Mother's Day is just around the corner and this year & I decided to get my DIY on instead of the usual purchased gifts. These lovely ladies in my life deserve all the love and care that were put into this years gift.
I am lucky and blessed enough to not only have a super woman for a mom, I've also got a pretty amazing stepmother too. The list doesn't stop there, I also have a mother in law who has been such a live saver.
Due to the overlap of time with Mother's Day and Teacher's Appreciation, I made this pretty little dish for my daughter's Mommy & Me teacher, Ms. Becky. We have been going to this class at the city center since my daughter was just a few months old. Ms. Becky is also a fellow mommy and we wanted to give her something special as well.
With the help of Basic Invite, I was able to create personalized individual Mother's Day cards for each special lady this holiday. First, I searched handy dandy Pinterest for free downloadable Mother's Day printables & then checked my recent photos of my daughter for the images I had in mind. Once I had everything I needed, I jumped on Basic Invite and created these personalized Mother's Day cards & gift bag tags.
Basic Invite is one of the few websites that allows customers almost unlimited color options with instant previews online. Once you select a design, you can change the color of each element on the card to over 160 different color options. You can make sure the card is exactly how you want it down to the littlest detail.
I decided for Ms. Becky's gift, I would make one of my oven baked clay dishes and customize it with this tag I created for her gift bag. I uploaded my own image onto an accommodation card and cut a small slit into the card to create a tag. I customized the back with a pretty pink color to match the roses on the front. I wrote on the back of the tag with a personalized message and shared my gratitude for her.
For my mother and stepmother I decided to make them one of my DIY Sharpie Mugs. Now that these ladies have received a promotion and become Grandmother's they have each taken on a new name. They are no longer just mothers, but now "Manny" & "GiGi". I created one for each of them with some Dollar Store mugs I grabbed during my last trip. Don't worry my mother in law aka "MiMi" was not left out, she already got one on another occasion.
The theme I chose to use for the Mother's Day cards was to have images where my daughter was "writing" Happy Mother's Day to them.
Disclosure: This post is sponsored by Basic Invite. I received a free sample of the product for the purpose of this review. All opinions are my own. See Disclosure.
My stepmother lives in another state, so for her I created a card with an envelope so I could seal the card for travel. All the Basic Invite envelopes are peel and seal so the envelopes can be quickly and securely closed without having to lick each one. Genius, I mean really, who likes licking envelopes anyways!


text:
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A unique talent, an art for combining classic and modern to reinvent tradition. A youthful, refreshing, impertinent, offbeat style. An apt description of Joachim Horsley – or could it be Corum? Probably both, and that's what brought these two figures together. Millions of people know Joachim Horsley... without ever seeing ......Read More
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text:
Mr. Tanner
From The Harry Chapin Wiki
Revision as of 03:49, 2 April 2010 by MartyAcks (talk | contribs) (→Releases)
Mr. Tanner is a Harry Chapin song released on Short Stories . Mr. Tanner was based on a review of a performance by Martin Tubridy (note: the name is often misspelled Turbidy) published in the New York Times on February 17, 1972. Mr. Tanner became a concert staple with John Wallace singing the part of Mr. Tanner. At solo concerts, Harry would often bring audience members on the stage to sing Big John's part solo.
1.1 First release
1.2 Live releases
1.4 Various artist anthologies
1.5 Covers
1.6 Video performance
Live releases
Greatest Stories Live (1976)
Rockpalast Live - 25th Anniversary (2002)
Various artist anthologies
The Singers and Songwriters Collection (1973-1975) (1991) - Time-Life (CD)
In 1984, this song is by Anne Kerry, George Ball and the company on the Lies and Legends cast recording.
In 1994, Canada's Sons of Maxwell covered Mr. Tanner on their Bold Frontier.
In 1996, Australian David Campbell covered Mr. Tanner on his Yesterday is Now. In 2008, it was re-released on his First and Foremost release.
In 2006, Steve Chapin and "Big John" Wallace perform the song live on the The Chapin Family album Harry Chapin: A Celebration in Song: Volume I.
Video performance
SongFacts.com - Article about this song
Hitting All The Right Notes: An Interview With Big John Wallace - Circle! Winter 2004
New York Times - February 17, 1972 - "Tubridy, a Bass-Baritone, Performs in 2d Recital Here" ($)
Retrieved from "https://www.anyoldkindofday.com/index.php?title=Mr._Tanner&oldid=4217"
Harry Chapin songs
Harry Chapin songs covered by other artists
About The Harry Chapin Wiki


Big news today - Judge Tatel has written the D.C. Circuit's opinion in Comcast v. FCC, and Comcast wins.
Bottom line: The FCC didn't have regulatory authority over Comcast's unreasonable network management practices because it failed to tie that authority to any express statutory delegation by Congress.
FCC had said that the "necessary and proper" clause, by itself, gave it authority — but this claim has no particular limits. If we believe that agencies act under delegated authority from Congress, there has to be some link in the FCC's order to an express statutory delegation of authority.
Implications: There are both narrow and broad stories to be told here.
The next time the FCC wants to issue an Order or otherwise exercise power over high-speed Internet access providers, it had better be very clear about the source of its power, and it can't rely on just its "necessary and proper" clause in Title I.
FCC's arguments for its power over high-speed Internet access providers generally are now in jeopardy. It can't rely on Brand X as an affirmation of Title I authority, because the Court in that case simply deferred to the Commission's regulatory classification of cable modem services.
FCC's powers to impose consumer privacy protections on broadband providers or mandate the publication of cost information by them are now in jeopardy. These key elements of the National Broadband Plan may not be enforceable under Title I, and attempts to carry out these portions of the plan are likely to be the subject of heated litigation. Similarly, its nondiscrimination rulemaking is now in jeopardy, because that step depended on the same legal assertions that the DC Circuit found to be unpersuasive in today's opinion.
The FCC will likely take a deep breath and consider its options.
It got too long for a regular reply here, sorry.
The court told the FCC's bumbling lawyers that their best source of ancillary authority was paragraphs 706 and 230 of the Comms Act. But the FCC didn't use 706 in the Comcast order, and abandoned 230 in oral arguments in the appeal.
One might reasonably wonder if the FCC sandbagged this case in order to obtain a pretext for Title II reclassification.
Local Time: Thursday, April 18, 2019 07:26 PM PDT – Page Load: 0.3370 Sec.


Below you can view all the homes for sale in the Avallon subdivision located in Raleigh North Carolina. Listings in Avallon are updated daily from data we receive from the Raleigh multiple listing service.
To learn more about any of these homes or to receive custom notifications when a new property is listed for sale in Avallon, give us a call at (919) 480-3525.


This past weekend we spent ages in the garden, pottering and finishing off little jobs.
There are several staghorn plants growing at the bottom of the garden, which eventually will be removed when we build our workshop. Though they are currently taking over that end of the garden, I'm still enjoying their display of graduated autumnal leaves in the meantime.
The apples are still dropping, our tree really is huge. I collected hundreds of windfall fruits from the long grass, saving the best for cakes and pies and the rest for chutney. I also put a huge box of them at the front of our house for our neighbours.
Chris finished the shed by fixing the window and painting the edge panels, so hopefully now it will be water tight. We also picked as many apples as we could fresh from the tree. We are planing to store some over winter and into spring, so we modified a couple of cheap ikea shelving units into an apple storage rack and attached them to the inside of the shed.
I planted some hyacinths, anemone, crocus and daffodils into a pot for the front garden. I'm looking forward to seeing them flower next year and hopefully adding some much needed early colour to the front of the house.
Love the shed colour - our gate is painted a very similar colour. I wish you were my neighbour - our apple tree is only 2 years old and dropped all of 8 apples this year. How nice to have been out pottering - I look forward to seeing what pops up there in Spring!
Haven't we been so lucky with apples this year! We finished off ours, but have been given more by a friend! Love that first shot with the colourful leaves!
What gorgeous colors-even the little shed!


Zaranda restaurant has not been reviewed yet by a Fine Traveling editor. Be the first one to write a review of Zaranda restaurant in Llucmajor and upload your own photographs if you visited this establishment and you would like to recommend it to other travelers.
Do restaurants have an auto pilot?


text:
Gov't to land Sewol ferry as scheduled
All News 14:51 April 05, 2017
MOKPO, South Korea, April 5 (Yonhap) -- The South Korean government said Wednesday that it will move the salvaged Sewol ferry into a dry dock on land as scheduled despite technical difficulties and inclement weather conditions.
The 6,800-ton ferry was raised from the bottom of the sea and moved to the port of Mokpo, some 410 kilometers southwest of Seoul, on a semisubmersible transport ship. It sank off the country's southwestern coast near Jindo Island in April 2014, leaving more than 300 people dead and nine still missing.
The vessel is being readied to be transported to a dry dock at the port city so a thorough search can be carried out for the missing bodies that may still be inside the wreck.
"We are planning to put the Sewol on 480 modular trailers on Thursday as planned," said Lee Cheol-jo, the head of the government-led operation team.
Since the Sewol arrived at Mokpo on Friday, operators have been draining water and mud from the hull in order to reduce the overall weight. Due to the water and mud, the ferry is estimated to weigh around 14,592 tons at present.
The government had considered delaying the schedule to land the ferry as some experts cautioned it is too heavy to transport on to a modular trailer.
Officials and the salvage operator, however, said an attempt will be made on Thursday as planned before the neap tide period ends on Saturday. It is expected to take three to four days to move the ship from the transport vessel to where it can be checked.
Meanwhile, 20 animal bone fragments and some 100 items including a passport, bags and other personal belonging, have been discovered on the deck of the semisubmersible ship carrying the Sewol.
The passport was found to be that of Lee Joon-seok, the Sewol's 70-year-old captain who is serving 36 years in prison for criminal negligence and dereliction of duty.
Also, a massive search has started at the site where the Sewol ferry sank to find possible remains of those still missing and other clues that can shed better light on why the ship sank.
brk@yna.co.kr


Facebook Forgot Email Used - If you've shed the login details for your service's Facebook account, you can get it using among Facebook's a number of security functions. While retrieving and transforming a lost password can be completed in a matter of minutes, obtaining a shed username can take up to 24 hours to recover if you no longer have accessibility to the e-mail account connected with your Facebook login.
Step 1: Navigate to Facebook as well as click "Forgot Password"
Step 2: Enter your phone number, username or name into the ideal areas and also click "Search".
Action 3: Verify that the email address presented with your account is one that you have access to. If this is your email address, it can be used to log in to Facebook. If you have access to the email address or telephone number on data, click "Reset Password" to gain back access to your account.
If you no more have access to the e-mail address or telephone number detailed on your account in the password reset home window, continue to Section 2.
Action 1: Click "No longer have access to these".
Step 2: Enter an e-mail address where Facebook may call you. If you have a safety concern linked to your account, you will certainly be asked to address that inquiry.
Action 3: Click "Submit" to enter your request. You will be able to access your account utilizing your brand-new e-mail address and password after a 24-hour verification procedure.
Idea: If you are incapable to answer your safety and security concern, Facebook will certainly enable you to pick three of your buddies, each of which will certainly receive a safety code in their email. You may provide these safety codes to Facebook to regain access to your account.


text:
Scots bouncer branded 'the Devil' unleashed violent campaigns of abuse on two former lovers
Grant McCabe
A PUB bouncer branded "the devil" has been convicted of a campaign of terror against two former lovers.
Kevin Raymond, 28, put the women through harrowing ordeals at his violent hands.
Kevin Raymond violently abused two former partners
Raymond was found guilty at the High Court in GlasgowCredit: Alamy
One believed she was going to die while the other ended up in hospital after she turned up at the bar where he worked during a shift.
The women were praised by a judge after their evidence lead to Raymond being found guilty after a trial at the High Court in Glasgow.
The first offender was convicted of assaulting both to the danger of their lives.
He was further guilty of sexually assaulting one of the victims, but acquitted of raping her.
The crimes occurred between 2015 and 2019 mainly at addresses in Helensburgh, Argyll and Bute as well as Raymond's home in Alexandria, West Dunbartonshire.
Raymond stood sobbing in the dock as Lady Haldane warned him to expect jail when he is sentenced in the New Year.
Most read in The Scottish Sun
One of the ex-lovers told how Raymond initially "treated her well" before things "quickly turned sour".
He told her: "No matter where you are, I have someone watching you."
She was once battered after turning at the Logie Baird pub in Helensburgh where Raymond was working.
The 23 year-old said: "He pushed me on the chest and shoulders. He then opened the fire exit and took me down.
"The woman recalled being hit and said she "must have blacked out"She said there was "blood gushing" and believed her nose was fractured.
She added: "I remember being in the ambulance hysterical."The victim later took "selfies" of her "busted up face" and sent them to a friend.It included the caption: "Got black eyes now - great."
The woman told prosecutor Eilidh Roberston how Raymond also lost the plot when he saw a message from one of her male friends.
She recalled: "It was like this anger took over his face. It was like the devil and he was going crazy.
"He was calling me every name under the sun."
Raymond went on grab her by the throat and shove her to the ground.Jurors heard he once sexually assaulted the woman in front of her friend.
The ex-partner recalled: "He was talking about having sex. I was saying no, but he thought I was carrying on."He then rolled over and started trying to take my trousers down."
Raymond eventually stopped and "tried to laugh it off".
The woman insisted it had been "inappropriate".
Raymond also became angry at a pensioner, who once jokingly gave the woman a rose.
He stated to his then partner: "What is his name? I will f*****g do him in."
Woman, 37, dies after being struck by car near Bearsden Lidl as police launch probe
Raymond further attacked the woman after she had been at a wine tasting event with a male work colleague.
An earlier girlfriend told how she was initially assaulted "once a month" before it happened "every week".
The 25 year-old recalled: "He would punch me, headbutt me, strangle me."Asked how she felt during one attack, the woman said: "Like I was going to die."
He choked her at home after she also showed at the bar where he worked.
Raymond told his sobbing lover: "Stop panicking. You are making it worse for yourself."
The woman described Raymond as "really jealous".
The witness: "I stopped going out much and lost a load of my friends because of it."I was scared. He was telling me no one else would want me."
Raymond had his bail continued pending sentencing on January 18 in Dundee.
He was put on the sex offenders list.
Lady Haldane told him: "You have been convicted of a number of charges of abusive and violent behaviour towards two women as well as sexual assault."It would have taken great courage for these women to give evidence and the gravity of the offences means a custodial sentence is almost inevitable."
OAP kicked and thrown to the ground by gang of youths
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"Most KHL teams are not businesses," says KHL player
By Jason BroughOct 18, 2012, 2:35 PM EDT
Featuring locked-out NHL stars like Alex Ovechkin and Ilya Kovalchuk, you could make the case that the KHL is currently the best league in the world.
Off the ice, however, it's got a long way to go before it becomes a viable business.
That's the gist of a Postmedia article on the Russian hockey league, which, according to author Matthew Fisher, "survives off many hundreds of millions of dollars from oligarchs whose dubious fortunes were amassed when they ruthlessly bought up huge state enterprises for a song during the brutal months that followed the collapse of the Soviet Union."
The article's worth a read, especially the part about Metallurg Novokuznetsk, a KHL club based in Siberia that apparently has total revenues of just $500,000.
The team is so impoverished that its general manager, Leon Vaysfeld, for years a scout for the Toronto Maple Leafs, admitted he only gets a little more than halfway to the KHL's cap floor of $8 million a year. So some teams have at least 10 times more money to spend on players as he does. The shortfall of $4 million is picked up by the local steel plant.
Yet Novokuznetsk has still managed to sign former NHLers Randy Robitaille, Brent Sopel, and Chris Simon.
Says Robitaille of the KHL:
"At this point this league is not a viable business at this point. How can it be when a good salary in a local plant in Russia is only $600 or $700 a month? To make it a real business you need to sell at least 15,000 seats and have corporate boxes and they have almost no teams with that.
"Most KHL teams are not businesses. They exist as bragging rights for the owners."
Ovechkin calls KHL the best league currently in action
Ovechkin says he'll stay in the KHL if the NHL cuts salaries


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Home » Product » The Business Case for Software as a Service
The Business Case for Software as a Service
Software as a service (SaaS), sometimes referred to as "software on-demand," is becoming an increasingly popular way to implement business applications. This article is an executive summary of our full report, Software as a Service Shows Attractive Payback, which provides a brief overview of SaaS and analyzes the current adoption rate and ROI/TCO for this technology for users.
What is Software as a Service?
The concept behind software as a service is simple. Instead of a software vendor selling a software license that the client then implements and maintains in its own data center, the vendor (or, more properly, the service provider) hosts the system on its own computers in its own data center and provides access to the system on a subscription basis. In a nutshell, software on-demand turns software from a license sale to a subscription service. The term software as a service may be new, but the concept goes back to the early days of business computing, to the time-sharing systems that were run by service bureaus and more recently to the application service providers (ASPs) that came to being in the late 1990s.
There are two important variations in the model for software as a service today: the service provider may host a separate system for each customer (the "single tenant" model), or, the vendor may host multiple customers on the same instance of the system (the "multi-tenant" model). It is a relatively simple matter for most software vendors to deploy software as a service in a single tenant model. But only vendors that have specifically designed their systems from the ground up to host multiple clients on a single instance can deliver software as a service under the multi-tenant model.
Everyone's favorite example of software as a service is Salesforce.com, which is built with the multi-tenant model. Salesforce.com offers complete sales force automation and CRM functionality for a flat per-user, per-month fee of less than $100. There is no upfront license fee, and small deployments can be up and running in days or even hours. There are other examples of providers of CRM on-demand, including Siebel (now part of Oracle), which offers its traditional CRM offerings on a single-tenant hosted basis as well as a pure on-demand CRM product now called Oracle CRM On Demand.
There are hundreds of providers of software as a service. Examples include ADP, the long-time provider of payroll services; Netsuite, a complete ERP system offered as a service; Rightnow, another CRM provider; and Webex, the familiar provider of on-demand web conferencing.
Adoption Trends for Software as a Service
According to our IT Spending, Staffing, and Technology Trends 2006/2007 survey, software as a service is already well established as a means to deliver business applications. As shown in Figure 1, 30% of all organizations in the U.S. and Canada have already implemented some form of software as a service. Of this number, 15% plan to increase their use of this technology, while 14% have no further plans for it. Only 1% of respondents say they are cutting back their use of software as a service.
Furthermore, there are another 18% of organizations that are either researching or in the process of implementing some form of software as a service. About half of organizations report no activity.
The full version of this report documents the differences in adoption rates for SaaS by size of organization: small, mid-size, and large companies.
The Economic Characteristics of Software as a Service
Among organizations that have implemented some form of software as a service, the economic results are positive, according to our 2006/2007 survey. This is, no doubt, a strong factor in the high adoption rates that we have seen thus far.
The full version of this report provides the percentage of firms that report positive, negative, and breakeven ROI for SaaS and the percentage of firms that report total cost of ownership (TCO) as less than, the same as, or greater than budget. It also provides recommendations concerning the types of applications that are best suited for deployment under SaaS.
Our research finds that software as a service is still in its early stages of adoption and it is growing quickly. IT managers will be well advised to investigate this model for business applications where appropriate.
This Research Byte is a summary of our full report, Software as a Service Shows Attractive Payback, which may be found on our website at https://avasant.com/report/software-as-a-service-shows-attractive-payback-2006/ (click for pricing).


There was always a sense of inevitability about Jake Locker winning the Titans quarterback job, and here's a good reason why — Bud Adams said so.
The Titans owner said Monday, shortly after the news came out that coaches had decided to play Locker instead of Matt Hasselbeck, that he was on board with the decision.
Adams said the front office called him to inform him of the decision, which he agreed with wholeheartedly.
"They knew I was interested in [Locker]," Adams said. "They called me to see what I thought and I said, "That's my man." Everyone is on board with this one, and I left it that way. I didn't tell them they had to do it, I just told him I thought he was young enough and tall enough and he can run with the ball.
Of course, a few months ago, Peyton Manning was Adams' man, and he told General Manager Ruston Webster to make a run at him, before Manning signed with Denver.
But as Vince Young proved conclusively, being the owner's man can win you a job, but it doesn't necessarily mean you can play.
If Locker doesn't meet his expectations, Adams will find a new man, and make sure his football guys get him this time.
I'm on board with that vest.
I heard that bud informed the FO of this decision, and not the other way around.
Are we talking about a RB or a QB? Bud might be confused.
I think it is the right thing to do, Locker looks just as good right now as Hasselbeck and at some point you need to turn the page. I am a fan of how the Titan's have handeled the situation, the the grizzled vet just seems to have lost his edge on the young guy, make the switch.
Nice of Adams to throw Hasselbeck under the proverbial bus. Locker is not the answer at the quarterback position. He better find " Another Guy ".
6-10 is pretty generous. Oh wait, I forgot, Locker is young, tall, and he can run. Championship!
Re: Bud saying they made the right decision in choosing locker over Manning.
Hey dummy, you didn't make that decision. Your offer of the farm was turned down remember?
And let's wait until playoff time to decide if the right "decision" was made for you. Let's not declare anything after week 2 of the PRESEASON!
I guess it's kind of unfair to expect an owner who dresses like that picture to talk up maturity and professionalism, but that's something Adams should be profusely thanking Hasselbeck for. After the wreckage that Adams' last guy VY left behind, Hasselbeck stepped in and restored the calm. That was huge last year.
Lucky for Adams, Locker takes after Hasselbeck and not VY that way. It's what's going to give Locker a real chance to be the guy that VY couldn't be.
I have no problem with this decision at all. What I don't understand is how we always have expensive backup quarterbacks. Kerry Collins and Matt hasslebeck.
What a clueless, meddling old man. Glad I am not a Titans fan.
Time for your medicine Mr. Adams.
How can you even bring up Vince Young when talking about Locker. Locker is a hard worker, comes early stays late and cares about his teammates. Not sure Young can say the same.
It didn't seem like totally throwing Hass under the bus. Bud was just honest. Hasselbeck plateaued in Seattle, and he did acknowledge that he's done well in Tennessee, but we all know Hass isn't going to win us a Super Bowl. Bud was a bit blunt, sure, but you've got to respect the honesty.
The more he involves himself in football decisions the better I like it. Uncle Bob makes me glad this guy bailed on us everyday.


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Chieuti (albanès Qefti) és un municipi italià, dins de la província de Foggia. L'any 2021 tenia 1.563 habitants. És un dels municipis on viu la comunitat Arbëreshë. Limita amb els municipis de Campomarino (CB), San Martino in Pensilis (CB), Serracapriola. Està situat al territori dels antics frentans.

Evolució demogràfica
Fonts: fonts ISTAT i Tuttitalia.

Administració

Referències

Municipis de Foggia
Municipis arbëreshë

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


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Does RoadBotics work w/ brick, cobblestone, dirt roads?
RoadBotics > FAQs > Does RoadBotics work w/ brick, cobblestone, dirt roads?
We do not analyze brick, cobblestone, dirt and gravel roads. However, we collect image data of all the roads within a municipal boundary. These roads will show up as "Other Roads" and will not have any ratings associated with them.
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flashglass 2021
glassworks
a publication of Rowan University's Master of Arts in Writing
flashglass2021
flashglass flash Volume VII 2021
MASTER OF ARTS IN WRITING GRADUATE PROGRAM ROWAN UNIVERSITY
All work in flashglass originally appeared as digital content at RowanGlassworks.org The staff of Glassworks magazine would like to thank Rowan University's Master of Arts in Writing Program, and Rowan University's Writing Arts Department. flashglass, a subset of Glassworks, accepts flash fiction, prose poems, & micro essays See submission guidelines: RowanGlassworks.org Glassworks maintains First North American Serial Rights for publication in our journal and First Electronic Rights for reproduction of works in Glassworks and/or Glassworks-affiliated materials. All other rights remain with the artist.
EDITOR IN CHIEF Katie Budris MANAGING EDITOR Cate Romano COVER ART "Bolt of Energy" by Britnie Walston Glassworks Issue 22 COVER DESIGN & LAYOUT Katie Budris Glassworks is a publication of Rowan University's Master of Arts in Writing Graduate Program Correspondence can be sent to: Glassworks c/o Katie Budris Rowan University 260 Victoria Glassboro, NJ 08028 E-mail: GlassworksMagazine@rowan.edu Copyright © 2021 Glassworks
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Table of Contents Molly Andrea-Ryan | Roses | 20 Heather Bourbeau | Yellow | 18 Becky Jeeves | Birthday Bear | 24 Andrea Lynn Koohi | Life Goes On | 14 Hannah Marshall | Snacking | 4 Kathleen McGookey | Postcard from Edgewater Beach Hotel Flower Shop | 8 Kathleen McGookey | Postcard from Waterloo | 9 Kathleen McGookey | We Have Grown Tired Of | 7 Katrina Papouskaya |How to Live in This Body | 22 Andrea Rinard | Entropy | 12 Shoshauna Shy | What My Father was Doing when He Learned that I Exist | 26 Meredith Sullivan | Family Tree | 15 Saramanda Swigart | The Blind Feast with the Deaf | 6 Karen Toralba | To Feed the Children | 19 Jer Xiong | So What Now with the House Gone? | 16 Thelma Zirkelbach | March of Grief | 10
with Blueberries for Sal by Robert McCloskey 1991, for my mother
She can't hold my hand once it starts, the metal-free room, the buzz and click of the machine. My small form, swallowed by the white tunnel, the pale, toothless snake. I am barely a bite. She sits beside the MRI and reads aloud, the sound of her voice to keep me still. Today, she will not break open in the anxiety of me, her daughter, five years old and a cancer survivor. She opens Blueberries for Sal and reads as if we are snuggled in the upstairs twin bed, the peeling wallpaper and the maple tree breeze whispering into this cold, aseptic chamber: "We will take our berries home and can them," said her mother. "Then we will have food for the winter." Last winter, when the IV had slid into my small hand, I made not one sound. So brave, said the nurse, but it wasn't bravery. I had endured these metal proddings for as long as memory. It's not bravery if the pinch is expected, a part of what it costs to be alive. Her mother walked slowly through the bushes, picking blueberries as she went and putting them in her pail. Little Sal struggled along behind, picking blueberries and eating every single one. The garden we planted on a neighbor's farm: onions, potatoes, three children digging in the dark mud, sun reddening my fair shoulders through a hand-me-down t-shirt, the hose water drunk which we would later learn was non-potable. So much can kill, yet so little does. It was a mother crow and her children, and they stopped eating berries and flew away, saying, "Caw, Caw, Caw." What did my mother reply to the congregants at our church, to the fragile way they glanced at my thin blonde hair? The other children knew nothing of my scars. A six-year-old boy kissed me beneath a folding table; we held hands and promised to one day marry. How far away is the future to this boy? Can he guess the pain it takes to love someone this much?
Little Sal's mother heard Little Bear tramping along behind and thought it was Little Sal. She kept right on picking and thinking about canning blueberries for next winter. And when my brothers and I turn to beasts in the autumn leaves out back, when the cocker spaniel dives and chases and we are all one pack, will my mother notice the ferocity of life in my shy face? Always so many dishes, so many dirty clothes. —a whole pail of blueberries and three more besides.
The Blind Feast with the Deaf Saramanda Swigart
After his death, my grandfather's easy chair remained at the edge of the Black Sea, just over his property line, in the middle of the Yıldız' small stretch of coast. He set it there to spite Gülben Yıldız, with whom he enjoyed a rivalry so bitter and ancient that no one quite remembered its origins, though it appeared to predate the fall of the Ottoman Sultanate. The two men had engaged in silent warfare for every decade of my youth in the form of theft, libel, and sabotage, springing leaks in one another's boats, spreading ruinous rumors, and undercutting the other at market. When the two of them were old and unsteady on their feet, the rivalry culminated in my grandfather's chair slowly rotting in the Yıldız' sea air. Afternoons he smoked hand-rolled cigarettes there on their property, afghan on his lap, pointedly ignoring the entire Yıldız brood, who gathered atop the bluff to glare at him. If they started to throw things—fruit and driftwood—he put up the umbrella he brought for the purpose and remained still, smoking and watching the waves. F  or whatever reason they never tried to move the chair. When grandfather died, old Gülben took over the seat. Gülben didn't smoke, so his wife Nilgün started bringing him his fishing nets to repair there. Their children had one by one moved away, to America and Germany and Dubai. He hardly had to look at the nets while he worked, his expert hands a blur. I watched him from the edge of his land. The next afternoon I watched again. And the next. I wanted to see how his hands worked so fast. One evening he motioned me over. I sat next to the chair and watched his hands. He didn't say a word to me but angled the seat so I could see better. When Nilgün brought his dinner she brought a plate for me too, and a small glass of Rakı. When it was time to turn in,Gülben rose and stretched. Before leaving he rested his hand on my shoulder and left it there a long time. I looked up and saw that he had tears in his eyes. We watched the sea together. He is gone now, and so is the chair. But whenever I return to this coast I can feel that hand, its skill and gravity, resting on my shoulder.
We Have Grown Tired Of Kathleen McGookey
We Have Grown Tired Of: 1. Assigned seats 2. The prix fixe meal 3. Rinsing out our stockings in the hotel bathroom sink 4. Monogrammed cloth napkins 5. The hand at the small of our backs, steering us; the sleek voice, purring, ladies, this way 6. Our sensible, low-heeled, black leather pumps, which crouch like sewer rats under our beds 7. Fifteen minutes in every gift shop following the tour 8. Our dark wool skirts which disguise stains. 9. The soft-boiled egg at breakfast, its top sliced off, the runny yolk simmering like a tiny, sulfurous lake
Postcard from Edgewater Beach Hotel Flower Shop Kathleen McGookey
Dear Mother, Yes, the glossy green and black tiled floor is sophisticated. Yes, the counters are bursting with baskets of roses and lilies and mums, all tied with coordinating silk ribbons. The air is so heavy with fragrance it could make a girl dizzy. But now there's no pleasing Edith. At breakfast, she was dissatisfied with her soft-boiled egg and lukewarm tea. Even though she was not supposed to, she left lipstick stains on her cloth napkin and crumpled it by her plate. She says this flower shop, though small and brightly lit, with its cascade of daisies by the cash register, trumps all the gardens we toured yesterday. Because everything here is for sale.
Postcard from Waterloo Kathleen McGookey
Dear Mother, our guide brought us this postcard showing the "types of wives which have contributed to the construction of the hill" after Edith and I woke with headaches. Is it a joke? All three women look stocky and miserable, no mistaking that! Black and white does not flatter anyone's complexion. Edith figures she is the short one with closely set, glowering eyes. Are those baskets on their backs, or three separate fortresses they have constructed? Our perspective surely lacks depth. Right now our guide is smoking and reading Le Monde in the hotel lobby. Yesterday the clasp on Edith's new gold necklace broke and instead of sulking, she pretended it was an offering to the blood-soaked fields. Tomorrow, our guide promises an expanse of meadowsweet. Edith feels sure those dear little flowers will not make her sneeze.
March of Grief Thelma Zirkelbach
"April is the cruelest month," T.S. Eliot said, but in my life March has always been harsher than April or even December. On March 25, 1987 at 2:00 a.m. the ringing of the phone that jolted me from sleep was the bridge between innocence and awareness, the link between my years as a daughter and my fatherless life. That night my father's heart stopped beating. Half dressed, my sister and I sped through darkened streets to St. David's Hospital. Never before had we faced the death of someone so close to us. By the time we reached his room, he had returned to life, and so we stepped back from the wobbly bridge and waited. I wanted to ask him, "What was it like to be dead?" but I didn't. Perhaps he wouldn't have known because those brief moments of lifelessness had been a rehearsal. He was moved to ICU where my mother, my sister and I sat stoically waiting for the few minutes twice a day when we could visit him. I suppose we could have done something else taken a walk, taken a break—but we stayed in place, planted there like the spring flowers blooming in the yards outside, but without their colors. I missed him already. He was my hero, my cheerleader, my confidante. I pictured the breakfast room table with an empty chair where he always sat. What would I do without my Daddy? ~ My mind flashed back to my childhood on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. I was ten years old. It was late morning, time for the Yizkor service, when Jews remember the dead. My mother looked around nervously and shooed me out. Children did not attend Yizkor services. I scurried out of the sanctuary and hurried downstairs where other kids and adults who had not lost family members were gathered. I wondered about the mysterious ritual going on upstairs. I could easily have found out because the service was in the prayer book, but I never looked, even at the first line. I didn't really want to know. Knowing might have been bad luck. My friends and I went outside until it was safe to go back upstairs. ~
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Visitation time for ICU patients came and I tucked my childhood memory out of my mind and followed my mother and sister into Daddy's cubicle. "Where have you all been?" he asked. Those were the last words I heard him say. The next day Mother left to get her hair done. So she could escape? Or so she would look nice for the funeral? Who knew? On day three the doctor said my father's kidneys were failing. "We can move him out of ICU so you can be with him." My mother shook her head no. He died alone. It happened that night. I went in to see him for the last time. I don't know where Mother was but I know she wasn't with me when I whispered my goodbye. My sister had gone home to rest. I called and told her he was gone and then I waited in the hallway for her to appear. When she rounded the corner and walked toward me, I watched her take her first steps on the bridge I had already crossed. Together we would grieve, and together we would help our mother maneuver the rocky road she would have to travel without our dad. That year, 1987, on the day of Yom Kippur, my sister and I said Yizkor for the first time. Afterward, we visited our father's grave. In accordance with Jewish custom, we each left a rock on top of the stone to show that we had been there and that, for us, his memory was a blessing.
Andrea Rinard I need to make myself smaller. I need to not take up so much room. I suck the oxygen out of the house, this family. I'm busy shrinking myself when she comes into the only room in the house with empty hinges.  om has those eyes, and I know she's about to say again (and again, and again) "Did you take your meds?" M Yes. It's always yes. I swallow the pills every morning, round like a buoy. I do what I'm supposed to do even though nothing keeps me afloat.  hose eyes walk away, but they've rent my skin, and I seep, the blood rising. I try to unfurl my wings to fly away T because the window still works, but my wings are sticky, and I can't rise. A single feather falls. More will follow unless I'm very still, so I fold in on myself and try not to look up. ~ I need to make myself smaller. I need to not take up so much room. There's not enough space, enough air for me in this house, in this family. Mom walks through the doorway to the open portal to where I live, the only room without a door. Her eyes swallow me, and she digests me at a glance; I'm getting better at being small. " Did you take your meds?" she asks. I nod because I need to take away the sadness, a darkness over the hope and the love. If I'm smaller, I won't cast a shadow.  esides, it's always yes. I swallow the pills every morning, but I'm still the heaviest thing in the house, in the world. B I will sink us all, and Mom's eyes say she knows that, but she will always reach out her hand and let me drown her.  om's eyes walk away, and I look at my window. I will be able to fly away, far, far, far, and Mom's eyes won't see M me. I imagine I have wings, but I'm not a bird. I'm an anchor. My only view is the bottom, and I will sink down, down, down. ~
I need to make myself smaller. I need to not take up so much room. I am a vacuum that takes every breath meant for others. Mom pauses where my door used to be.  hey all stop when they pass, but Mom is the one whose eyes hurt. She asks me in the only language we now speak, T "Did you take your meds?" Yes. It's always yes. The pills are round like a seashell, but I can't hear my own voice no matter what I press my ear to.  om walks away, and I'm tired. So, so tired. I think of sun. The beach. A single gull that circles the sky. I want to M find that child who collected shells, holding them out to her mother who put them in a bucket like treasure. It's too far away to see clearly, but I keep looking out the window.
Life Goes On Andrea Lynn Koohi
The first thing out of the doctor's mouth was "how is your summer going?" and I felt like slapping her but I stayed in my chair, recalling ultrasounds with heartbeats and ultrasounds without, hexagonal pills and searing pain and a bag labelled "biohazard," and I remembered the mockery of the sun on my face as I carried the bag on the bus in my purse and delivered it to the hospital where a nurse removed the container from inside the bag, held it up to the light and chirped, "You got the right thing!" and took it away to be tested since this was number four and four wasn't normal, especially when you're 29, and she called me a month later to tell me it was a "genetically normal baby girl" and had no other words since the usual comforts didn't apply, and it occurred to me that I had no other memories of the summer except for the cloud that became the world so that even in the mirror there was only fog, and then the doctor said, "We can't find the cause and there's nothing else we can do, except maybe IVF but I doubt it would work," and she went to fetch some papers while the med student beside her whom I'd barely noticed before, squeezed her hands excitedly and took the opportunity to say, "I find this all so fascinating!" and I found it all so strange that as a light goes out in one person, it ignites in another, and it seemed I had contributed to the circle of life.
Family Tree Meredith Sullivan
I had seven dreams about my grandmother dying. Cancer was the first; hairless, wrinkled, reaching out a hand to my father, her only son. Next came the car accident. She was always a reckless driver, I remember holding onto the door handle as she sped through lights and hollered at jaywalkers. They just kept coming, night after night: house fire, hit by a bus, choked on her favorite steak dinner. Tripped at the grocery store. Went to bed after a Dateline special and simply never woke up. I didn't know who to tell. I didn't know if I was even supposed to say anything. I was a kid who snuck downstairs after bed to watch CSI from behind the couch, I had bad dreams all the time. Nights where I showed up to school naked, or accidentally locked Remy, our German Shepherd, in the basement. Even a hauntingly specific one of being attacked by those talking rats from some Disney cartoon. These dreams didn't feel too different at the time. The morning after the last one, my dad got a call at the breakfast table. It was brief, he said a few words, then went and locked himself in his office on the third floor. Not even my mom was allowed in. The funeral was two weeks later, a rainy Sunday spent wondering why I alone had been warned about this. I never had another dream like that. Never even had a single nightmare after that week, as luck would have it. If I dreamt at all it was fairly tame - visiting Disney World, lost in IKEA, an especially memorable one where I married my favorite Starbucks barista. Three decades of good dreams nearly put that week from my mind, erasing whatever precognitive abilities I'd dared to assume I had. My sister called this past Friday morning. She usually phones on Sunday so we can straighten out dad's care schedule for the week, figure out who's going to take him to the hospital when. It's usually all very straight forward. Kara doesn't beat around the bush; too many kids to wrangle, too little of her youth left. "You know," she started, taking a slurping drink of coffee, drowning out the background noise of the kids playing. "Elsie told me she had a dream about you."
So What Now with the House Gone? Jer Xiong
So what now with the house gone? We weren't allowed, a fireman said, to sift through the remains until we discussed it with our house insurance. Nails could cause injuries and the bare skeleton walls that survived could collapse at any moment. Windburned and dried eyes, we watched them hose the last of the embers. A police officer asked for our information and said the Red Cross would come by. Offered condolences. A stranger approached us, passed out a pamphlet for his contractor's company, then offered condolences. Neighbors came by foot and car, wide-eyed, at the tidy disaster. When the fire was 100% contained and evacuation orders lifted, only three houses were destroyed. Ninety-three acres blackened and reminded us of the other time our same block— because most of it was just yellow dry grass—burned without consuming any homes. That time, our house was lucky; the coops were untouched, peach trees bountiful, even the bees under the front porch eave whirled around paying no attention. What were we supposed to do? Don old face masks found in the van and roamed the clothing section of Wal-Mart an hour before the store closed. Bought underwear, shirts, pants, toothbrushes, and towels with the Red Cross's cards, totaling in the high hundreds for the nine of us. Drove to my married sister's house across town and slept on couches and mattress toppers. My younger brother cried and so did two of my sisters. What did we forget? Grandmother's traditional clothes, sewn by her mother in Laos. Grandfather's last words to my father, recorded on an old Samsung phone. VHS home videos of my sisters karaoking and lip syncing to classic tunes. Brothers' baby pictures, professionally taken with the moon and American flag as backdrops. My parents' photos from the early 90s and 2000s--taken next to our neighbor's floral garden, wearing puffy dresses and black suits as well as our traditional outfits—kept in large albums. Their documents from the refugee camp. Even the clothes mother sewed. The personal inventory list took weeks to complete. We didn't know how to calculate all that loss. Why did this happen? We checked CAL-FIRE daily but the cause was never updated. Insurance put us in a hotel for two weeks while we searched for a rental house but northern California lacked homes, especially after the Camp Fire. We still had doctor's appointments. We checked the mailbox. We visited relatives despite COVID because grandmother craved jasmine rice and greens and I wanted anything but the constant fast food that cemented my stomach. We went back to the site and poked through wreckage but it was the sight of the chicken carcasses in the backyard that prompted my older sister to weep, insisting that their souls must be furious.
What did I remember? Dreading smoke clouds. Screaming for my older sister to flee the garden. Heaving grandmother's suitcase into the van. Demanding everyone to get in the car. Seeing the house in the rearview mirror and believing the ancestors would protect it. Crying while driving because there was no home to return to. The bees and how, two days before the fire, my father sprayed them with water and destroyed their nests after all these years of tentative co-existence.
Heather Bourbeau The rain came down in sheets, the grey dampening a once crisp sky and dulling the buzz I had spent too much time and money cultivating. To say I was disappointed was to not understand how much I needed to stop the chaos or at least slow it down, how much I ached to escape your mother's shame when she found us entwined and unabashed in the rooftop garden. It wasn't the softness of my skin or the flatter bulge of my vulva that shocked her; she had always suspected your taste ran sapphic, it was my social standing and disregard for yours, or really hers as she saw what your neighbors most certainly did from their windows. You paused only a moment before running to soothe her seethe, while I stayed outside, slowly picking up lust-tossed clothes, folding yours, meticulously adjusting my shirt and pants and hair. I would not let her humiliate me, despite in many ways, having humiliated her. I see that now, and I know it is petty. Forgive me. I was not brought up in shame or guilt. I did not understand how you must have felt. I did not know that this, my inability to respond quickly, was would be what would break us apart. When you brought your sweets to the roof, offered me a plate of colored desserts, I had wanted just one bite of the yellow, unaware I should have savored them all.
To Feed the Children Karen Toralba
A boy, perhaps eight or nine, shifted under the weight of a sleeping baby on his back in a makeshift sling. Hands and face smudged with dust and dirt, he begged for money with vacant eyes and an outstretched hand, and he moved on when my friend said he had nothing to give. "They do that to get sympathy, and more money," my friend said as we walked further, "and if you give money to one, the rest see it and swarm you." My heart burst into a smile as I headed to the border town alone on a quiet, gray morning. "Maybe they're not up this early," I thought. I walked carefully to find anyone, everyone. In the distance, I saw him. Yes, he had the baby on his back. I rushed to him. He held out his hand, and I wondered if he recognized me from the day before. His monotonous motions told me no. He looked up at me with those same dusty eyes. I slung off my backpack and dove in for the goods. I handed him a package of raisin bread and beamed as I dug for milk. He looked away then at me again. "No food. Money," he said in English. "No, I don't have money, but you need to eat something. Here's some milk for your sister." I held the provisions out again. "Money," he said. Drained by the experience, he shuffled away, and some other brazen children plucked the snacks from my hand and ran off giggling. I stared at the boy and the baby until they drifted out of sight.
Molly Andrea-Ryan When she was little, she used the gazing ball like a funhouse mirror, watching her cheeks stretch as she danced around in circles, chanting incantations of made-up words. In college, it had only poked fun at her body dysmorphia, asking, Just how wide can we make those thighs? Now, she wonders what it would feel like to take it off its plaster pedestal and kick it down the street, what sound it would make when it broke. She splays her fingers and follows the curvature with her fingertips. The glass is cold from the March air, almost wet to the touch. What would they think if she cracked it like an egg? If she picked it up and hurled it against the window? The nieces and nephews she barely recognizes anymore, the aunts and uncles, all huddled around her mother like she's some kind of grieving campfire—would it shock them out of pretending like they understand what was lost? She wipes her fingers on her pantleg. Stepping back, she watches as the early rosebuds take on their new shape in the curved glass, how the red and yellow petals transform under the suggestion of purple tint. In a few months, the yard will be empty of rose bushes. Without her father to tend them, they will become the charge of the church, orphans replanted in a prayer garden. Closing her eyes, she grips the gazing ball in both hands and holds it over her head. She breathes in the smell of lingering dew on year-old mulch and looks up to see her own funhouse face staring back at her. Then, she lets it drop and it shatters on the concrete. ~ When her wife dies thirty years later, she tells the funeral director she doesn't want to see a single rose at the service. She buys wilting bouquets of ranunculus from the grocery store and places them in empty gold-painted wine bottles. They look foolish, their heads turned every which way like they've never lost anything in their lives. After the service ends, she stands at the back of the reception hall with a crumpled paper cup gripped in her hand. Coffee roils in her otherwise empty stomach and she walks to the bathroom to throw up. Washing and drying her hands, she spots a soft touch of pink in the trashcan and finds a cluster of cut roses buried beneath a wad of paper towel. A gift from an unsuspecting guest, she supposes, someone from her wife's side of
the family. She wonders who tipped them off, the funeral director or her brother. She pushes aside the paper towels and pulls the bouquet from the trash, shaking loose the wispy backing of a menstrual pad clinging to a bruised petal. That night, she falls asleep with both lamps and the overhead light on, the bouquet of roses tucked beneath the comforter on her wife's side of the bed. Their fragile blooms rest against the pillowcase she can't bring herself to wash. In the morning, she awakens to find the roses battered and broken beneath the arm she must have extended in search of her wife's sleeping form. She scoops the stems into her fist and carries them with her as she walks down the hallway and into the kitchen. She fills a vase with water for her defeated bouquet and pours herself a cup of dayold coffee. She pulls on a housecoat and steps into her slippers before carrying the vase out to the front walkway. The neighbor across the street looks up from their lawnmower and waves. She waves back and lifts the vase over her head before letting it drop. The neighbor stares as she walks back into her empty home, leaving behind a mess of shattered glass and dying roses.
How to Live in This Body Katrina Papouskaya
1. Run your fingers along the wheat field of your eyebrows to make sure the hairs are not crisscrossing but facing the direction of their growth. 2. Rub your stomach after a filling meal, testing its changed shape. When you cut off one head of body insecurity —counting calories, keeping clothes that won't fit, buying clothes you hope will – it grows another. 3. Don't drink coffee. You'll turn into an angry wind-up toy. 4. Don't drink cold brew. It'll make you extroverted in the day but at night you'll wake up crying from dreams about severed heads. 5. Drinking tea is acceptable. 6. Crack your finger joints like a light stick that releases opioid instead of light. Crack your toes next, then your knees. Your mom and grandma tell you you'll lose a prospective husband over this. You're willing to risk it. 7. Accept that your nails will tear off like perforated packaging unless you strengthen them by eating tilapia a few times a week. 8. Cut your split ends. Lose yourself in it for half an hour and then remember you were trying to finish a book. 9. Take your body to Barnes & Noble. Feel it tingle and hum. 10. Take your body to the movies. Go alone. Cry freely. Cry often. 11. Take your body on a Tinder date. Be amazed he looks nicer in person. His lashes are like the moon; the camera can't capture them. You have to wear mascara. 12. Shed a tear when a lash comes off on your makeup remover wipe.
13. Move your body up three steps to get on a stage. The only time you can restrain yourself from cracking joints is when you crack jokes. This means five minutes of perfect, un-joint-cracking you, so scan the Wednesday-night crowd at this oyster bar with care to secure a husband. 14. Smile when the crowd erupts like the inside of a car when you open a window going 80 on the interstate.
Birthday Bear Becky Jeeves
I only wanted to hold Birthday Bear and sit quietly while the adults talked, but Aunty Maureen had asked me to show her my new toy. She took the Care Bear from my outstretched hands. "Be careful," I said "he's new." But she didn't hear me. "Birthday Bear," she sang, bouncing and jigging him around up close to her face like a baby. "Birthday Bear! Birthday Bear!" "Be careful," I said again, but quieter this time. More to myself: something was telling me not to let on that I cared. Aunty Maureen lifted Birthday Bear up, holding him firmly around his torso; her red painted finger nails pinching his stomach. I grabbed the air, trying to reach for him back. Then up towards the ceiling he suddenly flew. Twisting and curling skyward through the air, spinning back down into her hands again like a trapeze artist or tumbling gymnast. My eyes stayed glued to the soaring yellow sun-ball. He flew high above our heads. And every time he landed, the knot in my stomach tightened and tightened. Aunty Maureen caught Birthday Bear with one final big swoop and a dip, but instead of passing him back to me, she took ahold of the single piggy-tail curl—his hair—on the top of his head—and started spinning. Around and around. "Oh look," she laughed. "Birthday Bear's having fun!" I wanted to laugh like the other adults in the room. Think the same things were funny. But couldn't. Birthday Bear was suffering. Every time his face came around to the front, our eyes locked and I knew his smiling happy bear-face was calling Help!
Birthday Bear hung precariously in the air. Faster and faster, she spun. I wanted to shout, Stop! Don't do that. You'll hurt him. But I feared Aunty Maureen's reply would be: "Oh Becky. You don't think I'm hurting him—do you? He's not alive you know!" But he was alive. He was feeling everything. The same way I was feeling powerless to stop everything. The cruel joke. "Oh Mum," Mercedes said walking into the room carrying a tray of sandwiches. "For heaven's sake—what on earth have you got there?" Mercedes—Aunty Maureen's daughter—was my favorite cousin. Even though she was older than me by fifteen years, and an adult, we were still friends. "It's a Care Bear," Aunty Maureen jeered. "Well, it's not yours is it Mum?" Mercedes said winking at me. "Give it back to the birthday girl will you and stop teasing?" Aunty Maureen lowered Birthday Bear. "Oh goodness," she mocked. "Don't be silly. We were only having a bit of fun weren't we Bec?" But I didn't reply.  I lifted Birthday Bear from her lap and pulled him in close to me. Everything's okay now, I whispered under my breath, stroking his head. And then later that evening, as I fell asleep, I vowed never to him out of my sight again. Care Bears have real feelings you know. Just like people.
What My Father was Doing when He Learned that I Existed Shoshauna Shy
Hopping onto the Dakota B bus as he read a text after a chemistry exam, and the woman he considered a one-nightstand was asking him to meet her at Planned Parenthood ~ Packing for a fishing trip with his buddies when his girlfriend showed up with a three-page letter she received in the mail from his ex-fiancée ~ Drinking a toast to his bride in a reception hall when my mother appeared in the doorway, stomach round as a beach ball ~ Decorating a Christmas tree when the TV cut to a breaking story on the local news about a baby left in a bicycle basket outside the fire station, which reminded him of an ultimatum he got last spring, and so he does the math ~ Pushing his six-year-old twins on swings while scrolling through an email from a cousin asking didn't he date a Sarah-What's-Her-Name at Cane Ridge High? Well, the reason she left for Iowa early senior year… ~ Arguing with his eldest sister in a law office over their parents' estate which included a bequest to some grandchild he'd never heard of ~ Fanning himself with a program while seated in midday heat at his grandson's college commencement when a semi-familiar woman sidles up and introduces herself, points me out across the lawn
Contributors Molly Andrea-Ryan is a poet and prose writer living in Pittsburgh, PA. Her work is featured or forthcoming in Sledgehammer Lit, Blue River Review, Pithead Chapel, Barren Magazine, and elsewhere. You can find her on Twitter: @mollyandrearyan Heather Bourbeau's work has appeared in 100 Word Story, Alaska Quarterly Review, The MacGuffin, Meridian, The Stockholm Review of Literature, and SWWIM. She is the winner of La Piccioletta Barca's inaugural competition and the Chapman Magazine Flash Fiction winner, and has twice been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She has worked with various UN agencies, including the UN peacekeeping mission in Liberia and UNICEF Somalia. Becky Jeeves was born and raised in England and now resides in Massachusetts. Her writing has appeared in HerStry, The Write Launch, Months to Years, and Happiful Magazine. When she is not writing she is busy curating artwork, vintage collectables and Asian porcelain for her antiques booth. Find her on Instagram: @becky_jeeves Andrea Lynn Koohi is a writer and editor from Toronto, Canada. Her work appears or is forthcoming in The Maine Review, Pithead Chapel, Idle Ink, Streetlight Magazine, Emerge Literary Journal and others. Hannah Marshall lives in south-central Illinois, where she works as the advising editor for Greenville University's literary journal, The Scriblerus, and as the poetry editor for Converse College's literary journal, South 85. Marshall's poem "This Is a Love Poem to Trees" appears in The Best American Poetry 2021. Her poems have also been published in Poetry Daily, New Ohio Review, The South Carolina Review, North Dakota Quarterly, and elsewhere. She received her MFA in creative writing from Converse College. Kathleen McGookey has published four books of prose poems and three chapbooks, most recently Instructions for My Imposter (Press 53) and Nineteen Letters (BatCat Press). She has also published We'll See, a book of translations of French poet Georges Godeau's prose poems. Her work has appeared in journals including Copper Nickel, Crazyhorse, December, Field, Glassworks, Miramar, Ploughshares, Prairie Schooner, Quiddity, and The Southern Review. She has received grants from the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Sustainable Arts Foundation. Katrina Papouskaya is a Russian-American writer currently residing in New Jersey. She is working on her MFA in poetry at The New School in New York City. You can find her online at: www.katrinapapouskaya.com Andrea Rinard is a native Floridian who wears shoes against her will and has mastered the art of hurricane preparation. She has work in Cease, Cows; The Jellyfish Review; Lost Balloon, and Spelk among others and has been
nominated for Best Small Fictions and Best of the Net. Her first novel, a YA manuscript that won the Key West Literary Society's 2020 Marianne Russo Award for a novel-in-progress, is currently on submission. Andrea lives in Tampa with her three adult kids and her 1988 Prom date. You can find her online at: www.writerinard.com Shoshauna Shy resides in Madison, Wisconsin, a freelance copy editor and flash fiction author and poet whose stories have recently appeared in the public arena courtesy of Five on the Fifth, BigCityLit, 50 Give or Take, Brilliant Flash Fiction, and Ariel Chart. One of her flash was included in the Best Microfiction 2021 series by Pelekinesis Press, and she was also one of the seven finalists for the 2021 Fish Flash Fiction Prize out of County Cork, Ireland. Learn more at: https://PoetryJumpsOfftheShelf.com Meredith Sullivan is an actress and writer from Baltimore, currently living in Philadelphia. She graduated from the University of Pittsburgh with a B.A in fiction writing in 2017, and is still trying to put that to use somehow. Recently, she has been published in fresh.ink and Prometheus Dreaming. Saramanda Swigart is thrilled to be writing fiction exclusively after years of writing advertising copy and corporate literature. She completed an MFA in creative writing from Columbia University and a supplementary degree in literary translation. Her short fiction and poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Reed, The Alembic, Border Crossing, The Broken Plate, Caveat Lector, Clarion, Diverse Arts Project, East Jasmine Review, Euphony, Fogged Clarity, Glint Literary Journal, Green Hills Literary Lantern, The Grief Diaries, Levee Magazine, The Literati Quarterly, OxMag, The Penmen Review, The MacGuffin, Ragazine, Superstition Review, and Thin Air; her work has received an honorable mention from Glimmer Train and a 2017 Pushcart Prize nomination. Saramanda is working on translating some of the more salacious stories from Ovid's Metamorphoses. Saramanda teaches at City College of San Francisco. Karen Toralba is an American living in Bangkok, Thailand. She has worked in English education for 20 years, most of which have been overseas. This almost exotic lifestyle opens many doors to unique experiences which can transform into stories. She is embarking on her publishing journey with accepted pieces in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Fiction on the Web, The Fictional Café, and Buddy lit zine. Jer Xiong is a Hmong American writer. She received her MFA from California State University, Fresno in Creative Nonfiction. Her works have appeared or is forthcoming in maivmai, Celebrate Hmong, Pos Moua's Karst Mountains Will Bloom, Journal of Southeast Asian American Education and Advancement, and elsewhere. She's a member of the Hmong American Writers' Circle (HAWC). You can find her on Twitter: @itsjerxiong Thelma Zirkelbach has published micro essays, prose poetry, personal essays, memoir and romantic suspense. She enjoys writing short pieces that reflect her life. A native Texan, she lives in Houston.
Published on Jan 1, 2022
an anthology of work originally published at rowanglassworks.org
Glassworks Magazine
Hannah Marshall | Snacking
Pages 6-7
Saramanda Swigart | The Blind Feast with the Deaf
Kathleen McGookey | Postcard from Edgewater Beach Hotel Flower Shop
Kathleen McGookey | Postcard from Waterloo
Thelma Zirkelbach | March of Grief
Andrea Rinard | Entropy
Andrea Lynn Koohi | Life Goes On
Meredith Sullivan | Family Tree
Jer Xiong | So What Now with the House Gone?
Heather Bourbeau | Yellow
Karen Toralba | To Feed the Children
Molly Andrea-Ryan | Roses
Katrina Papouskaya |How to Live in This Body
Becky Jeeves | Birthday Bear
Shoshauna Shy | What My Father was Doing when He Learned that I Exist


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Q: Macro bugs on sheet change I have been working on a project with Excel. Thanks to Stack Overflow users :), I have couple of worksheet_change macros. Everything works flawlessly but one of them gives run-time error '1004' in some cases.
  Application.ScreenUpdating = False
If Target.Count > 1 Then Exit Sub
If Target.Column <= 25 Then
    If Target.value <> "" Then
    Range("A" & Target.Row & ":Y" & Target.Row).Select
    Selection.borders(xlDiagonalDown).LineStyle = xlNone
    Selection.borders(xlDiagonalUp).LineStyle = xlNone

        With Selection.borders
        .LineStyle = xlContinuous
        .Weight = xlThin
        .ColorIndex = xlAutomatic
    End With

    Selection.borders(xlInsideHorizontal).LineStyle = xlContinuous
    Application.ScreenUpdating = True
    End If
End If

So everytime I enter data in a cell, macro puts borders automatically starting from Column A till Column Y. It works alright but if a cell is selected (not a single selection but double click selection into the cell), if I try to change the sheet it gives me an error with this highlighted line:
Range("A" & Target.Row & ":Y" & Target.Row).Select

I could just deselect the cell and change sheets but I was wondering if it could be fixed within the macro?

A: There's no need to select at all:
If Target.Column <= 25 Then
    If Target.Value <> "" Then
        With Range("A" & Target.Row & ":Y" & Target.Row)
            .Borders(xlDiagonalDown).LineStyle = xlNone
            .Borders(xlDiagonalUp).LineStyle = xlNone

            With .Borders
                .LineStyle = xlContinuous
                .Weight = xlThin
                .ColorIndex = xlAutomatic
            End With

            .Borders(xlInsideHorizontal).LineStyle = xlContinuous
        End With
        Application.ScreenUpdating = True
    End If
End If

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


This site will highlight the food cultures of Iraq and Afghanistan. Through recipes and food stories, the goal is to provide a positive outlook into a region often portrayed negatively.
Hunter is a second generation Chinese American, Iraq veteran and food studies scholar. He has worked a random collection of food jobs, ranging from farming to food media. A California transplant, he currently spends his free time eating his way through NYC and complaining about the weather.


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NOW OPEN: The Studio in Boca Raton at Mizner Park
I love visiting places like Mizner Park in Boca Raton. It's just a vibe! Whether you're shopping, eating, or there for the entertainment – it's a great place to hang out… and it just got better.
My friend and fellow TV reporter Stephanie Tsoflias is the Executive Director of The Studio at Mizner Park.
The Studio at Mizner Park is Open!
The Studio at Mizner Park is located at 201 Plaza Real – right above Yard House. It just opened in November and brings new arts and entertainment venue to Downtown Boca Raton.
The Studio at Mizner Park has three different rooms to entertain and imagine, live shows, weddings, corporate parties, soirées, business meetings, and more
First, there is a 3,750-square-foot flexible theater that seats nearly 300 people. It also comes with a 30' x 32' stage, sophisticated sound and lighting, and an in-house production team (which is super impressive to me).
The behind-the-scenes spaces include the VIP Green Room and two luxurious dressing rooms. No doubt the Real Housewives will love this when they visit. No lower level for them. (If you know, you know.)
The venue's South Room is a 4,575-square-foot multi-purpose space that can transform into a banquet or party room for up to 200. There is also an exhibition space and a secondary performance venue with a 300-person capacity.
Then, there is the Gallery that welcomes guests to the second-level spaces with a 4,775 square-foot lounge including a full bar and outdoor terrace with views of Mizner Park.
The catering kitchen is fully equipped to accommodate The Studio's exclusive in-house caterer, Boca Raton-based Potions in Motion.
What's Happening at The Studio
The Studio will kick off the holidays with a diverse and energetic schedule of headliners including:
Open House at The Studio
Friday, December 16 from 5 p.m. – 8 p.m.
Celebrate the grand opening of The Studio with a DJ, holiday beverages and light bites, and a tour of the spaces. All ages are welcome.
Friday evening tickets: $10 admission for adults and $5 admission for children; drinks and bites are included
Holiday Extravaganza at The Studio
Saturday, December 17 from 12 p.m. – 3 p.m.
Ring in the holiday season with holiday baking, crafts, treats, and holiday sing-a-longs by Jeff Kaye and Krescendo.
Tickets: $15 for adults and $10 for kids; all-day access
An Evening with Celebrity Housewives
Saturday, December 17 from 7 p.m. – 9 p.m.
featuring Ramona Singer, Margaret Josephs, and Marysol Patton
VIP Cocktail Reception and Meet and Greet at 7 pm; Tickets are $99
Panel and Q&A at 8 pm; Tickets are $69-$99
Sean Green Dance Factory
Sunday, December 18 at 10:30 a.m. and 1 p.m.
Sean Green is an internationally known choreographer who has traveled worldwide to share his knowledge of dance through workshops. He is currently a choreographer for the Miami Heat dancers, a judge for the Miami Dolphins cheerleaders, and a founder of the Out of the Box dance intensives in West Palm Beach.
10:30 a.m. is the Tik Tok Hip Hop Dance Party for kids ages 5-12
$55 per person; snacks and drinks included
1 p.m. is Girl's Night Out
$75 per person; champagne and small bites included
My Italian Broadway Christmas
Friday, December 23rd
Kick off the holidays with world-renowned and award-winning jazz-pop vocalist, songwriter, entertainer, recording artist, and Carnegie Hall headliner Anthony Nunziata as he serenades and transports you with his soaring tenor voice singing timeless songs from the Italian, Broadway, and Holiday repertoires.
Tickets are $39-$49
Sarge the Comedian
December 24 – January 1
Sarge delights audiences with humor that resonates with audiences of all ages. And he is much more than a comedian – – Sarge is a self-taught piano savant, an author, and a motivational speaker.
December 24 at 8 p.m.
December 31 at 7 p.m. and 10 p.m.
January 1 at TBD
Tickets are $49 – $78
Rock and Roll Playhouse
January 22, February 12 & March 19, 2023
The Rock and Roll Playhouse performs songs created by the most iconic musicians in rock history. The Rock and Roll Playhouse band offers its core audience of families with children aged 1-7, games, movement, stories, and most importantly an opportunity to rock out.
January 22 – The Sounds of Grateful Dead
February 12 – The Sounds of Stevie Wonder
March 19 – The Sounds of Bob Marley
Tickets are $17.50, $20.00 at the door
To view the full calendar of events, click here.
To purchase tickets to any of these events, click here.
Plan a Florida Trip with Your Electric Vehicle »
« 10 Ways to Spend the Holiday in Wellington


text:
Ліньї [] () — село у Валлонії, частина муніципалітету Сомбреф, розташоване в провінції Намюр, Бельгія.

Раніше це був окремий муніципалітет, а в 1977 році об'єднання бельгійських муніципалітетів перетворило його на колишню громаду Сомбреф.

Історія
Місцевість найбільш відома як місце битви при Ліньї 1815 року, де Наполеон здобув свою останню перемогу, розгромивши Блюхера, у той час як сили Веллінґтона та маршала Нея вступали між собою в битву при Катр-Бра. Через два дні об'єднані сили обох противників зійшлися в битві при Ватерлоо.

Примітки

Села Бельгії