text:
The Global Citizen: Dream Her Way |
The Global Citizen: Dream Her Way
It's unsettling to run into someone who is truly free. It makes you see all the ways in which you yourself are bound. That's what's been happening to me and people around me, since Marcia Meyer came to our farm. Marcia is 55, small and unassuming. For much of her life she was a housewife and mother of four children in Bloomington, Indiana. At first glance she doesn't look like an independent thinker or a courageous adventurer. So much for first glances. Divorced in 1974, Marcia supported her family as a secretary in a mental health center. She stuck with her narrow, normal life until her youngest child graduated from high school. Then one day in 1981 she told the kids they were on their own and set off hitchhiking west. She knew only vaguely what she wanted -- something to do with community, with service to larger goals, with spiritual fulfillment. For awhile Marcia bounced around in intentional communities from Kentucky to California. At Alpha Farm in Oregon she met Joe Dominguez and Vicki Robin, both of whom had left successful, stressful New York careers to practice "financial independence," which they call FI -- spending frugally, building up enough savings to live on the interest, so that, as Vicki says, "you never have to suck up to anyone for money again." The key to FI is not in saving a fortune, it's in that word "frugally." "To be frugal means to have a high joy-to-stuff ratio," say Dominguez and Robin in their book Your Money or Your Life. "If you get one unit of joy for each material possession, that's frugal. But if you need ten possessions to even begin registering on the joy meter, you're missing the point of being alive....Frugality is not too much, not too little, but just right. Nothing is wasted. Or left unused. It's that magic word -- enough." You're not really spending money, when you spend money, Joe and Vicki say. You're spending the life energy you put into earning that money. You only have so much life energy. What do you want to use it for? Commuting? Shopping sprees? Going for walks? Playing with your children? Serving your community? Taking that question seriously does wonders for one's joy-to-stuff ratio, decreasing stuff, increasing joy. Inspired by Joe and Vicki, Marcia Meyer started to work toward financial independence. The first job she found was cleaning motel rooms. It didn't pay a lot, but by managing money as if it were life energy, by concentrating on her time as the real resource to be used wisely, she paid off her debts and begin putting money away. In 1984 she moved to Seattle and worked first as an office temp, later as an administrative assistant at a hospital. Once she volunteered to work the T-shirt booth at a conference on holistic health care. (She had learned that she could attend interesting conferences for free by helping out.) In the middle of the conference the sponsoring group's executive director walked off in a fit of anger. Marcia ended up with her job. "I did not have the credentials for that job," she says. But I did have integrity and clarity about money, which they badly needed. Once you get clear on money, incredible, unbelievable things begin to happen." Two years in that job, five years altogether working toward FI, and at the age of 45 Marcia had saved enough and learned to live wisely enough to get along nicely on the interest from her nest egg. She retired. Her time was all her own. What Marcia did with that freedom was join with Joe Dominguez, Vicki Robin, and six other people who had achieved or were achieving FI, in the New Road Map Foundation, a nonprofit organization dedicated to teaching other people how to do what they had done. They put on workshops, which developed into a taped course, which developed into the best-seller Your Money or Your Life. Every morning the New Road Map folks meet over coffee and chart out their day to serve, as best they can, their neighbors, the planet, the forces for good in the universe. They give their time to whatever they want -- or rather to whatever Lola wants. Lola is their ecumenical name for God. Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets. Lola does not want all work and no play. The New Road Mappers work hard, but they also like to invite interesting folks for dinner-and-discussion, or to go camping in their Ultimate Vehicle, a 20-year-old motor home, which they retrofitted. Marcia spent 10 years with New Road Map in Seattle. Last spring, for reasons she can't quite explain, she bought a cross-country Amtrak ticket and ended up, for reasons none of us can quite explain, at our farm, where she is a gift and a challenge. The gift is the way Marcia, perfectly free, no drains on her time, pitches into whatever needs to be done. She volunteers at the local library. She mothers baby ducks and puppies. She squashes potato beetles. She organizes things. When people need listening, she listens. Around her, quietly, smoothly, the world works better. The challenge is the set of questions she poses, not by asking them outright, just by going about her joyful, modest life. What are you selling your life energy for? What of your time, heart, and soul do you give up to have things you don't really want? What would you do, if you were completely, securely free? It's wonderfully unsettling to watch folks, including myself, hear Marcia's story, realize that if she could do it, so could they, and then glimpse, suddenly, believably, what life could be like, if no part of it were for sale.


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What can be more soothing than "WEEEEEE'VE GOT EEEM!" ?
Not sure about the stickers but free tanks are just fine. Ima shoot for 2 days.
hmm... Wargaming NA treating us nicely, what's the catch?
Oh boy, we're gonna get innundated by these things!
your going to have a hard time penning this tank. It's got Spaced Armor aka Shirts and Skirts all over it. The only real chance you have of HE pen is the turret front. But you can just fire AP.
Edited by Bronyman50, 12 January 2016 - 10:27 PM.
I'd prefer the pink Lee, cuz 'Merica... But am very content with the panzer.
the side skirts are extra spaced armor, but that's it i believe.
The traverses are pretty different too. There may be some other small changes.
So, do we get the sub or dub crew sounds?
You get the James Earl Jones dub.
Do the side skirts actually work against HE or is it just for show?
So will this show up as a mission? If so will it actually populate on its first opportunity?
Yeah, I'm not too huge a fan of the Blitz voices in general.
The English commander voice is a bit too monotone (although, all that being said, I'm not too huge a fan of the American commander in PC either...but the British commander is awesome). The Japanese commander sounds far less commanding than the PC Japanese commander, and he also founds a bit muffled. The German voice makes me think they took the PC crew voices then sharply down-pitched them, for whatever reason.
Edited by Rion12, 13 January 2016 - 07:52 PM.
Looking forward to this new tank!
My first post. I love this game! Yes, it can be frustrating. The grind is excruciating. I did all the wrong things. I jumped to higher tiers as soon as possible. AFKs and noobs can cause fits of rage that would make Louis Black proud. But its TANKS!! They keep bringing me back! TANKS!! When you ammo rack someone, its like a home run, or three-pointer, or short-handed goal. Awesome! Keep up the good work WG!
Oh..and Girls und Panzer should come with one of the girls straddling the barrel. Just a thought.
Edited by Klaus_Klavier, 14 January 2016 - 10:33 PM.
Okay...maybe she can sit in the commander's turret?
Oh great, a single entendre.


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text:
Q: DELETE statement with WHERE clause I have two tables, Table_A (DB1) and Table_A (DB2) in different databases (DB1 and DB2 respectively). In these two tables, price and quantity may differ (or may be the same) even if the item_id and store is the same.
                **Table_A (DB1)**

**item_id**  **store**   **price**   **quantity**
     1           A            1           1
     2           B            2           4
     1           C            1           1
     3           A            1           1
     3           C            2           1
     2           A            2           3
     3           B            2           2

                 **Table_A (DB2)**

**item_id**  **store**   **price**   **quantity**
     1           B            1           2
     2           A            2           3

Now I want to delete all such records from Table_A (DB1) for which the item_id is not present in Table_A (DB2) (remember, these tables may have different price and quantity for a given combination of item_id and store). The table I intend to get is as shown below (Table_A (DB1)-updated):
                **Table_A (DB1)-updated**

**item_id**  **store**   **price**   **quantity**
     3           A            1           1
     3           C            2           1
     3           B            2           2

To select such item_ids from Table_A (DB1)  for which the item_id is absent in Table_A (DB2), I am using the following query:
SELECT DISTINCT item_id FROM DB1.Table_A
WHERE item_id NOT IN (SELECT DISTINCT item_id FROM DB2.Table_A);

The above query gives me list of item_id absent in Table_A (DB2) (but present in Table_A (DB1)).
Now I wish to delete all the records from Table_A (DB1) with item_ids that we obtained in above step. I also want to do the same in just one go. I am trying to run the following query but it returns an error.
DELETE FROM DB1.Table_A WHERE item_id IN
(SELECT DISTINCT item_id FROM DB1.Table_A
WHERE item_id NOT IN (SELECT DISTINCT item_id FROM DB2.Table_A));

The error I get is:
Error Code: 1093. You can't specify target table 'Table_A' for update in FROM clause
Please help. Thank you.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


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The camera follows afterlife who makes his way down the hall,His long Purple Cloke following behind him Getting to the 4th door the camera shows the door sign and it shows the door name Daria Wilde C.A.O. Afterlife Knocks Twice nd a answer comes from behind the door. Slowly he makes his way inside.
Daria Wilde:" You..?what..what is it you want Afterlife? to..to take me out as well?"
Afterlife tilts his head and then shakes it slowly before kneeling down on one knee. His head down.
Afterlife:" No..Of course not My lady..I would never EVER hurt you..I only come to serve and protect you..I come to give answers to some questions you seek."
Daria gasps and holds her face a moment before walking out from behind her desk.
Daria Wilde:" Answers? questions.? Please..d..don't stay down there like that..you may get up afterlife,am not a princess or something.."
Afterlife looks up and raises slowly Daria seems fixed on his movements as she moves closer to him,looking up at him I t seems as both of them breath in nerviness.
Daria Wilde:" You know something i need to know don't you..? You can see inside my heart can't you??your a strange one..yet you say you bring me answers? to what?"
Her voice seems gentle and soft yet concerned, her eyes not moving of him. The camera stays behind Afterilfe. Afterlife nods slowly.
AFTERLIFE:" There is someone you seek..questions in your heart? A hole to be filled? Yet you do not need to fear..the PPV all will be better? Questions answered? I will bring you answers you seek soon My princess. You are a goddess, At least in My eyes..and in your heart..you know who I am..I just ask for a little more patience..Just another week..then you shall be answered and your heart filled."
Daria again holds her face and moves closer to afterlife..moving her hands she moves them to his arms..Afterlife moves back a step and looks down but then relases a gasp of breath and moves forward again. Daria gazes into his eyes, Her eyes start to fill with tears..Her breath shivers.
The camera moves back towards the door..the last shot shows daria and Afterlife imbraced in a hug as the camera fades.


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Q: How do I pass a bool variable from form2 back to form1? I am trying to pass a bool variable from form 2 and place it into form 1.  How would you do this?

A: 1 ,  By instance parameter
  bool flg = false;
  form1 f1 = new form1(flg);
  f1.show();

2,  By the public property.
  form1 f1 = new form1();
  f1.FLG = false;
  f1.show();

3,  By the public set method
  form1 f1 = new form1();
  f1.SetFlg(false);
  f1.show();

A: You need to write public property/method to return (exchange) data between forms. First of all you need to understand - How to access properties/methods of an object of one class from the methods/properties of an object of another class?
For instance, create a public property say Status in Form2 class,
public partial class Form2
{
  ...
  private bool _status;
  public bool Status
   {
    get
     {
      return _status;
     }
    set
    {
      _status=value;
     }
   }
  ....
}

Now, if you want to get the value of Status property  from within the Form1 method.
public partial class Form1
{
   ....
   protected void Button1_Click(object sender, EventArgs e)
   {
    Form2 frm=new Form2();
    frm.ShowDialog();
    bool status=frm.Status;
   }
}

A: I'd use an interface.
 public interface IForm
 {
    bool GetResult();
 }
 // form 2
 public partial class Form2 : Form, IForm (...)
 private bool Result;
 public bool GetResult()
 {
  return Result;
 }

 // form 1
 var form2 = new Form2();
 ((IForm)form2).GetResult();

A: //In Form1 define global static bool variable
Form1
{

public static bool variable;

}

// In Form2 call it
Form2
{
   Form1.variable = true;
}

A: Try this :
Form 1:
//Create global variable
public bool test;
//Initialize the form
Form2 f2 = new Form2(this);
f2.ShowDialog();

Form 2:
Form1 originalForm;
public Form2(Form1 incomingForm)
{
    originalForm = incomingForm;
    InitializeComponent();
}

Set or get like this:
originalForm.test
Hope it works


text:
Absence, by Laura Stout
Kate stared at where the rug had been. The one with the burgundy and green geometrical shapes she'd bought just last week to place beneath Ollie's bowls. Ollie, her sweet, stubborn, terrier-mix. He'd been found in an alley of rotting trash bins and doors with metal bars, whimpering and shivering, fending off an onslaught of black hooded kids hurling beer bottles at his emaciated body. That's what she'd been told and the story had gripped at her heart, left her weeping. She'd brought him straight home. And now the rug was gone. She'd stacked the bowls, as usual, in the dishwasher last night. But who'd have moved the rug? Kate glanced over to where Ollie usually lay beneath her desk, but he wasn't there.
The night before, Kate had gone to move Ollie from the couch and the dog had suddenly turned its head and bit her. She'd whipped her hand back, brought it to her chest and watched small pinpoints of blood seep from the skin of her palm. Unfortunately, it hadn't been the first time. Ollie had been displaying bursts of aggression over the last few weeks. Something he'd never done before.
She switched on the coffee maker, and it came to life with soft churns and steam rising. She pulled a clean yellow mug from the dishwasher, held the cool ceramic against her chin, and thought how she'd have to do something about Ollie's nipping before it worsened. A dog that bit would not be tolerated.
As Kate turned from the dishwasher, Alex appeared without warning, cell phone in one hand, the other shoved into a pocket, greasy hair raked off his forehead. He would do that. Kate would be alone in a room and suddenly, Alex would be at her shoulder, reaching into a drawer, or at her back, hovering, asking for money. He carried black moods and resentment on his shoulders like a precious weight. Not unusual for a fifteen-year-old boy. But Alex could pull her into that darkness like quicksand if she let him. He slumped into a chair and began madly texting into his phone.
"Good morning," Kate said brightly. She struggled every day to work her way around his sullenness. But she was growing more and more weary of trying. She poured some milk and cereal into a bowl and pushed it in front of him. She regretted the action immediately. For that was the problem, after all. The spoiling of him, the giving in, always capitulating to what he wanted, until there was no turning back.
"Have you seen Ollie?" Kate asked. Alex ignored her.
"Alex." She repeated.
"What?" He couldn't keep the annoyance out of his voice anymore it seemed, and Kate still flinched at his tone.
"Ollie. Have you seen him?"
"Who the hell is Ollie?"
His eyes never leave his damn phone, Kate thought. "It's not funny, Alex."
Alex looked up at Kate and squinted. "What is wrong with you this morning?" Alex snapped his phone shut, pushed the cereal bowl away and left the room.
"You have a nice day too," she called after him.
Kate began to go through the house, room by room, searching under beds, behind couches and chairs. She stopped when she reached the closed door to Stan's office. Stan worked commercial real estate, not successfully as of late, and, therefore, was inclined to bad moods and hypertension. She rarely knocked on that door. She couldn't ask Stan if he'd seen him. Stan hated the dog. He'd be glad it had gone missing. But there was still no sign of Ollie and she'd have to leave now or be late for yoga.
She pressed her ear to the oak panels and heard Stan's voice, flat and hard, giving instructions, recognized the demeaning tone. She brought her hand up to knock, then paused. The dog could have gotten out of the house somehow. Alex had come in late and might not have noticed Ollie slipping past him. He could be wandering the streets as she stood there and it might be better if she looked for him first. She pressed her hands to her eyes till silver flecks exploded in the blackness. Goddammit, she thought to herself. Twenty years had brought her to this childish hesitation. She was done with being afraid of her own husband. She knocked and opened the door.
Stan looked at her with fury brimming from his eyes. "Hold on, Jeff," he said into the phone. "I'll call you right back." He clicked the phone off. "What the fuck, Kate. Can't you see I'm busy?"
"I'm sorry. But have you seen Ollie?"
"Seriously, Kate. Is this important?"
Kate stared for a moment. She told herself to just walk away. It would do no good to further antagonize Stan now. But a churning anger, long coming, building up inside her like gathering storm clouds, was begging to be let loose. Shockingly, Kate put her hand against Stan's chest and pushed him hard, back into his office, then slammed the door shut. She froze waiting for Stan to burst out the door, but nothing happened. She leaned against the wall suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. She hadn't slept well the night before. Usually her dog slept beside her, in between her and Stan. She'd reach down and scratch his downy fur and his leg would kick incessantly and she would smile. But last night she'd left him on the couch, and in the middle of the night, she'd touched the empty place on the bed.
It hadn't always been this way. In the early years of their marriage, a trust had formed between them. She could tell him her secrets and he'd hold them close, protect them, like rare gems. He'd pull her into him and kiss her forehead, breathe her in. She'd felt his love pulse like heartbeats inside her chest. The loss of him was gradual. A thousand days would pass and she'd feel a thin layer of familiarity gone, like grains of sand shifting under her feet.
As she drove to yoga class, she glanced about the neighborhood looking for Ollie. She began taking detours down dead-ends and alleyways, and soon abandoned both the yoga class and her car. She walked through neighbors' yards, unlatching gates and stepping over sprinklers and discarded jump ropes, lightly calling Ollie's name. Roaming through a vacant lot, she stopped and kicked at a pile of lumber and a blaze of black fur darted out from under the boards. She watched the cat slink across the street and disappear.
Returning to her car, the sidewalks filled with children spilling out from morning kindergarten, skipping alongside young mothers, colorful backpacks sagging off their shoulders. For a moment, Kate felt Alex's tiny fingers tangled within her own. It was impossible to remember when it had all begun to change.
When Alex was six, they'd made a rare visit to Stan's parents' house. They'd always been strict and unappreciative of the charms of small children, and so Alex had been placed in the care of the housekeeper so the adults could dine alone. Just as the appetizers were placed on the table, she'd heard gentle sobs escaping from upstairs. Kate excused herself as her in-laws scowled at her. She found Alex at the top of the stairs, his little body curled and shaking, knees pressed into his chest. She picked him up and he gripped her arms and clung to her like tendrils of ivy, and she rocked him to sleep, singing softly, never returning to the table downstairs.
In the afternoon, Kate stopped by the dry cleaners, picked up items from the market, pulled cash out at the bank. It was four o'clock by the time she settled in at her desk.
Their home was a jumble of shabby, leftover furniture from Stan's first failed marriage, and a few of Kate's own pieces from long ago. She tried to keep the rooms organized and neat, forever trailing after Stan and Alex, picking up stray shoes and glassware, straightening pillows and pushing in chairs. But at least her desk was kept ordered, laptop squarely centered, surrounded by wedding photos and Alex's latest school portrait. She was thinking about tacking up flyers around the neighborhood with her phone number and a picture of Ollie when she noticed it was missing. The silver framed shot of Ollie as a puppy was gone. Something heavy descended beneath her rib cage and began to ripple and ache. Was Alex playing a practical joke? These days she couldn't put anything past him. But surely not this.
She clicked on iPhoto, scrolling through pictures of last summer's trip to the Grand Canyon, Stan's birthday dinner one month ago, searching for her recent photos of Ollie. She'd need one for the flyer. But they were gone. Every last one. There had to have been a glitch, some sort of error in her hard drive. She'd lost files before. But why only Ollie's photos?
She jumped up and hurried to the dishwasher, flipped it open and pulled out the racks. Ollie's bowls were not there. She scoured the kitchen, flinging open every cabinet and rummaging through Tupperware and pots and skillets and glassware. They were nowhere.
Looking out the window, onto the street, Kate thought she might see other things missing as well. But across the street, Bruce, the orange tomcat belonging to the Millers sat on their front porch. She watched as a man in blue jeans and a red baseball cap walked his German shepherd past her driveway.
Kate wanted to laugh. The alternative was to acknowledge the impossible. Or worse, acknowledge what Alex could be capable of doing. Could he have watched Ollie escape out the door as he came in last night and done nothing? Or had he taken Ollie and dumped him outside in the street, deleted her photos, hidden the dog's bowls?
At the front door, she noticed Ollie's leash was not on its hook. Instead, one of Alex's thin faded hoodies hung there like empty skin. She pressed her fists into her temples and squeezed her eyes shut, wanted to believe that her son was not capable of such an awful prank. She left the house and walked the neighborhood, calling Ollie's name, walking in circles until she sunk to a curb and wiped at the sudden tears with the back of her hand.
A breeze began collecting along the streets and alleyways. Kate returned home. She dragged herself up the porch steps, her legs like lead, her temples pulsing with a tender pain. The potted geraniums Alex had planted so many summers ago sat by the front door. She ran her hand across the petals. The plant flourished, always had, the flowers pulsing bright red, the stems reaching up and over the mailbox, like a manic weed. Inside, she kept waiting for Ollie's high, sharp yelp and the skitter of his nails against the hardwood floors. She envisioned his curled black body at the foot of the stove, his eyes tracking her every move around the kitchen.
She heard the garage door rumble open. Stan's Volvo pulled inside. Kate took chicken from the refrigerator and placed it in a glass-baking dish, plugged in the rice cooker, rinsed vegetables in the sink, each movement compelling her into the next.
Later, as they sat at the kitchen table. Alex drummed one hand against the wood and poked at his food with the other. Stan ate with vigor, skimming through his newspaper. Outside, the daylight tapered off into a darkness that cradled the three of them in a brooding silence.
"Can we talk about the dog?" Kate suddenly asked.
Alex looked up as if there were finally something interesting about to happen. "What dog?" He snickered, stared at Kate.
Kate looked at Stan. His lips were forming the words as he read. He ignored both Kate and Alex. But then, he never wanted to talk about the dog.
"By the way, the chicken sucks tonight," Alex complained.
"Watch it, Alex," Stan said without moving his eyes from the newsprint.
"It's a little tough," Alex said as his speared his chicken breast with his fork and held it up like an indictment.
"That's enough." Stan peered at Alex from behind the paper.
Alex shoved away from the table and left the room.
She wondered how this family had become so brittle, so tenuously made. All during dinner, they hadn't noticed how quiet she had been, she, the one who always moved the conversation forward, always grilled them about their day, lapped up whatever they gave her, gave them uninteresting details about her own, anything to keep the lines of communication open. She thought their apathy might be worse than the missing dog. She pushed her food around her plate and held one hand limp in her lap. It was as if she'd been extinguished.
Kate gathered dishes and took them to the sink. She turned on the little TV that sat on the counter top and tried to listen to the words of a newscaster. But they disintegrated and turned into a caustic hum and she let her brain go numb.
After dinner, Kate took a large crystal tumbler of vodka and a sleeping pill to bed with her. She fingered the polished beads of the rosary she kept on her bedside table. She'd given up on getting the boys to church, and most Sundays it didn't seem worth the effort to go herself. But within Kate, in some corner, solemn and quiet as a grave, a memory of her faith still beat alongside her heart. She held the rosary and studied it. Having been touched almost nightly for years, the beads were now the luminescent blue of winter twilight. She let them wrap around her fingers, let the burnished silver cross lay lightly against her palm. Then she squeezed it tight inside her fist and slid her arm under the pillow. She drank from the glass, yielded to the forward motion of time, and let the world fall away.
Gauzy light filtered through the curtains next to Kate's bed. She climbed out of a deep sleep and immediately she knew. The clarity stunned her, washed over her like a cold wave. But it wasn't just the fact of a missing pet. It was the absolute removal of an element of her life and the role Alex may have played in it all.
The bedside clock read nine o'clock. The house would be empty. As Kate rose from bed, she looked down and saw the blue rosary beads spilling from her fist and a ripple ran along her skin. She gathered laundry and carried it down the hall, sorted socks and towels and T-shirts, measured detergent in a plastic measuring cup. Small familiar acts, each one vital to ensuring her sanity, containing her in a state of required denial.
As she left the laundry room, Kate noticed Alex's door was ajar. His door was never ajar. His door was always shut tight. Sometimes locked. She went to the door and gently pushed it open.
A bed covered in a bright floral quilt filled the center of the room, and sheer green curtains hung from an open window. The curtains lifted and settled in the breeze like the rise and repose of mist. By the window, on a gleaming cherry wood dresser, yellow silk flowers spilled over the top of a thick glass vase. Everything that had been Alex's was gone. No messy bureau stuffed with books and bike locks and loose money. No computer desk with dusty keyboards, old soda cans and plates of pizza crusts. No grimy piles of T-shirts and wet towels piled in the corners. No bed where Alex had slept last night.
The bed, the curtains, the dresser, they were all wrong. Kate's mind was jumping tracks, careening wildly between a diminishing past and a wildly shifting present. This was impossible. This room could not exist this way. Her whole body trembled as she fled the room.
She hurried down the softly carpeted hallway, past the window at the top of the stairs where the warm light of summer seeped inside, through her bedroom with the unmade bed and crumpled jeans tossed on the floor the night before. She'd been too distraught to throw them in the hamper as she usually did.
In the bathroom, she closed the door and sunk into a corner on the cold tile floor. She closed her mind to the thought of the room she had just seen, focused on how Alex's room really looked, how it had always irritated her, the musty smell of it, the muffled music. She listened to the drip of the shower faucet. She had been asking Stan to fix it, was going to call a plumber this week out of impatience, and, of course not tell him. Eventually, her breathing evened out and she became light headed, almost unsure why she was sitting there. Looking around at the still damp towels, the combs and brushes scattered around the sink, the open medicine cabinet displaying pill bottles and shaving cream, the world seemed normal. But she knew it wasn't.
She waited until her legs would not give out on her and they allowed her to walk into her room and dig her cell phone from her purse. If she could talk to Stan, he would make it all right, put things back together again. That's what he did. Although, he'd been so abrupt with her lately. What if he didn't believe her? What if he grew angry and said she was crazy? What if he said she was crazy for thinking that anything was wrong?
She tapped the cell's screen and Stan's phone rang and rang until it went to voicemail. There was nothing she could think of to say that wouldn't sound completely insane. So she clicked off.
She thought of Isabel. They'd met ten years ago. It had been a warm September morning, the first day of kindergarten for Alex and Isabel's son Jeremy. A cerulean sky soared and stretched over the assembly of excited children and nervous mothers. The boys had immediately run off together to play. She and Isabel spoke together for a while under the shade of a wide and towering sycamore tree. It was the beginning of a friendship in which their lives slowly melded together like braids of textured ribbons.
She dialed Isabel's number.
"Hello?" Kate heard Isabel's sweet, patient voice.
"Isabel. It's me, Kate." Her voice splintered and she drew in a deep breath to keep from sobbing.
"I'm sorry. Who is it?"
"Kate. It's me, Kate."
"Kate who?"
"Isabel, this is no time for jokes. Please. Just talk to me. Please. Something horrible is going on." Kate's hand shook as it held the receiver. A low fissure of anger was forming in her belly, chasing away some of the fear.
"I'm sorry, but you must have the wrong number." The line went dead.
Kate leaned against her bedroom wall, let the cell phone clatter against the dresser as it dropped to the floor.
A tight fear was descending into Kate, gripping her insides, spreading through her limbs like a paralyzing drug. Yet her mind strained to find a way out, tried to insist, as a mother would to a child, that no monsters lingered under the bed. That the creeping shadows were not ghosts. Kate told herself the missing dog, the strange room, were an aberration, a mental lapse. She told the child that hid somewhere inside her that it was all a bad dream.
Kate grabbed her cell phone and pushed herself up against the wall till her legs locked, filled her lungs with air. If she went back to Alex's room now, it would all be there, all of his things, right where they belonged. Determined, she walked unsteadily back down the hallway. But the floral quilt, the curtains, the silk flowers, were all still there, taunting her with a sort of placid irony, as if to say 'isn't this what you wanted?' She crumpled and sat with her back against the bed, pulled her knees into her chest and tried to breathe.
Outside, car doors slammed, an engine came to life. People were still going to dentist appointments and soccer practice. Outside, a child wailed, laughter echoed. Outside, she imagined dark, simmering clouds hovering near the ground, and a crack, like a thin crooked line, widening, pulling things inside of it. They'd slip into the darkness, like terrified insects.
Inside, here in this room, Kate felt she was becoming unfastened from what was real, her world dissolving in a mist of confusion and fear. Inside, a mocking calm possessed the room, crushing against her until she thought she would scream. The clock on the dresser ticked off the seconds like locks clicking into place. She closed her eyes and waited.
Throughout the afternoon, Kate dipped in out of an unstable consciousness. At times, the room around her lost all focus, turned black. When she was lucid, she remembered the stale closed –up smell of Alex's room. The smell she should be breathing in, but instead there was cinnamon and fresh linen and nothing having to do with a surly teenage boy. She thought about how she could be in shock. Wasn't there shivering and a departure from your surroundings? She'd seen it on TV and movies and she welcomed it now. Wanted it to wash over and entomb her. Because how she would ever pull herself from this place and the absence of what had been, what should be there still, Kate could not guess. The walls of the room circled and spun, drawing Kate into a downward arc until she slipped beneath the floor. And the world went black.
When the light coming through the window paled, Stan's voice echoed through the house, calling her name. When he finally found her, she was curled into a ball with her back to the bed.
" Jesus Christ, Kate. I've been calling your name for ten minutes." Stan paused. Kate didn't move.
"Kate?" Stan knelt down and put a hand on Kate's shoulder, lifted her chin with a finger. At first, she looked right through him with red, hollowed out eyes. Her skin had become ashen. Suddenly, she tracked him with a fierce gaze.
"Kate, for God sakes. What is it?"
"We have a son." Kate choked out the words. "Don't you dare tell me we don't. We have a son." Kate grabbed Stan's arms as if she were falling from a ledge. "Don't tell me you don't know who Alex is."
Stan lifted Kate from the floor and sat her on the edge of the bed. "Kate. Calm down and tell me what this is all about."
"Don't tell me to calm down," Kate screamed. "We have a son. This is his room. What's happening to me?"
"I don't know." Stan kneeled in front of Kate and took her hands in his. He looked closely at her and she could see naked fear in his eyes.
"I'm calling Marcus. I'll have him come right over." Stan pulled out his cell and left the room.
Kate heard Stan's distraught voice outside the door. "Jesus, Marcus, she's talking crazy. Something about a son. She actually thinks we have a son. Yesterday, she's completely normal and now this. You must have dealt with something like this before. It's scaring me, Marcus. She's scaring me."
An hour later, Marcus inserted a needle into her arm as she lay in bed. Pushed in the medicine that would take her away, allow her to fall into oblivion. The last thing Kate heard was Stan and Marcus' muffled voices discussing immediate tests. "Bring her into my office tomorrow morning, first thing." She'd heard Marcus say.
Kate opened her eyes and made sure to breathe; in and out, in and out. The horror of yesterday left her paralyzed, nailed to the bed, unwilling to move even a finger, an arm, adjust a leg. Her mouth was dry, her throat parched, probably from the medicine Marcus had given her the night before. She turned her head to the nightstand. Stan had left a glass of water for her last night, but it was gone. He must have cleared it. She'd have to move.
She took the stairs slowly, each step guarded, her limbs like rubber. In the hallway, she stretched her arm out and laid her hand against the wall, closed her eyes, listened for the soft knock of cabinets opening or closing, footsteps traveling across a room. But the house swelled with an unfamiliar silence. Dread coiled around her chest and squeezed so she opened the front door and stepped outside.
Everything looked the same. The leafy elms, the front walkway, the wide street in front of their house. There was a newspaper on the lawn. Stan usually retrieved it, but her body moved forward as if on autopilot, to do this one thing. This one ordinary thing. As she bent to pick it up, a young girl rode by on a bicycle.
"Good morning, Miss Connor." The girl, little Elsie from down the street.
Kate froze. Miss Connor? She hadn't been Miss Connor for twenty years.
She turned to go back inside and the world spun in crazy little circles. The green lawn seemed to sink beneath either side of the walkway, the star Jasmine that pressed itself against the front of the house let go, and floated up over the door. She quickly grabbed the banister and steadied herself, closed her eyes until the spinning subsided. Back inside, something made her look for all the things she knew she wouldn't see.
Just inside the front door, her black pumps and brown suede boots were lined up, toes and heels touching. But there were no scuffed leather dress shoes or filthy sneakers strewn around them as there had been last night.
In the living room, the brown lazy boy, along with the messy stack of newspapers that sat next to it, was gone. She walked to where they had sat and ran her hand along the shiny green fronds of the palm tree. They danced lightly in the breeze coming through an open window. On the mantelpiece, sat a lovely framed picture of Kate and her sister by a glimmering pool, smiling, arms wrapped around each other. She touched the glass with her finger, just to make sure it was real. A faint memory of that moment with her sister was pushing its way to the surface, like a dream slowly remembered after waking.
Gone was the photograph that had been there yesterday. Stan with his hands resting lightly on Kate's waist, his chin just above her shoulder, his expression bound, anxious to get on with whatever he'd been doing. She could no longer recall with precision the day it had been taken, but there was a fleeting memory of the heat of studio lights and, as the years fell forward from that day, a heavy, flat feeling in her chest each time she looked at the image.
Throughout the house, Kate's presence flourished. Pastel landscapes spread across the walls where there had been nothing but a few family photos just yesterday. Delicate porcelain figurines graced shelves where there had been old magazines. In the kitchen, a single wine glass was washed and carefully placed in the dish rack. No other dish, no other glass, no other utensil.
She opened the door to Stan's office and it was wholly changed, bore no resemblance to what she'd always known to be behind that door. Still, something familiar breathed out from every piece of furniture, from the whitewashed walls and the soft carpet. His scarred oak desk had been replaced by a honey colored, glass-topped table. A blue silk settee sat where his pull-out couch had been. Kate found a wet bar stocked with cold bottles of Chardonnay and vodka and tonic water. There was no Kentucky bourbon. Stan had liked Kentucky bourbon. She had found it harsh and bitter.
She drank straight from a bottle of Stoli, tipped her head back, felt a few drops dribble down her chin. Her memories were losing that crisp, absolute quality, like sunlight striking asphalt. Already, certain images, like the slope of Alex's hunched back, the strands of unwashed hair across his forehead, were becoming vague and dull. What was left of him, what Kate felt mostly, was an impression of anger stamped upon her skin and bones.
She thought about the three of them, the dog, the boy, the man. Pictured them as prisoners somewhere, locked up together, forced to endure each other, their dark moods, their anger, all mixing together like a volatile cocktail, and Ollie chasing them around and around, nipping at their ankles, drops of blood pooling on the floor.
Kate didn't weep, didn't cry out for her lost son and husband. Instead, she drifted through the house, noticed the air felt lighter, windswept, like air after a heavy rain. She went out to the backyard. For a moment, things seemed normal, the house and yard as familiar as her own body. The blades of grass seemed to hold their breath; the wooden shingles stared at her, waiting. She listened to the soft green noise of pale leaves rustling on the branches. Breaths. The gentle pull of wind breathing against the trees. She fell onto the weathered lawn furniture, stretched her neck back, lay her head against the aluminum chair. The furrow above her brows softened and smoothed. She ran her tongue across her lips and smiled.
Laura Stout lives in sunny Manhattan Beach with her very patient husband and two, sometimes bewildering, but awesome teenage children. She shed the life of numbers and calculators and now spends her days pursuing the magical order of letters and words. Her stories have been published in numerous on-line journals and she won for best short story of 2013 at "Writers Type."
© 2014, Laura Stout
This entry was posted in Disappear. Tagged fiction.
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redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
APC Senators allege plot to sack INEC Chairman Attahiru Jega
The war of attrition between the main political parties in the country waxed stronger Thursday when the All Progressives Congress (APC) caucus in the Senate alleged that the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP)-led federal government has concluded plans to sack the Chairman of the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), Professor Attahiru Jega, next week.
The caucus, at a press conference addressed by its chairman and Senate Minority Leader, George Akume, said it had uncovered the plan by the Head of Service, Danladi Kifasi, to issue Jega a letter ordering him to proceed on terminal leave.
Akume, who was flanked by other members of the caucus, claimed that the planned removal of Jega was capable of disrupting the forthcoming general election, adding that only dishonest politicians would seek his removal at such a critical time like this.
The caucus said even though President Goodluck Jonathan has the constitutional powers to remove the INEC chairman, he should follow the laid down procedure for doing so, adding that he must secure the support of two-thirds majority of the Senate before Jega could be removed.
"We have received information from a very, very informed and credible source that next week, the chairman of INEC will be served a letter by the Office of the Head of Civil Service directing him to proceed on terminal leave.
"Whether the letter comes from the head of service or the Secretary to the Federal Government does not make sense. What we are saying is, even if you go by the terms of the head of the civil service of the 11th of August, 2010, with Reference No: HCSF/CMO/1772/T1/11, it is not applicable whatsoever to the chairman of INEC.
"This circular was talking about clarification on pre-retirement leave. Pre-retirement leave is applicable to tenured officers and career civil servants, which states that you are bound to disengage when you get to 35 years in service or when you get to 60 years of age.
"This provision is not applicable to Jega. Why would the federal government controlled by the PDP want to tamper with an arrangement that is so critical to this election.
"Jega was ready to conduct the pre-scheduled elections; the federal government controlled by the PDP was not ready," Akume said.
Credit: Omololu Ogunmade/ThisDay


Mini SuperGirl vs. Storm Trooper.
Yehudi Mercado created a poster for The Case, the Super 8 zombie movie written and directed by Charles Kaznyk within the JJ Abrams' movie Super 8.
KoldCastTV lists 12 Most Influential UFO-Inspired Movies and TV Shows.
Science Nation takes a look at the Physics of Animation at DreamWorks Animation.
The Shiznit lists "Inspirational life lessons I learned from dance movie taglines".
I will say that it was really important to me that whenever we could, we were just shooting what was real and then expanding upon it or extending it. So like at the crash site, there was a pretty massive area of ground that we just covered with real train debris. And we shot both day and night scenes there. We extended the shots where we needed to, but what was great was being able to shoot in-camera a number of these shots that just look like these characters were among crazy wreckage. And it allowed us to not rely on green screen or CG for the fundamental piece. I mean, the key in sequences like that in any particular shot, is embracing the idea of the peripheral vision – that what's in the peripheral should and can be done however you want. It can be CG, it can be done with 2D work, 3D work, it can be old fashioned matte painting, it can be in-camera, it doesn't matter, because what you are really looking at is this. And if you look at like old Albert Whitlock matte paintings, what's so cool about that—and he was the best—is, often, some of the stuff that would be on the side was literally these brushstrokes that… there was no detail. And it wasn't that it wasn't working for the shot, but he knew where your eye is. So that stuff over there, you know that that's windows on buildings. But if you actually look at it, you go, "Wait a minute…" And, of course, that was back in the time when you couldn't stop, freeze a frame, and scrutinize everything. So my point, though, is that those shots, so many of them work just so incredibly geniusly, you want the things at center as much as possible to have the most level of realism and detail. But at a certain point you're never going to be looking with that kind of scrutiny at certain areas, and that's where doing something that happens to be done with CG is so much easier, because, not that it's not being scrutinized, but it helps sell a context. If you can shoot something for real and not have characters acting in front of a big green or blue screen, it is obviously light years better than to shoot them on a real set.
PunchDrunkCritics list The 5 X-men characters in need of their own film.
IMPA has the Japanese poster for The Tree of Life.
AM lists the Top 10 Kate Winslet Performances.


Have you ever thought about how even the littlest thing can be wonderful?
Seven Simple Wonders was submitted for the Sublime Bitsy Jam. This was my first time composing music!
Sometimes when I am depressed I make myself go on a walk and I turn it into a scavenger hunt to find Five Things I Like. It usually ends up being flowers and bugs, or sometimes little quirky objects that seem to tell a human story. This reminds me of that experience and I hope it encourages others to go on such walks.
This is so beautiful! I welled up a little.
IDM grabbed the file for downloading via my browser but it appears to be an mp3 file.
seems to download ok through the itch desktop app.
This game is beautiful, I love how you took poetry and make it interactive with a beautiful and minimalist pixel art with a lovely and relaxing background music.
Tiny and wonderful, really makes you stop and think.
I love this! It's like a cute poem in videogame form.
This game is so heartwarming, and all the analyses of the earth items are a sweet twist on the mundane - they really do feel more wonderful this way!
This is so cuuuute!!!!! I love the framing you did!!
That was a nice little trip to the land of everyday wonders! :) Especially the comments about the apple and the flower have made me smile, because I never had these thoughts in this particular form. <3 A wonderful little game that I liked to recommend in our compilation article about this edition of the Bitsy Jam series. :) One minute of the gameplay can also be seen in the accompanying video. Keep it up, that was wonderful and cute!
Thanks a lot! I'm glad you noticed the rooms themselves, I spent extra time making them unique. Did you know that if you connect them all it forms a single, coherent map?
This was really sweet. Thanks for making it.
this is really beautiful. the music is so calming, great job!


text:
/////////1/////////2/////////3/////////4/////////5/////////6/////////7/////////8
// test_set.cpp

// (C) Copyright 2002 Robert Ramey - http://www.rrsd.com .
// (C) Copyright 2014 Jim Bell
// Use, modification and distribution is subject to the Boost Software
// License, Version 1.0. (See accompanying file LICENSE_1_0.txt or copy at
// http://www.boost.org/LICENSE_1_0.txt)

// should pass compilation and execution

#include <cstddef> // NULLsize_t
#include <cstdio> // remove
#include <fstream>

#include <algorithm> // std::copy
#include <vector>

#include <boost/config.hpp>
#if defined(BOOST_NO_STDC_NAMESPACE)
namespace std{
    using ::size_t;
}
#endif

#include <boost/detail/workaround.hpp>
#if defined(BOOST_NO_STDC_NAMESPACE)
namespace std{
    using ::remove;
}
#endif

#include <boost/archive/archive_exception.hpp>

#include "test_tools.hpp"

#include <boost/serialization/nvp.hpp>
#include <boost/serialization/set.hpp>

#include "A.hpp"
#include "A.ipp"

#include <boost/serialization/unordered_set.hpp>
#include <functional> // requires changeset [69520]; Ticket #5254

namespace std {
    template<>
    struct hash<A> {
        std::size_t operator()(const A& a) const {
            return static_cast<std::size_t>(a);
        }
    };
} // namespace std

void
test_unordered_set(){
    const char * testfile = boost::archive::tmpnam(NULL);
    BOOST_REQUIRE(NULL != testfile);

    // test array of objects
    std::unordered_set<A> anunordered_set;
    A a, a1;
    anunordered_set.insert(a);
    anunordered_set.insert(a1);
    {
        test_ostream os(testfile, TEST_STREAM_FLAGS);
        test_oarchive oa(os, TEST_ARCHIVE_FLAGS);
        oa << boost::serialization::make_nvp("anunordered_set", anunordered_set);
    }
    std::unordered_set<A> anunordered_set1;
    {
        test_istream is(testfile, TEST_STREAM_FLAGS);
        test_iarchive ia(is, TEST_ARCHIVE_FLAGS);
        ia >> boost::serialization::make_nvp("anunordered_set", anunordered_set1);
    }
    std::vector<A> tvec, tvec1;
    tvec.clear();
    tvec1.clear();
    std::copy(anunordered_set.begin(), anunordered_set.end(), std::back_inserter(tvec));
    std::sort(tvec.begin(), tvec.end());
    std::copy(anunordered_set1.begin(), anunordered_set1.end(), std::back_inserter(tvec1));
    std::sort(tvec1.begin(), tvec1.end());
    BOOST_CHECK(tvec == tvec1);
    std::remove(testfile);
}

void
test_unordered_multiset(){
    const char * testfile = boost::archive::tmpnam(NULL);
    BOOST_REQUIRE(NULL != testfile);

    std::unordered_multiset<A> anunordered_multiset;
    anunordered_multiset.insert(A());
    anunordered_multiset.insert(A());
    {
        test_ostream os(testfile, TEST_STREAM_FLAGS);
        test_oarchive oa(os, TEST_ARCHIVE_FLAGS);
        oa << boost::serialization::make_nvp("anunordered_multiset", anunordered_multiset);
    }
    std::unordered_multiset<A> anunordered_multiset1;
    {
        test_istream is(testfile, TEST_STREAM_FLAGS);
        test_iarchive ia(is, TEST_ARCHIVE_FLAGS);
        ia >> boost::serialization::make_nvp("anunordered_multiset", anunordered_multiset1);
    }

    std::vector<A> tvec, tvec1;
    tvec.clear();
    tvec1.clear();
    std::copy(anunordered_multiset.begin(), anunordered_multiset.end(), std::back_inserter(tvec));
    std::sort(tvec.begin(), tvec.end());
    std::copy(anunordered_multiset1.begin(), anunordered_multiset1.end(), std::back_inserter(tvec1));
    std::sort(tvec1.begin(), tvec1.end());
    BOOST_CHECK(tvec == tvec1);

    std::remove(testfile);
}

int test_main( int /* argc */, char* /* argv */[] ){
	test_unordered_set();
	test_unordered_multiset();
    return EXIT_SUCCESS;
}

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


text:
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Place our badge on your blog, if you just love a delicious Pastel de Nata or an exquisite Port Wine (Vinho do Porto).
By doing so, you're helping to promote great food to everyone in the world, namely more than one hundred main courses, starters, drinks and desserts that make the good of portuguese food.
To know more about this project, just check the "About us" section.


It is April 1994. I'm a final year student at a university in South Africa—on the threshold of a career in journalism. It is eerily quiet on campus. Most of the students have left for home. I'm staying behind, in the small student town of Potchefstroom, to cover the first democratic election for the local newspaper. It is exciting and scary and exhilarating to write the first draft of history.
It is beautifully crafted, telling the horrific story of the April 1994 genocide in Rwanda. While South Africa was on the brink of a new dawn, a nightmare was unfolding in Rwanda. What had been, to me, a vague piece of history of a country far away came alive in the words of the writer. It left me with an incredible sadness and an overall awareness of the roles of bystanders. As journalists, we can try to be objective. But one thing we should never be is silent bystanders.
In the course of a hundred days in 1994 the Hutu government of Rwanda and its extremist allies very nearly succeeded in exterminating the country's Tutsi minority. Using firearms, machetes, and a variety of garden implements, Hutu militiamen, soldiers, and ordinary citizens murdered some 800,000 Tutsi and politically moderate Hutu. It was the fastest, most efficient killing spree of the twentieth century.
A few years later, in a series in The New Yorker, Philip Gourevitch recounted in horrific detail the story of the genocide and the world's failure to stop it. President Bill Clinton, a famously avid reader, expressed shock. He sent copies of Gourevitch's articles to his second-term national-security adviser, Sandy Berger. The articles bore confused, angry, searching queries in the margins. "Is what he's saying true?" Clinton wrote with a thick black felt-tip pen beside heavily underlined paragraphs. "How did this happen?" he asked, adding, "I want to get to the bottom of this." The President's urgency and outrage were oddly timed. As the terror in Rwanda had unfolded, Clinton had shown virtually no interest in stopping the genocide, and his Administration had stood by as the death toll rose into the hundreds of thousands.
Why did the United States not do more for the Rwandans at the time of the killings? Did the President really not know about the genocide, as his marginalia suggested? Who were the people in his Administration who made the life-and-death decisions that dictated U.S. policy? Why did they decide (or decide not to decide) as they did? Were any voices inside or outside the U.S. government demanding that the United States do more? If so, why weren't they heeded? And most crucial, what could the United States have done to save lives?


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What do we want to feed?
The energy for this week reminded me of the two wolves.
Where Grandfather explained to his Grandson, that there is a battle between two wolves inside all of us. The Evil one, that's ego driven and the Good one, which is peace, truth and compassion.
This week, we are being faced with having to feed one of the wolves. But, the wolf we are feeding is outside of us.
When we offer our time and money to a place, person or organization, we are supporting it.
We are giving it continuity.
It is time for us to support what we believe.
If you find yourself viewing hypocrisy, or experiencing a lie, don't support it.
If you learn of something or someone that is deceiving, don't buy from them.
Giving time and or money to something that you feel has no integrity, or truth, you are allowing it to grow and continue.
I had gone on a lovely retreat this past weekend. I learned so much and expressed my gratitude openly.
One situation stood out to me, as I was leaving. Something that had no integrity.
I asked myself if I should follow along with everyone else and pay more money to attend something that should have been included. But, I realized that I needed to stand for what I thought was right. So, I walked away.
I didn't pay. I didn't stay.
I didn't feed the hypocrisy.
The choices I made to support, were an expression of who I chose to be.
It also made me re-think many things that I do, but don't believe in.
What energy do I feed?
This week, pay attention to things you do that don't express your beliefs.
Re-structure your life and choices to what you know is true in your heart.
Don't feed the old out molded beliefs any longer. Stop feeding the negative wolf.
It will only bite you in the end.
Feed truth, compassion, strength, joy, and above all integrity.
Create a new life, with new choices feeding who you know you are.
Your spirit will always guide you.
Specializing in career, life path and relationships.
Private psychic development sessions available with Cristina Leeson.
Can't get out of your head?
We all have guides. We all can connect for clarity and direction!
Try my free guided meditations! Click here to meditate!
With Cristina Leeson $10 drop ins welcome!
with Cristina Leeson Reiki Master Teacher RSVP $60 Couple of spots left!!
A Japanese form of Hands on Healing. Learn how to access this beautiful healing art. Anyone can do it! You will learn the history of Reiki, how to use the energy with intention, receive an attunement to help you become a stronger conduit, a booklet and a certificate. RSVP to hold your spot. $60.
with Julie Ziegler at her home in Bechtelsville.
Full moon sign at mailbox!
Full Moon! Pot Luck dinner. Bring a dish and lawn chair, and a rhythm instrument to play. We have extras! If it rains, it's cancelled! Donations appreciated!
with Maja Taylor $5 drop ins welcome!
Experiencing change or loss can be devastating, even scary.
If you are feeling frustration, anger, anxiety or stress this support circle can help you find your footing and get grounded again.
We will experience healing through meditation, Reiki energy and share practical tips and community fellowship.
Our intentions are aimed at empowered healing & inspired growth.
with Ted Cutler Expression Vs Desire $10. Walk-ins welcome!
Join us for an evening of discussion and working with Spirit.
A spiritual Gathering for women to share, explore, build intuition and encourage one another to live authentically in mind, body, heart and spirit. Harness the divine feminine energy to maximize your creativity and help manifest your goals with ease. Come feel the love, support and healing power of a woman's circle! Register- info@rayapereira.com or 484-350-8489 $10.
If you have learned Reiki 1 from any teacher and would like to learn more this class is for you! Requirement is Reiki 1. You will learn the Sacred Symbols of Reiki, as per Master Mikao Usui. Receive a booklet, certificate and an attunement. We will share Reiki at the end of class where I will show you extra teachings with incorporating Crystals, Chakras and Angels. RSVP to hold your spot. $80.
cristinaleeson@hotmail.com or 610-413-8191 Spaces go fast, so call to hold your spot.


text:
Monkey dust calls FALL in town as police reveal undercover operations
Community leaders want to see the substance re-classified
Joe Burn
Police say incidents associated with monkey dust has fallen
Police hope they are winning the war on monkey dust after seeing calls relating to the problematic drug plummet.
Officers covering Newcastle have revealed how call-outs have gone from 13-a-day to three having sent out undercover cops to snare drug dealers in the borough.
Sergeant Darren McGrath told members of Newcastle Borough Council's health, wellbeing and partnerships scrutiny committee, the force has been working to flush out the class B substance from the area.
He said: "It was so new the Home Office didn't have an an approved test for the drug. Whenever people were seen to be in a state it was assumed it was monkey dust.
"We've gone from having 13-jobs-a-day where monkey dust was mentioned to having three - so we've seen a massive reduction since Christmas."
What is monkey dust? The drug causing a health crisis
Monkey Dust, also known as MDPV, causes hallucinations and paranoia.
People on the drug, which looks like an off-white powder, have been known to climb trees and buildings and attack people who come near them.
It's from a family of drugs known as cathinones as can be bought for as little as £2.
Monkey dust can be swallowed, injected or snorted and it dampens perceptions of pain. It can also cause powerful hallucinations which lead to severe paranoia.
The use of monkey dust is on the rise because of its low cost and its effects can be felt after ingesting small amounts - as little as 3mg.
While Staffordshire is a known epicentre for the drug, West Midlands Ambulance Service said it has dealt with cases across the region. Paramedics have been called to 178 incidents since April involving money dust — 131 of them in North Staffordshire.
Special measures to tackle the substance include plain clothes officers being sent out to snare drug dealers in the town centre.
Sgt McGrath added: "It could be that the supply line re-establishes itself overseas or locally, but I would never sit here and say we don't have a problem with a type of drug . But at the moment it's a reduced problem."
'I've had to shut my business down...' - Busker Shaun has to find new job after up to 30 'professional beggars' take up his town centre pitches
Police are also said to be lobbying for a Home Office testing kit to be introduced for the MDPHP compound monkey dust is made up of.
Monkey dust seized following raids in Century Street and Denbigh Street, Hanley, last year.
Fergus Lee, of drug and alcohol service, One Recovery, added: "We are quite knowledgeable about the drug. I think it's a lot to do with redosing. It's cheap to buy, like a couple of quid, but you have to keep buying it again and again. People have told me it's the worst experience they've ever had."
Councillors agreed they would urge the Home Office to re-categorise monkey dust as a class A drug.
Want to tell us about something going on where you live? Let us know - Tweet us @SOTLive or message us on our Facebook page . And if you have pictures to share, tag us on Instagram at StokeonTrentLive .
Newcastle-under-Lyme
First picture of man killed in North Staffordshire crash
CellarheadBernard Hopwood was pronounced dead at the Cellarhead crash scene


text:
TUNE The Very Best - Sweka
THE VERY BEST - 'SWEKA' SINGLE
IMPACT DATE: 06/11
The Very Best releases new single Sweka via Moshi Moshi Records. They Very Best are Swedish-Malawian duo Johan Hugo and Esau Mwamwaya. New single Sweka is taken from the band's latest album Makes A King (8/10 Mojo, 8/10 NME, 8/10 Q, 8/10 Uncut, 8/10 The Guardian) and follows previous singles Kanyale and Makes A King, which won support from 6Music's Tom Ravenscroft and Tom Robinson, XFM's John Kennedy and Amazing Radio amongst others. The single features remixes by Prins Thomas and Joshua James.. "they've created something more contemplative and sublime. But The Very Best still know how to party" NME. www.facebook.com/theverybest
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