What three issues facing youth do you feel particularly strongly about?
Firstly, young people have so much opportunity, it almost overwhelms them to connect that to the reality of their lives and the skill sets they will require to exploit the opportunities ahead. They, their families, their communities, their schools and government need to think more carefully and astutely about how we can connect young people's reality through pathways and mentoring to the connection points that will allow them to develop rapidly and become the leaders that they would wish to be.
Secondly, the challenge between reconciling their desire to be heard through their voice and their ability to make that voice heard through social media and representative democracy which has always been premised on one person, one vote. Increasingly young people see the traditional model of governance and representation as less relevant given that they can give voice to their views on any topic in any moment, through so many avenues of social media on a global basis. This is a challenge for all leaders of democracies, and also for global leadership which young people are challenging us to address.
Thirdly, I am dismayed by the waste of potential I see in young people who become inadvertently addicted to illegal substances. To me it is just a tragedy of waste of the potential they have. As a community we remain extremely dishonest about the consequences of these substances being available to young people and the impact on their lives by becoming users and in some instances addicted. The range of crime, the range of terrible dependence, even co-dependence among young women and users or pushers, for example, breaks my heart as I watch this human capital destroy itself. I long for the day when all of us, and in particular the media, disclose the reality of these lives and the crime that surrounds the use of these drugs, rather than shamefully ignoring the impact this use has.
In the case of legal drugs, particularly alcohol, I long for the time when adults will set an example around their children so that children will find ways to consume alcohol in moderation, rather than drink to excess; and in peer to peer terms I long for the time when young New Zealanders will exhibit the great strength of character and attitude that successive generations of our people have shown in so many areas of our lives. The status quo is not an option here. A new way forward has to be found.
The key change I would like to see in the way New Zealand is governed is not in fact the political or parliamentary structure, but rather the dynamic in terms of how we invite people to participate in our democracy. The speed with which people can form opinions today is a challenge to the rather pedestrian ways in which parliaments consult with their people. In my view new media now allows us to use much more dynamic structures, with perhaps a Situation Room where we could put a topic of legislation or a public issue up and invite multiple streams of New Zealanders to participate. We could segment the responses so that we had both a collective and then a segmented insight as to the different opinions and understandings that people had. Putting big data in this situation room and allowing New Zealanders to comment meaningfully through social networks would revolutionise the way consultation occurs and public–private partnerships evolve. In my view this would massively improve our parliamentary democracy, but also the quality of public policy that political parties, politicians and the public servants might continue to develop to represent and respond to the public interest.
I do not have any particular plans to participate in the constitutional review. However, I continue to actively engage with people in many levels of government and hope that my views will be directly and indirectly reflected through that engagement.


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Latest news | TDH
18.06.2018 | Paces of the grain harvesting campaign: Lebap Velayat
The grain harvesting campaign in the Eastern region of the country, as well as in all other velayats, takes place around the clock. The tenants and machine operators in the largest region in Lebap Velayat – Chardjev etrap achieve good results. This year, they have committed to deliver more than 60 thousand tons of selected grain to the receiving points. To date, the state order for grain harvesting has been fulfilled by almost 75 percent.
18.06.2018 | The President of Turkmenistan sends condolences to the leaders of Japan in relation with the earthquake in Osaka Prefecture
President of Turkmenistan Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedov sent deep condolences to the Emperor of Japan Akihito and Prime Minister of Japan Shinzo Abe in relation with the earthquake in Osaka Prefecture that led to numerous human victims, injuries and massive destructions.
18.06.2018 | Festival "Music of Nury Halmamedov – Everlasting Melody of Epochs" starts in Turkmen capital
Opening of festival "Music of Nury Halmamedov – Everlasting Melody of Epochs" dedicated to the 80th anniversary of National Artist of Turkmenistan was held in the Mukams Palace of the State Cultural Centre.
18.06.2018 | The President of Turkmenistan congratulates the personnel of judicial authorities on their professional holiday
You implement legal support of the activity of the state, provide the protection of rights, freedoms and legal interests of individual and citizen, interests of the society and the state, bringing of national legislation to the standards of international law. You also mafe a system of interstate exchange of legal information, develop the projects of international agreements and give them legal ground. I wish you great success in this important and responsible work, the message of President Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedov on occasion of the Day of Judicial Authorities Personnel of Turkmenistan says.
17.06.2018 | Rates of the grain harvest campaign: Balkan and Dashoguz Velayats
Having started the mowing of the harvest later taking into account specific local climate conditions, the grain growers of Balkan and Dashoguz Velayats try to increase the rates of works by proper organization of this responsible campaign.
17.06.2018 | The President and the Prime Minister of Singapore congratulates Turkmen leader on Eid al-Fitr
President of the Republic of Singapore Halimah Yacob and Prime Minister of Singapore Li Xian with his spouse addressed their congratulations and best wishes to President Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedov on Eid Al-Fitr.
17.06.2018 | High and junior rank officers graduate the Military Academy and military and law enforcement universities
The first graduation of high rank officers of the Military Academy as well as another graduate of the cadets of high educational institutes of military and law enforcement agencies of Turkmenistan – Military and Naval Institutes of the Ministry of Defence, Border Guard Institute, Institute of National Security and the Institute of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, were held on June 16. The graduates of the faculty of military medicine of the State Medical University has also joined the ranks of the officers of the country.
17.06.2018 | Oil products and carbamide are on the top of exchange trades
28 transactions have been registered at the trades of the State Commodity and Raw Materials Exchange of Turkmenistan.
16.06.2018 | The President of Turkmenistan addresses the greetings to the graduates of the Military Academy and universities of security forces
I extend my congratulations on the graduation of the Military Academy, which trains high-rank officers and defenders of the sovereignty and territorial integrity of our country, integrity of the State border, Constitution and national security, peace, law and order! I congratulate you on the graduation of high military educational institutes and receiving professional education and the first officer rank, beginning of work and military service, - the message of President Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedov says.
15.06.2018 | Rates of grain harvest campaign: Ahal Velayat
As for today, almost 112 thousand hectares were thrashed, which makes more than half of the fields, and 227,000 tons of food grain were picked.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


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Poison Genius Consort
Chapter 630: If force won't get things done, use submissionOriginal and most updated translations are from volare. If read elsewhere, this chapter has been stolen. Please stop supporting theft.
When Han Yunxi recalled Gu Qishao's abnormal behavior, then looked at the pretty eyes of the boy in the drawing again, she couldn't help but suspect him as the missing disciple. He was well known as a fiendish genius in the medical world. At the medical academy, he had been fed medicine growing up, then expelled for reasons unknown from Medical City. If she remembered correctly, Gu Qishao was still young when he left the academy and didn't immediately establish Pill Fiend Valley.
So where did he go after that? How did he create Pill Fiend Valley in the first place? After all, Medical City was the one that drove him out, so Medicine City wouldn't have welcomed him, either. Where did he get the wealth and ingredients to create his own property?
"Why did Little Loony leave Medicine Requesting Cave?" Han Yunxi asked.
The old man suddenly grew angry. "Just find the person who matches this picture! As for the rest….hehe, stop minding other people's business!"
Knowing that his moods were extremely erratic, Han Yunxi stopped arguing and coaxed patiently, "It's been over 10 years now. Nobody can tell what he'd look like now. Even if he's standing right in front of you, you might not recognize him. How are we supposed to rely on a single picture to track him down?"
The old man fell into thought while staring at Han Yunxi. Eventually, tears started flowing down his face. "It was all this old man's fault. I shouldn't have beat him back then."
"Why did you beat him?" Han Yunxi was startled. If he left because of that, how severe was the beating in the first place?
"That day, this old man…" Abruptly the man stopped himself. "Stinkin' lass, it's not that easy claiming my Medicine Requesting Cave! If you can find the person in this picture, this place is yours!"
Actually, he wanted to tell her more details, but he really had no idea where the child had come from or even his real name, much less his actual age now. Many years ago, he had ran into the boy while picking plants in the back mountains. He thought that it was one of Sun Zhong's medical novices come to steal his medicinal plants, but upon closer inspection he'd actually seen the child eating the medicine instead as if they were the most delicious things in the world. This was the first time he'd ever met a child who ate medicinal plants as food. He wanted to ask more questions, but the child fled as soon as he noticed him. Somehow he'd managed to find a secret passageway to the pill refining cave and hide.
He was the only one who knew the existence of that passageway, which he used exclusively to leave the cave and pick his plants. He couldn't figure out how the boy had found it too, because he refused to believe it was mere coincidence. After sealing the exit of the tunnel and trapping the child inside, he stood in a cold war with the boy for three days and three nights before the child surrendered and asked for something to eat. He gave the child some hot food and saw him all but devour it down. It must have been ages since he last ate. After a slew of questions, he discovered to his astonishment that the child had found the passageway by following the scent of pills in the air. The boy could even distinguish the different types and quantities of medicine contained in a single pill. The old man had been both surprised and delighted, because he'd been looking for ages for a successor. He never expected to run into a fiendish genius just by chance. From that day on, he accepted the boy as his disciple and taught him medicine. Once he mastered all the knowledge available to the medical cottage, he was going to teach him how to refine pills as well.
Unfortunately...whatever happened next left the old man in a deep depression. Faintly he demanded, "Stinkin' lass, I'll give you a three year deadline. Are you going to find him or not?"
"I will! But we have to list out the terms on paper, in case at that time…"
Before she finished, the old man was already calling out. "Someone come, bring brush and ink!"
When they saw the old man craft out a written agreement, Long Feiye and Gu Beiyue were taken aback as well. Although this man was eccentric and strange, his mind was clear enough. He was neither a lunatic nor a fool.
He'll give me the Medicine Requesting Cave as long as I find this person for him? Han Yunxi felt like she was being tricked. "You're certain," she asked.
"What, can't the three of you find one single person?" the old man scoffed.
Before Han Yunxi could answer, Long Feiye was already taking the written contract in his hands. "That's settled, then!"
Why hesitate in the face of such good fortune? If the old man regret his choice, there wouldn't even be time for Han Yunxi to cry. The terms of the agreement looked lax, but upon second thought it really was quite hard. If Han Yunxi hadn't passed the first trial, they wouldn't have met the old man in the first place, much less impress him.
"That's settled!" the old man echoed without regrets. The one thing he felt remorse over in this life was beating that boy. He was willing to pay any price to get him back. He knew that he had to put out big stakes just to get people like that stinkin' lass and her cohorts to take it seriously. Three years was still long enough for him to wait.
Before Han Yunxi left, she stopped to ask one more question out of curiosity. "Old senior, how did you learn to pluck fire out of thin air?"
The old man only pretended he didn't hear and strolled back into the furnace. Han Yunxi figured the mysterious fire had to be related to the constant head powering the pill refining furnace, but she could figure that out after they found their target. This time, they'd not only obtained the Muscle Growing Ointment, but a bonus prize as well. Their journey hadn't been in vain!
As they retraced their steps, Han Yunxi felt much lighter. When she thought of Gu Beiyue standing up again, she was thrilled! "Doctor Gu, you have hope now!" she said seriously.
Gu Beiyue's gentle smile was now especially brilliant. "Thanks to esteemed wangfei and Your Highness Duke of Qin!"
"It's what we should have done, what's with the thanks?" Han Yunxi laughed.
Long Feiye was still wearing his expressionless face. He quickly changed the topic and asked, "Could that boy...be Gu Qishao?"
"We'll know after we ask," Gu Beiyue said.
Han Yunxi was actually hoping that wasn't the case. Judging from the old man's reaction, that boy had suffered no end of hardships in his youth. "Let's not talk about that now. We still have three years to go, so even if we don't find him, we won't lose anything out of the deal. Hurry back so we can apply the ointment!" She was already anticipating the moment when Gu Beiyue could stand again.
The first person they saw upon emerging from the tunnel was His Excellency Pill King. He had been waiting there for a long time because he assumed that Han Yunxi's group would just take the medicine and leave. Who knew they'd take ages?
Han Yunxi's group collectively treated the old man as air and circled around him without a word. But the Pill King stopped them with a single sentence. "Han Yunxi, do you know how to use the Muscle Growing Ointment?"
Could it be that there's a special way to apply it?
"What do you want to say?" Han Yunxi asked coldly.
"The Muscle Growing Ointment must be used in conjunction with other medicines. You guys can come with me," Pill King said earnestly. This time, he spoke with the full intent to help.
"Why should we believe you?" Han Yunxi demanded.
Pill King stroked his beard with a stern expression. "Stinkin' girl, master has a medicine chest to give you. Come here."
"Don't need it!" Han Yunxi chuckled back.
Pill King's expression turned even more grave. "Stinkin' girl, you accepted me as your master in front of all of Medicine City. Do you want to make enemies of them now?"
Han Yunxi had accepted the offer in public for fear of that very reason. Who knew that the old man would use it to threaten her now? The final authority in the medical community was still His Excellency Pill King, while the strange old man heading the Medicine Requesting Cave had no influence in the outside world at all. She and Long Feiye had expended all that effort just to gain control of Medicine City, so it'd be a joke if they lost it now because of Pill King. Some things were different between public and private eyes.
"Gu Qishao should know how to use it, right?" Long Feiye muttered under his breath. If the Pill King was insistent that Han Yunxi stay behind, he was willing to throw away ten Medicine Cities to take her away.
Han Yunxi knew what he was hinting at. With the western regions still in chaos, she didn't want more trouble brewing in Medicine City as well, much less add another burden to Long Feiye's shoulders. "It's no guarantee that the old fiend does," she replied. "Otherwise, he might have told us long ago. Let's go with him first and then see."
"Alright," Long Feiye nodded.
They followed Pill King to the medical cottage, assuming that he'd try more tricks on them again, but he only mixed the medicine carefully and applied it to Gu Beiyue's injuries without a word. Once everything was done, he gave Han Yunxi two packets of ground ingredients. "Use the green one in the mornings and the white one at night. Both should be mixed together with Muscle Growing Ointment. Remember, you have to use warm water and daub it on the injury both morning and night. Once you finish up all of the ointment, wait 100 days and the wound will recover."
Han Yunxi looked doubtfully at Gu Beiyue, who nodded. Only then did she stop worrying. Next, Pill King took out a wooden chest and opened it up for Han Yunxi to see. Inside was a single ancient volume with the Yao (药), or medicine, emblazoned on the cover.
"With your talents, master has no need to teach you step by step. Take this book back with you to read and come consult me if you find anything you don't understand."
He's willing to give me this medical text, but he won't force me to stay at the medical cottage anymore? Did Pill King get a personality change?
This time, Han Yunxi accepted without hesitation. "Alright!"
Although she was surprised, Gu Beiyue thought this was only to be expected. She was worth such exceptional measures. Nobody who met her had ever forced her to do a thing, but ended up caving to her will instead. Meanwhile, Long Feiye only gave Pill King a final verdict in his heart: he's finally caught up to the times! He himself had nothing but Han Yunxi in his.
Just like that, Han Yunxi's group left the medical cottage fully satisfied. Pill King was secretly rejoicing as well. Although the girl didn't give him any friendly looks, the fact that she accepted his book meant that their master-disciple relationship was still intact. The medical cottage needed disciples of her elk. He could always take his time finding someone to inherit the cottage itself.
Pill King had given Han Yunxi an extremely complex text on medicine just so she could visit him often to consult him about its contents. He could use those chances in the future to improve their relationship. However, the first thing Han Yunxi did upon leaving the cottage was to send someone to gift the book to Mu Linger. If it was in that girl's hands, it'd be worth much more. Mu Linger was currently the pillar of Pill Fiend Pharmacy with her skills.
The return trip back to Yaoshui Prefecture also used up all of the Muscle Growing Ointment. Gu Beiyue personally inspected his wounds multiple times to confirm that it was indeed working. Now all he had to do was rest for 100 days before a full recovery.
Han Yunxi's heart finally settled back down in her chest.
Mu Linger wrote a letter back asking for Gu Qishao's whereabouts. Han Yunxi was looking for him too, if only to ask him about the eccentric old man in the cave. But before she got far, Gu Qishao himself barged into her doors one day and declared, "Poison lass, I have to tell you something!"
♬♩♪♩ 🎐Ruyi's Serenity Mix 🎍♩♪♩♬
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Sponsor Poison Genius Consort!
Current: $0/40 per chapter
Sponsored chapter 1213 is now live!
Drip, drip, drip. Every little drop counts towards slaking that bonus chapter thirst.
From the author of Unruly Phoenix Xiaoyao!
Ruyi's 1st Ever Translation Project
Tweets by ruyiwrites


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Motor City Comic Con Announces First Celebrity Guests for 2023
Motor City Comic Con has announced its first celebrity guests for 2023.
Motor City Comic Con has given us an early present this year and has announced the first three celebrity guests for the May 2023 convention. It's a Festivus Miracle! MC3 will be returning to the Suburban Collection Showplace in Novi May 19th through 21st, 2023.
Who were the first celebrity guests to be announced?
On Monday, December 19th, Motor City Comic Con made an announcement that no doubt excited the fans of the CW's Arrowverse. The stars of Arrow, Stephen Amell, David Ramsey, and Emily Bett Rickards, will all be attending Motor City Comic Con.
STARZ Celebrates Premiere Of New Series "Heels" - Arrivals
Stephen Amell is the man that got the whole ball rolling when it comes to the Arrowverse. Amell starred in Arrow as "Oliver Queen." You may have seen Amell in other roles such as:
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows as "Casey Jones"
The Starz TV series Heels as "Jack Spade"
Code 8 as "Garrett"
Comic-Con International 2017 - "Arrow" Video Presentation And Q+A
Arrow star and Detroit native will also be in attendance at Motor City Comic Con in 2023. Ramsey starred as "John Diggle" in Arrow and throughout the other shows in the Arrowverse. Ramsey has also appeared in other projects such as Grey's Anatomy, Blue Bloods, The Rookie: Feds, and more.
Entertainment Weekly's Annual Comic-Con Celebration - Arrivals
Emily Bett Rickards starred in Arrow as "Felicity Smoak" and has also appeared in We Need to Talk, The Clinic, Funny Story, and more. Rickards was also named one of The Hollywood Reporter's 50 Favorite Female Characters of All Time.
I can't wait to see who else will be announced! Hopefully, we will see more guests announced soon. Who knows, maybe we will get another Festivus Miracle and see a few more before the end of the year. Fingers crossed.
Source: Motor City Comic Con
25 Famous Celebs Who Went to Michigan's Interlochen Center for the Arts
Interlochen Center for the Arts in Interlochen, MI has produced some great talent over the years. Many actors/actresses, directors, singers, and more have attended.
30 Famous Actors and Actresses Born in Good Ole Michigan
Michigan has produced thousands of famous actors and actresses. Here are 30 that were actually born here as well.
Take A Look: Are You Really Ready to Fly? You Can at iFly in Novi
The thrill of parachuting without the plane and the chute. It's INDOOR SKYDIVING. You and the whole family can get EXTREME at iFly Detroit (in Novi, Michigan).
Filed Under: MC3, motor city comic con, Novi
Categories: Entertainment, Events, Flint News, In Case You Missed It, Michigan News, National News, Nerd Stuff, Newsletter, Video Games, Weird News
Motor City Comic Con in Novi Announces Dates for 2023 Convention
Stuff You Need to Know for Motor City Comic Con This Week in Novi
Are These Michigan Places Still The Most Snobby?
28 Famous People You May See in Novi, Michigan This Week
Do You Live In One Of Michigan's Fastest Growing Cities?
More Guests Announced for October's Motor City Comic Con in Novi
Motor City Comic Con Announces First Guest for Fall 2022 in Novi
Motor City Comic Con Announces 2nd Weekend for Oct 2022 in Novi


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La vue, sens permettant la détection de la lumière et son interprétation ;

 Dans les arts plastiques une vue est une peinture ou une photographie qui représente un paysage réel vu depuis un endroit déterminé.
 En informatique :
 Ce mot est parfois employé pour désigner une fenêtre.
 Dans le domaine des bases de données, une vue est une synthèse d'une requête d'interrogation de la base.
 Visual Understanding Environment est un logiciel libre de cartographie conceptuelle.
 Vue d'Esprit est un logiciel de création de paysage en 3D.
 C'est une des composantes du patron de conception Modèle-Vue-Contrôleur.
 on peut également parfois évoquer Vue.js une bibliothèque JavaScript
 Une vue éclatée est une représentation schématique qui fait apparaitre l'emboitement d'éléments les uns dans les autres.
 Une « vue » est une expression signifiant Film en Français québécois familier.
 La Vue est un modèle d'automobile de marque Saturn.
  un service de télévision par internet disponible sur PlayStation géré par Sony.

Toponyme
 Vue, commune française située dans le département de la Loire-Atlantique.

Patronyme
 Vue est un nom de famille français présent surtout en Seine-Maritime (Normandie) et en Picardie, principalement dans la Somme.

Liens externes

Patronyme normand

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


GAYLORD - The second annual Gaylord Herald Times Cabin Fever Auction goes online for active bidding Feb. 19.
The event, which raised $300 for the Rotary Club of Gaylord last year, will share its proceeds with the Otsego County Volunteer Center.
"We plan on doing better this year," said Herald Times Director of Sales and Marketing Jim Driver.
See the ad on p. C4 of today's paper for a complete list of participating businesses.
Businesses still wishing to participate may call Driver or Marina Friend, Herald Times Feature Publications advertising manager, at 732-1111.
Telephone bidding will start Feb. 23 with Feb. 26 as the last day for bids.


Hi Maciej B., I noticed your profile. We're developing an IOS mobile MVP. We have a wireframe in Moqups of how the app work...styling improved and developed in Sketch so we can handoff to developer. We're also thinking in the future of adding transitions and animations to give further clarity to the developer. Would you be interested in this project?
I'm looking to recreate the animation of the ...[login to view URL] The Globe (incl. particles, frame, texture, lighting) needs to be exactly the same or as close as possible. Original Project Files of the Globe (+all its features) and all Animations to be provided with a rendered transparent background (Alpha) in minimum of HD resolution.


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<!DOCTYPE html>

    <meta charset="utf-8" />
    <title>Uili Fecteau</title>
    <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" />
    <link href="index.css" rel="stylesheet" />

    <link rel="stylesheet" href="https://maxcdn.bootstrapcdn.com/bootstrap/latest/css/bootstrap.min.css">

    <link rel="stylesheet" href="https://maxcdn.bootstrapcdn.com/bootstrap/latest/css/bootstrap-theme.min.css">

Pertronic Panel Order Wizard Loading ...

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


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Q: How to use email address only while replying mails in thunderbird I want to configure Thunderbird client so that when I do reply or reply all, it should use email addresses only from original mails and not names.
I have attached screenshot for reference.I want My, Friend <jake.doe@example.com> to be jake.doe@example.com and @SOME  DL <grp@example.com> to be grp@example.com.
I need help on this because I am using Thunderbird to access exchange mail server. And DL on server configured such a way that they have @ symbol at the beginning and spaces in names. Example
 @SOME DL NAME <address@example.com>

Now when I do reply to them my my message fails and sometime add double quotes in between address and names.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


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Home/The Arrangement/User Reviews
The Arrangement Reviews & Ratings
Described as a Cinderella story for modern times set in Hollywood, the drama follows Megan Morrison, a beautiful young actress who auditions for the female lead in a summer blockbuster playing opposite Kyle West, the hottest actor of the moment. After an amazing audition segues into a dream-like first date, Megan's Cinderella story takes a turn to the bizarre when she is presented with a contract that details an entire relationship with Kyle. Megan must weigh her options and the benefits and consequences to her career and her life overall… and decide whether or not she will accept "the arrangement."
DramaE!
Rosanna Bowman Dillawar
by Rosanna Bowman Dillawar
Apr 20, 2017 6:45PM EDT
Many of the storylines in the show are expected but also quite far-fetched. It's not everyday that an unknown actress magically lands a major acting job, lose a boyfriend, gain a new boyfriend and travel to Mexico - all in the span of one episode. It feels like some things were moving too fast, almost like they were thrown in to just impress viewers in the pilot. Also, I think that there are many missed opportunities to explore other storylines further such as the death of Kyle's ex-lover, as it feels like this was brushed over, and Nic and Annika's relationship (Who is Annika really, and what is her endgame?). I'm also not into the Institute of the Higher Mind controversy; it hasn't lived up to all the hype that everyone keeps mentioning in the show.
I think that the character Megan is quite strong and complex, and is a great lead alongside Josh Henderson's Kyle. I expected her to be more shy and less confident as she is thrust into the limelight, but alas, her character is a breath of fresh air. It's not the most gripping drama, but it still has some angles to keep viewers interested. I'm looking forward to the final few episodes of this season, and hope that Season 2 will be a lot better.
c00ljck0d
by c00ljck0d
Mar 13, 2017 4:29PM EDT
reeks of Scientology...
Aomeragic1
by Aomeragic1
Mar 20, 2017 9:29AM EDT
I love how it's something unlike anything else on TV. It just feels like something that should have been made years ago
Speakezee
by Speakezee
Wow! i just watched the pilot and the finale, and plan on going back and watching all of them for the intricate plot twists and the amazing female characters in this show.
Melissa-LeeM
by Melissa-LeeM
Aug 8, 2017 10:15PM EDT
Not what I expected. Moves a little slow in places. Could have done without the institute stuff as well - completely unnecessary to the story.
annarain12
by annarain12
Sorry to say, I can't put my finger on why I'm not getting into this show. But I'm not. Maybe it is for a younger audience? IDK, it just isn't for me..... All I can say is give it a try and decide for yourself, just to be fair.....
Ne3shi
by Ne3shi
I came across this show while looking for something new. Not bad - a good combination of drama & romance! The story is a different one and worth watching. Though in some plots some things could have been improved it still did not prevent me from watching till the end. Overall, good one!
Terra_Banks
by Terra_Banks
Jul 19, 2018 10:11PM EDT
Overall I have loved the understated glamour and soundtrack of the show. The characters are complex and the acting believable. It wasn't faced paced but it held my interest. The two leads are fantastic! I was surprised by how empowering the show was, considering it's about a contract marriage. I would recommend it for a weekend binge, especially if you like shows about Hollywood like the LA complex, Famous in Love, etc.
ulloaconejos71
by ulloaconejos71
Apr 13, 2018 9:12AM EDT
Love Mike Vaughn! Happy to see him. It's creepy and I want the expose too.
Click to reveal spoilers.
Chiwal
by Chiwal
Good show. Storyline a little bit out there. Looking forward to seeing what's next.


UniPlace Church is a vibrant, compassionate church which find itself in the middle of everything. Located on the dividing line between Champaign and Urbana, situated on the northern edge of the U of I campus, we connect campus and community with enthusiasm. Our worship life is marked by exceptionally fine classical music, enhanced by leadership from campus musicians. Our homegrown Jubilee musicians add to the mix with a lively offering of guitars, flutes and other wind instruments. We love to sing God's praises.
Your heart will be moved through inspiring music, prayer and preaching which complement one another to deliver a message that directly connects the deep words of Scripture to your everyday life. So join us this Sunday morning to experience the warm embrace of UniPlace for yourself.


Come out and support some of the most talented kids in Baldwin and Mobile Counties!
• They can be purchased through a participant or at the door the day of the show.
• Cash or check only.
• You must have a separate ticket for each show.


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Best brokers Deriv Broker Review
Deriv Broker Review
Feb 23, 2021, 08:22 am0
Deriv is a provider of online financial and brokerage services which was founded in 1999. It aims to provide the masses with online trading via innovative and revolutionary services. This broker has more than 20 years of industry experience, as well as high-level customer service for its diverse client base.
Deriv Licenses and Regulation
Regent Markets Group, which owns and operates it to this day, developed Deriv. This broker, with its most important features such as reliability and honesty, remained true to its core values from the day it was founded. It adheres to the highest safety and ethical standards set in the field. Binary.com, which is also owned by Regent Markets Group, is Deriv's sister brand name.
Regent Markets Group soon rebranded as Deriv Group and under its umbrella ran the two brokers. The sister brands have offices in different jurisdictions around the world, building their global presence.
Under the Malta Financial Services Authority, Deriv Investments Ltd (Europe) is licensed and regulated. It is entitled to supply commercial investment goods and services to those within the EEA. In addition, Deriv retains EU passport rights, rendering it eligible to provide services throughout Europe. In 26 EU countries, it provides brokerage services.
Deriv (FX) Ltd Malaysia, which is regulated by the Labuan Financial Services Authority, and Deriv (BVI) Ltd, which is registered by the Financial Services Commission of the British Virgin Islands, are some of the jurisdictions where Deriv operates and is regulated.
Deriv (V) Ltd is authorised and regulated by the Vanuatu Financial Services Commission, which also controls Champion Group Ltd., another brand of Deriv. Lastly, in Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Deriv (SVG) LLC functions. In addition, Deriv Group is a member of the Financial Commission, a dispute resolution authority for brokerage firms in the financial services field.
Deriv Platform Services
Deriv offers groundbreaking services through all of its subsidiaries, as already mentioned above. Deriv provides up to four separate trading platforms to choose from, to begin with.
DTrader: Using built-in indicators and widgets, traders can customize trading charts. It provides trade with more than 50 assets, and uses a clean interface for easy navigation. It provides a great deal of future payouts that could go up to 200%. In its right, the DTrader platform is innovative and offers a strong customization feature that gives quality customer experience.
DMT5: Deriv utilizes the MT5 platform, which, as expected from the classic MetaTrader platform, is fitted with enterprise-grade instruments, indicators, and functionality. Since it uses a basic but intuitive interface that is filled with rich features, it is easy to navigate. Clients have the option of conveniently setting charts and opening positions. Also, they can exchange more than 70 assets and use a leverage of 1:1000.
DBot: For investors with tight schedules, this trading platform provides automated trading. Customers may opt to invest algorithmically and gain access to more than 50 instruments. By following a five-step process, clients can create trading bots for free. There are also built-in trading techniques that all traders can easily use.
Deriv Assets and Trading Conditions
Deriv has a range of quality characteristics to deliver, including favorable trading conditions that optimize all traders' business opportunities. This helps traders to enjoy the capital markets with infinite possibilities.
Deriv helps traders to trade in four markets, namely currencies, commodities, stock indices, and synthetic indices. Deriv supports more than 50 currency pairs, covering majors, minors, and exotics. It provides the ability to trade some of the largest U.S., Asian, and European stock indices, as well as a good range of tradable 24/7 synthetic indices on constant volatility replicating real market conditions. Deriv also provides gold and silver, as well as crude, for commodity trading.
Tight spreads and a leverage of up to 1:1000 are given by Deriv. This broker also charges low to nil commissions, enabling traders to benefit from their trades' full profits. It also provides competitive spreads and fee-processing transparency. Some of the additional fees paid by Deriv include an inactive account fee that only starts to be charged after the 12th month of inactivity.
In addition, the margin criteria and leverage depend on the account selected by the customer, as well as the country from which they trade. Because of European regulations, EU customers can use up to 1:30 leverage for foreign exchange only.
Deriv Conclusion
With more than 20 years of global presence, Deriv has proved to be a veteran in the trading industry. It provides a wide variety of trading and financial services and has succeeded along the way in cultivating a clean reputation. It also offers favorable trading conditions that optimize traders' business opportunities and allow them to have an unprecedented customer experience.


text:
using System;
using System.Collections.Generic;
using System.Linq;
using System.Text;
using System.Threading.Tasks;
using LEGION.Classes;
using LEGION.Messages;
using NLog;
using System.Timers;
using LEGION.DiscoveryAlgo;

namespace LEGION.Impl.DiscoveryAlgo
{
    /// <summary>
    /// Uses UDP multicast to discover nodes in the network.
    /// </summary>
    public class MulticastDiscoveryAlgo : IDiscoveryAlgo, IDisposable
    {
        [NonSerialized]
        static Logger logger = LogManager.GetCurrentClassLogger();

        public MulticastClient<ClusterDiscoveryResponse> Client
        { get; set; }

        public MulticastClient<ClusterDiscoveryRequest> MasterServer
        { get; set; }

        public List<ClusterDiscoveryResponse> Responses
        { get; set; }

        public Node Node
        { get; set; }

        public List<NodeMetadata> NodeMetas
        { get; set; }

        public List<ClusterDiscoveryRequest> ReceivedRequests
        { get; set; }

        private bool receivedResp;

        /// <summary>
        /// Creates a new instance of the MulticastDiscoveryAlgorithm. NOTE: Set <see cref="Node"/> property before running <see cref="Discover"/>.
        /// </summary>
        public MulticastDiscoveryAlgo()
        {
            logger.Debug("Initializing MulticastDiscoveryAlgo");
            ReceivedRequests = new List<ClusterDiscoveryRequest>();

            Responses = new List<ClusterDiscoveryResponse>();
            NodeMetas = new List<NodeMetadata>();
        }

        public event ClusterInitComplete ClusterInit_Complete;

        public void Discover()
        {
            Client = new MulticastClient<ClusterDiscoveryResponse>(MulticastConstants.CLIENT_DISCOVERY_LISTEN_ADDRESS, MulticastConstants.CLIENT_DISCOVERY_LISTEN_PORT, MulticastConstants.MASTER_DISCOVERY_LISTEN_ADDRESS, MulticastConstants.MASTER_DISCOVERY_LISTEN_PORT);
            MasterServer = new MulticastClient<ClusterDiscoveryRequest>(MulticastConstants.MASTER_DISCOVERY_LISTEN_ADDRESS, MulticastConstants.MASTER_DISCOVERY_LISTEN_PORT);

            Client.OnPacketReceived += Client_OnPacketReceived;
            MasterServer.OnPacketReceived += MasterServer_OnPacketReceived;

            Client.Listen();
            logger.Debug(String.Format("Client listening on {0}, sending on {1}", MulticastConstants.CLIENT_DISCOVERY_LISTEN_PORT, MulticastConstants.MASTER_DISCOVERY_LISTEN_PORT));

            MasterServer.Listen();
            logger.Debug(String.Format("MasterClient listening on {0}", MulticastConstants.MASTER_DISCOVERY_LISTEN_PORT));

            var request = new ClusterDiscoveryRequest();
            request.Hostname = Node.Metadata.Hostname;
            request.Resources = Node.Metadata.TotalResources;

            Client.Send(request);

            // Start timer for master node to respond. If it doesn't, we'll start leader selection.
            var timer = new Timer(5000);
            timer.AutoReset = false;
            timer.Start();
            timer.Elapsed += Timer_Elapsed;
        }

        private void Timer_Elapsed(object sender, ElapsedEventArgs e)
        {
            (sender as Timer).Stop();
            if (!receivedResp)
            {
                logger.Debug("No response from master; starting leader selection");
                var master = Node.LeaderSelector.SelectLeader(ReceivedRequests);

                logger.Debug("Master is " + master);

                // If this node is the master, then we'll start processing the stored ClusterDiscoveryRequests.
                if (master == Node.Metadata.Hostname)
                {
                    logger.Info("I'm the master!");
                    Node.IsMaster = true;

                    var guid = Guid.NewGuid().ToString();
                    Node.MasterMetadata = new NodeMetadata() { Hostname = master, ID = guid };
                    Node.Metadata.ID = guid;

                    Responses.Add(new ClusterDiscoveryResponse()
                    {
                        ClientHost = Node.Metadata.Hostname,
                        MasterMeta = Node.MasterMetadata,
                        AssignedID = Node.Metadata.ID
                    });

                    var nodeMeta = new NodeMetadata()
                    {
                        TotalResources = Node.Metadata.TotalResources,
                        AvailableResources = Node.Metadata.AvailableResources,
                        Hostname = Node.Metadata.Hostname,
                        ID = Node.Metadata.ID
                    };

                    NodeMetas.Add(nodeMeta);

                    ClusterInit_Complete();

                    logger.Debug("Processing stored requests");
                    foreach (var req in ReceivedRequests.Where(req => req.Hostname != Node.Metadata.Hostname))
                    {
                        MasterServer_OnPacketReceived(req);
                    }

                    //Scheduler = new Scheduler(this, masterSchedulerType);

                }
            }
        }

        private void MasterServer_OnPacketReceived(ClusterDiscoveryRequest packet)
        {
            logger.Debug("Received ClusterDiscoveryRequest from " + Node.Metadata.Hostname);
            ReceivedRequests.Add(packet);

            if (Node.IsMaster)
            {
                var response = new ClusterDiscoveryResponse()
                {
                    ClientHost = packet.Hostname,
                    MasterMeta = Node.MasterMetadata,
                    AssignedID = Guid.NewGuid().ToString()
                };

                Responses.Add(response);

                var nodeMeta = new NodeMetadata()
                {
                    TotalResources = packet.Resources,
                    AvailableResources = packet.Resources,
                    Hostname = packet.Hostname,
                    ID = response.AssignedID
                };

                NodeMetas.Add(nodeMeta);

                response.CurrentNodes = Responses;

                Client.Send(response);
                logger.Debug("Assigned " + response.ClientHost + " ID " + response.AssignedID);
            }
            //else
            //{

            //    logger.Debug("Subscribing to master topic " + Node.MasterMetadata.ID);
            //    Node.Channel.QueueDeclare(queue: Node.MasterMetadata.ID,
            //        durable: false,
            //        exclusive: false,
            //        autoDelete: false,
            //        arguments: null);
            //}
        }

        private void Client_OnPacketReceived(ClusterDiscoveryResponse packet)
        {
            if (packet.ClientHost == Node.Metadata.Hostname)
            {
                logger.Debug("Received ClusterDiscoveryResponse from " + packet.MasterMeta + "; my ID is " + packet.AssignedID);

                Node.Metadata.ID = packet.AssignedID;
                Node.MasterMetadata = packet.MasterMeta;
                Responses = packet.CurrentNodes;

                receivedResp = true;

                ClusterInit_Complete();

            }
        }

        public void Dispose()
        {
            if (Client != null) Client.StopListening();
            if (MasterServer != null) MasterServer.StopListening();
        }
    }
}


Economy and Society. 2002. Vol. 31. No. 3. P. 434 - 460.
This article considers the place of difference in Marx's politics through an exploration of his categories of the lumpenproletariat and the proletariat. Far from a simple set of class subjects or empirical peoples, these two categories are argued to describe particular modes of political composition. Despite the frisson of difference and excess which is usually associated with Marx's lumpenproletariat, it is argued to describe a mode of composition - and, in relation to anarchism, a politics - oriented not towards difference and becoming, but towards present identity. The proletariat, on the other hand, is shown to be not a People, historical Subject or identity, but a 'minor' political mode of composition immanent to the manifolds of capitalism, and premised on the condition that, as Deleuze puts it, 'the people are missing'.


text:
Rethinking Possible: A Memoir of Resilience
By Rebecca Faye Smith Galli · May 14, 2017 · No comments
The Baltimore Post-Examiner is proud to present an excerpt from Rethinking Possible: A Memoir of Resilience by Baltimore author Rebecca Faye Smith Galli. The book is available at Amazon.
Galli is a weekly columnist who lives in Baltimore, Maryland and writes about love, loss, and healing. Surviving significant losses―her seventeen-year-old brother's death; her son's degenerative disease and subsequent death; her daughter's autism; her divorce; and nine days later, her paralysis from transverse myelitis, a rare spinal cord inflammation that began as the flu―has fostered an unexpected but prolific writing career.
Summary: Becky Galli was born into a family that valued the power of having a plan. With a pastor father and a stay-at-home mother, her 1960s southern upbringing was bucolic―even enviable. But when her brother, only seventeen, died in a waterskiing accident, the slow unraveling of her perfect family began.
Though grief overwhelmed the family, twenty-year-old Galli forged onward with her life plans―marriage, career, and raising a family of her own―one she hoped would be as idyllic as the family she once knew.
But life had less than ideal plans in store. There was her son's degenerative, undiagnosed disease and subsequent death; followed by her daughter's autism diagnosis; her separation; and then, nine days after the divorce was final, the onset of the transverse myelitis that would leave Galli paralyzed from the waist down.
Despite such unspeakable tragedy, Galli maintained her belief in family, in faith, in loving unconditionally, and in learning to not only accept, but also embrace a life that had veered down a path far different from the one she had envisioned. At once heartbreaking and inspiring, Rethinking Possible is a story about the power of love over loss and the choices we all make that shape our lives ―especially when forced to confront the unimaginable.
What's Planned Is Possible
All the love we come to know in life springs from the love we knew as children.
WE WERE FIVE, until we weren't. Our world was orderly and predictable, until it wasn't. We knew so much about love, laughter, and the joy of being family, until we didn't. I remember one Friday night meal so well. Especially my prayer, the one that still haunts me.
It was summertime and we'd been preparing for weeks. In 1964, I was six years old and I thought I knew everything. I was the rule-follower and vigilant enforcer, "in charge" (or so I thought) of my four-year-old brother, Forest, and my baby sister, Rachel, who was three.
After each trip to the grocery store, we would watch Mom set aside one or two items for the "beach box," a sturdy cardboard box she tucked beside the refrigerator, far out of our reach. Saltines, Peter Pan peanut butter, Mt. Olive dill pickles, and two boxes of Life cereal filled the front, while the special treats, Lance cheese crackers and Little Debbie oatmeal pies, were mostly hidden near the back.
Our plan was to head out before daybreak the next morning for our annual two-week trip to Myrtle Beach. My siblings and I colored as we waited in the den for Dad to get home. It was almost time for dinner, a family staple you could set your watch by. Six o'clock was the usual magic hour when all outside distractions were turned off, put up, or otherwise silenced so we could share an uninterrupted family meal together. We knew no other way to dine.
That night was a special dinner, a "clean out the refrigerator" breakfast-for-dinner meal—eggs, bacon, grits, and gravy. I watched Mom's shadow dart back and forth between the stove, refrigerator, and sink. Then I heard a pop. "Canned biscuits tonight, guys," I whispered. "Don't say anything, Ray." I shot a look at my sister, her blonde pigtails swinging back and forth with each stroke of her crayon as she hummed, "Oh My Darling, Clementine." She stopped coloring and returned my look, a slight smile curling at one side of her mouth.
"She won't." Forest interrupted our standoff and moved in front of our sassy sister to see if he could get those mischievous green eyes to lock onto his soft blue ones. "Will you, Ray?"
"But homemade biscuits are better." She peered beyond Forest to rest her impish eyes on me. "And I don't like canned biscuits." And the battle of the sisters, another family staple began.
"Yes, you do," I said.
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do, Ray. You eat them all the time."
"No, I don't!" She pounded her fist on the coloring book. "Homemade biscuits are better and you know it, Becky," she fired back, far too loudly as she jutted out her chin and crossed her arms, jamming her fists into her armpits, her posture of defiance I knew too well.
"Shh," I hissed. "Mom's going to hear you."
True to our Southern roots, canned biscuits were the exception in our household. But this fight wasn't about biscuits.
"Your mom makes a mean biscuit," Dad said each night when a fresh hot homemade batch was passed around the table. Canned biscuits were a rarity. But if served, we were never supposed to mention it. "Mom works hard to get that dinner on the table. Let's be grateful, not critical," Dad would remind us. Apparently, Rachel hadn't learned that lesson, so of course I had to set her straight. She could hurt Mom's feelings if she complained. Maybe even ruin dinner.
"Everything alright in there?" Mom's voice cut through our bickering. It wasn't her "chocolate voice," the one that was anything but sweet—that rich dark growl let us know we were in trouble for sure. This time it was only her warning voice, louder than normal to drown out the iron skillet's sizzle, but still sharp and melodic with the last syllable emphasized for attention-getting effect.
"No unpleasantness," she crooned, her shadow darting faster. "You kids know better. Your father will be home soon."
"See," I whispered, jutting out my chin in my own defiant posture. Dad called Rachel"little bit" because she was the youngest and small for her age, but there was nothing little about her ability to stir things up; we could count on her for that.
"Remember, Ray, we are going to the beach tomorrow, the beach!" Forest gave hershoulder a gentle squeeze, and then widened his eyes. "So we should eat what we have. They may not be the best, but they're still good, right?" Ever the peacemaker, Forest had presented his case.
Rachel looked down at her scribbling and studied it. "Well, okay," she sighed, unfolding her arms so she could start coloring again.
Forest smiled at me and I grinned back in approval. "Hey Ray, you smell that bacon?" I said, trying to lighten the mood and unify the troops. We love bacon, don't we?" Forest and I both nodded encouragement to her.
"Yes, we do!" she replied and finally smiled, beginning to hum again.
We'd done it. Forest had helped her focus on the good while I reminded her of what we all loved and could look forward to. Together, we'd had ganged up on our sister to get her to behave, a dynamic we would continue—until we were no longer three and we couldn't.
"Dinner!" Mom called, motioning us in as she primped her hair and pulled her bright red lipstick from her apron pocket. "Your father's coming up the back steps." She touched up her lips and quickly blotted them with a tissue, stashing both back into the pocket before running her tongue across her front teeth and checking her smile in a knife blade's reflection. Then she looked at the three of us, searching our faces. "Is everyone happy?"
"Yes, Mom," we said in unison. That's what mattered. Happiness was a premium
commodity in our household, right up there with family time, gratitude, and planning. And Mom was the master of happy—she looked it, lived it, believed in it, and faithfully promoted it. But happiness took work. We each had to do our part whether preparing the dinner table or settling our differences. I shot Rachel another look, trying to raise one eyebrow like Mom did when she meant business. Then Dad burst through the back door into the kitchen and announced, "I'm home!"
"Dad-deeee!" we squealed and jumped on his neck, his Old Spice aftershave lingering despite the end-of-day stubble. His jet-black hair hadn't moved—slicked back into place with that little dab of Brylcreem. He kissed Mom hello while we still clung to his neck.
Old Spice and Brylcreem—the smells of the sixties, of safety, of my larger-than-life
father, the anchor of our family. At six foot three, my lanky blue-eyed minister father towered over all of us in both presence and charisma. He had a flair for the dramatic—both at home and at work from the pulpit—well, actually anywhere he went. With little effort, he commanded the room with his booming voice, broad smile, and eyes that seemed to look into your very soul.
"Are we ready for dinn-nahh?" he asked, his deep refined tone playfully mocking thehodgepodge menu—even though it was a family tradition. Any meal can be a special family time with the right attitude and Dad always knew exactly how to spin it to make is special. We each took our place at the table, immediately holding hands. Thank goodness the biscuits were beside Dad and the bacon was beside Rachel.
"Becky, I believe it's your turn to pray," my father said, nodding and shooting me a quick look, one of his signature pulpit moves he used to direct the service. Mom concurred with her approving smile and matching nod. No one could take a bite before we said amen. It was important to be thankful, even for canned biscuits.
I started my standard, "God is great, God is good . . ." But just before my "amen" and our customary hand squeeze, I took a short breath and added, "And please, God, let nobody die during the next two weeks."
"Becky!" my parents exclaimed, both forgetting the hand squeeze. Rachel's and Forest'seyes popped open, their jaws dropping in shock, so surprised they were that I'd apparently done something wrong.
"Well, isn't that a good prayer?" I asked, raising my voice a little higher and thinner,hoping for an angelic tone. "I just want folks to stay real healthy for the next two weeks. If someone dies, it'll ruin our vacation. Dad will have to come back to do the funeral."
Although I don't recall the exact response, I'm sure I received a lengthy lecture on the purpose of prayer. Even so, I thought I'd hit the right mix: I'd blessed the food and let God know what was on my mind—just in case he forgot. Regardless, I still hated funerals. They messed up my plans.
Funerals were the kind of thing I worried about as a PK—a nickname for preacher's kid that I didn't like much but accepted. PK's, like doctors' kids, have to deal with being on call, emergencies, and the reality that other people's problems become our own in a split second.
Although I grew up in a household of faith, where flexibility was a requirement, I didn't like the three D's—death, divorce, and disease—intruding on our family plans. These life-changing events were just a side effect of my father's job, a routine yet necessary nuisance.
I cringe now at the thought of that foreboding conversation, the selfishness, the shallowness, the way I discounted others' tragedies. But then I remember that I was only six years old. And it was a gutsy prayer. At least I was honest.
Later that evening, all five of us gathered for the pre-packing meeting. Dad rattled off each item on the checklist and the kids took turns hollering, "Check!" as mom looked on.
"Great job, guys!" Dad said, kneeling down to give us each a hug. "Faye, I believe your children have their ducks in a row."
"We do, Daddy," I said and turned to my siblings. "What do we say, guys? What doesDaddy always say?"
"What's planned is possible!" we said, just as we had rehearsed. And we knew this plan by heart.
We knew next would come packing time, Dad's artful but systematic way of stuffingevery nook and cranny of the large trunk of the Ford LTD. "Lay it all out," he would soon instruct so he could size up the load. "Luggage here. Beach chairs and sand toys there. Books over here." And we would litter the driveway with our memories-in-waiting.
We knew the alarm would be set for 5 a.m. the next morning, but that Rachel would already be up by then. We knew she would wake Forest and me—like she did every morning, but this time we wouldn't mind since the earlier we left, the sooner we would get there.
We knew Dad's "study time" would fill every morning while we played on the beach with Mom. We knew around noon we'd meet Dad back at the house for lunch. We knew he'd come down to the beach for twenty minutes about midafternoon. "I don't really like the beach," we knew he'd say when we begged him to stay longer. "It doesn't like me," he'd say since he burned so easily. "But I love it because you love it." Then he'd kiss us each on top of our heads and go back to the house.
We knew Mom would cook every night except for Thursday when we would go to Calabash for seafood. We knew we'd have to come in early from the beach that day to avoid the "gosh-darn beach traffic" and "the cotton-pickin' long lines" outside the restaurants—although that was precisely how we judged the "good ones." We knew we each would have a vote in what restaurant we finally selected, although Dad could be mighty persuasive if one struck his fancy or he had the "inside scoop" from one of his friends. We knew we would be seated in whatever restaurant we picked no later than 5 p.m. After all, that was the plan.
We knew Mom would get the flounder and Dad would get the two-choice combo platter, "shrimp and oysters, please." We knew Forest and I would get just shrimp, no slaw, but with extra hush puppies. And we knew Rachel would get a cheeseburger, plain, no mayo, mustard, or pickles since the juice ruined the taste of the cheese. But before we would even get in line, we would have checked the menu posted in the window to make sure they served cheeseburgers, since, well it was a seafood restaurant.
We knew Forest would order ice tea without ice. We knew the confused waitress would say, "Excuse me, sir. Did your son say ice tea with no ice?" We knew Dad would explain that Forest thought that ice diluted the flavor of the tea. Then Dad would joke that Forest must have ancestors from London, "Who else do you know orders ice tea without ice?" Then he'd rub the top of Forest's shoulders and tell him, "That's alright, son, the Brits are a fine lot," and pull him closer to say, "It's okay to march to the beat of a different drummer."
We knew if Rachel were in a precocious mood, she'd complain, "Why does he order tea that way? It takes too long!" Then add, cutting her eyes at me, "That's stupid." Then I would tell her that she was the one with the stupid order. Who gets a cheeseburger at seafood restaurant anyway? (Even though secretly that burger looked pretty good, especially since I really didn't like shrimp; I only ordered it to please Dad—and be like Forest.)
And then Dad would say, "Now girls," with his deep stern voice and I knew that she'd done it again—got me in trouble when she's the one who'd erred. Then Mom would lift one brow and say softly in her public scolding voice that we had been unkind to one another, un-ladylike, and "plain." And we would get up right then, in the middle of restaurant, to apologize and hug one another as instructed.
But squabble or not, we knew when the order of iceless tea came, Dad would ponder the tea bag and its life of extremes—how we boil it to get it hot, and then ice it to cool it down. How we make it sweet with sugar, and then make it sour with lemon. Forest and I would listen intently—even though we heard the story each time we went out to a restaurant. And Rachel, predictably, would roll her eyes.
But before the food came, we knew Forest would beg at least once, "Dad, tell one of your jokes." Dad had so many we thought he should number them so we would only have to call out the number. But instead, he'd give us a few options and then usually tell them all. We'd all laugh hard and long, but we knew Forest and Mom would laugh until they couldn't breathe and sometimes cry. Most of all, we knew we would have a great time, a highly anticipated expectation we exceeded every summer for fourteen years.
Until we couldn't.
"What's planned is possible," my father taught us at an early age.
"Got to get my ducks in a row," Mom said at least daily as she showed us how to plan your work and work your plan. Set goals, focus, and achieve them, I learned. Our family, individually so different, was united by lessons and traditions that were meant to last a lifetime.
But sometimes, the best-laid plans simply aren't possible.
We are shaped and fashioned by what we love.
FOURTEEN YEARS LATER, Sunday September 3, 1978.
The grill was still hot, smoking after the third batch of burgers for our Labor Day celebration. The smell of freshly baked brownies had lured some of us inside. I knew some of the kids, but had been invited by a friend of a friend to an off-campus apartment I'd never visited before. I was twenty years old and had just begun my junior year at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. I was looking forward to that sweet-spot year, comfortable with college expectations without the senior year pressures of figuring out what's next.
The phone rang, interrupting the banter of our casual reunion.
"Hey, Becky," my friend hollered from the back of the kitchen. "It's your dad."
"That's weird," I mumbled as I excused myself from the group, leaving a lone brownie perched on the side of my paper plate. "I wonder how he found me." I was at an obscure off-campus apartment. It was 1978, so there was no call-forwarding, custom greetings, or leaving messages. An uneasy tightness started twisting my stomach before I even said hello.
"Dad?"
"BB," Dad began, using his pet name for me, "There's been an accident," he said and then swallowed hard. "Your brother's been hurt."
"What?" I whispered, sucking in air and information as my knees bent and I slumped to the floor.
"He was waterskiing on Lake Hickory and hit the edge of the pier," Dad continued in a steady tone. "He hit his head . . . we are moving him to Winston-Salem . . . he's unconscious." His voice trailed on with information that I heard but could not process. The words stalled outside my ears, unable to break through the disbelief. Forest. An accident. Waterskiing. Hit his head. Unconscious. Going to another hospital in Winston-Salem, an hour and a half away.
"But he's going to be okay, right Dad? He's going to be okay?" I stammered back to my father. Forest had just come to visit. I just gave him a haircut. I just borrowed his leather-trimmed jeans. We wore the same size.
"He's stable, BB, but this is serious." Stable, but not okay. Coded words. Dad was so solemn. Usually he was optimistic, hopeful. He could find the good in any situation. But this time I could not get one positive word out of my father.
More words and questions pulsed across the wire. We pieced together a plan. I called my boyfriend and he agreed to drive me from Chapel Hill to the hospital in Winston-Salem. Mom, Dad, and Rachel would meet us there. I drove back to my apartment, threw a few clothes in a bag, and waited on the steps for his arrival. I'd never heard Dad's voice be so grim, so unwavering, so haunting. I squirmed on the brick step and traced my finger along its edge, letting its rough but firm pattern attempt to stabilize my spinning mind. But it was no use. All I could think about was my precious family.
WE WERE MORE than a family of five—we were five RFS's, we were proud to point out:
Robert Forest Smith Jr. (RF)
Ruby Faye Smith (Faye)
Rebecca Faye Smith (Becky)
Robert Forest Smith, III (Forest)
Rachel Fern Smith (Rachel)
Dad would kid us that it took him quite a while to find a woman with just the right initials. After two years of marriage and a miscarriage, I was born. Two and a half years later, Forest was born, with Rachel joining us only seventeen months later. At one point, Mom had three kids under the age of four. We had a busy, active household.
As a family, we shared more than our initials. Sit-down breakfasts and six o'clockSouthern suppers punctuated our daily routine. Mealtime conversations focused on our schedules, school happenings, current events, and opinion swapping about everything from the latest movies to the current congressional race.
My siblings and I were well-schooled in all aspects of family life, void of the typical gender limitations assumed at that time. Rachel and I knew how to wash a car, mow the lawn, and check the oil in our cars. We could spiral a football, sink a free throw, and hit at least a double on the softball field. I wasn't much of an athlete, but I was still a competitor. In another dinnertime blessing, I prayed for my team to beat Rachel's in basketball.
Again, Dad tried to help me with that "purpose of prayer" conversation.
"BB, you should have prayed for the best team to win."
"But Rachel has the best team," I said matter-of-factly. "And I want to win!"
Forest, a three-sport athlete with exemplary sportsmanship, knew how to fry a pork chop, set the table, and thread a needle. We all knew how to make "hospital corners" with our bed linens, clean a toilet, and jumpstart a car battery.
My father's grandfather, Papa Benfield, was a minister, as was my father's Uncle Knolan. When Dad "felt the call" to the ministry, both men gave Dad the same advice: "Make sure and spend time with your family. The needs of the pastorate can be all-consuming." They were right about that, as my childhood prayer attested.
Dad took their advice. As soon as they were married, my parents decided that sundown Friday to sundown Saturday would be reserved for the family. Once they had children, Friday night was date night and Saturday was reserved for the family—picnics, sports, cookouts, and special outings with each child. I loved spending time with my family. My parents were bright, funny, and always in motion, learning and teaching. When I turned thirteen, when all my other friends were complaining about their parents, I remember secretly wondering what I was supposed to rebel against.
Our family was close by design.
MY STOMACH STILL churned as I tried to reconcile Dad's strange voice with what lay ahead. I glanced at my watch and decided to go back into my apartment to grab a few packs of Lance cheese crackers and a couple of Cokes, staples I always had on hand. I sat back down on the step, opened a pack, and took a bite. It was an odd but reliable comfort food, helping me get through more than one all-nighter—and a few hangovers. That familiar crunch and nutty taste reminded me of those Saturdays long ago when Dad would take me to the Esso filling station where his buddy, Rex, would fill up our car with the weekly allowance for gas. Dad would buy a pack of Lance and a Coke for me for a quarter. It seemed so extravagant at the time. I would munch on my crackers and sip on my Coke, enjoying the salty sweetness, while I listened to Dad "shoot the breeze" with Rex. Dad would ask him about his service station business, his family, and then tell him a few jokes.
Dad could talk to anyone about anything, it seemed. Whether in the pulpit, at a gas station, or hanging out in my college dorm room, he peppered his conversations with timeless stories as well as knee-slapping jokes. My friends loved him. "Glad you got to see me, girls!" he would boom to my college buddies before he heel-clicked and saluted good-bye, leaving them perplexed. He nicknamed everyone, often to help him remember names, which was so important for a minister. "How are you today, Miss Sarah-with-an-h?" he would ask. "How's it going, June bug?" he'd quip. "Good morning, Pa-trish-aa!" he would announce, as if he were at a horse race and she were the winner. And to really throw them off balance, he'd ask, "How are you prognosticating?" with the face of a straight man waiting for a punch-line response, which again, was usually another puzzled look.
"Your dad is a hoot, the funniest minister I've ever met," my friends would tell me.
Occasionally someone would try to cash in on Dad's heavenly "connections," and ask, "Can you help us out with the man upstairs and arrange for some good weather for tomorrow's football game?"
"Sorry," he'd reply without blinking, "I'm in sales, not management."
I thought about that role as I took one last bite of my cracker while my boyfriend pulled up. I threw my bag in the backseat, jumped in the car, buckling up my seat belt.
And then I wished with all my heart, that Dad was in management.
MY BOYFRIEND, CARTER, lost himself in his "tunes," as he liked to call them, singing along to "Hotel California." Our bumpy two-year relationship was at a good place, for the moment.
Carter was a scholarship athlete, one of the captains for UNC's wrestling team. We'd met our freshman year. When I told him about Forest's accident, he borrowed a friend's car to drive me to the hospital.
I don't remember talking, only thinking. Detailed thoughts. Distracting thoughts
Untouched by hardship, neither one of us had much to offer one another. At age twenty, how could you possibly know what to say to help? We were in foreign territory, so I let the radio's blare fill in the chasm for the ninety-minute trip to the hospital.
The sharp edge of Dad's voice still rattled me. Then I thought about Mom, his perfect companion. I'm sure she was right by his side, as usual. I cut my eyes to glance at Carter. Perfect companion? Not so sure. I wondered if Mom and Dad had any bumps in their college days. Maybe we only heard the storybook version. Mom, Ruby Faye, was the oldest of four, her other siblings similarly named: John Ray, Robert Clay, and Pearl May. Her mother called the girls, Ruby and Pearl, her little "jewels." Mom's father died leaving his wife with four children ages eight, seven, six, and five. Because of the "financial situation," as Mom used to explain, the children moved to an orphanage in Kinston where Mom stayed until she received a scholarship to attend Wake Forest University—in Winston-Salem. There, she met my father.
I flipped the visor down and adjusted my sunglasses. The glare of the open road hurt my eyes—and my heart. Winston-Salem. Mom and Dad met there. I was supposed to go to school there. And now Forest is in the hospital there. The city that held so many memories, so much promise, now terrified me.
I LET THE shaded warmth of the sun slip my mind into more reflections about my family. My childhood seemed distant, yet present every day. What made us so close? Although love and laughter ruled in our home, expectations were high. We were the first family of the church, with five pastorates that had ranged in size from five hundred to two thousand. I couldn't remember a time when I didn't feel like we lived it a glass bowl. It wasn't uncomfortable—just a fact of life. We were often tutored on what to say, when to say it, and exactly how to say it, from how to answer the phone to what kind of information to give out about our family.
As for discipline, Dad was the tough parent, in charge at all times. He would "give us to the count of three" to "straighten up and fly right," or else. He rarely got to three.
Mom was less stringent, but focused on kindness and manners. "Pretty is as pretty does," she'd say. "If you can't say something nice, then don't say it at all." In fact, there were limits on the words we were allowed to use. We did not lie. We "told stories." Nothing was ever stolen. It was "misplaced." Mom even had trouble with the word, stink. Things did not stink. They "smelled badly."
Yet they were a team. Saturday nights were a prelude for the Sunday service. Mompainted nails and pin-curled hair. She made sure each child had picked out a complete Sunday outfit—lacy socks an d gloves for the girls, a bow tie and vest for Forest.
Forest at 3 years old.
Even in our teens, we spent Saturday evenings together as a family. All five of us would hang out, playing basketball in the backyard or washing our cars. Dad would grill steaks, while Mom made salad, baked potatoes, and Forest's favorite dessert, a cherry cream-cheese pie with a homemade graham-cracker crust. We often ate in the dining room using the good china and cloth napkins so we could practice our table manners. Then Dad would retire to the study for one final rehearsal of the sermon he would deliver the next day.
Then I remembered it was Sunday. Had they had that meal last night? What if it was—what if? The unknown was scrambling my thinking, jumbling the past and the future with the present that made no sense. Forest had to be okay. Had to be! And I took off my sunglasses and buried my wet eyes into my hands.
WINSTON-SALEM, TWENTY-five miles, the sign read when I finally looked up. I slipped my sandals off, tucked my feet under me, and shut my eyes to block out the haunting what-if's for just a little longer and focus on Forest, on what I knew. I must stay positive.
Winston-Salem was the home of the Wake Forest Demon Deacons. Hadn't Forest just finished his application for early admission? I knew he was working on the essay. He would be a shoo-in, no question. Student Council President. Youth Council leadership at church. Sports. Mission work. Music. Hadn't he just been elected president of a regional council, too?
Leadership came so naturally for him. Others seemed to be drawn to him for guidance, like Dad. Yet, like Mom, he was a sensitive soul. Patience and understanding permeated all of his relationships. He even managed to puzzle Dad a couple of times, I smiled. That's hard to do.
"Sometimes you got to 'get mean,' son." Dad would say after a loss in a football or basketball game.
And I'd watch Forest listen, but then discount the advice. "You don't have to be mean to win, Dad," I can hear him saying.
In elementary school, Forest was bullied one time and came home to tell the family. Dad thought it was the perfect time to educate him about the "fight or flight" response and encouraged him to stand up for himself and fight.
"But Dad," Forest said, "There is another option. I can make him my friend." I marveled at my younger brother and his offbeat but on-target insight. He never felt like my "little" brother in that stereotypical annoying way. There was nothing little about him—his thoughts, plans, laughter, or presence. In fact, I don't think I ever called him my little brother, just, my brother. Sandwiched between two sisters, Forest liked his unique role, often signing his notes to Mom or Dad, "Your only begotten son."
He was preparing to do what I had wanted to—attend WFU, like Mom and Dad. Those were my plans, too. Until that letter came.
I THOUGHT I'D blown it. That final interview was terrible. I'd told the scholarship selection panel about my high school accomplishments, my well-rehearsed future plans, and then skated through all the sensitive political questions about Watergate, the pardon, and the stumbling Gerald Ford, having pored over the latest issues of Newsweek, BusinessWeek, and Time. One stately gentleman whose three-piece suit was garnished with initialed cufflinks and a Carolina-blue striped tie asked me something about the aid programs for the OPEC countries. I had no answer. I remember staring at his gold cufflinks and thinking it was over.
"I don't know," I'd said. Like Forest, I was never very good at BS. One lady lookeddown at her notes and scribbled furiously. The three-piece suit guy cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "I'm sorry," was all I could think of to say. "But I have to be honest. I really don't know." And I held the tears until I got back home.
It's not your first choice anyway, I kept telling myself. I'd only applied to UNC because I'd been nominated for a Morehead (now Morehead-Cain) scholarship. We were Demon Deacon fans to the core, especially when pulling against the always nationally ranked UNC Tar Heels during basketball season. Ugh, could I really go there? Mom and Dad met at WFU. Dad had served on their board of trustees. We even named our German shepherd "Deacon."
"What's in this envelope could change your life," Dad said, waving it high above his head. And it did. The letter offered a four-year scholarship included tuition, books, paid internships, and a stipend. It was a lot to consider, especially given Dad's minister salary. I was the first of three who would need college tuition. I accepted. But Dad always enjoyed telling folks, "Yes, she chose UNC, but they had to pay her to go there!"
That was the Dad I knew. Finding just the right spin, even in disappointment. Please, oh please, let Dad be the Dad I knew and find something positive to say.
CARTER'S VOICE SNAPPED me out of my thoughts. He was singing again, Fleetwood Mac this time. "Don't stop, thinking about tomorrow, don't stop, it'll soon be here, it'll be, better than before, yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone. Don't you look back . . ." But somehow that's all I could do. I kept replaying Dad's words. When I thought about it, he didn't mention Rachel when he called. That was odd. She and Forest usually skied together. They had become close after I left for college. I didn't miss the squabbles and drama, but I envied the way they tag-teamed high school. They worked at the same dry cleaners, had the same friends, and both loved to water-ski.
I wonder if she was with Forest when he hit the pier. Oh my, I wonder if . . . if . . . if she saw it! I sat up straight, wide-eyed as a cold shudder froze my spine. I shook my head hard, trying to erase that horrific thought. I couldn't bear it.
WE PASSED THE exit for Wake Forest campus as we approached the hospital. Keep thinking of the future, the plans, I reminded myself. Forest would go there, I was sure of it. He'd earned it. Like Dad, he was unafraid to be front and center, and comfortable in the spotlight. Although I teased him about wearing his three-piece Sunday best to run his Student Council meetings, I secretly admired his guts. Even though I could handle the spotlight, I preferred a behind-the-scenes brand of leadership—networking, negotiating, problem-solving to gain consensus. Forest, on the other hand, came alive onstage.
Forest as student council member in 1978.
His dreams were huge, far larger than mine. Although we both had plans to pursue a law degree, Forest carried a United States Senate Seal on his key ring, vowing that one day he would be there and give the same seal to his supporters as a senator had given to him. Wake Forest was his next step; Winston-Salem his next stop.
But not like this.
We arrived at the hospital. Carter parked the car while I rushed in to find my family in the intensive care waiting area. Rachel was balled up at the end of a faded green couch, her knees tucked into her chest, her arms crossed, fists up into her armpits. There was no defiance this time—she rocked herself softy, with no words. She glanced at me and then returned her stare to the floor.
Mom sat at the other end of the couch, perched on its edge with her shoulders slumped, hands clasped, and head bowed. She looked as if she were in a deep prayer as her lips were moving but no sound was made.
Dad was pacing, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as his wingtips tapped softly on the polished floor. He heard me and spun around to greet me. "BB, honey," was all he said before he hugged me tight. I could feel him swallow hard as he held me. No words from him—again. When he finally released me, I looked up into a face that matched the unknown voice I'd heard on the phone only hours earlier. Mom and Rachel moved awkwardly to join us, lumbering as if they were sleepwalking.
Mom's face was pale, her bright red lipstick now a faint shade of crimson. Rachel barely looked up before we all hugged, but I could tell she was clutching something in one hand. We held each other for a while and then settled around a table in a nearby waiting room.
"What happened?" I said.
"It's my fault," Rachel said, her voice low and robotic. "I should have been there withhim. He said just one more round. That Dad said it was okay. He told me he would meet me back at the house and threw me his wallet." She unclutched her hand to release the smooth brown wallet that thudded onto the center of the table. We all stared at it as if it held the key to Forest's life, his next planned moment.
"No, no, honey," Dad said as he got up to hug her. "This is not your fault, not at all. Itwas an accident, honey. An accident." Forest had called home earlier in the afternoon to ask Dad if he could stay out a bit longer. They had planned to hit some golf balls, but Dad relented, letting his nearly eighteen-year-old son have a little more time in the sun with his friend. Rachel, then sixteen, was with them for a while, but had left before his last run in the cove. Apparently he was waving to some friends on the shore and skied too close to the pier, hitting it with his leg and head. He landed face down in the water.
Forest's friend and some bystanders helped pull him from the water and onto the pier where he tried to stand up and speak, but then collapsed. The rescue squad rushed him to the local hospital where he was first examined, then transferred to North Carolina Baptist Hospital and Wake Forest's Bowman Gray's School of Medicine, some seventy miles away from Hickory.
We sat in the small room, with small talk, and small Styrofoam cups of terrible coffee, each of us praying for Forest to wake up. For Forest to be okay. For Forest to be Forest and come through this. Somewhere in all the hubbub, Carter came in, comforted us as well as he could and then left. He had to return his friend's car and get back to school for practice. Our numbed family of four settled into the rhythm of receiving reports from doctors and saying prayers with ministers and friends. We greeted each with a hopeful smile. But the reports weren't good. Forest was not improving.
Although I wanted to see my brother, at the same time, I didn't. Maybe if I didn't see him, the accident wouldn't be real. I hovered outside his door and finally I slipped into his room, staring at the floor's cream tiles, flecked with shades of gray. I exhaled, dabbed my eyes and then raised them slowly to look at my brother.
He was quietly sleeping it seemed, his long lean body resting comfortably on his hospital bed.
Except for the tubes. And the pumps. And the beeping.
I moved closer, trying to reconcile what I saw and what I knew. Though Forest and I were almost three years apart; we could pass for twins. We shared brown hair, blue eyes, and a matching long-legged build. I touched his brown hair, the exact same shade as mine. I'd just cut it. The trimmings went everywhere. I'd never cut anyone's hair before. "Not too short," he said gently. "You can do it, Beck."
I wanted him to open his eyes, to see my eyes in his. I tried to talk to him. About his hair. About our plans for me to visit him at WFU. "Hey, Buddy, you got to get better here." I took his hand in mine. When we were kids, Dad would take our hands and entwine our fingers, covering our wrists. Then he'd ask Mom or Rachel to pick out which fingers belonged to whom. I loved playing that game. I so wished we were twins. Still, we were more than siblings; we were the best of friends. We confided in one another, debated political issues, and probed deep philosophical questions about the meaning of life. We also could laugh until we cried at a good joke. "Remember, bud. We have more dancing to do. More contests to win."
Was it only eleven months ago that he'd call me to ask if I could make it home for theSock Hop at school? "I'd like you to be my partner," he said. So I brought back the latest Chapel Hill dance steps and we shagged, hustled, and bopped our way through the night while Wild Cherry's, "Play That Funky Music" and other '70s hits blasted from the speakers. "Pretzel One," he called out, and I grabbed his hand behind his back to begin the twisting shag move. "Pretzel Two," he called again, and I reached behind my back to offer him my hand for the reversal. "Double P retzel," he whispered for the double-twisting grand-finale move.
"And the first place winners for the 1977 Hickory High Sock Hop dance contest are—Becky and Forest Smith. Come up and get your trophy!" The crowd cheered as Forest kissed my cheek and hugged me, holding my hand as we made our way to the stage.
I rubbed his hand, so warm yet still. "Wake up, Forest, wake up," I whispered to my brother. But the sleep was too deep.
Becky and Forest in 1978.
Rebecca Faye Smith Galli is an author and columnist who writes about love, loss, and healing. Surviving significant losses—her seventeen-year-old brother's death; her son's degenerative disease and subsequent death; her daughter's autism; her divorce; and nine days later, her paralysis from transverse myelitis, a rare spinal cord inflammation that began as the flu—has fostered an unexpected but prolific writing career. The Baltimore Sun published her first column about playing soccer with her son—from the wheelchair. 400 published columns later, she launched Thoughtful Thursdays—Lessons from a Resilient Heart, a weekly column that shares what's inspired her to stay positive. She also periodically contributes to the Baltimore Sun's Op-Ed page, Midlife Boulevard, Nanahood, and The Mighty and her memoir Rethinking Possible will be published in June 2017 by She Writes Press. Follow her on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram at @Chairwriter to stay updated on her upcoming memoir, giveaways, special announcements, and her unique insight into resilience and positivity.	Contact the author.
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Flint Water Crisis Addressed in Team Effort by 14th DIstrict
Posted by Michigan's 14th Congressional District Republican Committee 86pc on January 20, 2016
Flint Water Crisis Addressed in Team Effort by 14th District GOP
Water Collection Joint Effort with West Bloomfield Township Clerk
West Bloomfield, MI-January 20, 2016: Today the 14th District Congressional Republican Committee launched a water collection program to help citizens in Flint, MI. "Our fellow citizens in Flint deserve clean and plentiful water," said Janine Kateff, Chairwoman of the 14th District. "To maximize and speed our efforts to help, we decided to work with the office of West Bloomfield Township Clerk Cathy Shaughnessy to collect bottled water. I know that citizens in the 14th District agree that this situation must be addressed and addressed now. By combining efforts, we will deliver more needed water and do it faster."
The Township of West Bloomfield Clerk' Office will accept donations of bottled water beginning on Friday, January 25 and continuing through Friday, February 12, 2016. Donations may be dropped off at the Clerk's Office at 4550 Walnut Lake Road, West Bloomfield, MI 48323. Donations will be accepted between 8:30 a.m. and 4 p.m. during that period and questions may be addressed to the Clerk's staff at 248-451-4848. Donors do not need to be a resident of West Bloomfield. Donations will be transported to the emergency teams in Flint through transportation donated by Art Van Furniture.
"I am pleased to organize this water collection effort to help our neighbors in Flint," said Cathy Shaughnessy, West Bloomfield Township Clerk. "At times like this we all need to work together."
For those interested in making a financial donation, please send a check payable to "14th District GOP" and mail to 14th CD Treasurer Chris Konja, 6575 Stonebridge E., West Bloomfield, MI. 48324. Please note on the check that it is a donation for "Flint Water". All amounts donated will be used to purchase bottled water for distribution in Flint.
About Michigan's 14th Congressional District Republican Committee: The Committee fosters, promotes and supports Republican clubs, associations, organizations and candidates that support the Republican Platform. Republicans, clubs and businesses are encouraged and welcome to attend our meetings and events to network, grow the Party and recruit great candidates. The District is a narrowly configured geography that includes Pontiac in the north, other portions of Oakland County, portions of Detroit in the south and on to the Grosse Pointes in the east. Cities in the 14th include all or portions of: the Grosse Pointes, Detroit, Hamtramck, Harper Woods, Southfield, Royal Oak, Oak Park, Farmington Hills, West Bloomfield, Sylvan Lake, Keego Harbor, Lathrup Village, Orchard Lake and Pontiac. For more information go to www.14cd.com.
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