefield!" I decry. "On the eve of the very greatest jumps meeting in the World, you are checking out sellers at Sedgefield?" "There's some good racing at Sedgefield, I'll have you know", Dad pipes up. "On a par with Catterick." Hmm. Damning with faint praise as far as I'm concerned.
Stow is splendid. Handsome soft Cotswold stone buildings, pretty shops, fine pubs and restaurants. Looks like we'll struggle for a greasy spoon first thing tomorrow!
The town is enduring an invasion of racegoers. We picked up our first festival tip 15 minutes after arriving here. In the Tourist Information, the Manager says, "Hi, are you here for the races?" We grinned back. "Do you follow the horses much?" We kept grinning. More nervously. Would she want a tip? "I had a trainer in here the other day, looking for accommodation nearby." Now we were interested. "Yes, a Mr Harty, I think . Can't remember his horse. "Captain Cee Bee" I said. "I think it's Eddie Harty", I offered. "Yes, I think that was him. He said his horse would win the Champion Chase on Wednesday!"
I'm looking forward to the action finally starting tomorrow, after months of anticipation. Sorry that Binocular isn't lining up in the Champion Hurdle and even more disappointed about the way that Henderson and the BHA handled it.
The ante-posts have taken a hit over the last couple of days. The remainder, augmented by recent additions, give me a hand looking like this:
1.30, Supreme – Hidden Universe, Sprinter Sacre
2.05, Arkle – Realt Dubh (e-w), Rock Noir (e-w)
2.40, Stewart Family Spinal Research handicap chase – King Fontaine (e-w)
3.20, Champion Hurdle – Peddlers Cross
4.00, Cross Country Chase – no bet (yet!)
4.40, Mares Race – Sparky May, Alasi (e-w)
5.15, Centenary Novice Chase – Premier Sagas
Peddlers and Realt are my most realistic chances of success.
Into battle, then!
Labels: At The Races, Previews
Towcesting a birthday
I've mentioned my mate GC and his 50th birthday in a previous post. The birthday present was to be delivered separately and later. When the time came, we left the precise details a little hazy. His instructions were clear: to arrive at our house (accompanied by the fragrant Mrs GC – Bex - who was in the know), attired in smart casual, prepared for the elements, no passport needed, and packing swimming trunks, just in case. The budgie smugglers were, of course, a complete red-herring (now there's an image to play with), but would GC know that? Subtle, eh?
Much infantile mirth was to be had at GC's expense about the likely birthday treat in store. This, er, hilariously, ranged from minding our girls for a day, to minding their Granny. The girls were with us and were to be collected by Granny. It has to be said that Granny is fearless. In her 80th year she has tried her hand at both canoeing and horse-riding for the first time. So GC was quite warming to the idea of accompanying Granny for the day. Sky-diving maybe. Or a crocodile wrestling?
The trunks made another verbal reappearance amongst the futile wind-ups as we passed a flooded gravel pit:
"It's actually a wreck dive over there in Leighton Buzzard. Did you bring your wet suit, GC? No worries, you can borrow mine. Only I'll be wearing it at the same time."
"Not a problem, Mr A. Back to back or front to front suit you?"
Bleugghh!!.
We disembarked at Wolverton where there should have been one taxi with Granny inside, waiting to whisk the girls away and another waiting to whisk us on to the venue. There were none. Only a blustery rain-lashed car park. I looked at Mrs A who offered a supportive smile. We waited in an open fronted tin shack serving as a ticket office, avoiding drips from the leaky roof. Wolverton used to be home to the mighty BR workshops turning out rolling stock for the finest railway in the World. Most of it has gone now. Including, one dark night, the removal of the station roof and fittings. Pulled down, despite being listed, to save repair costs. It is a bleak station now.
Bleak. Imagine this wet and windy.
I glanced at GC. Hands thrust deep into pockets. Trenchcoat collar turned up. Double woolly balaclava hugging his gnarled face. OK, I made the last bit up. He was gritting his teeth though. And I swear I could hear him humming 'Happy Birthday to me….'. He surveyed the windswept scene and asked with a grin "Is this the bit where I say thanks for my birthday present?" How we hooted. Nervously in my case.
Just then, the SpeedLine taxi cavalry came over the hill and we were on our way again. I'd bagged the nice roomy front seat because I was in charge of directions. Very important. I looked behind as I uttered something witty (possibly) and noticed that, GC, a bit bigger than me, was slightly cosier. Elbows tucked in and hunching over, neatly wedged between Mrs A and Bex. A thorn between two roses? A fart between two cheeks? Hard to say really.
By the time we'd navigated the Old Stratford A5 roundabout GC had worked it out. "I think it's Towcester races" he beamed.
I was getting worried about the rain. Squally showers kept bumping into each other, blowing in from the west on a sharp breeze. The ground at Towcester was already heavy. Many more minutes of steely stair-rods and we'd be flirting with abandonment. My jitters didn't calm much as we scampered through rain bouncing off the tarmac to get to the Empress Stand.
But once inside I was happy. This was all new. Towcester is a track I know very well and love. But I've always been with the proles next door. Never through the 'hospitality guests' entrance. I ponced up to the reception, puffed out my chest and said, "We've got four reservations for the Empress Restaurant please".
Hospitality at last!
We were shown upstairs, through double swing doors and into an open plan, well appointed dining room. There was a bar at one end and a huge glass wall leading to private balconies at the front. Betting stations with TV screens were strategically placed around the edges. The dining tables were beautifully set and already had waist-coated waiters fussing around seated guests. We introduced ourselves and were shown to table 16, handy for the bar, the telly and the betting booth.
Balloon courtesy of our neighbour's table!
I think GC was impressed. He didn't stop grinning until his first race loss. He must have secretly been fearing an afternoon of pot noodles and fizzy lager on the steps of the wind-buffeted grandstand. I was impressed too - and a bit relieved. It's not always clear exactly what you get in these circumstances. But I have to say, Towcester put on a top show.
What's the joke, Bex?
There was already wine on the table, but I went to the bar for some aperitifs. And received a verbal cuff on the ear for my trouble. "Take a seat, sir. We'll serve you at your table", said waist-coated lady, mildly surprised at my procedural gaffe. It was a young, fastidious chap called Mike who arrived to take our order. He looked after us wonderfully. And when the main course was a bit late, he brought us a complimentary bottle of wine and was full of apologies "I'm so sorry for the delay, the kitchen's full." We wondered what that meant, precisely. Cooks jammed in right up to the rafters, all vying for hob space? An explosion of expanding insulation foam, pinning an army of sous-chefs against the wall? The wine was a welcome, but in truth, unnecessary gesture. We were there all afternoon and would rather have good food cooked well than rushed. And indeed it was. Smoked salmon with a crab and coriander salad; chicken breast in mushroom, garlic and Madeira sauce with fondant potatoes, butternut squash and roast beetroot; followed by espresso panecotta with chocolate sauce and Viennese biscuits. (I guess they were all out of arctic roll…)
GC looking a smidge more camp than our betting rep!
Our betting rep was called BJ. He was also very attentive. "That's a nice watch", I said, dazzled by a glittery pink metal bracelet holding a face the size of an Olympic discus. "Fank you Sir, I left my gaudy one at home as it's a Sunday". BJ was a good laugh. He helped out Bex and Mrs A when they did that time honoured, doe-eyed 'I-don't-know-what-I'm-doing–this-betting-is-so complicated' trick, merely because they didn't want to queue at the booth. Shameless. Mrs A thought she recognised something in his camp manner, his rolling gait, and his sizeable girth. "He would remind you of Peter Kaye in a not-remindy kind of way, don't you think?" We all merely blinked back, trying to picture what that meant, exactly.
Not that Bex and Mrs A needed any help on the betting! Bloody hell! Bex bagged the winner of the first, a lovely looking prospect called Whoops A Daisy, trained by Nicky Henderson. The horse glided through the mud as if on rails. And later she picked up again when Round The Horn cantered up by the length of the straight. A few near misses for GC and for me, but they don't seem pay out much for those.
We'd been watching the races from the private balconies running across the front of the restaurant, removing us from the hurly-burley of the steppings below us. Our vantage point provided a superb view to catch the races, but also opened up the vista over the track and down to Towcester town nestling in the valley. It may not be Goodwood on the Downs or Cheltenham in the Cotswolds, but this is still one of the finest aspects in racing. Back at the table, just in case we were getting peckish – obviously a real risk - afternoon tea had arrived. Hardly seems a moment since the three-course lunch. Life is just such a struggle sometimes. I tucked into scones, jam and clotted cream with the gusto of a half-starved waif, ready for the next race.
Mrs A was sticking to her tried and tested strategy of backing long shots. So how did she miss Tuvalu who won the 2nd at 40-1? Because she was on already on Fantastic Morning at a slightly more conservative 25-1 is why. But there was no jeering and mickey taking when Tarabela won in some style at 28-1! Ms A went to collect her winnings from that nice BJ man in the Ladbrokes booth and she positively swaggered back to the table before slamming down the fattest wedge of crinkly greenbacks I've ever seen. Well, as fat as £60 can be, anyway. We declared that she was an absolute genius of the track and I was a bit worried she'd gatecrash my trip to Cheltenham. But only a bit.
On a sourer note, the green screens went up around Panzer who had fallen after the last. This is always disturbing, and particularly so in front of packed grandstands. It usually only means one thing. But thankfully the horse was no more than winded and was soon led away, none the worse.
'That one's got four legs....'
And then it was time to go. Blink of an eye and all that. But we got our bets down for the last before heading for the taxi. SpeedLine were late and we had connections to make, so that was a frustrating. But it did mean we just about caught the race on the big screen. Bex ran over to give us a running commentary, but we couldn't hear her properly back up at the gates. Whisps of 'red hat'….'stripey top'….'over there' drifted on the breeze, accompanied by random gesticulating and interesting facial expressions. We got the message, though. Mine and GC's pick, our nap of the day Syndication from the Venetia William stable - a Towcester specialist - hosed up. The lucky last! The get-out stakes! Thank you very much!
So we all went home happy.
We finished off the day with a few drinks back at GC and Bex's and staggered home stuffed, watered, merry and rich (well, in experience if not exactly in money!). That really is the way to do it. Roll on 60, GC!
Posted by Davoski at Saturday, March 12, 2011
Labels: At The Races, Celebrate, Out n About
Festival ante-post update
Two weeks to go before the action rolls into Cheltenham town. Time to assess damage and report progress on the ante-post portfolio.
I'm a virgin Supreme winner. I know not the sweet pleasure of bagging the festival opener. And February hasn't been kind to my bedpost notching chances. Megastar fluffed his lines in an easy 2 mile novice hurdle at Sandown. I'm discounting his Supreme chances on the basis of that form, even if he does show up at Cheltenham. He's clearly a talented animal and will go much better on good ground. But I can't see that he's done enough this season to justify any more faith.
Almost the same can be said for my other punt in this race, Hidden Universe. Stepped up in grade and trip last month, he ran well 'til emptying on the home straight when beaten into 4th by the hugely impressive Oscars Well. Zaidpour stayed on for a laboured 2nd and I can't see him being aimed at this race now. I'd be more confident of HU's chances over an even 2 miles, but that hill at HQ might find him out. And that's if Weld commits him to the race. No word yet.
So I need to bolster my chances of a Supreme conquest. Many have now come out and laid down a proper challenge. Of the Henderson mob I like the way Sprinter Sacre pulled Gerraghty's arms out at Ascot. But I may wait a bit longer until the Irish raiders are clearer about their targets. If I'm to break my duck here, I might as well labour over it a little longer.
Arkle
The bet on Realt Dubh still stands. Neither Finian's Rainbow nor Medermit have convinced me. It looks a weakfish renewal and so I went in again for a bit of the 25-1 on Starluck a few days before he won his fencing debut at Huntingdon. Couldn't believe I was getting that price as his trainer Alan Fleming had been very bullish about the target and he's a classy horse. On the day of the race the ante-post price came into 14-1. After what I thought was a pretty good effort, he was clipped in to a best price 12-1, only for Fleming to say he wasn't sure the Arkle would be the target after all! Gobshite! We'll have to wait and see. Personally, I think he'll turn up for this one. And if he doesn't, well that's the roller-coaster of ante-post punting.
Nothing to report except a top-up on Peddlers when he drifted a fraction because those sages at Coral thought he'd idled in front when winning at Kelso. Ha! Mugs!
Doubled up the lovely Peddlers with (possibly mud loving?) Oscars Well at the same time as the above. Nothing else here. Targets of some of the principles in these novice hurdle races is still uncertain and may be my undoing. So Young is a massive danger wherever he turns up.
Again, nothing new, save for a top up on Wymott. Aiteen Thirtythree is the one to have staked a recent claim. But I think that the form in the book of Time For Rupert gets stronger with every race. Will get him in a crazy combi at some stage.
I was sufficiently impressed with French Opera's win at Newbury in the Game Spirit Chase last week to take a bit of the 25-1 ew on offer. The key to him is good ground. But he also seems to need time between his races. I hope he gets to put his feet up and shake down a bit before he lines up. Master Minded and Big Zeb both seem vulnerable to me and I'm happy to take them on each way this outsider. He's entered in the Grand Annual as well, like last year. I know Henderson has a mission to win the race named after his Dad every year, but surely they will go for the big one this time?
Somersby may entice me to part with some cash too. I feel he could go close if on one of his going days. Woolcombe Folly seems short for a horse plying his trade in handicaps. Golden Silver is an enigma: unstoppable in Ireland and shocking round Cheltenham.
I've had a go at the Bumper, too! Someone tweeted "The winner of the bumper turns out for McCain at Wetherby tomorrow". So I had a speculative tiny interest on Ebanour for fun at 34-1 on Betfair. Before the off he was down to 18s. Madness! I didn't lay off, despite him touching an ante post 12-1 in running. In fairness he looks nice enough, though hard to say what he really achieved. He may end up at Aintree instead.
However, I was very impressed with Ericht at Newbury a few days later, who arguably beat much better yardsticks. He's already short enough but visibly on my radar.
Jewson
One certain dead bet here. I backed Rackham Lerouge from Henderson's yard before he ran in Wymott's race at Bangor, expecting him to come on for the run. He didn't and hasn't been entered. He's in the new 2 ½ novice handicap chase instead. I've also got a small bet on Rock Noir at 33-1 ew, but the horse really needs to improve. Captain Chris looked very good at Kempton last Saturday and I also like Wishfull Thinking from the same Hobbs stable over this trip.
Spirit River out for the season, so another dead bet.
Triumph Hurdle
Here's a joke. I backed Moose Moran at 16-1 ew before his hurdles debut at Sandown. I thought it was a fair bet that he'd convert his decent flat form to the jumps game. But he didn't. He trailed in a well beaten and disappointing 4th. Henderson sent him out again last week at Doncaster. This time he got the job done nicely enough. He's back to 16-1 for the Triumph in a couple of places….but 25-1 I others! He looks a horse of potential, though.
Albert Bartlett
I saw Our Island from Tim Vaughan's yard win with some aplomb at Newbury the other week. He stayed on with attractive resolution from a decent sort, although it was only a little race. He'll go well on better ground according to the trainer and I like him in a race that could easily cut up. 33-1 ew is good enough value for me.
Also had a small sum on Willie Mullins' Bishopsfurze at 25-1 ew, but his jumping needs to improve and he wasn't desperately impressive at Thurles last week. He should stay all day though and he'll shape better over this trip than in the Neptune on current evidence.
No action here until, at the earliest, the weights are published. Nothing in the Ryanair either.
The moment has arrived to start plotting up some grab-a-grand Lucky 15s and life changing combinations to tiny stakes. My favourite time of the year, bar none!
Posted by Davoski at Tuesday, March 01, 2011
Labels: ante-posts

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


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An open letter to Newcastle fans (allegedly…) from Mike Ashley
Mike Ashley knows Newcastle United are now guaranteed to be a Premier League club for the 2019/20 season.
As Lee Charnley said 'Another successful season..'
A relegation fight that lasted eight months and one that didn't see a singe win until November.
Knocked out of the League Cup at the first attempt by a lower league club (yet again), before then exiting before the fifth round of the FA Cup (for the 12th year in a row under Mike Ashley's ownership) to a complete Watford reserve team.
Newcastle fans and Mag contributor John Williams brings us this open letter from Mike Ashley (Allegedly…):
'Dear Newcastle fans,
We are nearly at the end of yet another successful season.
We all must agree we have collectively met our goals, you have premier league football next season, I made a profit.
I am looking forward to next season with a new man in charge.
To explain, I cannot have an employee, no matter how popular, telling me what to do.
So he will be replaced with someone more in line with our thinking.
I will spend some money in the transfer window but I will not waste it.
Look at Fulham, spent nearly £100 million and still got relegated. We won't do that (spend £100m…).
I have spoken to Lee and he informs me that the three teams coming up will go straight back down, so we will not sign Rondon (too old) and will make do with Hoselu, who has proven he can score against the best (Liverpool, Chelsea and Tottenham) in the past.
For your great support this year, I have told Lee to get someone to touch up the stadium a bit (but he must get three quotes)
Only one more home game to go, so you get one last chance to say goodbye to the manager (Can't remember his name)
All the best for the summer and remember to get your season tickets early as there will be a huge demand.


A growing number of Americans work from home. GlobalWorkplaceAnalytics.com estimates that more than 3 percent of workers in the United States opt for at-home positions and self-employment, with that number only to increase within the next decade. The allure of flexible part-time, full-time and freelance work is all the rage, but what is it really like to work from home?
I started Hourglass Media with only my most ambitious dreams, MacBook Pro, Nikon D5000, iPhone 6 Plus, Adobe Creative Cloud software and a few binders from Office Depot. Since its humble beginnings in my childhood bedroom, my company continues to grow. (For one, we keep adding electronics to the fleet.) One of the unique aspects is that I don't have a brick-and-mortar location -- I work from home. This is something I wanted from the very beginning. I'm a natural homebody and self-starter with a knack for leading myself with having to be lead by others. I wanted to be my own boss and only answer to my clients and the IRS.
I worked from home when it was still a bit taboo in my physical location to do so. I fielded questions from so many people who asked me what I actually did when I worked from home. I did my own personal PR campaign to show people that I was indeed working and not just sitting around watching Netflix and eating snacks in a bathrobe all day.
The bottom line is, I love waking up with the fiery passion of spearheading my own business and creating change for individuals and organizations. For me, that starts in my home office, the Maison de Hourglass.
Luckily, I can communicate from anywhere at any time. I've worked from Paris on a rainy Saturday, written on a deck overlooking the Chalk Sound in Turks and Caicos and checked emails in New York City. Storytelling is a worldwide venture, and for that, I am lucky. But, there is nothing like having a home base.
In the beginning, keeping a regular schedule stressed me out. After all, I was my own boss and could work whenever I wanted, right? True, but it was also making me burn the midnight oil and burn myself out rather quickly. There are times I do sleep in, but I wake up and start right to work (after brewing some coffee, of course). For me, keeping a schedule close to my husband's allows me to work during my most productive hours of the day (usually 9 a.m. to 12 p.m.-1 p.m.), prioritize the workload and then spend time with him in the evenings. I'll admit that time management has been an evolutionary process, one I have yet to master but I improve upon every day. I use Google Calendar to schedule meetings and project deadlines, but I still am old-school in the fact that I love writing my to-do lists in a physical planner. I downloaded Classy Career Girl's Create Your Own Future to-do list template earlier this month, and it's been a game changer for my productivity. Go with your own flow and do what works best for you to squash overwhelming feelings right out of the gate.
Have a dedicated space for work.
Set meetings outside the office.
Skype, MyFreeConferenceCall, FaceTime, Google Duo and other webinar/video chat services are wonderful tools. I use them to communicate with clients, in addition to standard phone calls, emails, text messages and Facebook Messenger. In my line of work, it's vital to maintain two-way communication with clients and partners. If I can, I meet them where they are, in their offices, for coffee, etc. It helps me get away from the house and office. Even as a natural introvert and practiced extrovert, I do need real human connections to help stories come to life. If you don't have a meeting, run errands, take your dog for a walk, do something nice for yourself.
I still struggle with this one. When I get in the zone, I don't like to step away from the work at hand. It's vital to do this, however. You can't just sit at your desk all day. Try to get up at least once per hour to go to the bathroom and rest your eyes and brain. Event days are always chaotic in my world, so I get adequate exercise during those days. But, let's be honest, I don't have the most active job in the world. So, I have to make time to exercise, whether it's starting the day off with some yoga or going and taking a walk. Unfortunately, I can't just walk out of my front door and take a walk because it's a busy road without a sidewalk. I have to set aside time to exercise either in my house or drive somewhere. Needless to say, taking care of my work has always been the priority, but I'm working toward living a more healthy lifestyle. And also resist the urge to forgo the yin-yang of not eating or snacking all day. Choose healthy options for breakfast and lunch. After all, your kitchen is right there!
I'm sensitive to everything, so there are times that it muddles my productivity. Then, I get upset and feel less motivated and enter the black hole of self-doubt and anxiety. Some things that easily distract me are the following: my cats, wanting to listen to music/watch something and work at the same time, irrelevant communications not about the topic at hand, clutter in my office and the house, a dirty bathroom, etc. I can do for days without these things aggravating me, but then, these distractions could hit me like a ton of bricks. It's essential to limit your distractions as much as possible but also maintain a level of flexibility. Sometimes, an emergency will pop up and leave you without any checkmarks on your regularly scheduled to-do list. Try your best to go with the flow. All of us also work differently, too. What works for one may not work for the other. If music distracts you, then wait until you're doing mundane tasks to turn on your favorite Spotify playlist. You have to be a bit of a self-starter to work from home most of the time.
Working from home has its pros and cons, but I wouldn't change my workspace for anything. Projects come and go, are completed and another comes along, but one thing remains the same: I love having the flexibility of a home office.
Learn more about my journey by downloading our free eBook!


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Aurora Waldorf School Where Children Want to Go to School Serving Pre-K to Eighth Grade
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Aurora Waldorf School Mission Statement
"Providing a place where children love to learn, educating children for all aspects of life, and fostering capacities within to become successful, self-assured adults who contribute to a better world."
Every day at Aurora Waldorf School, we inspire children to love learning for its own sake, thereby giving them a gift that will last a lifetime. With expertise, dedication, and warmth, our teachers provide a rigorous education that fully integrates the fine and practical arts with the sciences, mathematics, humanities, movement, and athletics. They do so with joy, which our students absorb and express daily.
Why Aurora Waldorf?
From Early Childhood through Grades 1 - 8, the Waldorf curriculum meets each child with what they need most. In Pre-K and Kindergarten, that means consistency, warmth, meaningful work, time in nature, and imaginative play. This lays the groundwork for the Grades, where the arts, stories, academics, and practical activities build a rich curriculum of language arts, math, sciences, history, and geography. Creative Development classes such as handwork, music, gym, world language, eurythmy, and woodwork allow each child to succeed and grow to their full potential.
The surrounding fields, woods, streams, playgrounds, and gardens make up our largest classrooms, which host our students of all ages, in all weather, for daily play and outdoor learning. Indoors, spacious, light-filled classrooms become a home away from home. A full gym with gymnastics equipment and a climbing wall promotes active learning opportunities inside. Elementary school games evolve into middle school sports, including soccer, basketball, and track.
This progression of supported development prepares young men and women to take their place in the world with confidence and a clear sense of their own worth. Our graduates are capable, creative, interested (and interesting!) human beings.
It takes more than healthy students to have a healthy school. We are equally committed to supporting all community members – including parents, faculty, and staff – in their own development. Our frequent community events – including festivals, conferences, workshops, and volunteer opportunities – invite us to engage with one another as we all unfold on this journey through life together.
The Light of Aurora Shining for 30 Years!
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NOTICE OF NONDISCRIMINATORY POLICY Aurora Waldorf School promotes respect for all and does not discriminate on the basis of race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, and national or ethnic origin in the administration of its educational programs, hiring, self-government, admissions, financial aid, and all other school-related activities, and emphatically rejects discrimination in all its forms.
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Self-directed IRAs provide the type of benefits that many investors are looking for, such as tax advantaged savings and flexibility. They also represent a vast source of capital that can be invested in various types of alternative, non-traditional assets such as hedge funds.
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Hedge funds have enjoyed a significant surge in popularity over the past several years, especially for experienced investors with significant investible assets. Recently, some hedge fund managers have lowered their minimum investment amounts significantly, as a means of encouraging more investors to have access to these types of funds. The Pension Protection Act of 2006 brought some long-awaited relief for hedge funds. The Act liberalized the 25% test and provides some long-term certainty on how to apply it.
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