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Author: admin | 30.09.2015 | Category: Homeopathic Treatment For Tinnitus

Frozen Fiefdom - Who Is, What Is?A The names and places of those appearing in this story are real; except for the few which will be noted in parenthesis or quotation marks. Sometimes, and sometimes it stays as smooth as a round diamond dropped from another planet, more beautiful and precious than you remembered. This morning I went out to feed Sally and Bob but I couldna€™t find the scoop for the new sack of oats.
Last night on the radio I heard Slim Frye had been killed, in a car crash in West Texas, and the Reno DJ played several of his songs as I remembered his red Porsche rushing past the sage and leaving the trail of fancy dresses and guitar before I found her walking alone in high heels along the desert road. That first night after the chicken dinner Jodie madea€”after Ia€™d joked, a€?So wea€™re going to be famous?a€? and Jodie had turned over my palm and showed me our hands were the same, the little star where the life and heart lines meta€”we went out into the summer yard. I carried the lawn chairs from under the dusty branches of the cottonwood and Jodie sat back, looking up at the sky while I played the guitar and we sang the songs Jodie was sure would change our lives and those of a million strangers. A a€?Then she was quiet, temporarily calm about our budding career as sure-fire country stars. Jodie gazed at the scattered distant stars, as if her real home was a distant world and on Earth she was a stranger. There was hurt, a private bitterness in her voice, and I felt a sudden wave of sympathy for the woman Ia€™d known since noon. The different stars blinked white and red, blue and green, and I remembered by its color you could tell a stara€™s age, whether it was young and new or dying, burning out, though I couldna€™t remember what colors showed youth or age, birth or death. I pulled out clean sheets and pillowcases from the hall cabinet, and Jodie took them from me and there was a second of awkwardness as our hands brushed. She sounded wistful, as if she were fighting a future disappointment or regret, but then shea€™d had a long day that could have turned scary. Then she went into my parentsa€™ old room and closed the door and I shut off all the lights and lay back in bed, looking up through the dusty screen at the sky beyond the cottonwood. As I closed my eyes I remembered the touch of her fingernail as she traced my palm that was like her own, that her mother had read when Jodie was a girl, telling her that someday shea€™d sing for the President. In jeans, Western shirt and boots, and her hair pulled back, Jodie was cooking pancakes at the stove.
In the morning light at the window we ate pancakes with hot syrup and bacon and drank our coffee among circling, rising red and gold dust motes. She stood at the sink with her back turned, humming a€?Current of Lovea€? as I got up to go out to the barn. I had one horse saddled when she came through the barn door with something wrapped in one of my mothera€™s old blue plaid tablecloths. Jodie dug her heels in sharply and the mare bolted past Bob before I could grab the bridle, galloping down the road past the house. We raced across the high pasture toward the creek and Jodie beat me by ten yards as we reined in. We crossed the shallow ditch and trotted across the pasture toward the dry hills that came down in spread fingers. With Jodie in the lead we took a game trail up the spine of the longest hill until we reached the high wall of mountain. We let the horses pick their way up the steep broken slope, through rock and manzanita toward the pines along the ridge.
Jodie pointed toward the far edge of the pasture, at the lone pine and the small square of iron picket fence with white stones inside.
We started the circuit of the bowl, moving in and out of the scattered line of pines on the curved narrow mesa. I held Jodiea€™s hand as we walked gingerly across the twenty yards of arrow chippings and splintered fallen rock. She turned, squinting as she looked back at the bed of glittering shards.a€?a€?a€?They knew this place,a€? Jodie said. I took her other hand and we crossed the carpet of glass, then rode on, looking east away from the valley, toward the broken buttes and towers beyond the mesa. We rode on for half an hour, following the valley side of the ridge, until I saw the big Jeffrey pine. We sat down and Jodie served the chicken and the mashed potatoes shea€™d fried in cakes onto paper dishes. We rode a mile the way we came, not talking, Jodie a few yards in front of me, until I found an easy slope. I stopped among the cottonwoods where the water bubbled up and pooled behind the stone weir before it curled down the creek bed.
I remembered Slim Fryea€™s red Porsche as now Jodie stood, looking at the trees that circled the pool.
I walked in, feeling the shock of the pure cold pool, and dived, pulling down through the strong upwelling water. Gold specks drifted down like dust, past the three bright slanting bars that always looked like searchlights hunting for treasure. I treaded, looking over at the cottonwood as Jodie stepped out in a white lace bra and panties. Then she made a quick dive with fingers and toes gracefully together, came up saying a€?Brrrrrra€? like a kid and working her shoulders in a shiver, then breast-stroked out toward the middle. Under her excitement Jodie was breathing unevenly, splashing a little raggedly at the water.
I leaned down and didna€™t know Jodiea€™s sweet scent from the crushed sweetness of the grass as I felt her shoulder for the thin strap.
Holding Jodie as we made love in the valley where I was born, I felt everything Ia€™d held back for so long give way and rise like our bodies in the river rushing from the rock toward the sunlit water and the speckled shadows of the shifting leaves. We glided forward underwater, kicked up, took a breath, turned and stroked down through the green light to the open door that whispers things and glints with quartz from the dark walls beyond it. I went down to the bank and slipped into my clothes and boots, then walked back and picked up Boba€™s reins from the grass, leading him over to Sally.
A Then she was quiet, temporarily calm about our budding career as sure-fire country stars.
She turned, squinting as she looked back at the bed of glittering shards.a€?They knew this place,a€? Jodie said. From the wide trunk I lifted the tin dipper from its nail, ran it through the water, then dipped it full and handed it to Jodie.
It’s been an interesting and relaxing weekend and just what we needed after a hectic and stressful long week. Shortly after we arrived we hit up a few garage sales and then worked on the house for most of the afternoon. On Saturday Night MacGyver and I went over to see the parents and they took us to Cafe 776 in Englewood.  It’s not the swankiest of places but the food was really good and the portions were enormous!  I would definitely go back and if you’re ever in the Englewood area, I highly recommend it. Since I had 30 miles in for the week and the clocks moved forward I decided not to run on Sunday. It was very windy on Sunday but MacGyver and I threw caution to the wind and took the boat out anyway. And with that I need to get to work, but quickly before I go, what do you think of this mailbox? This entry was posted in Dogs, Fishing, Running, Uncategorized, Weekend and tagged birds, fishing, Running, weekend by flowerjovia. While neither I nor anyone I knew growing up ever appreciated the architecture of our little island, when I return to these places, I have an undeniable feeling of fondness and warmth.
More recently I found that my buildings were inspired by an odd Swiss man named Le Corbusier.
Still, I asked myself why was it now that I was allowed to appreciate this built form, only after learning about the modern movement and all the things it engendered. I like how you capture the subtlety of the green spaces, the hallways, the differences in attire between the parents and children etc. Your writing speaks to an important principle of urban planning that some people forget … cities are inhabited by their people and as such, the soul of a city exists because of the people and how they live. Towers in the park may be a derided concept today but it reflected the ideas and mood and technology of its time. The challenge is to adapt those buildings to suit more current ideas and mood and technology … while keeping the life in those neighbourhoods.


Stories like this always remind me of the Jeelie Piece song, a comedy Scottish song about a kid moving from ground-oriented townhouse to a similar Corbu wonderland in Glasgow. I was very excited about The Sound of Music coming to The Ordway and the show did not disappoint.
The beloved musical was well done by a large, talented cast and while the storyline was of course, unchanged, there were a few surprises. Billie Wildrick does a phenomenal job as Maria and I dare you not to fall in love with the vonTrapp children. Disclosure: Due to a relationship I have with the Ordway I was invited to the production in exchange for my honest review. You realize that the wonder hasna€™t faded, cracked or turned to dust, even when you set it down and stare at your empty palm like a Ghost Dancer whoa€™s returned from heaven and awakened. From a shelf I lifted an old baking soda tin and inside was Jodiea€™s shiny black ball of obsidian shea€™d kept under her pillow. When wea€™d brought in the groceries from town shea€™d found the pile of lyrics on the table and later taken up my guitar while I was out irrigating the pasture. I figured Jodie had her ghosts, Slim Frye the most recent, and suddenly I felt both innocent and lucky, grateful for my unsuccessful but slender love life. I held the screen door and followed her in to the house that smelled sweet, of night air crossing grass. We said good night, Jodie thanking me for putting her up until Johnny Blacka€™s band came to Waverly in two weeks, me thanking her for dinner and liking my music.
Ia€™d dreamed about the Branding Iron in Waverly, where once a week I played at Amateur Night. The audience stood and swayed, clapping time, and Jodie and I stood side-by-side, each playing a guitar like the one Jodiea€™d lost. It felt exciting, strange and good, having a woman in the house singing your song to herself as the day began. It had a soft curve, like it had just cooled and hardened after bubbling up from the center of the Earth. We had quite a ride.a€? Wea€™d ridden five or six miles, climbed right up the slope of the bowl to the top. I turned on my back, looking up at the blue sky beyond the branches, listening to the needles move in the soft breeze. She stood up and I wrapped the containers and empty plates in the tablecloth and pushed it into the saddlebag.
We went down through broken ground to a bluff, then through the white grass to the east pasture and across it toward the line of trees. I gripped the stone edge of the dark square-ish door, then turned, looking up toward the froth rising toward the light. I let go, leaning into the current, and with a kick and one arm-stroke let the water take me straight to the surface. I gripped the rocka€™s edge and looked back to see Jodie pulling hard against the current, moving down through the column of light, her long hair yellow now and flowing out behind her. With a kick she rose up, her shapely slim hips and legs and feet slipping from the darkness that turned green and then lighter green and finally yellow.
Jodie swam up close and I put my hands on her waist, turning her back to me, then with my feet pushed off from the rock, lifting her out and up into the rush of water and letting her go.
I went to Sally and took out the tablecloth from the saddlebag, setting the leftover food and plates at the foot of the tree. We held hands, moved out into the pushing water, and together drifted without kicking to the surface.
The sun hung above the western ridge, shining at a lowering angle across the valley, and a quicker breeze stirred the flashing two-colored willows. Bob and Sallya€™s hooves hit sharply against the road and the man and woman who would sing a€?Travis Jacksona€? to millions and the foolish President and like a stone cut in half to show its pretty crystals would never be the same started toward the yellow house by the cottonwood. I decided to take a rest day from running last Friday and MacGyver and I, along with the two dogs, headed down here to Nokomis.
It was the perfect day for them, not too hot, not too cold, and fortunately MacGyver and I caught four of the largest sheephead we’ve ever seen which really impressed them. I think MacGyver would love it and we need a new post anyway since I took ours out a few times trying to park the boat and trailer.  I could write our last name on the side using the Mercury or Johnson font, cute idea or no? I used to call it the shore because the 427 sinks below the surrounding land, so the grass was like a beach that rolled into the fast flowing highway. Hearing the rush of the highway, smelling the fresh cut grass and seeing monumental towers sprouting out of the ground evokes something unexplainable, significant and meaningful. I remember thinking, “Is his first name really ‘The’?” and, “Who would ever design something like that?” Diving deeper, I learned how he broke from European traditions, to create architecture that was modern and was inspired by progress, engineering, and the car. I thought about the fondness I felt before, and how it was not at all about modernism, ‘Corb’ or breaking from European tradition.
The gathering place for people in the different towers was beneath the willows in Capri Park.
I just read a summary of the book, and it sounds like it addresses exactly what I’m getting at here.
We don’t often tend to think of it while we live it, but often remember and in some weird way cherish or long for these things when they are gone.
Watching them perform, applauding them and watching the final bow, you could see the pride in their eyes. Neither the service provider nor the domain owner maintain any relationship with the advertisers.
I felt that she noticed, sensed the electric tension in my open, down-turned hands that would spark if they touched her. I lifted the saddlebag and walked over under the tree, kicking a few cones from a cool bed of needles.
She threw me a quick look and turned forward as we raced across the grass as far as the dirt road, where Bob pulled even and we brought up the horses.
Though, it is probably not a beach you would want to sunbathe on and probably not a river you would like to swim in. But when I see this, I remember how I used these spaces to loiter with my friends, chat with neighbours and to reflect on my short walk between the elevator and my apartment. Parents in traditional garb would sit beneath the tree, with their children in western clothes playing in the fields, the highway humming in the background. On summer nights, I would leave my window open, listening to the rush and moan of the highway.
All words and opinions expressed are mine, photos are used with permission from The Ordway and Rich Ryan Photography. In case of trademark issues please contact the domain owner directly (contact information can be found in whois). A  Why fictionalize the life and times of someone who appears to be so incredibly fascinating to so many? Shea€™d taken a hard fall the day before and had to gather her clothes and fancy red shoes from the sage and tumbleweeds.
I lived on an island of six modern high-rises, flanked on one side by the 427 and on the other, a sea of Etobicoke’s bungalows. It was the stories of these structures that I held to, that came back to me when I saw my old home. My sister also taught me how to ride a bike here (because I was afraid of falling on the concrete outside). In the past, each and every summer night, the children of the building were collected by their mothers and brought down.
Seriously; when was the last time you boarded a commercial carrier flight and the counter attendant staff (with their name badge either removed, or turned to hide their name) said as you offered to show ID, because they had not asked to see it (sniff sniff, wouldn't that be considered a slip in following TSA or FAA regs?): "Oh, We know who you are! These stories, happy and sad, are ones that stick in my memory and that I see in my dreams.
The ladies would sit on the big grated vent (that housed the garage fans) and the kids would play on the swings and slides. You hear these things often about so called tower-in-the-park buildings that sprouted throughout Toronto’s inner suburbs in the late 60s.


The show is long and there are some parts {the nuns, especially} that younger kids might find boring.
I lived in these towers for the greater part of my life, and so this was the only urban form I knew as a child.
It was not always fun and games – it was here that I once fell and slashed my elbow on some broken beer bottles. I remember wrapping my arm tight and being driven to the emergency room at Etobicoke General. I've made light of such an invasion, and asked my "contacts" to send the Royalty Checks to the P.O. Maybe that "Landscaping" scene in the shower might do something for you; it was just ordinary grooming for me. Former State of Alaska employee, former salesperson of retail tourist items and fine collectibles, currently unemployed but extremely busy uncovering the "stiffs and stashes" and countless other dirty lowdowns which were rumored to only be dusty old stories from the early days in the Mini Fiefdom and the Big Berg.
Judging by the amount of "unusual activities" and oddities surrounding my life; there just might be more than one ugly little something being hidden, or covered up.
And those who would know the full story and detailed truths are either dead, or have snapped their lips shut tighter than a clam in a low tide. A Currently and temporarily ensconced in the warmth of sunny Los Angeles, until the job offers roll in.
Finds inner peace by practicing Reiki, meditating, humming, gong banging, and any other "Higher Self" reaches; whatever the name of the day is. Those methods of achieving relaxation, spiritual enlightenment, or whatever one needs to feel well and in tune with themselves, are referred to as "Wand Waving" in our historical family vernacular.
1 and 2 of a touching note she mailed to me on August 6, 2007, here for page 3, which was handed to me by one of the other women who also rented from Jewel, a few days later as it arrived in the mailbox, via the USPS. One of many 3 lettered agencies which forms a staggeringly huge, yet relatively unsophisticated, branch of the United States government. Should be right next to my photo that I submitted later; attached to one of "those other emails" that I sent to you.
Box is still my current permanent address, in case something has opened up; or how many Royalty Checks shall I be expecting to receive? A I'm guessing that employment prospects for me there are looking less than likely; perhaps a short term contract for Fund Raising might be offered? I have not mentioned this book or odd events to her, other than a few questions about Eric's behavior when she and I spoke briefly in a bedroom at Christmas in Anna's home, and were repeatedly interrupted by Anna. An outstanding resource for drumming up dates, finding living quarters, meeting other artists, selling a futon; I've used many of their sections with fantastic results.
I appreciate your service to our country.) married our Mother, and produced 4 offspring, like good Catholics did. How about those telling tunes, dead air moments, and skips which fired frequently over the airways of the Juneau radio stations during the 1960's and 1970's? Once a conversation with him is fully underway; it's amazing how much knowledge he has, on many subjects. He's doesn't fit the profile of a neighborhood BusyBody, but he has the knowledge base of one. I thought now was perfect opportunity to ask him a few questions regarding some words my Gramma shared with me over the years; particularly about the perhaps not so good old days in the Mini Fiefdom, and the Big Berg. Formerly a self contained and fully operational Production Unit featuring its own school, Mt.
Jumbo (teach you a lesson!) and the sounds of children and adults long since passed over, still echo thoughout its hollowed halls today. A Catholic Church (pray to excuse your daily sins), cold storage facility (kill 'em and chill 'em), laundromat (wash and dry those stains bye-bye!), fuel and service station (bring 'em in, take 'em apart), fire department (sound the alarm!) water reservoir (beaver water, anyone? A favored description used by my Gramma of the water coming from the tap) public works equipment (rigs to dig), public library (shhh!! It's a Secret!) boat harbor (what floats your boat?), beauty shop (as my brother would say "no help for some")full service grocery store (everybody's got to eat), a couple of bars (drink your pour, say no more), at least one restaurant, a building referred to as "The Indian School" which was apparently the school for Natives (non-whites) when my Mother was young.
The local Native children attended public school by the time I was enrolled in the late 60's.
A quiet little community, which also featured at least three cemeteries, which are still in existence; if not in current use. Some things have changed in the last 40 years, different businesses closing and opening, new owners, and Douglas being hooked up to the citywide water and sewer system. Shucks, I sorta miss seeing the toilet paper bits, and other assorted chunks of unidentifiable materials floating in Gastineau Channel. I believe that I would be an outstanding employee for them; although my sense of humor might be a bit over the top for some staff. A A "Feeders:" Those who were on the receiving end of the wire worn by at least one person who interviewed me in June of 2007.
It was not specified who they were, or what Branch they represented, but they were informed on my past and present activities with amazingly accurate details. Based on what I've read, the questions and MO used sounds like a branch of the US government; some say the CIA. Could be; I don't know, and they have elected to not communicate via email other than replying to the one back door tactic I used of sending a few questions to their Entertainment Industry Liaison.
Younger sister of mine (by 11 months) and is the epitome of "Spy Struck." She can quote you a line from almost any James Bond flick, has "The Avengers" on DVD, and when she made a reference to "Matt Helm" and I asked who he was, she whipped out a videocassette and popped it into the machine! Even I recognized ol' Dino, and someone in movies or TV has to be a very prominent person if I know who they are.
I wasn't CONvinced of that reply, and when I pressed her for details, she claimed to be too busy to "OOOMMMM" over that puzzler in Automotive Physics again; so I emailed the guys at Car Talk for an expert opinion. Litvinenko, the wife of the former KGB Spy who died in London in November 2006, from poisoning with a peppering of polonium-210; before the book was written, or published!!"The wife of Litvenyenko is writing her own book I read sometime ago. I was just thinking last week I needed to tune in and tap into that again." February 14, 2008 email from Gail.
A According to my sibs, she was the first to raise the alarm that I was "Missing." Given her line of work, I'm not buying that.
She'd be keeping the cops away from the barn; although technically speaking, I don't think that providing Fetish Services is illegal. She has a pleasant voice, was also answering her own Fantasy Fone Line through one of the services available; might still be.
Attractive, with a dramatic flair.A She didn't bring work home, and the house was usually tidy. It's been an amazing cross section who have replied, and I seem to have quite a following of readers; even if I didn't date them. A Taxpayers, please note: It is worthwhile to state that any "employees" on the public payroll who I chose to meet, had decent writing skills, or exhibited something which compelled me to have a coffee date with them. You might not feel as if you are getting your monies' worth as you fork over that chunk o' cash out of your earnings every year, but it's got to be going somewhere once you've kissed it goodbye. Grant, Attorney at Law, Juneau, AK From Wedding Bells to Tales to Tell: The Affidavit of Eric William Swanson, my former spouse AFFIDAVIT OF SHANNON MARIE MCCORMICK, My Former Best Friend THE AFFIDAVIT OF VALERIE BRITTINA ROSE, My daughter, aged 21 THE BEAGLE BRAYS! HELL'S BELLS: THE TELLS OF THE ELVES RING LOUD AND CLEAR IDENTITY THEFT, MISINFORMATION, AND THE GETTING THE INFAMOUS RUNAROUND Double Entendre and DoubleSpeak, Innuendos and Intimidation, Coercion v Common Sense, Komply (with a K) v Knowledge = DDIICCKK; Who's Gunna Call it a Draw?
A I'm guessing that employment prospects for me there are looking less than likely; perhaps a short term contract for Fund Raising might be offered? I'd appreciate the Press and others exercising some good sense, and to not contact her. How about those telling tunes, dead air moments, and skips which fired frequently over the airways of the Juneau radio stations during the 1960's and 1970's? The local Native children attended public school by the time I was enrolled in the late 60's. Even I recognized ol' Dino, and someone in movies or TV has to be a very prominent person if I know who they are.



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