text:
Advice for the Young and Impressionable
the ClearOut
Decluttering. Clarifying. Connecting.
Like the Lights
This year's Christmas story attempts to capture something of the season's raised stakes. I hope you enjoy.
The younger two jumped up and down at the window with giddy shrieks of excitement, announcing his arrival. She looked out over their heads and watched him step out of a taxi. He spoke briefly to the driver and then turned to face the house. She wondered what he had in the small backpack that was strewn across his shoulder. He was clean shaven and by the looks of it, had had a haircut very recently. Under an olive-green raincoat, he was wearing dark blue jeans and a checked shirt she hadn't seen on him before. As he placed his hand on the gate, she saw him pause and close his eyes. When he opened them, he looked down the road in the direction the taxi had gone as if he was about to summon it back. He took his hand off the gate and turned from the house. She didn't breathe as she waited to see what he would do. She had a fold of her inside mouth clenched between her teeth as she stood there with her fingers pressing into the windowsill, willing him to walk away. But it was too late. They had thrown open the door without waiting for Mammy and were racing down the path screaming his name. As he walked through the gate and crouched down to receive their enthusiastic hugs, she thought he looked almost frightened. They reeled off their news and their questions faster than he could process but he gamely responded with appropriate sounds of surprise and interest. And then she knew Mammy was in the door because he stopped in his tracks and stood up like a statue. Now he was the one holding his breath. He didn't move as they pulled on his arms to get him to come in, shouting gleeful exhortations to aid their cause. If anything, rather than moving closer, his body was leaning back towards the gate.
Mammy sounded strong when she greeted him and invited him in, but she couldn't tell if she really felt that way or if it was an act. She stood in the door onto the hallway and watched her speak to him across the front step. Mammy was careful and controlled, not overly friendly, but not totally cold. She asked him if he was going to stand out there all day and then turned casually and proceeded to the kitchen, where she said there was plenty still to do. Doing their utmost to barrel him in the door, the other two were pushing him from behind, one at each leg, and each with a hand on his back, but he entered the house slowly and cautiously despite their efforts. His eyes widened when he spotted her clinging tensely to the door frame. She became very still and was aware her breathing had become erratic as her heart pushed it high into her throat. She held herself tighter as he wished her a happy Christmas. It was clear he was uncomfortable, but she didn't see why she should do anything to make him less so. She returned his festive sentiment in a non-committal way and suggested he close the door before too much cold air was let in. She left him there looking like a scolded dog as she went to help with the preparations.
In the kitchen, he also offered his assistance, but Mammy wouldn't accept, instead sitting him at the table with a big mug of tea and a sandwich while they got on with the vegetables and the little ones ran in and out showing off their presents and getting on and off his lap until they were told to skedaddle. She listened as they spoke to each other. A polite conversation went back and forth about the day that was in it, who would be joining them, and how more than one had been asking after him. She marvelled at the new roles they had taken on and couldn't help thinking that they must have discussed everything long before he arrived, agreeing on each other's lines and cues. Throughout it all, he kept his little backpack close as if it was some kind of talisman, sometimes absentmindedly clutching it in his lap as he drank his tea and chatted in the most unnatural way. Mammy maintained her almost breezy demeanour, never giving any indication that the situation might not be to her liking. She tried to spot a tightening of the jaw, a hint of a frown or a drop of anger in her voice, but they simply weren't there.
She was far less successful at concealing her own feelings and she prickled as if her skin was alive with angry static. For Mammy's sake she was grudgingly polite, giving terse answers to his gentle enquiries and prompts. He had nothing to say she was interested in and what she wanted him to say he never would, because he was a coward and a liar and really, now that she thought about it, he was the last person she wanted to be spending her Christmas with. She couldn't understand Mammy's forbearance, it made her stomach lurch and her neck strain in incomprehension. Maybe she was afraid of what would happen? After all, you couldn't unexplode a bomb and if Mammy went off, perhaps that would be worse than anything. They'd be left like those shattered cities she sometimes saw on the news. Steel and rubble and lifeless bodies being mourned by survivors covered in a strange compound of choking dust and sticky black blood. She thought that's what her unhappiness tasted like, as if someone had hoovered up all that debris and dirt and fed it to her, spoonful after spoonful. Her mouth no longer had the anticipatory impulses of appetite, rather it was acrid with a distaste for life. Her friends had tired of her melancholy, forcing her to affect a blasé cynicism, turning her pain into bitter comedy, which did little but add to her sense of shame and confusion. She lived a lie. Being civil for Mammy, being strong for the younger two, being cool and arch for her pals. And yet he could sit there asking her questions about school and what Santa had brought her. She wanted to scream and let him know what he had done to her and to all of them. The best thing would be to curse him out of it, to swear at him up and down until he went white.
But that was her, not Mammy, who had her favourite classical station tuned on the radio as accompaniment to their festive chores. The piece that had just soundtracked her dark thoughts ended and was instantly followed by the presenter speaking in that smooth presenter way, identifying the choir they had been listening to in appreciative tones. It occurred to her that the beauty of the music and the soft syrup of the presenter's voice were like an invisible comfort blanket Mammy had wrapped around herself, placing a buffer of calm civility and prettiness between her and any unpleasantness that might threaten her committed balancing act. She wasn't sure if the Mormon Tabernacle Choir had that kind of power, but she knew the radio would keep playing regardless.
The vegetables prepped, the desserts made, and the turkey in the oven since early morning, all they had to do now was wait. The guests would be arriving in an hour or so, bringing with them an injection of warmth and high spirits that even in her current frame of mind, she knew would be infectious. Mammy's brother and sister and their other halves and their children, her cousins, would practically take over the place, but room had still been made for Benny and Maire, old friends of Mammy's and his that may as well have been family. They would have Declan with them, a couple of years older than her, and quite cute in his way, but also a bit of a sports hero which could be painful – there were only so many ways to pretend she was interested in how he'd scored the winning points in seven matches that year, not to mention how he'd 'beasted' Shane 'The Ox' Carter in the schools' final back in April. However, she wouldn't rule out kissing him until she could ascertain what level of control he had over his obsession. She was trying to bring to mind his mouth when Mammy asked her if she was going to wear the new top she'd been given from under the Christmas tree that morning. She had already picked out what she was going to wear, and Mammy knew it, so it was code for her to give them some space, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to. Left alone, they would almost certainly get into an argument and then Mammy would be upset for the rest of the day, which would ruin not just the day, but the rest of the holiday. The younger two wouldn't really pick up on it, but she would. She'd be stepping over the broken pieces for days afterwards. She was about to say she was grand thanks, when Mammy repeated the suggestion with an accompanying look that meant refusal would not be tolerated. Reluctantly leaving the kitchen, she looked back and saw him place his bag by his side. In the few seconds it had taken her to move from one side of the room to the other, his face had changed so completely that she almost didn't recognise him. It gave her a fright and she suddenly felt very out of her depth in the world of adult pain and deception.
Hovering at the base of the stairs, she was able to see the two younger ones eating chocolate and playing computer games in the living room while at the same time being in earshot of the kitchen, where she was certain they were finally having a real conversation. She could hear him better than Mammy, but he mostly seemed to be saying no to whatever was being said to him. Maybe she was asking him if he had changed or if things were different or if he was safe to be around. Maybe she just wanted to know if he was going to stay sober. She surely wouldn't have let him in the door otherwise. He could only answer no to that question or he'd be out on his ear, but how could she believe him? Where would the proof be for that? He'd only be telling her what she wanted to hear like he had been doing forever and it was only a matter of time before the house would be full of hurt and disappointment and broken promises. Her grim prophecy had made her numb and she sank slowly to sit on the bottom stair with her arm entwined with the balustrade. She sat there staring over her siblings' heads at the Christmas tree, whose lights slowly pulsed on and off, coyly hiding and revealing their bright hearts. She wished her life was a simple as that. To be nothing more than a slow, calm heartbeat, fading in and out of the present moment, never staying long enough to be hurt but always coming back to be a part of things. There. And not there. And there again. Just like the lights. The younger two never disappeared, they were obliviously ever-present.
The sound of something breaking in the kitchen made her jump and she got there in time to see him crouched on the floor, his mug in smithereens at his feet. Mammy looked a little flustered but was insisting everything was fine, saying it was an accident. He was very carefully picking up what he had destroyed, as if by being gentle now his damage would be forgotten. He too looked shaken and, disposing of the ceramic remnants into the bin, appeared to be directing his apology as much to himself as to anyone else. He asked for and was given Mammy's permission to step into the garden. After he left, taking his bag with him, she went to the window to get a better look at what he was up to, but Mammy told her to leave him be and once again suggested she go upstairs to put on the new top. She felt the day unravelling. Mammy had chosen sides and was already operating in a changed mode of damage limitation, trying to control outcomes and keep all agenda items ticking over. She had taken on that strangely glazed look that reminded her of the ham they had cooked the night before – only the cloves and the crosshatching were missing to complete the effect. Maybe when they sat down to eat later somebody could slice away her veneers of unconcern and fork them onto a plate beside the carved turkey, waiting to be drowned in gravy or cranberry or bread sauce. Mammy's head hung over the sink as she took a moment to herself, braced and kept upright by her determined arms. She watched her breathing in and out carefully, resetting her gauge and bringing herself back to neutral. The room became as still as she was and they were briefly held in the grip of an unbroken serenity, disturbed only by the sounds of computer games coming from the front room and one man and a guitar gently crooning Hark the Herald Angels Sing on the radio. And then with a clap of her hands, it was over as suddenly as it had begun and Mammy was all business again, rushing off to check the table one more time.
She decided not caring what she wore would be easiest and made her way up to her room to change. The window on the landing overlooked the garden and she knew exactly what she was doing when she stopped to look out of it. He was sitting on the slatted garden seat that left marks on your bare thighs when you sat on it for too long in the summer, but now in the middle of winter was paid far less attention, its cracked and chipped paintwork stoically seeing out the dark, cold months under the indifferent gaze of the house and its occupants. A half-smoked cigarette sat securely between his lips as he unzipped his bag and peered into it with a solemn expression that was discernible even at distance. Putting one of his hands into the bag as he retrieved the cigarette with the other, she could see his mouth move as he spoke to someone or something inside it. She wondered for a second if he had an animal in there, a little ferret or a hamster or something, but she dismissed the idea quickly as too absurd. A kitten or a puppy were no less unlikely, and in any case would surely have mewled or whimpered their discovery well before now. Her curiosity deepened the longer she stood there and as her brain ticked off the possibilities, she realised with a feeling of great stupidity the most obvious choice was one she had been stubbornly refusing to consider. Drink. Of course that was what it was, there was nothing else it could have been. She had a chunk of her cheek in her teeth again as she admonished herself for her foolishness. A ferret? Furry animals? She was kidding herself in spite of her better instincts. She allowed her head to knock against the window, alerting him to her presence. He instinctively tried to conceal the bag as he looked in her direction, but his face gave away his guilt. Looking like some sort of pathetic zombie, she tried to burn a hole in him with her eyes, and it must have worked on some level because he quickly stood up and raised his hand indecisively as if unsure whether to offer a simple hello or a request to stop. She'd noticed something small and silver that he'd had sitting on one of his legs fall onto the seat when he got up. It looked like jewellery of some kind, a chain or something, and it was now dangling between the slats. Without wanting to, she found herself indicating to him that he had dropped something. He picked it up carefully, and when he turned back to the window he held it up to show her and was mouthing words at her. Thank you? Paint you? Saint Jude? Saint Jude. His medal, she thought. Someone in school had made the joke that only the top drinkers got them. She demonstrated a very ostentatious shrug of indifference and retreated out of sight.
When the doorbell rang to herald the presence of the first guests, she was back in the kitchen in her new top helping Mammy bring out aperitifs of spiced beef and smoked salmon, thick brown soda bread, olives, and prosciutto. Candles had been lit and fragrant oil was burning, spicing the air with notes of cinnamon and orange peel. With coats, hats and scarves discarded, and people moving through the house, it was impossible not to also notice the wafts of perfume and aftershave which, combined with perfectly presented hair and the glossy arrest of festive make-up, ignited the sense of excitement and fun that would sustain them for the rest of the day. Before long, all comers were merrily ensconced in the warmth of their hospitality, and the prelude of first drinks and appetisers had given way to the main event. They were all seated around the large dining room table looking admiringly at the platters of succulent meat and the multiple dishes of aromatic vegetables and sauces. Potatoes done three ways were kept company by large bowls piled high with parsnips, carrots, peas and brussels sprouts. Mammy had done a beautiful chestnut and apricot stuffing, but it was her specialty, a gently spiced bread sauce, that was most commented on. Once plates had been filled and everyone had begun to eat, the wealth of good feeling that came from appetites being sated was palpable across the wine glasses and candelabras that decorated the table. Declan the football hero, sitting across from her and six months away from doing his Leaving Cert, was getting some fairly relentless slagging for being hungover, and he looked and smelled every part of it, but a few looks from Mammy settled people down as they became a bit more mindful that not everyone at the table was celebrating Christmas in the same way. She looked over to where he was sitting a couple of places down the table from Mammy. He was there with a glass of blackcurrant in front of him, eating and talking quietly to his brother-in-law. As her uncle nodded at him, she could hear him say he was between things and was looking forward to putting the year behind him.
They were all surprised when the doorbell went in the middle of the meal, impatiently followed by enthusiastic knocking. Mammy was quickest up and upon the door being opened received a loud cheer from the mystery visitor. She was back in the room directly, arm in arm with the raucous arrival. It was Dev, one of his oldest friends, and also her godfather. Mammy was smiling but she looked startled underneath, as if she had been caught out in some way. Dev pulled her into him and attempted to polka her around the table but there was barely room, so he stopped after a few steps with a flourish of mock completion, greatly encouraged by the laughter of all present. Everyone except Mammy, whose eyes briefly betrayed something steely and not at all friendly. But she concealed it by smoothing down her dress and affectionately calling him a big eejit, which drew merry agreement from everyone else. Mammy sent her to fetch an extra setting and soon Dev was at the table with a mouth full of turkey and wine, regaling the gathering with one story after another, including and implicating him with gestures and nods and occasional back slaps. For his part, he looked subdued and wary, and didn't appear to be relishing the reappearance of his friend, but nobody else was any less cheerful or engaged in the festive goings on.
A pause after the meal allowed people to circulate more freely, and she had been enjoying the respite of talking to her cousins about their mutual obsessions when the emergence from the kitchen of the desserts brought a fresh chorus of approval from those who were about to partake. Their nostrils were filled with the fruity punch of the plum pudding and the vanilla warmth coming from the jug of hot custard. Proudly placed on the table beside it was the sherry trifle she and Mammy had assembled early that morning in a huge glass dish that showed off the layers of sponge and fruit, custard and thick, peaked cream. For those with less of a sweet tooth, an array of cheeses nestled alongside bunches of succulent red and green grapes which hung over the edges of a generous serving board. Dev was quick to take centre stage, pouring and promptly setting alight the brandy with which he blessed the pudding. The lights had been dimmed to fully appreciate the effect, but what she noticed with a disturbing certainty was the glint of darkness she saw in Dev's face as it was coloured by the bluish flame. She looked down at the corona of fire dancing around the dessert and was struck uneasily by the thought that some ancient pagan ritual was being reincarnated in their dining room that would see them all consumed in a purgatory blaze of abandon. Dev caught her eye and winked at her knowingly, as if he knew he had just been unmasked. He seemed to take their shared moment as a starter's pistol for an escalation of mischief because as soon as the lights were back up, he sought out his old friend and thrust a glass of wine in front him, exhorting him to drink. He made no attempt to disguise his actions, putting an arm around him and accusing him of being no craic and asking him if he wouldn't be happier having a drink and singing an auld song for everyone. An awkward tension descended on the room as the unspoken fear of those present was suddenly given voice.
She looked at him to see what he would do but he had lost what little voice had previously been there. Someone told Dev to go easy and another voice declared sympathetically that he was trying to go off it, but Dev asserted that he knew him better than anyone and that one or two wouldn't kill him, and in fact they'd do him a world of good. Mammy looked like she could kill Dev, but she stayed very still, as if paralysed by his brazen incursion into her delicately held-together peace. Everyone else continued to throw in their tuppence worth as if he wasn't even there and she glowered at Dev for his wanton provocation. But then he spoke. He placed a hand on top of the unused wine glass in front of him, looked Dev in the eye, and simply said that that was behind him. There was something in the way he spoke that managed to defuse the situation, and almost as if it hadn't happened, Dev took a step back, said he hadn't really meant it, and offered to make him a cup of tea instead. To her amazement, everyone was placated by this concession and they picked up where they left off, eager to resume the merry-making. She saw he and Mammy exchange a look, but she couldn't tell what passed between them. Distracted momentarily by Declan unsuccessfully trying not to be seen picking his nose, she averted her gaze only to realise Mammy was directing her to the kitchen to make sure Dev had found the teabags.
He was standing with his back to the door waiting for the kettle to boil. The lid was off the tea caddy on the bench and he had two mugs ready to go. Unaware of her presence and not taking the care to look around, he produced from his inside jacket pocket a small bottle of whiskey out of which he deposited a liberal measure into each mug. The kettle sang, the bottle was replaced, and the promised tea was made. By the time he turned around, she was already back at Mammy's ear, whispering what she had just seen. Dev came into the room holding the mugs out in front of him, announcing they were just what the doctor ordered as he set them down. Mammy remained seated, but she didn't wait for anything else to unfold. Keeping her hands resting one over the other in front of her on the table, she spoke very deliberately without once raising her head to look at Dev. She declared coolly that he was not welcome in their house, that he was to leave, and that he wasn't to come back. The smirk dropped from his face as he wrestled with her decree. He cast his eyes about the room in search of an ally, but all he met was silence. Nobody was about to come to his rescue, and when in mild desperation he at last turned to him for some sort of conciliatory gesture, none was forthcoming. He stood there for a moment trying to laugh it off as just a bit of craic, a bit of messing to liven up the sedate conspiracy to which everyone else was so content to subscribe, but the tension that had overtaken the gathering forbade him an easy escape. He tried to get Mammy to look at him, but she wouldn't, so he instead turned his eyes to her and, rubbing his tongue slowly over his bottom lip once again winked and showed her that flash of darkness she had spotted earlier. Saying he would see himself out, he bowed insincerely and left the room as if he hadn't a care in the world. Nobody said a thing until they heard the front door open and safely close behind him.
It took a few moments for the room to resettle and after words of support had been extended to him and to Mammy, the previous ebb and flow of conviviality reasserted itself. She watched the adults over the next while approach him at different moments to have a quiet word and offer small comforts. There were pats on the back, handshakes and looks that were full of meaning. She was confused and frustrated by the affection he evoked. She wanted to know what they saw that she couldn't. While they were all telling him what a great man he was and encouraging him to stick at it, she knew his bag was glued to his side like a faithful dog. It made a lie of his big show of refusing a drink. He was probably counting the seconds till he could drain whatever bottle was in it, and then where would the support be? She'd be damned if she was going to be one handing out pats on the back then.
The evening drew on, and with the desserts and cheeses long since consumed, people were sitting back in their chairs, cheeks rosy and bellies full, joy-worn and happily relaxing into the intimacy of postprandial conversations. A transformation had occurred over the course of the day, which saw their earlier shiny selves replaced by dishevelled impostors. Hats from Christmas crackers sat crumpled on their heads, collars had been loosened and unaccommodating buttons undone, but there was an unmistakable air of contentment in the room. Dev's transgression had failed to ruin the day, and even though she could see something frayed in Mammy's expression, she was laughing and enjoying herself. Somebody called out for music, and addressing him, said Dev had been right about one thing and that they needed a song out of him. Orlaith, one of her younger cousins, had distinguished herself in the family by being a very good fiddle player and she was summoned forth to apply further pressure. After a little more cajoling and the evident enthusiasm of an eager audience, he relented and asked what they wanted to hear. There was no hesitation in asking for the Wexford Carol, which was known to be his seasonal party piece. Checking with Orlaith to see if she knew it, she quickly played the first part of it for him before they began properly. An expectant hush had descended on the room and everyone listened wistfully to the slightly mournful air on the fiddle as he started to sing the opening lines. There was silence throughout as he and Orlaith flowed through the rhythmic cadences of the melody and lyrics of the old tune. He sang in a warm baritone voice that allowed him to express himself with a great sensitivity that he didn't typically show elsewhere. She took herself to the window to listen at a quieter remove, and as she pulled the curtains slightly apart to look up at the night sky, she wondered if a star would ever appear to her to lead her to a place that attracted kings and their gifts. The ending of the song was greeted with heartfelt cheers and applause, but it hurt her to see him tenderly congratulate Orlaith on her beautiful playing. She felt jealous of Orlaith's ignorance and the luxury her innocence provided him. She stood a bit longer looking out the window before she was called back to the heart of things.
More music and entertainment followed, and for the rest of the night almost everyone contributed a song or two to proceedings, with even the younger ones performing an elaborate synchronised dance that had been obsessing them and their school friends for months. It was well after midnight by the time the final guests had been farewelled and the latch was put on the door. Mammy and she finished clearing the last dishes and glasses from the table and walked into the kitchen to see him standing in the middle of the floor with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. The way he was staring at the bottle gave her that sick feeling in her stomach again. He was transfixed in some sort of private communion and it took Mammy calling his name three times to fetch him back from wherever he had gone. His face was drained of colour when he looked up at them and he stood silently for a few moments as he composed himself. He then looked back at the bottle and with a sharp turn of his wrist removed the cap. Seeing their faces, he said sorry before moving to the sink and pouring the entire bottle down the drain. He sighed heavily and then, turning to Mammy, said one word – Dev. Her head was spinning as she watched Mammy carefully put down what she was carrying, walk over to him and place her hands on his shoulders, where she stared into his eyes and told him that she believed in him and that he could do it. They embraced, and she felt like an intruder observing their moment of intimacy. Not for the first time that day, she knew she was moving in a different world to the adults around her, and the way she kept coming face to face with her naivety made her want to scream. She banged her dishes down on the bench and ran upstairs to her room, where all she could do to comfort herself was curl up in a ball on her bed. Her bedside lamp gave the room a warm pink glow and she allowed the half-light soothe her into a less agitated state. Her exhaustion was slowly nudging her towards sleep and her eyelids had become very heavy when there was a gentle knock on the door. The handle turned and he was standing there asking if he could come in.
He sat down on the end of the bed and she felt his weight remain very still as silence filled the space between them. He had brought his backpack and again let it sit in his lap while they waited. Perhaps sensing that she wasn't going to be able to stay awake, he ended their standoff by quietly singing to her a verse of O Tannenbaum. They used to sing it together when she was much younger and as he sang it now, she believed it was something more than a mere ploy to get her onside. He wasn't trying to show her what a lovely singer he was, it felt more like he was reaching out with a tentatively extended hand. She let him finish, thinking she was going to say something, but instead let herself drift towards sleep once more. He placed his hand on her leg and, giving it a little shake, told her he only had a few things to say. She forced herself to sit up and wrapped her arms around her knees to listen. He went straight into an apology that he'd probably been rehearsing all day. He said he was doing his best and that he was going to need her to be patient. He said he couldn't make any promises, but he was determined to see it through. He continued talking in that vein and it all sounded very nice, but all she could think of was his bag and how everything he was saying meant nothing when she knew there was no part of the day he hadn't been walking around without a bottle in arm's reach. She raised her hand and told him to stop. Unsure of anything except her desire for something to be real and concrete and nameable, she blurted out that he was a liar and that she knew what was in his bloody bag. To her surprise, he didn't deny it straight away, but simply sat looking at her with a confused expression on his face. She repeated her assertion and when he started to ask her what she meant, his feigned ignorance was more than she could bear and she impulsively grabbed his backpack, ripping it open before thrusting her hand inside to settle the matter once and for all. But her bitter triumph was thwarted when she saw there was no bottle inside, only a few items of clothing, some toiletries, and a medium-sized silver picture frame which she now held in her hand.
The photograph in the frame showed him as a much younger man holding a newborn baby in his arms. He bore no resemblance to the person beside her. His face was fresh and unlined, and glowed with pride and love, gazing with disbelieving joy at the tiny entity nestled to his chest. Before she was able to fully process what she was looking at, he asked her if she didn't recognise herself. He gently took the frame from her and stared at it for a long moment. He looked up at her, back at the frame, and then up at her again. Seeing his eyes full of tears made her suddenly feel fragile and terribly afraid of her own feelings. He was frowning a little, trying not to cry as he showed her the picture frame and pointed to her infant self. He told her she had been so pure and perfect that he had been certain she was nothing less than a miracle. He said when he held her for the first time, he thought he was going to die from love. She was crying herself now as she listened, seeing him with different eyes, hearing him with an unfolding heart. He looked at her again and said simply that he carried that picture with him everywhere because it was the last time he had felt clean. She asked for the frame and examined the photograph closely, trying to understand how she and that baby were the same person. She sat for a long time without speaking as childish thoughts and inadequate responses rolled around her head. Still emotional, he wiped his eyes before standing to lean closer to her. He told her to hang onto the picture for now and then he kissed the top of her head and whispered something into her hair that she couldn't hear. He took his bag and left the room, shutting the door quietly as he went. She shook slightly as she sighed out what she had been unable to express, but then, looking at the photo, she turned her eyes to where he had just stood and finally gave herself permission to say out loud the name she had used for him ever since she'd been a little girl. She lay down with the picture resting on her chest, closed her eyes, and prayed that Daddy would still be there in the morning.
As she fell into a long, deep sleep, heavy flakes of snow began falling silently from the night sky, laying their peaceful blanket over the whole country, granting an amnesty of purity to all that could be seen, and in doing so, allowing for a brief moment the belief that even in the depth of winter, something truly beautiful could still be found.
Tags:Christmas Tree Hark the Herald Angels Sing Irish Christmas O Tannenbaum The Wexford Carol
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The ClearOut is where I explore anything that relates to emotional and psychological wellbeing. It is a place to start conversations with yourself. If we are to have any hope of making sense of the puzzle of life, we at the very least have to be curious. I also publish some of my poetry and short fiction here.
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Author – Dara Clear
My background is in education and performance. I started this blog in 2013 to have an outlet for reflection and creativity. It was immediately evident that there was a cathartic aspect to what and how I wrote. This has resulted in numerous think pieces that often weave a thread between the personal and the public.
Alongside my desire to constantly evolve creatively, I am always interested in how we understand ourselves and the narratives we erect around our lived experience. I believe we are all composite creations of many different elements and how well we adapt to that make-up determines our perception of success and happiness.
Sometimes things get a bit deep, but life can't always be kittens in coffee cups. Thanks for reading.


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Second Vauxhall Grandland X plug-in hybrid to join range
New Vauxhall Grandland X PHEV has a 34-mile electric range and a price of £32,390
by Ben Custard
Front-wheel-drive hybrid version will join line-up next year
On sale in the spring
Costs less than the four-wheel drive version
A new Vauxhall Grandland X plug-in hybrid (PHEV) model is set to be added to the range next year. There's already a PHEV model of the Grandland X available but this second one will only have one electric motor, meaning slightly less power, front-wheel drive and a lower starting price. When it reaches showrooms in April 2020, it'll start from £32,390.
That price undercuts the £36,790 asked for the four-wheel-drive hybrid model, which has a more powerful engine and an extra motor. The new version has an electric motor on the front axle, plus a 178bhp 1.6-litre turbocharged petrol engine under its bonnet. Total power output stands at 222bhp and 0-62mph takes 8.6 seconds, compared with 296bhp and 0-62mph in seven seconds for the four-wheel-drive Grandland X Hybrid4.
The best hybrid SUV to buy now
For most buyers, the performance of the new 222bhp version should be plenty, as will the car's range. With up to 34 miles of electric-only running promised, the new model only manages one fewer mile on battery power than the Hybrid4. Its efficiency figures stand at 192mpg and 35g/km of CO2, which are down on the 204mpg and 34g/km for the Hybrid4. As with all plug-in hybrids, you're more likely to see better fuel economy figures if you keep the battery topped up and mainly drive in low-speed and urban areas.
Both plug-in hybrid versions of the Vauxhall Grandland X use the same 13.2kWh battery and eight-speed automatic gearbox, and both offer regenerative braking to recharge the battery with energy that would otherwise be lost. Three driving modes are offered - Hybrid, Electric and Sport - and these tell the car when to use electric or petrol power, or a combination of both.
A 3.7kW charger is fitted as standard, but a 7.4kW charger is available as an option. With the latter, the battery can be topped up in around two hours. Vauxhall has positioned the battery under the rear seats to stop it from encroaching on boot and rear-seat space.
Vauxhall is planning to offer electrified options on every model in its range by 2024, including its commercial vehicle range.
Read our Vauxhall Grandland X review, or see how it compares to its rivals on our list of best medium-size and family SUVs on sale.
Vauxhall Grandland X SUV review
Vauxhall Grandland X
Vauxhall Grandland X owner reviews
Electric Vauxhall Mokka-e VXR and Corsa-e VXR models due
Peugeot e-2008 vs Vauxhall Mokka-e: specs comparison

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Tagged With "South Jersey" | O Gauge Railroading On Line Forum
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Deaths, injuries reported after Amtrak, CSX trains collide in South Carolina
trainroomgary · 2/4/186:43 AM
Deaths, injuries reported after Amtrak, CSX trains collide in South Carolina Lexington County emergency officials responding to the scene where an Amtrak train collided with a CSX freight train in Cayce, South Carolina early Sunday morning. (Lexington Sheriff) At least two people were killed early Sunday when an Amtrak passenger train collided with a CSX freight train in South Carolina. About 50 people were transported from the scene with injuries, according to the Lexington County Sheriff's...
Boston: Gondolas from South Station to the Seaport?
TomlinsonRunRR · 3/8/189:55 AM
Not sure where best to post this oddity. While catching up on news about our Noreaster (last night and today), I stumbled on this proposal: https://www.boston.com/news/local-news/2018/03/07/boston-seaport-gondola They aren't even trams like a couple of other cities have, but honest to goodness, swinging in the wind over your head gondolas. What possibly could go wrong? Tomlinson Run Railroad
Re: Deaths, injuries reported after Amtrak, CSX trains collide in South Carolina
JD2035RR · 2/4/186:47 AM
Sad news, thoughts and prayers for those affected.
PHOTO UPDATE: 7:15 AM Feb., 4, 2018 Gary
Photo Update: Feb., 4. 2018 8:00 AM ET Gary
Number 90 · 2/4/188:14 AM
It looks bad, especially the cab of the Amtrak engine. Causes me to wonder if the two dead were the engine crew? We will find out later today, surely. It's Sunday morning and the politicians have not yet found their way to news cameras. Don't worry, they will, soon.
GenesisFan99 · 2/4/188:25 AM
Oh boy, not another wreck. Hopefully this problem gets fixed and people stop dying. My prayers go out to the victims and politicians making the decisions for Amtrak.
rtraincollector · 2/4/188:28 AM
Both cabs look bad like this was a head on,
Photo Update: TSB on the way. Feb., 4, 2018 / 8:39 AM Gary
Steims · 2/4/188:51 AM
Not trying to jump to any conclusions but seeking to understand how this happened. A study of Google maps at the crash site looks like Amtrak may have been switched over to the siding where the CSX was sitting. The main tracks look like they are the rails to the left (south) of the CSX freight. Map of Crash Site
Good Morning: Fellow Member Steims Can you please supply the Google Maps Link or a Screenshot of this area of the tracks? So we can have a better understanding. Just saw your link: Sorry Map of Crash Site Thanks: Gary
mark s · 2/4/189:11 AM
Quite discouraging. Amtrak has been starved for capital and CSX has had immense mangement upheaval. Guess these sorts of things happen under those conditions.
Dan Padova · 2/4/189:14 AM
What a shame. For the two dead and for Amtrak's reputation. Things come in three's, or so the superstition goes. The Washington crash, the GOP crash and now this one. I wonder if we will learn of human error ?
Namvet4 · 2/4/189:19 AM
Condolences and prayers to the families of those who were killed and injured. Amtrak has a major issue to deal with right now! " It was the second major crash for Amtrak in less than a week." - And the other serious crash in late 2017 requires a complete investigation.
Some more Cable TV news photos. Gary
trainroomgary · 2/4/1810:05 AM
Raw: Wreckage of Amtrak Train Collision Play time: 21 seconds Source: AP Gaey
Two Google Earth Maps of the area. These maps should give up a perspective of what the track location looks like. Amtrak train heading south. CSX train on north siding. Reports say at this time. This is subject to change. Gary
lehighline · 2/4/1810:31 AM
Sorry to see this! My condolences to the families of the dead, and my prayers to the injured. Chris LVHR
Gregg · 2/4/1810:51 AM
Would this subdivision have Positive Train Control??
Hot Water · 2/4/1810:54 AM
It might but then, Amtrak probably does not. Same situation out in Washington State, i.e. ALL the BNSF and UP freight trains between Seattle and Portland, have, and use, PTC, but Amtrak does not, yet.
JVM-51 · 2/4/1811:01 AM
Here is a video that shows the Amtrak train on the same track as the freight. Looks like the Amtrak train was switched to the freight siding a 1/4 mile earlier. The video moves to the other side of the overpass 25 seconds in. https://twitter.com/thestate/s...s/960138064281722881
Laidoffsick · 2/4/1811:02 AM
What PROBLEM would you be taking about???? If you can figure out how to stop human factor related ACCIDENTS, you'll will be a very rich man!
How could a switching mistake like that happen?
When it is all done and said, I'm sure the NTSB will explain everything to us.
Drummer3 · 2/4/1811:52 AM
Sounds like a "central control room" human error, kind of like the Hawaiian missile alert fiasco.
M J Breen · 2/4/1811:56 AM
Some additional information - it appears CSX crews had been working on the switch and signal system prior to the incident. Source: https://www.bizjournals.com/ja...king-at-site-of.html
TM Terry · 2/4/1812:22 PM
Which begs the question: What is the typical cycle time from rail incident to NTSB published report?
Farmer_Bill · 2/4/1812:25 PM
A long time. https://www.ntsb.gov/investiga.../Pages/railroad.aspx
Pine Creek Railroad · 2/4/1812:25 PM
Gentlemen, It will be very interesting to know how both these trains got routed on to the same tracks, knowing the security system and computer alert criteria now being used by the RR this had to be a human over ride of the system. Somebody had to over ride the system to allow these trains on the same tracks at the same time. PCRR/Dave
EscapeRocks · 2/4/1812:54 PM
From the article linked to above, it may be an issue of the system being disconnected, so the AMTRAK never got the signal. Again, just from the new article.. " The CSX train was sitting on a side line known as the industry line, according to a source familiar with the matter. A switch that was supposed to send the Amtrak train down the cleared main line was not in the proper position and sent it down the industry line instead, the source said. Typically, an automatic signal would have warned...
TM Terry · 2/4/181:03 PM
Don't railroads use some form of "Lock Out-Tag Out" when any work is done in rail yards?
Hot Water · 2/4/181:03 PM
For what it's worth, it has apparently been confirmed that there was a "Signal Suspension" in affect in that area of the CSX line.
Steims · 2/4/181:06 PM
Transportation disasters typically are never caused by a single event. The systems we have tend to involve an element of human error and mechanical/electrical failures. This event sure sounds like a dispatcher threw the switch not knowing the Amtrak was southbound and then the (known) signal failures failed to warn the Amtrak what was ahead. I suspect the Amtrak engineer started braking as soon as he saw the switch thrown but there was not enough distance to stop. Thoughts and prayers go out.
Laidoffsick · 2/4/181:45 PM
about a year or so we will see that report
Farmer_Bill · 2/4/182:09 PM
" Authorities said the two people killed in an early-morning train collision in South Carolina were Amtrak employees. " https://www.msn.com/en-us/news...outh-carolina-crash/
trainroomgary · 2/4/182:36 PM
The Victims Gary
Gregg · 2/4/182:59 PM
What does that mean??
john in western pa · 2/4/183:27 PM
two words: human error
New Haven Joe · 2/4/183:37 PM
Amtrak is have a terrible run of bad luck. The Washington State accident may or not be Amtrak's fault. The West Virginia charter train hitting a garbage truck and this appears to be just awful timing and luck. My heartfelt condolences go to the families of all those that were killed and injured. These things shouldn't happen in the 21st century. NH Joe
RaritanRiverRailroadFan4 · 2/4/183:48 PM
What a shame. NTSB report should be interesting. The one thing I'm wondering is if the Amtrak engineer applied the brakes when he realized the train was sent into the industrial siding. I'm sure at the speed they were going it didn't take long to see the CSX train in their path but by then it must've been too late. Did CSX confirm that signal maintenance was going on in that stretch of track?
The siding is very long which looks like a passing siding to me. Zooming in on Google at each switch I see a metal enclosure/controls equipment. This "signal failure" was based on what was already reported. Maybe signal outage would have been a better choice of words. "Typically, an automatic signal would have warned that the switch was in the wrong position, instructing the engineer to slow down. However, a crew had recently been working on the system in that area, and it may have been shut...
Drummer3 · 2/4/185:26 PM
Latest is that the freight train was parked on the correct track, and that the Amtrak was on the wrong track.
DG · 2/4/185:55 PM
The stored freight train was a northbound train that would have entered the south end switch into the passing side. The freight train apparently stopped approximately a 1/4 of a mile SOUTH of the north end switch into the siding. Thus when the freight crew indicated they were "clear", they would have been talking about the south end switch into the siding. The passenger train was going south and entered the passing siding thru the NORTH end switch and hit the freight train. I don't think the...
It's not that unusual for a train to get stopped at a red signal in CTC territory and the Rail traffic controller can not clear the signal for unknown reasons so written permission is given to pass the signal. It could happen on single track , 2 or more tracks... The RTC will indicate the signal number, route Train designation , A crew member is required to take the switch off power , mesh the points and line the switch for the route given, could be one switch or maybe 4 or 5, The switch is...
NTSB • Press Conference with Illustrations. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ix7_bafC1oM Play time: about two minutes Source: AP Gary
hibar · 2/4/187:01 PM
Based on the press conference in the previous post the switch into the siding was padlocked in place for the siding not the mainline, they also stated that the freight worked the car carrier yard on the other side of the mainline then pulled north onto the mainline and backed down into the siding at that point the freight crew left the train, obviously someone had the responsability for resetting the switch to the mainline alignment, unless there was a signal further north on the line...
Dominic Mazoch · 2/4/187:18 PM
I do have some questions. But I will wait on info from the NSTB before asking here.


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He will be joined for a discussion of how data visualization can drive scientific discovery by Carnegie's Robert Hazen, who uses network analysis to better understand the relationships among minerals on an evolving planet, and Carnegie's Juna Kollmeier, who is working to incorporate visualization and machine-learning techniques in next-generation sky surveys to answer pressing questions about the evolution of the universe.


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AirAsia launches new Jakarta-Padang route
Jakarta / Fri, December 11, 2020 / 04:36 pm
AirAsia is offering special prices for its newly opened domestic routes. (Shutterstock/Jeerapan Jankaew)
Low-cost carrier AirAsia has opened a new route connecting Jakarta with Padang, West Sumatra.
Using the Airbus A320, the route's flight (QZ 830) departs from Soekarno-Hatta International Airport in Tangerang, Banten, at 7:45 a.m. and lands at Minangkabau International Airport in West Sumatra at 9:30 a.m.
The launch is part of AirAsia's series of new domestic routes that include West Java's Bandung to Bali and Jakarta to Riau's Pekanbaru. Commemorating the launch, the carrier is also offering special prices from Rp 471,000 (US$33.37) for the Jakarta-Pekanbaru route, Rp 489,000 for the Jakarta-Padang route and Rp 745,000 for the Bandung-Bali route. The offers include a free baggage allowance of up to 15 kilograms. Tickets can be booked on the AirAsia app, its website or via travel agents.
"Hopefully we can serve more people in Indonesia and contribute to national economic recovery," said director of AirAsia Indonesia Veranita Yosephine Sinaga in a statement.
AirAsia Indonesia received seven stars for COVID-19 health ratings by aviation experts at airlineratings.com, an independent plane safety and product rating website. The assessment is based on seven criteria, including information about COVID-19 procedures, personal protective equipment for cabin crew members and aircrafts' routine disinfection.
AirAsia also said it implemented health procedures following guidelines by the government, civil aviation authorities as well as local and global health agencies. All aircrafts are equipped with high efficiency particulate arrestor (HEPA) air filters that are able to filter out 99.9 percent of dust and pollutants. (wir/wng)


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The Shared Earth Foundation Grants, FY 2005
Adkins Arboretum, Ridgely, MD $10,000.00
Meadow and wetland restoration, to provice habitat for native birds, butterflies and other animals, and plants as diverse habitats for wildlife.
Alliance for International Reforestation, DeLand, FL, Chimaltenango, Guatemala $10,000.00
Provide funding for tecnicos' work in communities planting trees and teaching sustainable farming to the Mayans of the Guatemala Highlands.
American Forests, Washington, DC $20,000.00
Work with community-based forestry groups, encouraging understanding of and support	for ecosystem services as a means to unite community forestry groups in different regions of the country.
American Rivers, Washington, DC $25,000.00
Corps Reform Campaign, to reorient the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers so that they manage our rivers withhuman safety and environmental consequences in mind.
Animal Legal Defense Fund, Petaluma, CA $10,000.00
Continuation of Zero Tolerance for Cruelty Campaign, to assure that animal abuse is recognized for the serious crime that it is.
Boliivian Conservation Fund, Chestertown, MD/Santa Cruz, Bolivia $35,000.00
Conservation of biodiversity in Bolivia.
Center for Policy Alternatives, Washington, DC $15,000.00
To coordinate state environmental work with outreach to progressive state legislators.
Center for Science in the Public Interest, Washington, DC $20,000.00
To disseminate the report Cruel Oil , on the disastrous impacts of palm oil on	endangered species such as the orangutan, tiger and elephant, as well as on human health.
Chesapeake Fields Institute, Chestertown, MD $10,000.00
To preserve farmland on Maryland's Eastern Shore by making farming profitable through production of locally-grown, food-grade farm products for the human market.
Chester River Association, Chestertown, MD $30,000.00
Continuation of support for the Chester Riverkeeper Program, and promoting stewardship of the Chester, as well as an understanding of the River's place in the	economic and cultural life of our communities.
The Cougar Network, Concord, MA $5,000.00
Research on potential cougar habitat in the Midwest.
CRC Foundation, Front Royal, VA $15,000.00
Research on captive and wild elephant reproduction, to encourage breeding of captive elephants, as well as wild elephants and other endangered wildlife.
Defenders of Wildlife, Washington, DC $25,000.00
To promote protection of endangered species and their habitat, especially endangered	carnivores, and to advocate new approaches to prevent species from becoming extinct.
Earth Sangha, Fairfax, VA $10,000.00
Earth Sangha is the only nursery in the Washington area dedicated exclusively	to the propagation of native plants from local, wild populations. This partnership	will help continue the Wild Plant Nursery in the coming year.
Eastern Shore Land Conservancy, Queenstown, MD $15,000.00
Annual Planning Conference
To expand land conservation message to residents of the Eastern Shore of Maryland.
Environmental Film Festival, Washington, DC $15,000.00
Environmental Film Festivel 2006
Great Ape World Heritage Survival Project, Cambridge, MA $2,200.00
Representation at the Round Table on Sustainable Palm Oil's Round Table 3 in Singapore.
The Maryland/DC Chapter of The Nature Conservancy, Bethesda, MD $30,000.00
Mountains to Marshes Campaign, to conserve high-conservation-value lands between the mountains of Western Maryland and the marshes of the Chesapeake Bay and the shoreline.
National Aquarium in Baltimore, Baltimore, MD $10,000.00
In partnership with Costa Rica-based ANAI, to support initial phase of Demonstration Stream Restoration Project in Costa Rica, to enhance ecosystems for communities and biodiversity.
National Center for Animal Law, Portland, OR $15,000 2006 Animal Law Conference, to educate and inspire people to advocate for animals.	National Parks Conservation Association, Washington, DC $20,000.00
To promote and advocate for Clean Air for Parks, People, and the Chesapeake Bay.
The Nature Conservancy, Arlington, VA $20,000.00
Integration of Biodiversity Conservation and Oil and Gas Development in Peru.
Orang Utan Republik/SEE, Los Angeles, CA $5,000.00
Orang Utan Republik Education Initiative, working to conserve orangutans in Sumatra, Indonesia.
Oxfam America, Boston, MA $15,000.00
Support for No Dirty Gold Campaign, which focuses on environmentally and societally damaging gold mining practices in places such as Peru, Ghana and Guatemala.
Rachel's Network, Washington, DC $20,000.00
To promote women as envireonmental leaders, unite their voices, and bring the environment to the forefront of the national agenda.
Rainforest Alliance, New York, NY $5,000.00
To increase the pace of sustainable forest management in Indonesia, particularly in Borneo.
RARE Center for Tropical Conservation, Arlington, VA $20,000.00
To assist Rare Enterprises and Conservation Tours Tikal, an ecotourism enterprise in Guatemala
Red Wolf Coalition, Columbia, NC $10,000.00
Red wolf conservation; the red wolf is one of the most endangered canids in the world with fewer than 300 in existence.
Savannah Science Museum, Savannah, GA $5,000.00
Endangered Sea Turtle Conservation on Wassau Island
Snow Leopard Conservancy, Sonoma, CA $10,000.00
Conservation of the rare and endangered Snow Leopard in Ladakh and Pakistan.
South Wings, Ashville, NC $10,000.00
To acquaint legislators, journalists and policy-makers with the damage done by poor forestry practices in the Southeastern United States.
Southern Environmental Law Center, Charlottesville, VA $10,000.00
Continue support for conserving private forestlands in the South, particularly on the Cumberland Plateau
Sultana Projects, Inc., Chestertown, MD $10,000.00
To provide scientific equipment and staff training, to continue the mission of education on the ecological value of the Chesapeake Bay.
Western Lands Project, Seattle, WA $10,000.00
To alert the public to inequitable exchanges of Federal for less ecologically valuable private lands, to the detriment of public good, as well as fragile ecosystems species and communities.
Wildlife Conservation Society, Bronx, NY $10,000.00
Continued conservation of the Chacoan Guanaco in Bolivia.
World Women Work, Santa Fe, NM $25,000
Further work with HUTAN, conserving orangutans, the rare Bornean Pigmy Elephant, and other endangered species by mediating human/animal conflicts and assisting the local people in sharing the Earth with endemic wildlife.
Worldwatch Institute Washington, DC $16,000.00
Turning the Tide: research, development, communication and dissemination of facts and ideas in order to turn the tide on vital global issues such as clmate change.
Grand Total $588,200.00


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You are here: Home / Browse PRRAC Content / PRRAC Update / PRRAC Update (March 3, 2011): HUD-sponsored study on housing voucher discrimination laws; Integrated charter schools?
PRRAC Update (March 3, 2011): HUD-sponsored study on housing voucher discrimination laws; Integrated charter schools?
HUD-sponsored study on housing voucher discrimination laws
Professor Lance Freeman of Columbia University has released a new study seeking to measure the effectiveness of state and local "Source of Income Discrimination" laws, which protect families with federal and state housing vouchers from discrimination in the private housing market. The study, funded by the HUD Office of Policy Development and Research, found significantly higher rates of voucher "utilization" (percentage of families who were able to use their vouchers) in jurisdictions where source of income discrimination laws were present, and much smaller, but statistically significant changes in "locational outcomes" for non-hispanic families in these jurisdictions (changes in locational outcomes were measured as moves to lower poverty or less racially concentrated neighborhoods). Freeman's study relies in part on PRRAC's national survey, which documents source of income discrimination laws in 12 states, the District of Columbia, and 37 cities and towns (Professor Freeman is also a member of PRRAC's Social Science Advisory Board). The study does not differentiate between the effects of strongly enforced SOI laws and weakly enforced SOI laws, which could be a useful avenue for future research. The study's findings on locational outcomes also reflect the segregative effect of the current Section 8 "Fair Market Rent" system, which severely limits the geographic choices of voucher families, regardless of the presence of a source of income discrimination laws (see PRRAC's 2010 policy brief, "Continuing Barriers to Housing Choice and Integration In HUD's Section 8 Voucher Program").
Integrated charter schools?
In a reversal of the usual narrative about racially segregated charter schools, a new, intentionally integrated charter school has been approved on the Upper West Side of Manhattan (see article). This news item is consistent with the Administration's new priority for school diversity in charter school funding announced last month. Some other well known, integrated charter schools include the Community Roots Charter School in Brooklyn, the Capital City Charter School in Washington, DC, and Denver's School for Science and Technology. In spite of most charter schools' poor track record on this issue in the past, in many states, charter schools have a greater potential to achieve integration than regular public schools because they are not constrained by local school district boundaries. See the National Coalition on School Diversity's Policy Brief on this topic, and the Century Foundation's review of socioeconomically integrated charters.
In other news….
Civil Rights and Environmental Justice in Public Transportation: The California-based public interest law firm Public Advocates is leading a broad civil rights coalition seeking to improve Title VI rules and enforcement activity in the Federal Transit Administration. The coalition's goals are set out in a new White Paper (produced with Urban Habitat) and a March 2 coalition letter to Transportation Secretary LaHood.
Better protecting residents in the public housing redevelopment process: PRRAC has joined the Housing Justice Network (HJN) in recommending important changes to HUD rules for Public Housing Agencies that seek to demolish, redevelop, or restructure existing public housing. Read the HJN letter here.
Department of Education Announces Equity and Excellence Commission: The U.S. Department of Education announced 28 members of the Equity and Excellence Commission on February 17, 2011. The Commission will examine the intersection between school finance and educational opportunity by collecting information and soliciting public input. Ultimately, the Commission will offer recommendations to the Department on how state school finance systems can be restructured to be more equitable and increase student performance. The Commission is co-chaired by Berkeley Law School Dean Chris Edley and includes a number of leaders in the field of civil rights and educational equity. A list of Commission members can be found here.
Filed Under: PRRAC Update


This is where my second career in photography was launched. With Francesca and Chris in the warehouse district of Minneapolis. It was close to their workplace and the backdrops, with brick structures that dated to the late 1800's, were stunning. Engagement and photography have transformed in exciting ways. Remember when couples headed for a studio with its powerful lights and large formal cameras? Not so much anymore. Chris and Fran chose to document their day where history had been carved into the urban landscape.
The day I checked in at the salon to get my ears lowered, Meg was sporting a ring. "So, you're gonna tie the knot, are you?", I asked. She beamed, a smile that suggested she'd waited a while for Kyle to pop the question. We agreed photos were a must and after several attempts to set a date, we selected a stunning autumn day with the woods in full color. First, we posed on a tree overhanging one of the many bays of Lake Minnetonka, then it was off to an historic woods on a slope beneath the ruins of a civil war era stone house that was built by hand by German immigrant farmers. How cool is that? One hundred fifty years ago, cattle grazed on the slope. Today it's one of my favorite shoot locations. By the way, I never heard if Kyle and Meg ever married.


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JT Leroy tells the story of a spiderweb of identities: here, a bisexual woman pretends to be a bisexual man who has been created by (and continues to be voiced by) a heterosexual woman. It's a lot to unpack, and the fact that this is a fictionalised version of a true story adds another layer to the mix, as the face of the titular character is played by a queer woman herself—Kristen Stewart, in a role that seems made for her. Stewart plays Savannah Knoop, a young woman with a shy, stammering presence, who moves in with her brother at the beginning of the film. This is where she meets Laura Alberts, a lively, vaguely annoying artist-type, played wonderfully by Laura Dern. Laura, as an older woman, is sick of being ignored, especially considering she's technically the bestselling author JT Leroy, and soon ropes Savannah into becoming the face of her pseudonym, a fictitious creation whose past is studded with horrors of poverty, grief and abandonment. Together they bring the entity to life, with Laura crafting Leroy's words, and Savannah navigating his actions, fooling much of the outside world into believing that he is real.
An intriguing concept is marred by the film's poor execution, as JT Leroy falls victim to one of the biggest problems with the biopic: a lack of individualism or artistic interpretation. The story moves statically between each plot point with little flourish or style, a straightforward representation of a tale that is anything but. The question of identity is danced around—Savannah expresses her wish to continue inhabiting JT Leroy's persona, but the reasoning behind this is never given the full attention such a topic deserves. Equally, Laura's obvious self-esteem problems are left to bubble beneath the surface, occasionally rising to a petulant tantrum, but never afforded serious consideration. Both characters simply fizzle out, their deep-set issues of personal identity cast aside for a neater, more pedestrian story.
For the rest of our BFI Flare coverage, click here.


After the walk, we took Heidi Anne to the Bryce visitors' center. For the longest time visitors centers seemed like glorified gift shops to me.
We've discovered there are more to the centers then stuffed animals. They are practically mini museums complete with displays, fun hands on activities for kids, maps, park information, (letting the rangers know I am around), and a little "passport" station. Every visitor center has a special stamp and you can track how many parks you have been to (like an international passport).
After we played at the visitors' center, we found a Ranger who informed us that there aren't many (if any) trails I can hike in the Canyon. He suggested we take the scenic road to the top of the canyon and stop at as many view points as possible to get the best (safest) visit to the canyon.
We started our drive to the top of the canyon, Rainbow Point. How high is this place, you may ask. Oh, the elevation is only 9,115 feet above sea level, that's all. The drive was breathtaking (on many levels).
Again, it took us over an hour to drive 18 miles. What can I say, we enjoy the journey to the destination, not the destination itself.
It was amazing to see the canyon from such a high vantage point.
Heidi Anne wanted to sit on a post to see better. So twice in a 3-hour period, I watched my little girl (at 9, 118 feet this time) be awestruck at the landscape.
I wasn't worried about her falling this time, there was a little strip of ground just under the ledge. I have a feeling a mom must have designed the layout for this viewpoint.
We decided to have lunch at Rainbow Point. We let Heidi Anne pick the table, she analyzed the five tables and found one to her liking.
While Dada made sandwiches' Heidi Anne went to explore the woods a bit more.
As we ate she chatted on and on about the things we had seen so far, what a pretty place this is, and if we were going back home after lunch.
After all, we got there so quickly. It took us a few minutes, but Char figured out what she meant. To her the drive down to Bryce had only taken 2 hours, since she was asleep for the first 4 or so hours of the drive.


Jalapeño Cheese Rolls #TwelveLoaves June | "blackberry-eating in late September"
This entry was posted in Baking, bread, Cheese, dough, Recipes, vegetarian and tagged baking, buns, dough, food, jalapeno cheese rolls, kaiser rolls, Twelve Loaves by Chelsea. Bookmark the permalink.
thanks, glad you enjoyed the photos!
Did those photos make sense? I realized as I tried to type out the procedure that explaining how to tie a knot is really quite difficult! That old writing adage "show, don't tell" seems particularly relevant here.
thanks, they were so tasty!
Thanks, Hannah. The idea of making these a breakfast-type sandwich hadn't occurred to me, but now I'm dying for an egg over easy with barely frizzled edges to match the lacy cheese crinkles of the buns! YUM. Definitely report back.
Thanks, Krista! Once I got into the feel of it, the knots were really pretty easy. One did come unstuck during baking (it's the top right bun on the cookie sheet closest to camera in the first photo), but the rest stayed plump and nicely lobed.
These sound delicious. What a great roll for this month's #Twelveloaves theme.


Nokia has announced an update for Nokia Messaging that includes Twitter integration and enhancements for its Facebook integration, according to a company blog post.
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text:
Consanguinity between Phonemes and Morphemes
by Hamlet Fernández
The eminent linguistic and literature theoretician Roman Jakobson wrote around 1933: "Without contradiction (between the sign and the object) there is no mobility of concepts and signs, and the relationship between the concept and the sign is automatized. Activity reaches its end and conscience of reality extinguishes." Before Jakobson, other two founders of Russian formalism, Lev Iakubinski and Viktor Shklovsky,1 in the theoretical attempt to establish the differences between the "practical" and the "poetic" languages –as first methodological need to shape the study object of the new literary science they were creating–, coincide in the following basic and essential distinction: the dynamics of everyday life and ordinary communication automatize our perception of the world around us, as well as the words (signs) we use to refer to it (because, as we would say today, the perception of this world is also a function of language); while art behaves at that space in which the world recovers itself, and language becomes as material and alive as life itself. In the horizon of this theoretical tradition that begins with Russian formalism and is deepened in Czech structuralism, art's space is that one in which mobility, instability, distance, sliding, between sign and referent, between significant and meaning, tends to become a basic procedure, a condition inherent to language use with aesthetic intention. Because, for the reception effect of a message with artistic intentions to provoke a lack of familiarization with perception, both with reality and language, one should attack, subvert, the established communicative schemes, those that have become conventional as a result of the use, or structured in rhetorical systems that respond to concrete ideological interests. Artistic communication is that one in which text's structural ambiguity, which generates the metaphorical and metonymical use of language, puts the receiver in a situation of interpretative excitement, a dialogical and hermeneutical situation where a knowledge, emancipatedly born from automation, is produced: a kind of knowledge that ensures reality conscience not to extinguish.
Fonemas y Morfemas (Phonemes and morphemes), bi-personal exhibition of the brothers Iván and Yoan Capote, occupying the space of Galería Habana from late November 2011 until March of the present year, seems to be an artistic exercise inspired in –or determined to show– these theses on the specificity of the phenomenon of art, with which Russian formalism opened modern art theory in the early 20th Century. As explicated in the title of the work, on this occasion, the Capote brothers have language itself as object of their aesthetic reflections. In structural linguistics, as it is well known, phoneme and morpheme are terms that designate the material nature of language, both acoustically and graphically. And the intrinsic materiality to all kinds of languages is the basic condition for all sign system to work as a representation system, that is, a system of signification of reality. Hence, having language materiality as object of reflection means to potentiate to the maximum the self-reflexive ability of art –which is what the diverse isms of historical pioneers made in their moments, especially cubism, to radically break with mimesis's illusionism that made invisible the values of visual language.
Iván Capote works with the graphic matter of the linguistic sign, making it become visual matter, as the manipulation of the graphic representation of a word (morpheme) becomes a visual form that subverts the conventional meaning of the sign in question. For example, in Exergo (Exergue), the artifice of scratching, from the cardboard, a letter or part of it, of any of the three words that make up the group, produces a duality of meanings, since each morpheme can be read in two different ways given the variation in one of the letters that form the word. Therefore, "arma" (arm), becomes "alma" (soul); "we're" becomes "we've;" and "wake" becomes "make." As it can be seen and read, in each transformation, mostly in the second and third ones, the change in sense that moves from one sign to the other, is loaded with objective of subliminal appellation: we are many, many more, and we have motives, dreams, hopes to wake and make, maybe a little more, for our common future. Of course, what I just wrote is my personal reading of the work. Out of closeness, every term sends me to a referential universe (other significances and meanings) that exceeds, at the time it potentiates, the stable (conventional) sense of each one of these words; and from the relationship, the articulation, that I, as a receiver, establish among the referential expansions, the sense the fills my interpretation is generated. The careful reader might have perceived that this work functions explicitly and intentionally, as a miniature language: just like in the system of language, each one of the signs of this group is defined for what it is not, it is enough for the receiver to perceive the variation of a letter in the word so that the difference in meaning is produced. As the father of structural linguistics put it: "in language there are only differences." Given the arbitrary nature of the linguistic sign (there is no natural, essential link between sign and referent, or between significant and meaning, it is merely about a conventional link, a cultural norm), we relate each word with a meaning of its own, because it was taught to us, but words do not have the power of signifying anything on their own, in an essentialist way, they do it due to the fact that their materiality (phoneme or morpheme) is different from that of the rest of the signs that form the system of language. It is the game of differences that makes possible the sense mobility inside the system. Iván Capote exploits these basic concepts of linguistics to produce metaphors, changes in sense generated by manipulating the rule of the game of differences, which, once activated by the receiver, is expanded outside, towards the reference context in which everyone develops his/her existence. Like any artist committed to not allowing reality conscience to be extinguished –by the hand of automation–, Iván fights against stable, definitive, interested relationship between significances and meanings.
On his side, Yoan Capote uses the phonic matter as an essential component of the artifacts and installations he constructs. He works with the acoustic element, both as sound or absence of it –an absence that can be determined as evocation, or made corporeal by means of the substitution of sound by other physical element. This last variant is the one attempted in a work like Demagogia (Demagogy), which consists in a bronze washbasin, with the form of a human ear, installed in the gallery with current water service and the corresponding accessories –like the soap–, so that the attending audience are able to wash their hands and freshen up their faces with some fresh water. Here, the sound element that is the one we automatically associate with the auricular pavilion, is substituted by the element of water, while the iconic symbol of the ear it changed to another sign (washbasin), through the change in function the artist subjects it to –a function that is made concrete in the practical use the audience gives to the piece. Therefore, when the symbol of the ear starts to develop the practical function of the sign of the washbasin, it is also loaded with its reference, so we start to perceive the ear as an artifact through which residual, contaminated water runs. It is in this point where the title of the piece starts to play a decisive role in the crystallization of sense. The substitution of a sign for another one results here in an inevitable metaphor: the same way dirty water runs by the washbasin, the phonic matter contaminated by demagogy –in any of its variants– runs by our ears. If we prolong the metaphor due to metonymic closeness, then we can associate the sewerage systems to which washbasins drain water with our psychic systems: reception place of all lexical dirtiness produced by society as a whole, etc.
An example of how sound is used as an essential component of an installation is Feedback. This is a piece with a great visual strength that draws all eyes towards it, like a sticky spider net. That is precisely what Yoan constructs, a spider net, a network, a rhyzomatic tissue made with stethoscopes. It goes from the network out towards a rhizome that ends up in the earphone of this kind of medical artifact. This earphone, the only one in the group, crowns the foot of a microphone located on a small platform. The public has to go up the platform and put the apparatus to the ear, then we are literally connected to a network that pumps a sound: the opaque, soar, rhythmical sound of life. This work provokes a visceral aesthetic experience; the beat that bangs in our ears is fused with the beat that bangs in our chest. It is almost an insolent sin to argue an interpretative hypothesis that intends to monopolize the vastness of senses with which an artistic fact of a similar visual and conceptual lyricism can be filled. I only want to point out something that is essential for me: the gesture of sign substitution also implemented here –sound amplifying device (microphone) by device to better listen to the sound (earphone)– insinuates a metaphor, that is, a subversion, an inversion from which the future hangs in the historical present. It is time to go up to the podium to listen to ourselves in a horizontal way…
Of course, many other pieces of this exhibition, that also had to consecutive editions, deserve to be commented… the Capote brothers continue consolidating their artistic career successfully, both in the context of Cuban contemporary art and in the international one, mostly because they do not neglect concepts' mobility, which is the mobility that starts inside the sign itself: threshold from which all new conscience possibility on the experience of "reality" begins to open up.
Text published in La Gaceta de Cuba, May-June, 2012, 62-63.
1. Lev Lakubinski writes: "…other linguistic systems can be imagined (and exist), those in which practical end goes back to a second plane (without disappearing completely though) and linguistic formers acquire a value of their own (samotsennost)" (About the sounds of poetic language, 1916), Apud Boris Eijenbaum: "The Theory of the Formal Method," in Nara Araújo and Teresa Delgado (comp.): Texts of Literary Theories and Critiques (From Formalism to Postcolonial Studies). University of Havana, Autonomous Metropolitan University of Mexico, 2003, 57.
On his side, Viktor Shklovsky, in his famous essay "Art as artifice" (1917) expressed it this way: "Automatization devours objects, habits, furniture, women and fear of war. 'If the complex life of so many people develops unconsciously, it is like if it had never existed.' In order to provide a sensation of life, to feel objects, to perceive that the stone is a stone, art exists." op. cit., 33.
© 2021 Avistamientos Gallery. All rights reserved.


text:
#include "conf_test_nffs.h"

TEST_CASE(config_test_insert)
{
    int rc;

    rc = conf_register(&config_test_handler);
    TEST_ASSERT(rc == 0);
}

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub