text:
Year's Best Australian Science Fiction and Fantasy 1, 2004
Year's Best Australian Science Fiction and Fantasy 2, 2005
Year's Best Australian Science Fiction and Fantasy 3, 2006
Year's Best Australian Science Fiction and Fantasy 4, 2007
Cigarettes and Roses, by Ben Peek
The Desertion of Corporal Perkins, by Bill Congreve
The Hours Before Sunrise, by Bill Congreve
The Mullet that Screwed John West, by Bill Congreve
2005 short fiction (pdf)
2006 short fiction (pdf)
Cigarettes and Roses
by Ben Peek
First appeared in Passing Strange
Copyright © Ben Peek, 2002, all rights reserved
For Lindsay Craig.
Midnight: Samuel DeVenes and Catherine Hallow were in a '92 metallic grey Falcon, sitting comfortably at one hundred and thirty along the Hume Highway. Grey anti-rust paint covered the front driver's side, and the windows rattled with the speed, the air and the volume of the Doors' Strange Days album. Samuel, a dark haired twenty-five year old whose parents had been Italian and English, hummed along to Jim Morrison as he sped around an Australia Post truck. Ahead, the road was empty and dark. In the back of the Falcon, Catherine (sometimes known as Cat), a twenty-three year old Aboriginal girl, lay curled asleep in his trench coat, staining it with her smell of cigarettes and perfume.
In the boot of the car and wrapped in a painter's drop cloth, lay the body of a saint: one hundred years old and without a touch of decay.
Samuel DeVenes didn't have one problem with that.
At the end of the tape, Samuel pulled over at a poorly lit service station. It was three past one in the morning. His eyes ached, and he needed to use the toilet. Turning, he reached over and shook Catherine awake.
"Wha ...?"
"Time to swap," he told her. "I'm going to the toilet."
Opening the door, he looked out: dark clouds scudded above, the moon half hidden behind them. The air was cold and weaved through his wine-coloured shirt as he stood, stretched and yawned. Across the parking lot, behind the pumps and buckets of water, was the service station, where an old man stared out over the chained doors. Samuel ignored him. He wanted the toilet. It was down the darkest side of the service station: a single light that blinked the male figure like a beacon.
The door was open, the lock broken. Once inside, the toilet proved itself to be the natural extension of the door and sign: dying, blinking lights, dirty tiles, a broken mirror, toilet paper from one end to the other, with half a dozen used syringes scattered across the floor of the first cubicle. Samuel used the second. He urinated over the dirty paper that clogged it, zipped up, didn't flush and walked over to the sink.
The soap dispenser was also clogged but after a few pushes Samuel managed to pump out enough to lather his hands and rinse them. He didn't know why he bothered. The broken mirror reflected his goatee and sideburns -- beginning to get unruly -- and the three-day growth around his cheeks. His hair was a mess and his shirt was rumpled, as were his pants. It was not hard to imagine that this job had come suddenly, and that to adhere to the timetable they had been given, both he and Cat had left immediately, with no clothes but the ones they wore, and very little else. Unable to stop, they driven in shifts to the Victorian border for the Falcon, then in shifts again to the Queensland border for the body.
The money made it all worth it.
Shaking his hands, Samuel turned and hit the drier ... nothing. Great, he thought. Just great. He could hardly wait until they arrived in Melbourne and delivered the corpse: fresh clothes, a week in bed, some female company, and the injection of that cash into his bank account -- that was all he needed to be refreshed. Shaking his hands dry, he left the toilet and made his way back to the car.
Catherine stood with the boot open, staring into it with a trail of smoke drifting out from her right hand.
"Again?" he asked.
"Can you smell the roses?"
"Not through that thing," he said and pointed. "Did you put any gas in the car? I didn't check the gauge, but we're going to need some sooner or later."
"It's fine."
"Good. Now stop looking at that thing, will you? It's not the first one you've seen." He climbed into the back seat of the car. It smelt of Catherine's cigarettes and perfume -- what was it called again? He lay across the seat, pillowed his head and closed his eyes.
Outside, the boot slammed shut.
The front door closed with a fresh burst of cigarette smoke, the Falcon's engine kicked over a moment later. Samuel heard Catherine murmur something, but he was too tired, his eyes wouldn't open; and then he was sleeping, drifting away on cigarette flavoured dreams.
Half an hour later, Catherine Hallowed sucked on her fifth cigarette and still tasted roses.
She had been stealing bodies for about four years now -- yes, four when it hit August 13th -- and in the entire time she had worked with Sam, who had introduced her to it when they had both been failing their Arts course in University. She had been out of work, looking for rent, and he said, 'Look, I know how to make good money ...' which was how she supposed everyone got involved with this sort of thing. But not once, in all their thefts -- which involved more bribery than actually digging up graves or breaking into mortuaries -- not in all that time, had she ever been this freaked out.
She sucked back on the cigarette: pure, unfiltered tobacco.
She breathed out: roses.
Everywhere roses.
Sam's coat reeked of it, as did her hands and hair: fresh roses, exactly the same as the body in the boot.
Except it wasn't just a corpse, was it?
Catherine reached for the radio dial, trying to find a station. She desperately wanted something, anything, just one noise that wasn't the Doors. But no. There was a saint in the boot of the car and a man waiting for it in Melbourne and all she could smell was roses roses roses roses roses. The knob continued to turn, frantic beneath her fingers. It spun to the end of the dial, then back, then back again until she stopped.
Her hand shook. She placed it back on the steering wheel.
Catherine pulled the car over to the broken edge of the road, turned the engine off, and stepped out.
Sam didn't wake, but he could sleep through anything if he was tired enough, and he was sleeping through this. His pants still had mud stains from where they had stopped to collect the body. The operation had been another bribe: as the body was being shipped between the homes of its wealthy owner, the courier had pulled over at a truck stop just past the Queensland border, as had been arranged. The stop had been empty and the driver had driven into the muddy car park, stopped his truck and gone into the diner for a meal. Sam had pulled the Falcon up next to the truck. The pair of them had opened the back of the trailer and, as Sam lifted the body from the plain coffin, Catherine had wrapped a cloth around it. They jumped off the trailer, opened the boot to the Falcon, wedged the body in there and drove off. It took no more than five minutes: simple, routine, and the courier was still eating his dinner as they pulled away.
Catherine shook her head, continued around to the back of the car, where she opened the boot with her eyes closed.
Roses flooded over her.
No, not roses. Just the smell. There was no feel of petals brushing past her skin, and so Catherine took a shallow, testing breath before she opened her eyes: a body-shaped lump lay wrapped in a paint-stained drop cloth, next to the jack.
She reached into Sam's coat pocket, pulled out a cigarette, then her lighter.
How had this happened?
She didn't know. Money and Sam had gotten her to agree to it, but then she had never had a problem agreeing to it before. She had never had any problems before. She had stolen deformed babies, the right hand of Princess Diana, jars packed with lungs and hearts, and there had never been a problem. But this job? Catherine didn't know when it had changed, and didn't know why. She wasn't religious. Oh sure, she believed in God, but did she go to church? Had she ever read the Bible? Did it affect her daily life?
Not before today.
Cigarette hanging from her mouth, she tugged open the top of the cloth.
It unravelled easily: the face was that of a young Asian man, smiling up at her.
"I've got a real problem with this job, Sam, a real problem."
Samuel DeVenes lifted the top of his Fish Fillet and murmured, "You'd think they'd have vegetarian burgers, wouldn't you?"
"Right, right," he picked off the square piece of fish, dropped it to the side, and lay fries across the bread. He peered over it and watched Catherine slump in the corner of the booth, tearing chunks from her Big Mac, leaving them strewn across her tray. "So what's the problem?"
"The ..." she paused, looked around the McDonalds, empty at three in the morning, and then said, "The saint."
"The body."
"Cat," he said, "it's not a real saint."
Catherine fiddled with her burger, shrunk into his coat and muttered, "I ... I dunno ... maybe ..."
"Look, that old bastard down in Melbourne showed us the tape, showed us the paper: it is not real. It's a freak. Like the two-headed kid we nicked from Hobart. And better yet: it's not a real freak. It's a fake freak."
"Yeah ... but ..."
He took a bite, asked, "But what?"
"The smell."
"I can't smell anything."
Catherine didn't say anything. Samuel took another bite from his burger, tried not to taste the salt and sauce, and watched her: head down, hair in front of her eyes, shoulders slumped, coat like a weight, her left hand rubbing a piece of bun between two fingers.
He took his third bite.
Catherine began shredding the lettuce.
A McDonalds employee, in his green and white uniform, walked past them pushing a yellow bucket. It rattled, the water slopping and the wheels squeaking, slap, squeak, slap until he shoved the toilet door open and disappeared.
Samuel said, "The money."
Catherine said nothing, her fingers shredding the lettuce faster.
"It's a side show freak --"
"I -- I don't --"
"It's not a saint. Saints are not real."
"There is a God, Sam."
"Since when did you decide that? And God, or no God, that's not the point here."
It was convincing for him, but Samuel didn't need convincing. He would happily hand over the body and take the money. He didn't believe in any God, didn't believe in anything that he couldn't touch or feel or see. But Catherine did believe, and that was the problem. "Are you sure you're not ... not ..."
"Not what, Sam?" She looked at him for the first time: her brown eyes were bloodshot, with dark circles underneath, and her lips were pressed tightly against each other.
"I don't know."
"I'm not sleeping well, yeah, I'm smoking all the time. But I haven't had a drink or anything else. I'm telling you that all I can smell is roses and I think that guy in our boot is a saint."
"I need to be convinced, Cat."
"I know."
Samuel bit into his burger, said nothing.
He watched as Catherine looked down at her discarded Big Mac: the shredded lettuce, the little balls of bun, the torn meat. The sauces sat in globs on the wrapper.
Without looking up, she said, "Have you ever wondered what's done with ... with it? With any of them?"
"No," mouth full, he swallowed, "not really."
"Well ..." her voice trailed for a bit. "I have."
"I don't know. I've only been thinking recently, and what I can't ... can't understand is why any old rich guy would want the body of a fake saint. A fake saint, Sam, a fake. It just doesn't make any sense. But ... but a real saint, that makes sense to me."
Samuel was silent, staring at his burger.
"I mean, look at all the stuff we've got recently," Catherine continued. "Some holy water from the Pope, skin sampling from Mother Theresa. I've heard some of the others talk about the things they've picked up, and it gets me thinking. You've seen this guy, and he's old. Old and chained to a respirator."
"So naturally you think he thinks the body of a fake saint will make him young?"
"Not fake. Real. That's what it is to him and to ...well, to ... but yes, that's what I think he thinks."
Samuel forced half a smile, though it was painful for him to hear her talk like this. "This guy just collects things, Cat. Like comics and football cards. The difference is that this guy has more money than we do, so he can collect odder, more esoteric things. Anything else is just ridiculous."
"But what ... what if?"
Samuel was silent, staring at his burger. He really did hate this stuff, but he didn't want to look back up at her. There was something in her face, a look, a want, and when he did look up, it was still there. She was waiting for an answer he would not be able to give. "Maybe we should find a place for the night."
"A place -- you know, a motel."
"But -- but why?"
"To think," Samuel told her, dropping the remains of his burger. "And to get some sleep. I think that's what both of us need."
"And what ... what about --"
"There's no easy answer for that, Cat."
For the next half an hour, Samuel drove in silence. He hadn't known what to do then and still didn't know what to do now, as he turned into the squat, run-down motel. A sign read V C NCIES. The only light came from the front of the building. Still without knowing if it was the right thing to be doing, Samuel parked the Falcon outside and walked up to the door. It opened slightly, but was chained by three chains on the inside.
Samuel rattled on it loudly until a short, stocky man in a blue tracksuit appeared. With one eye and half of his mouth pressed against the opening, he said, "Yeah?"
"I'd like a room," Samuel said.
"Double or single?"
The man grunted, quoted him a price and waited. Samuel pulled out his wallet and counted the money, then paused and said, "There's a telephone in this room, right?"
"You want a telephone?"
"Yeah, I do."
"That'll be twenty dollars extra."
"Can I get bottle of Jack Daniels from you?"
The man sniffed, then nodded. "Thirty."
Samuel handed over the money, then waited for the man to return. He passed a key through the door and a half bottle of Jack Daniels, the kind that did not cost thirty dollars. Samuel made to say something, but the door had already been pushed shut.
He sighed, then walked back to the car and Cat, and drove around to the back of the parking lot, where the pair of them made their way to the room. Despite the fact that they had not spoken since leaving the McDonalds, Samuel was prepared for the conversation to resume when they entered the room. But when he closed the door, he turned around to find Catherine crawling into one of the beds, murmuring to herself so softly that he couldn't understand her. She put her head on the pillow and fell asleep.
He realized right then how big an issue the body was for her. The knowledge slowly seeped into him as he stood at the foot of her bed, holding the Jack Daniels tightly in his hand.
"Nothing's ever easy," he muttered, then pulled the blanket off his bed, dropping it over her.
Setting the bottle down, Samuel began searching the small room for a telephone. He found it on the bedside table and, when he picked up the receiver, found it dead. Following the cord, he discovered that the socket had been ripped out. Holding it in his hands, Samuel sank against the wall and tried to think.
He couldn't.
He tried. He thought about the saint, about Catherine, about the money, but the thoughts slipped through his fingers.
Dropping the cord, he reached up to the table, searching with his hand to find the Jack Daniels. He was at a complete loss now. At the door, he had decided on a simple plan: call the boss, get him to send someone up for the corpse, then take Cat back to her apartment and to Nathan, who could look after her better than he ever could. It had been a good plan. It was still a good plan. All he had to do was open the door and ask for a new room, or to use the telephone. He could even head out across the road to the pay phone he had seen when they had driven in. It might work. All he had to do was stand.
He cracked the seal on the Jack Daniels.
There was always a but. He had been ignoring it, but it had always been there. That annoying, nagging but. But what if Catherine didn't want to hand over the body?
It was a terrible thought. They had a contract to honour, and not doing so would mean that their days in the profession would be over; and while that wasn't such a great loss -- there was no glamour in body snatching -- Samuel didn't relish the idea of turning to a nine-to-five job to support himself. He not only had no work experience for anything besides body snatching (a dubious resume listing at best), he also doubted that he would ever see as much money as he was currently making.
Then there was the boss. Samuel rather doubted they would be allowed to just walk away after not delivering his body. Or saint. Whatever.
He took a shot from the Jack Daniels.
There was no flash of inspiration, no surge of answers.
He took a second shot and continued to think about it.
Around five in the morning, Samuel stumbled out of the motel room, down the stairs, then across the motel parking lot. He paused at the corner of the road with his almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels clutched tightly in his hand. He stared down the road with his blinking, blurring eyes: a pair of headlights funneled into view, a car following by in a shunt of cold wind. Nothing followed and Samuel jogged across to the other side.
The public phone was lit brightly through the kicked out glass panels. Samuel slipped in, put his Jack Daniels on the floor next to his feet, pulled out a handful of loose change and inserted it.
The number he had was private, to be used only in emergencies.
It rang once, then was picked up.
"Huh? Oh, sorry, no, not the boss ... Katz ...
"Yeah, it's me, Samuel ...
"Drunk ...? Well, no. Just. Slightly. It's the whisky ... no, no ...
"Well maybe. Yeah, there's a problem. I can admit to it ...
"No. No. We have the body. It's ... it's ... look, is that thing for real? I mean, I know the boss said it isn't, and I know this sounds weird and all -- and bear in mind that I don't think it's a saint because there ain't no such thing -- but this shit is happening and I --
"You explained it to us, yeah. Yeah ... yeah, yeah, no Asian saints. I remember ... the Pope doesn't ordain ... Channel Nine and A Current Affair ... oh, no, sorry, I'm not making fun of you, it's just ...
"Cat thinks it's real.
"I won't ditch her, no way! No! Why? Look ...
"... send someone?
"I still get paid, right?
"Forty percent ... I'm like thirty minutes from Albury.
"No. I suppose I can't go on ...
"Yeah, yeah. Motel ... no, it's got no name. Can't miss it...
"Yeah, bye."
The phone was hung up from the other end.
Samuel hummed to himself as he dropped the receiver. He wasn't sure if he had made the right decision, but the problem wasn't his now. He was casting away all his problems. Someone else was coming for the body, and when they took it, then it wouldn't be his problem. And Catherine would be okay, he told himself over and over again. Cat would be fine. Right? Cat would be dandy. Yes? Cat would be not be hurt.
Picking up his Jack Daniels, Samuel crossed back over the road.
On the horizon the morning ate away at the night, a dull, flat orange light falling across the parking lot. The railings outside the motel rooms had a damp sheen to them, as did the four cars parked outside. Gravel crunching beneath his feet, Samuel took another drink and made his way up the stairs to his room.
The bottle was almost empty. Almost -- one mouthful and that was it.
Samuel fumbled at the door, then shouldered it open. Catherine was still asleep. Everything looked good. He found the other bed -- it had moved slightly -- and lay on his back. Everything was good. He would close his eyes for just one moment, just one, before whoever was coming arrived for the body and took it out of his life, along with all of his problems.
Catherine woke up to the sound of Sam snoring in the bed next to her, a nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor beside him. It wasn't an unfamiliar sight. When Sam had something that bothered him, and which he needed to sit down and think about, he would drink. More often than not, any decision made was changed when he woke up, but the process seemed to help him, so Catherine had never seen it as a problem. It also showed that she wasn't the only one affected by the body in the boot, and the relief she felt from that was enough to lift her out of her depressed state, enough for her to think that she should get out of the bed and have a shower.
She took a deep breath and got out of bed.
Roses. She could still smell roses, like faded air freshener.
On a scale of bad to worse, this wasn't as bad as before. In the McDonalds she had smelt roses and tasted soggy petals as she had tried to eat. It had been so bad that at one stage she had thought that the flowers must have been hidden somewhere inside the burger and fries. But they hadn't. She had pulled the burger apart in a quiet, yet frantic search and, with each piece she ripped off, Catherine could almost feel her mind unravel like silken cloth, slipping smoothly through her fingers to collect on the floor.
This morning -- around ten -- the smell wasn't nearly as bad as that.
She went into the small bathroom. There was scum around the edges of the shower, mould on the white tiles, and the soap still had the previous owner's hair on it. Catherine had never seen a shower quite as bad, but the water was warm and cut through her filth.
It was beautiful.
It was refreshing.
It felt so --
The water smelt.
Catherine took a deep breath: soggy, wet, the smell was definitely roses. Coming down the spray, in the soap ... she took another breath and it clung to the back of her throat ... her fingers ... the towel as she frantically jumped from the stall and grabbed it. Her clothes as she pulled them on, the door knob as she grabbed it, Sam's coat, her cigarette packet, her lighter --
Click! Click!
Sucking deep into the back of her throat: the barest hint of nicotine.
Tears seeped from the corners of her closed eyes. Would it never go away? Would she never be free of the smell and the saint? She was taking the body to the old man and, sitting in his wicker chair with his respirator in easy reach, he would gladly take it. He would smile and pay them. He would make small talk, asking how Nathan was, and if she was investing her money wisely. Then he would be wheeled back into his mansion and Catherine would be left outside with the taste of roses in the back of her throat.
Oh, God ... Catherine shuddered, sucked on her cigarette furiously. She had never realized how much different smells meant to her. Never had she thought of just how important they were. Never had she ever considered that she might be left with one and only one smell for the rest of her life.
She wanted to pray, but did she have the right? Would it help?
Catherine dumped Sam's coat on his bed, then reached over and shook him. Her hand was shaking, and was still shaking when he grunted and rolled over, his eyes cracking open.
She said, "We've got to ditch the body."
Sam lay on the bed in silence, staring up at her.
"Sam --"
"I heard," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Well?" Catherine looked around the room for the car keys, spotted them on the dressing table. "Are you coming?"
"We don't need to."
She stopped. Please Sam, no ... "What did you do?"
"I called the boss last night," He pushed himself into a sitting position. "Got his assistant. Man, my head hurts."
"Calm down, Cat. She said she was going to send someone to pick up the body, all we had to do was wait --"
Catherine ran over to the window, yanked back the blinds: an off white coloured van was pulling into the parking lot. Catherine knew that van, had seen it countless times when she had been delivering goods to the old man's place.
She turned and, in a run, grabbed the car keys and threw open the door. Did Sam call to her? She ignored him, ignored everything but the steps that she took and the railing that she vaulted when she was half way down.
The gravel scattered beneath her sneakers as she landed, and she fell, grazing her left arm. Her cigarette lay in the gravel next to her, smoldering.
The van was reversing six or seven slots down from the Falcon, where there were no other cars. The perfect place, she guessed, to swap a body.
The driver -- a big Indian man wearing a white turban, whose name was Hussien -- paused in his reversing for a moment to wave at her, then pointed to the spot next to him, indicating that she should move the Falcon there. Catherine pulled herself up, managed to smile and wave back as she ground out her cigarette. Slowly, she made her way to the car.
Take it easy.
Easy. They think you're moving the car next to their van.
Easy. Don't run. Open the door. Careful now, careful ...
Catherine slid into the driver's seat, put the key in, closed the door, locked it, then started the engine. Taking a deep breath -- roses roses roses roses roses roses -- she put the car into reverse ... then spun out of her spot, dropped it into first, then second as she tore out of the motel lot, spraying gravel as she went past the shocked face of the second man getting out of the van: a skinny black man by the name of Norman.
Samuel called out to Cat as she left the room, keys in hand, but she didn't answer. His head swam as he tried to get up: the lamp and telephone lurched with his stomach and he fell back onto the bed, where he remained. What had he done? He had rung the boss, well, the boss's assistant. People were coming for the body, yes, that was right. They would still get paid. It seemed good to him. But. And there was that 'but' again. But but but but but but.
Then: You fuckwit, Samuel DeVenes, you've just sold out your friend.
"Oh fuck."
Out in the parking lot, he heard the car tear away.
Catherine pushed the Falcon up to a hundred and twenty and let it sit there as she drove along the Hume Highway, retracing the stretches she had covered last night with Sam. Not that she could remember driving them. Everything had been roses, roses everywhere, just like now. She reached into her pocket for a cigarette ... only to find that they weren't there.
They had been in the coat.
She had left the coat with Sam.
Catherine took a breath: roses.
The first chance I get, I'm pulling over to get some smokes.
It was a ridiculous idea: Norman and Hussien would be following. She didn't have time to stop. But driving for any prolonged time without cigarettes, with only the smell of roses to keep her company, that was a terrible prospect. She had to have cigarettes. She had to.
Then? Catherine shook her head. She didn't know. Perhaps she should take the body back to where they had stolen it? No. But if that wasn't the answer, then what? Where could she hide a saint and make sure that no one found it?
Samuel continued to lie on the bed as people entered the room. He didn't see them, as he was staring up at the ceiling feeling sorry for himself, but he heard them as they moved things around before creaking across the room to him. He didn't care. It was all his fault. Why had he called the boss? It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but when he thought about it now, he couldn't find one reason why. Sober, he would have known Cat wouldn't go for it.
But he had been drunk.
On his right, Norman's skinny, acne-scarred face appeared above him; on the left, Hussien's fat bearded one appeared. Samuel managed a weak, hungover smile. "Hi, guys. Nice to see you."
"Where has your partner gone?" Norman asked.
"I don't know."
"That's a problem."
"So it is."
"I gather the body is still in the car?"
"Unless you see it in here."
Norman shook his head, angry and disgusted, then disappeared from his view. Hussien tilted his face in Norman's direction. "What are we going to do with him?"
"We'll chase the girl, and we'll take him with us."
"He's been drinking. I can smell it."
"He better not puke."
Norman grunted. "Come on, Sammy, get up."
Hussien's face tilted down. "You better not puke."
Samuel pushed himself into a sitting position, forcing Hussien to step away. His head spun again, tilting things. How could he have been so stupid? How? Money? Had money made him this stupid? Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid --
"Get up," Norman ordered, kicking the bed.
Something strange was happening to Catherine: with the windows rolled down to give her gusts of fresh air that she drank from, she realized that the odour of roses was fading. It had clung to the back of her throat at first, but after ten minutes of fresh air and driving away from Melbourne, she could smell the stale reek of her cigarettes: in the car and on her clothes. She was amazed. It had been years since she had been able to smell her own cigarettes on her, but there it was: wonderful, delightful, beautiful.
She was doing the right thing. She was certain of that now. But where was she going? It was like Sam said, there was always a 'but', and her but was that she did not know where she was going. Or what she should do. Should she burn it? Bury it? Sell it? What? She had no idea, but there was, she realized suddenly, no need for her to pull over ...
Except at that moment, Catherine Hallow noticed the needle was resting on E.
Samuel slumped miserably in the back of the van, wrapped in his trenchcoat and with a horrible knot of guilt forming in his stomach. In the passenger seat, Norman sat with a pistol in his lap, freshly loaded and with the safety off. Samuel had already been threatened by it -- "One wrong word, one wrong move ..." -- and he was certain that if Catherine didn't hand over the body -- saint -- straight away, Norman wouldn't hesitate to take it from her, using whatever force he thought necessary.
It was his fault.
He was so stupid, so fucking, asshole stupid. His head thudded against the seat. If he could just ...
Just what? Just nothing. There was not one thing he could do, not now.
"There! Hussien, to your left! She's stopped at that service station!"
Samuel's stomach knotted as Hussien flipped the blinker, then turned into the station. He heard Norman check his pistol again, then heard him say, "We don't want to kill her."
"We don't?"
"No. We want to keep this quiet."
"There's no one around."
"Inside the station there will be. Besides which, we haven't been paid to kill her."
"I don't think she's just going to hand it over."
"Yeah." Norman grunted, was silent for a moment, then said, "You got your gun?"
"Of course. How are you going to handle this?"
In the back, Samuel let out a slow breath, tried to loosen the knot of tension in his stomach, and said, "Why -- why don't you guys let me speak to her?"
The seat squeaked. Samuel didn't look up. He stared at the back doors of the van and held his breath, breaking it as something struck him sharply on his skull. Looking up, he saw Norman leaning over the seat, his pistol held in his right hand. "I'm not letting you out of the van, you got that?"
Samuel nodded slowly.
Norman turned away as the van hit a bump.
"She's at the register," Samuel heard Hussien point out as the van slowed down, then stopped. "Maybe we should make a grab for the body now, while she's busy?"
"Good idea," Norman replied. A moment later, one of the doors opened.
Samuel eased himself up, twisted around to lean on the back of the seat. Hussien glanced at him, almost said something, then changed his mind and went back to watching Norman walk across to the Falcon. Samuel could see Catherine at the register, surrounded by cartons of food and magazines. The attendant was reaching up for cigarettes and matches. He saw the two packages come down. Catherine was the only customer in the station -- the only car, the only patron -- and neither she nor the attendant looked at the skinny black man opening the Falcon's driver door, popping the boot, then making his way around to it.
"This is going to be simple," Hussien muttered.
He was right. Norman was at the boot, hands dug inside. When Cat returned to the Falcon, she would find the boot empty, and see the van driving away. Even if she did think of following, she would realize that she would not be able to take the body back from Norman and Hussien. Samuel felt something close to relief.
Over at the car, Norman straightened, rubbing his back.
What now? The thing isn't heavy. I lifted it out of that casket by myself.
Bending back over, Samuel watched Norman strain, heaving at the cloth-bound figure before letting go and turning around -- straight into the angry face of Catherine Hallow. Samuel swore under his breath. Hussien did the same. So intent were they on watching Norman try to pull the body out, that neither of them had seen her emerge from the service station. Now all they could do was watch: Catherine pushed Norman away; Norman stepped back, put his hand into his belt, stepped forward, and snapped his hand up; pistol whip; Samuel's hands dug into the back of the leather seat, wanting to help her, wanting to jump out; Catherine clutched at her face, stumbled back; Norman stepped forward again, slashed across her face with the gun; no no no; Samuel's body tensed, guilt-knotted, he was going to be sick; Norman slammed his fist into her stomach, and Catherine slumped to the ground as Norman turned to the van, waving over Hussien.
"Don't you move," muttered Hussien, holding his gun in his left hand and pointed at Sam as he opened the door. "What's the problem?"
"The thing is wedged in tight. Come give me a hand!"
"Yeah," Hussien turned his head to Samuel. "Remember what I --"
Samuel dived over the back of the leather seat, plowing straight into Hussien. The pistol clattered to the pavement and both men followed, hitting hard. Samuel started hitting the other man, his punches only half connecting. Hussien struggled beneath him, then Samuel felt his shirt grabbed. His head reeled backwards, caught in a sudden burst of pain as Hussien's own head impacted once, then twice against him. He tumbled, falling to his back on the ground.
Next to Hussien's pistol.
He didn't pause, didn't think.
The pistol came up in Samuel's right hand, and he fired: the back of Hussien's head burst open and he crumpled to the ground.
Silence, long and drawn out. Samuel took a deep breath --
A shot came across the pavement, biting into the meaty part of his left calf. "Fuck -- fuck -- fuck --" he scrambled up as Norman stalked across the service station, pistol extended and bullets cracking into the door and windshield. Samuel turned and dived into the front of the van where, among the broken glass, he flattened himself.
There was silence.
Samuel squirmed around, slithered to the other door, paused by it.
Which way is he coming? Which way? Surely he won't come in the way I came? He'll go to another door, not this door that I'm at--pausing, Samuel strained to hear a sound: a footstep, the crunch of glass: but all he could hear was the quiet squeak of the door he had come through, not quite closed, swaying swaying swaying ...
Norman stood there, his gun pointed straight.
They both fired.
From her position by the Falcon, Catherine heard the gunfire. Groggy, confused, she pushed herself up to watch Norman crumple silently to the ground. More silence followed.
Quietly, carefully, Catherine began walking over to the van. The windows and windshield were shot out, and bullet holes riddled the driver's door; both Hussien's and Norman's bodies lay on the ground, blood pooling around them. One step, two --she made herself keep walking towards the van. Her face hurt, her stomach ached, and she was afraid. So afraid.
God. God. God. Please God no.
Her hand caught the driver's door by the edge and, stepping over Norman's body, she eased her head around: Sam lay on his back in the van's front seat, pressed up against the passenger door, glass around him. A gun lay on the floor amidst more glass, the grip bloodied. She couldn't tell if he was breathing or not, and he looked so still ...
Catherine felt her breath catch as she said, "Sam?"
"Cat," he muttered from across the van, "I've been shot."
"Are ... are you ..."
"I've been shot. It hurts, Cat. It hurts."
"But --"
"I've been shot. It hurts. My arm. My leg. Help me out." He pushed himself up with his left arm, holding the other tightly to his chest.
Catherine ran around the van, opening the passenger door. "You're an idiot," she said, helping him out, watching as he winced. "You're in shock, you know that? You shouldn't be walking around like this. Why'd you go and do that?"
"I shouldn't have. I know that."
She didn't smile. She was relieved that he was still alive, more relieved than she thought possible, but ... always a 'but', even now. "We still have to get rid of the saint."
"Before or after the police arrive?" Sam began limping over to the car. After two steps, he fell.
Catherine rushed to him.
With his face pressed on the ground, he whispered, "Why can't I walk? Why am I on the ground?"
Pulling him up, dragging him for most of the way, Catherine slumped him against the front of the van. Looking into his face, she said, "You're going into shock."
He blinked. "That body ..."
"I'm going to burn it," she said.
Sam didn't say anything, just nodded. Catherine straightened, took two steps backwards, then, knowing that she didn't have a choice, ran over to the Falcon. At the boot, she paused and looked around: inside the station, a blond head was poking out, but otherwise it was still empty. But for how long?
Inside the boot, the saint lay with its head unwrapped, smiling up at her.
Reaching over to the gas pump, she started pouring: petrol sloshed over his face, over the jack, pooled in the corners.
Putting the pump back, Catherine took a deep breath and fingered the box of matches in her pocket. The decision had come so suddenly. Was it the right one? Had the fact that she bought the matches been a sign that the idea was in the back of her mind? Had she known? Had something known that this was going to happen? The answers were too big for her right now, and she returned to the immediate one: burning the saint. Was it right? Sam needed a doctor and she wasn't in the best of shape ... but was burning it the right thing? Would it rid her of that final taint of roses?
Looking over her shoulder, she saw Sam.
There was no choice. She grabbed a match, struck it, then dropped it on the gasoline-covered saint.
Nothing. The flame flickered once in the fluid, then went out.
Catherine felt all her fears suddenly rush back. It wasn't the right thing! It should have caught alight! Why didn't it? It had to. She couldn't smell roses, but how long until that changed? What if she never got rid of the saint? What if she was stuck with it forever ...? What if?
Fumbling another match out, she scrapped it against the matchbox and held it for a moment about the boot. "Please," she whispered at the saint, desperate, down to her last hope, "Please, just ... just ..."
She dropped the match.
It flickered, fluttered, and slowly, carefully, as if guided, the gasoline caught fire.
In the background, sirens sounded. Not one, not two, but a whole storm of flash and sound. It didn't matter. Flames leapt from inside the boot, the fire contained entirely to the body of the saint.
And slowly, feeling more tired than she had ever felt, Catherine made her way back to where Sam sat. Without a word, she sat down next to him and, taking his good hand into hers, she waited.
To purchase this book, go to the How to Order page.
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A sexual assault was reported to have allegedly occurred on the west coast of Ireland last week.
The incident was said to have happened in Co Galway Gaeltacht last Saturday, according to multiple reports today.
On July 21st, a young girl stated that an older teen who attended the college allegedly attacked her.
The girl is said to be just 15 years old and her alleged male attacker is reportedly 17 years of age.
According to the Irish Mirror, after the incident, the girl was taken to Galway's Sexual Assault Treatment Unit (SATU).
The Gardai have yet to make any arrests as the investigation is reportedly still ongoing.
A garda spokesperson told the newspaper: "Gardai are investigating an alleged sexual assault of a juvenile female at Inverin, Co Galway on July 21. The alleged assault took place on July 21st."

subset: commoncrawl


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text:
A leading human rights group has suspended its senior military analyst following revelations that he is an avid collector of Nazi memorabilia.Garlasco's hobby cannot be hermetically sealed off from his work at HRW. Whether or not it shows any pre-existing bias, his obsession - and HRW's reaction for the past week - show an immaturity that is incompatible with the role they claim for themselves. I would argue that this same immaturity is often seen in their anti-Israel reports as well; comparing their assumptions and legal positions on Operation Cast Lead with the IDF report appears to me at least like HRW is filled with people who do not know anything about how wars are fought and who interpret international law with a bias that makes it literally impossible to effectively fight terror without endangering the citizens of any free country.
The group, Human Rights Watch, had initially thrown its full support behind the analyst, Marc Garlasco, when the news of his hobby came out last week. On Monday night, the group shifted course and suspended him with pay, "pending an investigation," said Carroll Bogert, the group's associate director.
"We have questions about whether we have learned everything we need to know," she said.
The suspension comes at a time of heightened tension between, on one side, the new Israeli government and its allies on the right, and the other side, human rights organizations that have been critical of Israel. In recent months, the government has pledged an aggressive approach toward the groups to discredit what they argue is bias and error.
Injected suddenly into that heated conflict, word of Mr. Garlasco's interest seemed startling to many. The disclosure ricocheted across the Internet: Mr. Garlasco, an American, was not only a collector, he has written a book, more than 400 pages long, about Nazi-era medals. His hobby, inspired he said by a German grandfather conscripted into Hitler's army, was revealed on a pro-Israel blog, Mere Rhetoric Mere Rhetoric, which quoted his enthusiastic postings on collector sites under the pseudonym "Flak88" — including, "That is so cool! The leather SS jacket makes my blood go cold it is so COOL!"
It was a Rorschach moment in the conflict between Israel and its critics. The revelations were, depending on who is talking, either incontrovertible proof of bias or an irrelevant smear.The Mere Rhetoric posting said Mr. Garlasco's interests explained "anti-Israel biases."
Ms. Bogert called the attacks on Mr. Garlasco and her group "a distraction from the real issue, which is the Israeli government's behavior."
But some who firmly support Human Rights Watch were left unsettled by the researcher's extracurricular activities.
Helena Cobban, a blogger and activist who is on the group's Middle East advisory committee, asked on her blog, Just World News, if Mr. Garlasco's activities were "something an employer like Human Rights Watch ought to be worried about? After consideration, I say Yes."
Moreover, their reports on Israel make the assumption that Israel is identical in its own human rights posture as third-world dictatorships. The reason that Israel no longer cooperates with these organizations isn't because Israel has no interest in human rights (which seems to be the petulant conclusion drawn by the egotistical "human rights" community) but because Israel knows that they will not be given a fair shake. She's been burned too many times.
The inescapable fact is that for the most part, the IDF and the Israeli people themselves have no interest in violating the rights of anyone - as long as their own rights to living in peace and security are not violated as well. Palestinian Arab human rights are no more important than those of Israelis taking a bus. Not only that, but the primary responsibility of any government is protecting its own citizens. These facts are self-evident yet ignored in the multitude of reports that come out against Israel - in HRW's case, about every month.
It is comparatively easy to judge Israel against strict interpretations of international humanitarian law, especially when the interpreters frame each report to look at the human rights of only one side. The issue gets messier when real-world Israel needs to balance its own obligations to protect her own people against the human rights of her sworn enemies. Invariably, some of the decisions that will be made will value the lives of IDF soldiers and Israeli citizens in rocket range above those of terrorists, their supporters and the people who are purposefully used by terrorists as cover.
Israel has every interest in waging as moral a war as possible, and Gaza - by any objective measure - was such a war. Hamas has incentive to endanger its citizens, the IDF has disincentive to kill them. If human rights groups would work with Israel to find a way to improve the IDF's methodology to help save enemy lives while not jeopardizing Israelis, I am certain that the IDF would be happy to cooperate. That is not what these groups do, though, and from reading the IDF report and various Israeli legal treatises, Israelis are far ahead of HRW in applying international law to real conflicts anyway.
Garlasco, from what I can tell, has a lack of real military experience. Working at the Pentagon does not make one a forensics expert. But HRW, in its seeming immaturity, gave him that job more because of his resume than because of his knowledge. This is the problem. For all of HRW's laudatory goals, they have no ability to be as critical of themselves as they are of anyone they set their sights on. To my mind, this is what was exposed here - not a sickening hobby from one of their more visible figureheads, but HRW's tone-deafness and immaturity.


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Thursday's morning rainstorm at Augusta National sufficiently muddled plans at the 2020 Masters. But after a nearly three-hour delay that thwarted Bryson DeChambeau's strategy for domination — he rebounded from a double-bogey on the par-5 13th hole to shoot a two-under-par 70 — play resumed with 27 of the 48 players who had finished their rounds breaking par for the day. Among them was the reigning champion, Tiger Woods, who logged a four-under 68 on Day 1 to finish three strokes behind the leader, the Englishman Paul Casey.
Friday at Augusta should offer more clarity: With no rain forecast, the club's notoriously rippling greens should play faster and provide some separation in the leaderboard logjam.
Back-nine starters may have an advantage.
Casey did not relish having to start the Masters on the second nine, because the 10th hole is historically the toughest at Augusta National.
If the tournament were in April, when it is traditionally held, he wouldn't have had to worry, because all the players start at No. 1. But in November, with daylight at a premium, Augusta National officials had no choice but to send players off both nines.
On Thursday, the side where players began their rounds made a difference in their scores, but not in the way Casey had worried it might.
For right-handers like Casey, the best play off the 10th tee is a right-to-left hook, but if the shot goes too far left it brings trees into play, which is why Casey said: "It's not the easiest tee shot. I much prefer starting on 1."
And yet Casey birdied the 10th on his way to a seven-under 65 as the 24 players in the early wave who started at No. 10 averaged a score of 71.2. Those who started off No. 1 averaged 72.4 on the par-72 layout.
Woods also teed off on No. 10 and parred it in a bogey-free round.
Dustin Johnson, the world No. 1, and Rory McIlroy, who can complete a career Grand Slam with a Masters victory, may hope that the trend continues; they are among the players who will tee off at No. 10 for their second rounds as they return to the course Friday to complete their first 18.
The cut won't be made until Saturday.
Augusta National's decision this year to introduce a stiffer cut looked like a stroke of genius after electrical storms blew through the area on Thursday. The delay virtually guaranteed that the 96-man field would not complete the second round by sundown at 5:25 p.m. and that it could not be cut until Saturday morning.
After the 2019 tournament yielded the largest weekend field — 65 — in Masters history, club officials decided to eliminate the rule that had assured a weekend berth to any player within 10 strokes of the 36-hole leader.
The number of qualifiers this weekend will be the low 50, including ties.
Fred S. Ridley, Augusta National's chairman, said Wednesday that officials had made the change because the more forgiving 10-stroke rule had allowed players to continue on Saturday and Sunday even though they would not seriously contend for a green jacket.
"The last several years, I think we've only had two players who have been in contention who made the cut only because of the 10-shot rule," Ridley said. "While certainly it can happen," he added, "it just doesn't."
Alan Blinder contributed to this report.


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Psalm 74
74A: O Come, O Come, Emmanuel
Performance Notes:
- For performance notes on this song, see page 1084 of Psalms for All Seasons: A Complete Psalter for Worship.
Other Resources:
- Purchase a variety of choral scores and other arrangements this Psalm that are published by Augsburg Fortress Publishers.
- Visit hymnary.org for more information on this song and additional resources.
Copyright Information:
- Words: Psalteriolum Cantionum Catholicarum, Köln, 1710; tr. composite, P.D.
- Music (VENI EMMANUEL 220.127.116.11 with refrain): French processional, 15th c., P.D.; arr. © 2006 Augsburg Fortress Publishers
- Reprint Information:
- Words and Music (tune): both are in Public Domain. You do not need permission to reprint the Words or tune.
- Music (arrangement): permitted with a license from OneLicense.net.


text: When Square One Aviation closed its doors after the death of its owner in 2004, a number of Mustang projects faced an uncertain future. Fortunately, one owner decided to keep the Square One team together to finish his TF-51. Warbird Digest's Doug Fisher captured the finished product as it left the paint shop.


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The UK's top Waste Management professional body the CIWM is running the following course which should be of interest to many who read this blog.
Venue: Northamptonshire UK, 23 -25 February 2010
'I found the content really informative, as a beginner in waste it was a great course'
Lorraine Milan, Finance Officer – Surrey County Council
Are you required to deal with your company's waste? Are you new to the waste industry or need to understand the waste industry in order to change career paths?
This course will provide those new to the management of wastes with an introduction to sustainable waste management within the UK and an understanding of the roles and responsibilities of those involved from waste production to ultimate disposal.
What's in it for me?
By the end of the course you will:
• understand the importance of the management of wastes and the relationship to sustainable development
• appreciate the principles of best practice with respect to wastes management, and the relationship to the conservation of resources, and the risk of pollution
• have an understanding of the national waste strategy and the principal legislative and fiscal controls related to wastes management
• appreciate the nature and scope of the wastes management industry and understand the duties, responsibilities and powers of those involved in the management of wastes
• understand the sources of wastes, their nature and classification in the UK and Europe
• understand the options available for the minimisation, recovery, re-use, treatment and disposal of wastes
• appreciate the systems of collection, transport and transfer of wastes
• understand the hazards posed by wastes during their collection, storage, transport, treatment and disposal, and how these risks can be minimised.
This course is designed for anyone needing an overview of sustainable waste management. This includes waste producing businesses, planners, regulators and waste management industry personnel.
A more practitioner-based course aimed at waste management industry personnel 'Practical Waste Management' is also available.
Structured Education and Training: CPD Hours: 18 Hours
View the course programme: T: +44 (0)1604 620426 E: firstname.lastname@example.com W: www.ciwm.co.uk/training


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Hello out there. I hope everyone is having a great Sunday. We got all of our farm chores out of the way just before the rain started pouring down. There's nothing better than sitting in my den with the windows open, listening to the rain beat down on the metal roof of the porch. My wife went to town to do some shopping at Tractor Supply Company, and as much as I would have loved to go with her (wink wink), I decided to stay here. So I've got a little bit of time to write another blog post.
Today I'd like to talk about how distracted our society is by the internet and social media. Everywhere I go, I am amazed by how many people are staring at their phones instead of interacting with each other. We went to eat at a restaurant in town last week because neither of us had the energy to cook a meal, and I counted one table (besides our own) in which the people were not looking at their phones. No one was talking to each other, they barely talked to their waitress, and they barely even noticed that their food had arrived because they were all so engrossed with whatever they were looking at on their phones.


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Pete's Basement Season 3, Episode 5 - 02.02.10
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The boys are mesmerized as Pete regales them with tales of the old west, and the submarine he's been building for the greater sum of fifteen years. Then they review this week's comic books with their typical brand of badasserie!
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Editorial: Campaign cash taints regulatory decisions
In the how-Washington-really-works department, we have the case of the compounding pharmacy industry, and specifically of New England Compounding Center, the Framingham company believed responsible for the deaths of at least 15 people due to fungal infections.
There's a lot we don't know about how those steroid injections were contaminated, but the case has exposed what Rep. Ed Markey calls a "regulatory black hole" in which the compounding pharmacies operate.
Where there's a tug-of-war over regulation, you'll find lobbyists and political fund-raising. In this case, WCVB has reported that NECC president Greg Conigliaro hosted a fundraiser for Sen. Scott Brown at his Southborough mansion, raking up $37,000 for the Brown campaign. Conigliaro and members of his family have given $10,000 of their own to Brown.
And, the report continues, Brown was one of 10 senators who signed a letter in July urging the Drug Enforcement Administration to loosen regulations on the compounding pharmacy industry. This week Markey wrote the Justice Department, asking it to investigate whether NECC violated controlled substances laws and regulations by failing to register with the DEA.
To be clear, we don't know whether the patient deaths could have been prevented by different regulatory policies for the compounding pharmacy industry. Nor are we prescribing what the regulatory regime should be in this corner of a critical industry.
We have no problem with a company lobbying Congress or federal agencies, a right that is included in the First Amendment And we have no problem with elected officials supporting a constituent or a company seeking favorable rulings from a federal agency. That's part of their jobs.
Our problem is with the $10,000 check – and the hundreds of millions of dollars' worth of checks going into this year's campaigns.
Both parties play this game. Businesses with an interest in governmental policies feel they must donate to Democrats as well as Republicans, and we wouldn't be surprised to find money from the compounding pharmacy industry in the coffers of Brown's opponent, Elizabeth Warren. The campaign financing system has been called a bipartisan shakedown.
But regulatory decisions by federal agencies can be a matter of life and death, and they should be made on their own merits, by people who aren't taking checks from those with a financial stake in the outcome.


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Would be good to be able to edit entries in the blacklist and whitelist, as at the moment, entries can only be deleted.
Just a quick nice to have.
Edit entries
New ideas and constructive comments go here.
Moderator: Moderators
Post Reply
1 post • Page 1 of 1
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College News
4 results found
Check out the LISR, an immersive language experience within walking distance of BYU campus.
How ASL Students and Professors Have Dealt with COVID-19 Restrictions
BYU is rapidly expanding the translation and localization minor, a program that will have lasting impacts on the lives of people around the world.
Four faculty members discuss different aspects of the BYU Museum of Art's current exhibition Cut! Costume and the Cinema.


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text:
Do Tan Khang: I have now enough confidence to strive for previously unrealistic dreams
"I still remember vividly the feeling of a three-year-old child having to fight the pains of paralysis. I grew up, never thought one day I would have a good future like a person without disability. But with the Masters degree from Victoria University, I could proudly say that the world still smiles to those who are confident, optimistic and never give up," Australia Awards alumnus Do Tan Khang was quoted as saying in an article about him in 2012, after coming back from Australia on the Australia Awards Scholarship.


text:
Bee Brave Buzzes into its 10th Year!
October 7 may have been another lazy Saturday for some people, but not for Bee Brave! Passionate runners and walkers got up early to participate in the 10th Annual Bee Brave 5K in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
Bee Brave is a community of like-minded individuals who are passionate about raising breast cancer awareness, supporting fighters, and honoring those whose battle has ended. Bee Brave has become a haven of hope for those who need it, a home to share their courageous stories, as well as a place to celebrate the victories and triumphs that many have had, and continue to have, over breast cancer.
What makes Bee Brave unique is that every event is completely organized by volunteers and supported by local business sponsors who are dedicated to finding a cure. One hundred percent of the money raised throughout the year at Bee Brave events stays in Grand Rapids, MI and goes directly to breast cancer research at Van Andel Institute.
The "bee" in Bee Brave symbolizes community, brightness, and personal power which is exactly what this group brings. "The body of the bumblebee is so heavy that the frail little wings shouldn't be able to support it and it certainly shouldn't be able to fly, but nobody told the bumblebee that and it flies anyway," said Pat Ringnalda, Bee Brave founder. "Women who are battling this disease are fighting and have to be brave. So with that in mind, I just thought, well, "Bee Brave."
Before the start of the 5K, Bee Brave celebrates their Featured Fighters, along with the other survivors that participate in the race. You can hear their stories by clicking here.
This year Bee Brave had a new location in Caledonia — Shagbark Farms. The family owned and operated cattle farm has been around for over 50 years, hosting beef and pig roasts, hunting weekends, wedding receptions, and now the Bee Brave 5K! "We appreciate Farmer John for letting us use his property," said Barb Hoogerhyde Griffin Hayes. Runners were able to have a fresh change of scenery with both paved and gravel roads in the stunning fall countryside. And not only did Farmer John host the event, but showed his extraordinary support by dying his beard PINK!
Through the 5K and other fundraising events, we are thrilled to share that Bee Brave raised over $60,000 to support breast cancer research at Van Andel Institute! We are beyond grateful for this incredible partnership and look forward to buzzing along with them for years to come!


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"How do you not to feel stupid when everyone else is learning something that you can't grasp at the same pace? The shame of not being able to read out loud without stuttering or misspelling something on the blackboard in front of the class was almost unbearable. The fear of being called on by the teacher was paralyzing and made me act out and have panic attacks. My math teacher berated me because she thought I was being careless when I accidentally reversed numbers. I spent countless hours with frustrated but well-meaning adults who wanted to help me but just thought I wasn't trying hard enough. All of these experiences sent me the message that I was not good enough."
– Leana Greene
Shame is part of the human condition and development, but with dyslexia, it can take on a whole other dimension. Just when young children are in the process of forming their self-identity and self-worth, academic challenges, failure, and rejection can be paralyzing and trap them in a vicious cycle of low self-esteem, isolation, and self-doubt.
Few are able to talk about their situation at that age, too – so the burdens can be locked inside, challenging self-confidence and feelings of self-efficacy. Adolescents and adults may hide their shame from even their closest family members and families, although doing so may make the matter worse.
Breaking the cycle involves recognizing recurring patterns when self-esteem comes under attack – trigger events and then negative emotions that follow. The good news is that people can change how they respond to these episodes although it does take time.
Cognitive behavioral strategies like cognitive restructuring (questioning assumptions, identifying unhelpful ways of thinking), mindfulness training (being present in the moment, not getting caught up in external events), and constructive problem solving can all be help you recognize negative habits and behaviors that have developed that could be holding you back.
Developing self-calming and self-affirming rituals like saying "It's ok", "I'm fine", or "I can do this", can be coupled with getting up and taking a mental rest or walk to get a drink of water.
Read through the following affirmations and write down some of your own. Some people may benefit from professional help, too.
1. "The biggest and most complex obstacle I will ever have to overcome are my negatives. If I can overcome them, I can overcome anything."
2. "I cannot control exactly what happens in life, but I can control how I respond to it all. In my response is my greatest power."
3. "I have to accept whatever comes my way, and the only important thing is that I meet it with the best I have to give."
4. "I will stop focusing on how stressed I am and remember how blessed I am. Complaining won't change my reality, but a positive attitude will."
5. "Being positive does not mean ignoring the negative. Being positive means overcoming the negative. There is a big difference between the two."
6. "I will not get caught up in what could've been or should've been. I will look instead at the power and possibility of what is, right now."
7 "I am not a product of my circumstances. I am a product of my decisions. It's about not letting my fear decide my future."
8. "I will get back up. Again, and again. The faster I recover from setbacks, the faster I'll get to where I'm going in life."
9. "I can always feel the genuine, positive power that flows from my decision to rise above the petty drama and distractions that don't really matter anyway."
10. "There's nothing selfish about self-care and self-love. I can't give what I don't have. When I enrich my own life, I'll be life-giving to others too."
Read more HERE.


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Head of the Department of Physical Culture and Sports of the JASU, Candidate of Historical Sciences, Associate Professor, Excellence in Education of the Kyrgyz Republic, Excellence in Physical Culture of the Kyrgyz Republic, Judge of the National Basketball Category Uzoranov Soparbayevich
Dareg: 715600, Kyrgyz Republic, Jalal-Abad n., Lenin kөch. 57
Students and teachers of JAGU actively participate in the sports life of the city, the republic and the world.
Employees of the Department of Physical Education and Sport annually organize university championships among students in 16 sports, as well as among teaching staff in 6 sports.
The winners of the championship among students get access to participate in the Universiade of the Kyrgyz Republic, and teachers in the Republican Olympics of education workers in Issyk-Kul.
In recent years, there has been a positive trend in the level of sportsmanship of university students – an increase in the number of international-class masters of sports and masters of sports, candidates for the master of sports, and first-class athletes.
University students successfully defend the country's honor in the international arena, including the Asian and World Championships, the Olympic and Asian Games. Among them are Sulaimanov K., Asanov E., Satarova G., Abdrakhmanov A., Andreeva U., Tugelbaev T., Seksenbaev E., Toktorbaev T., Sulaimanov S., Kazybek u.E.
In the future plans of the university there is a significant improvement in the material, technical and sports facilities, the creation of the necessary conditions for the growth of students' sportsmanship and the harmonious development of future specialists of FKiS.


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As December occurred and is now over I thought I would look back at some of the books I read, bought for myself and gifted. December is a funny month for me. There are still books I want to buy but I know that Santa is coming so I have to stop myself!
These are all of the books that I acquired in December (I decided to not show the picture books!). It is quite an impressive pile, even by my standards! What can I say?! I love all of the books!
These 4 beauties I was gifted by Secret Santa people and my wonderful friend Aimee – my copy of Winter Magic is signed and it is SO WONDERFUL. I think I might be greedy and read it all to myself before I share it with the kids at school! I was very lucky to be included in the Maximum Pop Secret Santa and the SundayYA Secret Santa too and my secret Santas were so spot on with their book presents! I can't wait to read them all!
These 4 gorgeous books are ones which I read for #SundayYAthon (which happened between Christmas and New Year) for which there is a blog post for AND separate book reviews for them are coming… because I have ALL OF THE WORDS to say about them!
Books are absolutely my favourite gift to receive and my favourite to give too! I gave away so many beautiful books this year, for my Christmas presents AND in my mystery box for work! I hope all of the recipients enjoyed their books as much as I enjoyed giving them!
Did you guys get many books for Christmas this year? My 2017 reading list certainly keeps on getting longer! This bodes well for my reading challenge of 2017!
S x


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CNN New Day host Chris Cuomo grilled Hillary Clinton surrogate Joel Benenson Monday about the State Department Inspector General's report that heavily criticized Clinton's use of the private email server, and her trustworthiness problem with voters:
Cuomo: With Trump, temperament is becoming an issue," Cuomo said. "With Clinton, trust has always been the issue, from A to Z. Doesn't matter who we're talking to, and it's as true now as it was at the beginning. The IG report cemented that for people. The spin out of your side, or the arguments out of your side is that IG report said no law was broken. It said a lot of things, like she never asked permission, nobody ever did this with this server, that she shouldn't have deleted the emails. And all of those go to trust. How do you combat that image?
Benenson: Well look, you address those questions, which she has repeatedly and some of the things you just said are absolutely correct.
Cuomo then jumped in to say that all, not some, of the things he said were correct, before letting Benenson continue.
Benenson: The I.G., the State Department has to clarify and modernize the communications about what rules exist. Secretary Kerry is the first Secretary of State to have a state dot gov email address. But what's going to go on here is there are going to be positives and negatives that each candidate is going to speak about themselves and about each other. What's going to happen here is that there's going to be a campaign of issues and ideas, because that's what voters care about.
In Clinton world, voters don't care about her email shenanigans or her honesty and trustworthiness, despite what the polls say. Surrogates like Benenson are trying hard to shift the discussion away from these issues to that of the economy and jobs.
Yet that is a huge risk for Clinton as well, since she has aligned herself with Obamanomics, which is faltering badly. That's what last Friday's jobs report indicated, just as voters are focusing on pocketbook issues.


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Bulwark Flame Resistant Excel-FR Straight Fit Sanded Denim Jean
Code: PEJMSD
Hazard Rating:
Embroidery Customization Agreement
This Customized Item is Not Returnable or Exchangeable.
This will be a custom altered garment, modified to your specifications, and can NOT be returned or exchanged. Even, if you order the incorrect size, orders with embroidery, custom striping, or dealership logos are not returnable or exchangeable.
I agree and understand the terms and conditions above.
Product Description: Bulwark Flame Resistant Excel-FR Straight Fit Sanded Denim Jean
Fabric Information
- Hazard Rating Category: HRC Level 2 -- click for more information
- Arc Protection: Arc Rating ATPV 18.0 calories/cm2 -- click for more information
- Fabric: Excel-FR 12.5 oz.100% Cotton Denim -- click for more information
- Finish: Ammonia Cure -- click for more information
- Two-needle contrast stitch styling, with felled inseams and seatseam
- Straight fit
- Five jean style pockets
- One-piece waistband with metal button closure, metal is not exposed to the skin
- Two patch on spade shaped hip pockets
- Scoop front pockets with watch pocket on right side
- Traditional jean style back yoke
- Sanded denim finish for comfort and look
- Soft pre-wash comfort and feel
- Manufactured by Bulwark Protective Apparel, a division of VF Imagewear
Laundry Care:
Price Note:
- Sizes 44 and larger are higher in price
- Volume Pricing for 25 or more


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Hives and angioedema are skin conditions caused by an allergy. Hives, also called urticaria, are raised, red, warm, itchy bumps on the skin. Usually, hives will last about 24 hours. About 20 percent of the United States population develops hives sometime during their life.
Angioedema is a condition similar to hives, but the swelling occurs in deeper tissue – under the skin, in the dermis and underlying tissue. The swelling caused by angioedema most commonly occurs in the lips, face and tongue. Other symptoms may include abdominal cramping, difficulty breathing, and swollen eyes. Seldom, in very severe cases, swelling can occur inside the throat. Up to 50 percent of patients with hives also have angioedema.
What causes hives and angioedema?
Allergies, irritants, your genetic makeup, and certain diseases and immune system problems can cause hives. Hives are commonly caused by an allergic reaction to medicines, foods, insect stings or bites, and skin contact reactions to certain materials such as latex, but oftentimes the cause is undetermined, and the hives may never happen again.
Similar to hives, angioedema can be caused by an allergic reaction to insect stings, food, animal dander, and skin contact allergens. Medications like aspirin, non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs like ibuprofen, blood pressure medications (ACE inhibitors), and antibiotics can also cause angioedema.
How does Ohio State diagnose hives and angioedema?
Because hives and angioedema can be caused by many different things, it's important to figure out what condition you have before you treat it. Our physicians will examine your skin and ask if you've been exposed to any irritating substances. Be prepared to list any medications and supplements you've been taking. Blood or allergy tests may be ordered.
How does Ohio State treat hives and angioedema?
Hives are very common and usually go away on their own, but if you have a serious case, you might need medicine or a shot, including antihistamines. Some hives sufferers continue to have problems over a larger time period. When hives occur daily for six weeks or more, it is called chronic idiopathic urticarial (CIU). When CIU is diagnosed, a diligent search is performed to try to identify a trigger or cause. When the trigger is identified, it can often be changed or avoided. For those with severe hives, Xolair (an anti-IgE) is a medication that is injected twice a month.
Depending on the severity of the angioedema diagnosis, your doctor may prescribe over-the-counter antihistamines, anti-inflammatory medicines, epinephrine shots, inhaler medicines, or ranitidine. In addition, people with angioedema should avoid any known allergens or triggers that cause their symptoms and avoid any medicines, herbs, or supplements that are not prescribed by their Ohio State Wexner Medical Center physician.
Suffering from breathing difficulties is a medical emergency. Seek immediate medical attention if you are having trouble breathing. A severe, life-threatening airway blockage may occur if the throat swells.


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Verstappen takes pole in Austria as Hamilton struggles for pace
Stay tuned with 24 News HD Android App
Red Bull's world championship leader Max Verstappen will start on pole for the Austrian Grand Prix after edging out Lando Norris for McLaren in qualifying on Saturday.
Verstappen's third pole in a row puts him in a strong position to stretch his 18 point lead over Lewis Hamilton in Sunday's ninth race of the Formula One season.
"Hopefully we can finish it off tomorrow," said the 23-year-old, who was cheered on by a sea of Dutch fans at the first Grand Prix weekend to welcome back a capacity crowd since the start of the coronavirus pandemic.
The Dutch driver's teammate Sergio Perez will start on the second row alongside Hamilton's Mercedes at the Red Bull-owned Spielberg circuit.
Verstappen topped the time sheets in Q1 and Q2, and then nailed the prime seat in the grid with a flying lap of 1min 03.720sec in Q3.
He won from pole in France and last weekend's Styrian Grand Prix at his team's home circuit, and with Monza and Monaco already ticked off win number five of the campaign looks his to lose.
That is certainly how Hamilton rates his prospects of stopping the Red Bull charge to the 2021 world title.
"I would say a win is out of the question," said Hamilton, whose last success was back in Barcelona in early May.
The seven-time world champion reckoned Red Bull "have improved their car again this weekend".
"So that's an easy cruise win for Max," he forecast. "Maybe we can just try and get ahead of at least Sergio Perez and limit the damage this weekend."
Hamilton, who signed a new two-year contract extension up to 2023 with Mercedes earlier Saturday, has been urging the Silver Arrows to introduce upgrades to keep pace with Red Bull.
"It will be even more of a challenge than last week. We continue to lack pace, we tried everything to get more out of the car.
"We have got to find performance in the next races," he said.
"When I look at it, I'm losing out on the lap. Max is just faster."
Norris was only denied his maiden pole by 0.048sec, the talented 21-year-old British driver's performance the latest sign of his team's resurgence.
"I feel epic, this is cool! That was probably one of the best laps I have done, it puts us in a great position for tomorrow," said the driver in fourth position in the standings.
His more experienced teammate Daniel Ricciardo is 52 points behind and was almost a second behind after failing to make it out of Q2.
On the third row of Sunday's grid are Hamilton's teammate Valtteri Bottas and Pierre Gasly with his Alpha Tauri teammate Yuki Tsunoda just behind in the fourth row with the Aston Martin of Sebastian Vettel.
George Russell did a fine job to get his Williams into Q3 to take his place on the fifth row with Lance Stroll's Aston Martin completing the top 10.
The Ferraris of Carlos Sainz and Charles Leclerc did not make it out of Q2.


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Smile at me collar darkblue/red
Smart handmade collar with happy colors from 'Leather by beth'
'Smile at me' is an exclusive series of collars with associated leashes
• Made by strong and water-repellent buffalo leather
• Available in 3 sizes: Small, medium & large
• Available in 4 colors: Green/pink, red/lightblue, darkblue/red & pink/cognac
All our dog products are vegetable tanned... -because we love our animals
Leather by beth • Danish leather design the cool way
Smile at me is the colorful collar that is both smart and extremely durable
Smile at me is an exclusive collar with matching leashes produced in buffalo leather
Small L: 32 cm - B: 20 mm • Medium L: 42 cm - B: 25 mm • Large L: 52 cm - B: 25 mm
Green/pink • red/lightblue • darkblue/red • lyserød/cognac
Smile at me is a classic and durable collar that your dog can use both at home, on the walk and for training.
The collar is produced in buffalo leather which is both water-repellent, very strong and keeps its shape.
Both the buckle and the ring are handcrafted from brass.
Like our other dog products, 'Smile at me' is vegetable-tanned. Nice to know when you put it around your dog's neck.
We recommend that you maintain the collar with our Danish Gold Quality Leather Grease, so that it remains soft, beautiful and supple.
-made to be used !
If you need a giftcard GIFTCARD you can get it HERE... -an idea if you need the gift already tomorrow


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Today's graphics applications are incredibly sophisticated.
So much so, that some may contain features not compatible with the latest developments in printing technology. Likewise, some things can look great on screen, but not when printed. Based on our experience, we've prepared a list of items that we know can cause problems. So please, follow the advice below.
Hairlines are 'device dependent'. This means that they print at different resolutions on different machines. They may print fine on your 300dpi laser printer, but will disappear on our 2400dpi plate-setter. Use 0.25pt instead.
These print erratically, it's best to save them as a TIF or JPG instead.
If you are using layer and transparency effects in your artwork then you'll need to supply your PDF as a version 1.4 PDF, this will ensure that any layer and transparency effects are honoured. If you are saving as a version 1.3 PDF then your Transparency Flattener preset (in both InDesign® and Illustrator®) will need to be set on high resolution setting ready for printing, and then applied when creating your PDF;
In Illustrator® the Raster Effects Settings will also need to be set towards vector :
Be careful with overprint settings (especially in QuarkXpress). If you set objects to overprint, they will not 'knock-out' the background, and will look very different to what you see on screen or proof. Black text generally defaults to overprint, (as does the 100% black swatch in some applications). This is usually OK. Please refer to your application manual for more details.
These may print in black and white, or with washed out colours – always convert to CMYK.
Avoid using borders where possible (especially on small items such as business cards), since even a half millimetre movement when guillotined could make your border look uneven and unprofessional.
Vignettes, or gradient fills are best avoided – these are difficult to print and they have a tendency to show 'banding' and look unprofessional. There is advice on gradients in the Help section on the Adobe website which you may find useful.
Be careful with using watermarks, if they're too heavy it can make text or writing difficult to read. We recommend using a tint between 5%-7% for the best results. We cannot guarantee to print below 5%.
Avoid trying to line up design elements with folds or creases. There's a chance they may not land perfectly on the fold or crease which can look unprofessional.


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get a rise out of (one)(redirected from one was getting a rise out of somebody)
get a rise out of (one)
To prompt an annoyed, irritated, or angry reaction from one; to provoke one so that they will react negatively. Don't pay any attention to him, Bill, he's just trying to get a rise out of you. My brother knows that I'm both gullible and easy to irritate, so he loves getting a rise out of me.
Farlex Dictionary of Idioms. © 2022 Farlex, Inc, all rights reserved.
get a rise out of
Elicit an angry or irritated reaction, as in His teasing always got a rise out of her. This expression alludes to the angler's dropping a fly in a likely spot in the hope that a fish will rise to this bait.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of Idioms by Christine Ammer. Copyright © 2003, 1997 by The Christine Ammer 1992 Trust. Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.
get a rise out of someone
If you get a rise out of someone, you succeed in annoying them by teasing or making fun of them. Note: The reference in these expressions is to a fish rising to the surface of the water to take the bait. Calm down. He's only trying to get a rise out of you. Once he decided that he wasn't going to get a rise out of me he didn't say a lot more.
Collins COBUILD Idioms Dictionary, 3rd ed. © HarperCollins Publishers 2012
get (or take) a rise out ofprovoke an angry or irritated response from someone, especially by teasing them. informal
Farlex Partner Idioms Dictionary © Farlex 2017
get a ˈrise out of somebodymake somebody react in an angry way by saying something that you know will annoy them, especially as a joke: Don't take any notice of him — he's just trying to get a rise out of you. ♢ She always got a rise out of him by copying his accent.
Farlex Partner Idioms Dictionary © Farlex 2017
get a rise out of someone, to
To provoke to action or to anger. This term probably comes from fishing, in which the angler drops a fly in a likely spot and lets it float, hoping that the fish will rise to the bait. It was transferred to figurative use—that is, getting someone to lose his or her temper—early in the nineteenth century. Thackeray wrote, "Oh, but it was a rare rise we got out of them chaps" (Catherine, 1840).
The Dictionary of Clichés by Christine Ammer Copyright © 2013 by Christine Ammer


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When you take to the city streets in a Mercedes-Benz, you're partaking in a driving experience like no other. That's why you deserve a Mercedes-Benz service team that cares deeply about keeping those unique daily drives up to your high standards. It doesn't matter if you need a MA state inspection sticker or require a Mobil 1 Synthetic Motor Oil Replacement, we can meet or exceed your needs at our Mercedes-Benz dealer near Cambridge, MA. At Mercedes-Benz of Boston, we want to see you make onlookers jealous in your Mercedes-Benz luxury vehicle for years and miles to come.
Schedule Mercedes-Benz service near Cambridge, MA, with us and keep up to date on your Mercedes-Benz maintenance schedule. Even if you have a warning light or other concern you need addressed, our Herb Chambers Companies dealer is always at the ready to assist. Learn about the specific Mercedes-Benz services we offer, then give us a call to speak with one of our talented advisors!
Mercedes-Benz of Boston
Local Mercedes-Benz Service Center
Serving: Somerville, MA & Cambridge, MA
Local Phone: (617) 666-4100Directions to Mercedes-Benz of Boston
259 McGrath Highway, Somerville, MA 02143


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Call: The European Union and the global challenge of migration
|Type of Fund
|Action programme
|Description of programme
"Horizon 2020 - Societal Challenges "
| A challenge-based approach will bring together resources and knowledge across different
fields, technologies and disciplines, including social sciences and the humanities. This will cover activities from research
to market with a new focus on innovation-related activities, such as piloting, demonstration, test-beds, and support for public
procurement and market uptake.
Funding focuses on the following challenges:
|Link to Programme
|Description of programme
"Europe in a changing world - Inclusive, innovative and reflective societies"
This subprogramme will address social exclusion, discriminations and various forms of inequalities. It will explore new forms of innovation and strengthen the evidence base for the Innovation Union, the European Research Area and other relevant EU policies. It will promote coherent and effective cooperation with third countries. Finally, it will address the issues of memories, identities, tolerance and cultural heritage. The approach adopted in the present calls is in line with the Horizon 2020 Responsible Research and Innovation (RRI) cross-cutting issue, engaging multiple actors including society, integrating the gender and ethical dimensions, ensuring the access to research outcomes. Some Topics deal specifically with formal and informal (science) education.
The European Union and the global challenge of migration
of call
"The European Union and the global challenge of migration"
The migration crisis in the Mediterranean has put the spotlight on immediate needs. But it has also revealed much about the structural limitations of EU migration policy and the tools at its disposal. This is an opportunity for the EU to face up to the need to strike the right balance in its migration policy and send a clear message to citizens that migration can be better managed collectively by all EU actors.
It is thus essential that the EU continues to engage in a broad debate on the links between its migration policies and other policies with an external dimensions including, but not limited to its foreign and development policies. The European policy for asylum, refugees, visas, external border regime, detention centres should be assessed. Research should also make recommendations on how to tackle migrant smuggling and those who profit from it.
The research to address this challenge should focus on one or two dimensions that have to be comprehensively addressed:
At least 1 proposal per topic will be selected for funding provided it passes all evaluation thresholds
|Link to Call
|Thematic Focus
|Clustering, Development Cooperation, Economic Cooperation, Research & Innovation, Technology Transfer & Exchange, Justice, Safety & Security, Demographic Change, Migration
|Funding area
| EU Member States
Candidate Countries
Bosnia and Herzegovina
Iceland / Ísland
Norway / Norge
Switzerland / Schweiz / Suisse / Svizzera
Ukraine / Україна Oukraïna
|Origin of Applicant
| EU Member
Albania / Shqipëria
Bosnia and Herzegovina
Iceland / Ísland
Montenegro / Crna Gora/Црна Гора
North Macedonia / Северна Македонија
Norway / Norge
Serbia / Сpбија
Switzerland / Schweiz / Suisse / Svizzera
Turkey / Türkiye
Ukraine / Україна Oukraïna
|Eligible applicants
|Education and Training Centres, Research Institution, Small and Medium Sized Enterprises, SMEs (between 10 and 249 employees), NGO / NPO, Start Up Company, University, Enterprise (more than 250 employees or not defined), Association
|Project Partner
|Project Partner Details
At least three legal entities. Each of the three must be established in a different EU Member State or Horizon 2020 associated country. All three legal entities must be independent of each other.
|Recurring Call
|Type of Funding
|Financial details
The Commission considers that proposals requesting a contribution from the EU in the order of 5 million € would allow this specific challenge to be addressed appropriately. This does not preclude submission and selection of proposals requesting other amounts.
EU funding rate: 100%.
Electronic submission here.
|Contact Details
|Link to the National Contact Point Finder.
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Tyburn Gallery is pleased to present Say Hello to English, Moffat Takadiwa's second exhibition at the gallery. Born in Karoi, Zimbabwe, in 1983, and currently based in Harare, Takadiwa is known for his intricate wall sculptures and installations made from found materials, including spray-can debris, bottle tops and computer keyboard pieces. Takadiwa's practice engages issues of material culture, spirituality, colonialism and identity, as well as the environment.
The title Say Hello to English derives from the fact that for many Zimbabweans, and Africans broadly, it has been essential to speak colonial languages to gain an education and get ahead during the colonial era. This created an English-speaking elite, with indigenous languages and native cultures diminished. The body of work connects us to current movements in Africa aimed at decolonizing the cultural landscape and in particular academia.
The concept of the exhibition has been inspired by the work of Kenyan writer Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o. In his book 'Decolonising the Mind', the author highlights the inseparable connection between language and cultural dominance.
The exhibition consists of wall sculptures made from destroyed computer keyboards, through which the artist explores, destroys and finally reconstructs the legacy of this cultural imperialism perpetuated by language. For Takadiwa, language not only carries culture, but also embodies the values by which people perceive their place in the world. Dismantling colonial rule requires not simply the transfer of the instruments of government, but overcoming colonial cultural legacies, including language.
The artist takes inspiration from the "Rhodes Must Fall" movement in questioning the validity of Western oriented education in Africa. In creating the works for Say Hello to English, the artist, with his team of young assistants, destroyed thousands of computer key boards left over from the colonial administration, an action which mimics the tearing down of statues and burning down of libraries by students demanding the decolonisation of academia. Takadiwa then places the keyboards randomly side by side, thereby fabricating his own 'decolonised' meaning or language. Takadiwa concludes that colonial histories cannot be entirely destroyed or denied but must instead be used to construct new narratives.
One of the central works of the show, "The Falling of Rhodes(ia)" 2017, recalls the statue of the arch imperialist Cecil John Rhodes which was recently removed from Cape Town University following protests by students. However, Takadiwa's work is no copy of the statue; instead the computer keyboard pieces are re-assembled to create an entirely novel, mythical creature to replace that of Rhodes.


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Conrad & Evelyn
Conrad's Corner host Conrad Balliet and his square dancing partner Evelyn fell in love in later life. She was in her eighties and he in his 70s. Their love was youthful, adventurous and amorous. But then Evelyn started getting simple words mixed up. Conrad saw the signs. He took care of her as he was losing her to Alzheimer's. Aileen LeBlanc tells a very personal story of her friends Conrad and Evelyn.
Here's an audio slide show of Conrad and Evelyn's time together featuring Conrad reading a poem by Roy Croft.