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It is a common story, the tale of Alice Flagg, but as one hears more details of this sad narrative, it becomes dazzling. For Alice Flagg is the most popular ghost on South Carolina's famed Grand Strand. The Alice Flagg story began in 1849 when she lived with her brother, Dr. Allard Flagg, and their mother in Murrells Inlet. They lived at The Hermitage, which was the seashore home of the owners of Wachesaw Plantation during the colonial period. This is a case of the mother and brother becoming deeply involved in the life of a young girl when she fell in love with a man believed to be beneath her station in South Carolina aristocracy.
The Hermitage: The house in Murrells Inlet where Alice Flagg died.
"Every woman must leave her mark on the earth," Alice's mother whispered to her. "And how can you etch on this earth anything that's worthwhile if you attach yourself to this common lumberman?"
But Alice was obsessed with her young man and paid scarce attention to her mother and her brother. However, on day when the tall, clean-cut lumberman came to call and Alice was about to step into the carriage with him, her brother stormed out of The Hermitage, and yelled, "Wait!"
He refused to allow Alice to ride with her young man, and he forced the lumberman to ride a horse while he, Dr. Flagg, sat in the carriage beside Alice. Alice felt she was suffering under the tyranny of her family, and she hotly resented their unrestrained exercise of power. She was wretched, and for all she could tell, her mother and brother didn't care!
While her mother and brother had extolled the virtues of falling in love with someone who would be a glorious addition to the Flagg family, Alice could not relate to their arguments, spoken with great fervor. She accepted an engagement ring from her true love. Dr. Allard Flagg staunchly refused to allow Alice to wear the ring on her finger, so she attached it to a ribbon and concealed it around her neck. As the days passed, she believed she was successful in concealing the ring. But one day her mother discovered the ring on her chest and another fighting match flared. The mother shouted that the lumberman was deplorable and plebeian and unfashionable as well -- worthy of no better wife than a common shop girl!
After suffering undue abuse, Alice was unable to persuade her mother and her brother to change their attitudes toward her betrothed, and under their bitter arguments she agreed to leave Murrells Inlet for Charleston where she would attend school.
But living in Charleston, with the change of terrain and the sensation of being alone in the pastel port city -- plus what seemed to be a lifetime of grief over her lost love -- took its toll on Alice. She became frail and listless and complained of some discomfort in the left side of her head. Lying on her bed, crying into her pillow, she carved in her mind a track of her life without the man she loved, and the track ended, always in a blur, an indistinct ending to her future. When she had first arrived in Charleston, she had been able to look with stark clarity on her predicament, but now it was blinding, a remarkable silence that she couldn't comprehend. Was she to survive this, she wondered.
One night, as she lay on her bed, although she was in a southern port city, she began to think that she was trying to walk in deep snow. It was a mystical experience as she pulled herself through deep white powder, struggling, and then, floating. The wilderness was on a grand scale of sky-high white spires, ancient glaciers and faraway valleys. Later that night, word went from the school that Alice had taken sick and should be sent to her home in Murrells Inlet.
When her brother received the word, he left at once in his carriage, but the way was long and arduous. Four days later he reached Charleston. He found Alice incredibly fatigued, with no strength to even nod to him. Her stamina had evaporated, and her nerves seemed in knots. He carried her to his carriage, and one of her friends packed her favorite dress for the journey. It was another four-day trip back home. The jostling and jolting as the carriage convulsed and bumped on the uneven roadway and across several rivers by ferry heightened Alice's nervousness. When she reached home, she was substantially weakened and soon lapsed into a coma and died.
Alice Flagg was dressed in her favorite dress for her funeral at All Saints Church, but her engagement ring had been taken away. Her corpse wasn't one of beauty. Her waxy face clearly showed the pain of losing her true love, and then, her life.
A plain marble slab, engraved ALICE, was placed over her burial mound.
Myriad friends and relatives say they have seen Alice's apparition at her home, The Hermitage at Murrells Inlet, and in the burial ground at All Saints Waccamaw Episcopal churchyard. It is believed that she comes back to search for her lost engagement ring.
When a group of young people stood at the gravesite of Alice Flagg, a ring suddenly flew off the finger of one of the girls. It took the group much of the day to locate the ring, which was treasured. The girl had been unable to remove the ring from her finger for several years due to a weight gain.
St Matthew, Normanton, Rutland
Another bike ride in England's smallest county yesterday. Sixteen churches altogether, which sounds a lot, but churches in Rutland are refreshingly close together, and generally open, although I did find two yesterday that said they were open and weren't, and one that said it wasn't, but was.
Part two.
From Tickencote I headed westwards now towards Rutland Water, catching my first glimpse of it after about three miles from a hill top looking down into Empingham, where the tall stone church spire spiked up through boilings of trees and rustic chimney pots as if going for first prize in a 'Typical images of Rutland' competition. I hurtled down the hill into the long main street of the village, and as usually happens the church now disappeared, hidden by other buildings. Hazarding that the older part of the village might be below the top road (hazarding is always my last resort before bothering to get out my map) I coasted down, the buildings got older, and there was the church.
It looked vaguely familiar, a huge church, its big tower and spire hard against the road, the church beyond opening out into transepts and a tall chancel as it climbed the slope. Overwhelmingly a Perpendicular church which you enter up urban steps through the west door, and the feeling is thus that of a French church (was this the reason for the sense of the familiar?). Inside, the wide open interior is at first sight entirely modern, but a homely restoration, no Victorian pomp and grandeur here. All the harsh Victorian pews have thankfully been replaced with modern chairs. There are earlier survivals, including a few fragments of that rare thing in Rutland, medieval glass, in the north transept, and beautiful decorative wallpainting and a Saint in the splay of the window in the south transept behind the organ - I wonder how many people notice that? (I congratulate myself here as compensation for missing the wallpainting of a Saint at Lyddington two weeks ago).
I headed down the hill to the main road ahead of me, which was the A606 between Stamford and Nottingham - aha! This was the road I used to take regularly when going to visit friends in Castle Donington, and turning back I saw again the familiar view of that great tower and spire from the corner, a landmark on the busy road. The traffic rushed though, as I had once, and I remembered thinking to myself that I would visit this church one day. Well, now I had, without realising it.
I headed onto the A606 for a while, then turned off southwards to the road which runs parallel to the eastern end of Rutland Water. This was a busy, climbing road, not particularly pleasant. However, a couple of times there were gateways in the hedges (hedges rather than stone walls in this part of Rutland) which gave spectacular views out over the water. Between the road and the water was the cycleway which circumnavigates Rutland Water, and I looked down on dozens of cyclists in hard hats and fluorescent jackets, glumly pumping away and weaving between the walkers, many of whom were also wearing fluorescent jackets (why?) and I was very glad to be up on the busy road.
Eventually I came down onto the Normanton edge of the Water, with its car parks, cafés, gift shops, and the like. I shouldn't be snobbish, and most of these people were on their well-deserved annual holidays camping or B&Bing locally, or on enjoyable day trips from Leicester and Peterborough, all contributing to the local economy. But crowds like these are not why I go on bike rides. I joined the weaving cyclists, many of whom seemed to have merely the slightest acquaintance with the Highway Code ('we pass on the left in this country, mate') for half a mile to reach what remains of Normanton church.
The sight of the church is so familiar from photographs, stuck out on its peninsula in the water and buried half in the gravel, but is nonetheless dramatic for that. The work of Thomas Cundy pére et fils in the 1820s, an entirely urban Georgian church, an adaptation of their design for St John Smith Square in London. It is as if that church has come on holiday and is going for a paddle.
When they flooded the valley in the 1970s, tiny Normanton was one of two villages lost (the other was Nether Hambleton) but its church survived - just. It actually sits atop the dam, but even so its lower half is below water level and has been filled in with concrete, the windows of the clerestory now forming the windows of the church. A causeway goes out to it. All the burials were removed from the graveyard and cremated with due ceremony. For a while the church was a visitor centre, with a display about the making of Rutland Water, but this obviously didn't bring in enough cash because the displays have been removed and the structure is hired out as a venue to those who can afford it. It certainly looks classy, if you turn your back on the ice cream hut. You can still go inside if nothing is on, but today they were preparing for a wedding, so the causeway was as close as I could get.
It was barely a mile to my next port of call, the pretty village of Edith Weston. Generally in Rutland, the further west you go the prettier the villages get, as if escaping the influence of puritan East Anglia and submerging themselves in the opulent lushness of the Wolds which are making their journey from south-west to north-east England. And here was St Mary's church, a delightful church, not over-large but with a tall tower and a short, slender spire, set in a pretty graveyard and looking idiosyncratic - the main view from the south features three crossed gables in a row, the porch, the south transept and a 19th Century chancel chapel.
You step inside to light and late Norman splendour in the arcades and chancel arch. The chancel beyond is late Victorian, but still splendid and idiosyncratic, cross-vaulted in an obvious imitation of the chancel at Tickencote. The icing on the cake is a lovely range of 20th Century glass, from Hugh Arnold through Paul Woodroffe to that finest of 21st Century stained glass artists, Pippa Blackall. The cherry is the splendid and absurd memorial to Sir Gilbert Heathcote which explodes at the west end of the north aisle. Further east in the same aisle is a memorial plaque to the bodies removed from Normanton graveyard. All in all, church of the day so far.
And now I headed west again along the northern perimeter of RAF North Luffenham, in the general direction of Lyndon.
To be continued.
I have never been a great fan of this whole Facebook thing.
But if it can get me an EIZO, then let's rock and open an account !
Please vote for me : apps.facebook.com/contestshq/contests/80235/voteable_entr...
Windhoek is a quiet place, but every now and then a performance brings much of the music-loving public in the country together. So you end up with 300 people packed in the diminutive Warehouse Theatre on Tal Street. The venue's name comes from its previous incarnation as a brewery warehouse. The brewery was decomissioned a long ago and the building was divided between the Crafts Centre and the Warehouse Theatre. The Crafts Centre is a hub for businesses marketing local and not-so-local artifacts to visiting tourists and the only decent coffee terrace in Namibia. Amazingly, neither places has much of a web presence, although the Theater maintains a Facebook page, www.facebook.com/WarehouseTheatreWindhoek.
The Theater started its February 2013 schedule with a performance by Albert Frost, a South African blues guitar musician. Albert's solo style was quite unlike anything I've seen before in that he would use a guitar to create a loop that he would use as a background for the next guitar, with which he would make an intro and then create another loop, and so on. To the end, each song envolved into a complex performance, but had to work hard for it, too - Windhoek's evenings rarely go below 35C these days and the venue was steaming. Albert can be found online here www.albertfrost.co.za and on Facebook www.facebook.com/pages/Albert-Frost/22944713621.
Smiles are nice and all but there's a lot to be said for the in-between moments. (if only to provide the contrast and perspective for how wonderful all the smiles can be)
This is my son, Drew in a moment of wishing his dad didn't always have his camera. And this is me loving my son an incredible amount for the wonderful "character" (meant in the best possible way) he is becoming.
The church of St Mary & St Margaret at Combrook is an entirely 19th century creation but one of considerable charm and eccentricity. Most of it dates from 1866 to the design of John Gibson, though the chancel remains from a simpler structure of 1831.
The church is unusual in both it's shape and detailing, from the wide but low-pitched facade to the multi-gabled aisle walls. The west door and bell turret above are adorned with somewhat over-large demi-figures of angels. The stonework attractively blends white stone with rich golden-brown ironstone details.
The interior is dark and largely brick-lined with some small stained glass windows by Willement, Powells and Burlison & Grylls.
I arrived here well after 5pm, thus didn't expect to get inside, but was pleasantly surprised to find it still open and welcoming.
But wait! They had to draw blood a second time. Check out www.flickr.com/photos/chrisandbabs/4292302383/in/set-7215...
i keep almost throwing this mumu thing away, but then not. in the end, i just don't have the heart. it's too cool, even though it's sort of old and worn. seeing these photos reaffirms my belief that keeping it around is the right thing to do.
another little note - that shirt thing over it? OMG. i wish i had like ten of those. it is the most perfect shirt ever and i wear it with fucking everything. i scour ebay for them. i'm lucky to have gotten it from anja when she had some blowout sale in her journal, and gave it to me for like $1.
ANYWAY
olive green knit henley - anja
fake patchwork mumu - bedford ave. salvation army - brooklyn
heart necklace - chinatown, nyc
leggings - conway
combat boots - urban jungle, brooklyn
But quitting isn't difficult. Smoking - the addictive substance in tobacco - is really addictive as heroin or crack, based on the American Society, as well as before succeeding the typical person efforts to quit six times.You were practically smoking throat and your gums, if you used. Your gums
9/366 - Happiness
It is not the place, nor the condition, but the mind alone that can make anyone happy or miserable. -- Roger L'Estrange
Happiness is not in our circumstance but in ourselves. It is not something we see, like a rainbow, or feel, like the heat of a fire. Happiness is something we are. -- John B. Sheerin
Doesn't this turtle seem so happy, just basking in the sun? Here he is, all alone, without an apparent care in the world. He isn't just hanging out. He seems to be actually saluting the sun and smiling.
Oh, to be happy as a turtle!!
What do most people want for their lives? To be happy. They chase after one thing or the next, certain that once they catch up to it, happiness will be waiting for them. Only, over time, they realize that they have been chasing ghosts or looking for a pot at the end of the rainbow, only to find corn flakes.
Or, they are so focused on wanting a better life, (a better log to stand on or maybe more turtle friends to hang out with) that they don't even notice the sun. They obsess over what needs to be fixed and end up falling into the cold water, becoming more miserable every second.
What most people fail to understand is that happiness is not a place. You can't buy it. Or catch it. You must become it. You must choose to be content with the life you have today. You must appreciate the here and now. You must accept that happiness comes from within--from yourself--and not from anything outwardly.
It's OK to have good days and bad days. Ambition is encouraged. But you must not wait to be happy until all of the variables are perfect. Otherwise, you will find that you have wasted the moments that could have been happy. You will have wasted the opportunity to spread your happiness and allow your happiness to infect others.
Remember the turtle. Be happy now. What are you waiting for?
Same Litestep theme, but different wallpaper and Rainmeter:)
Wallpaper: But I... by =enricoagostoni enricoagostoni.deviantart.com/art/But-I-126573482
Rainmeter: Modified Enigma, Chip Clock
Hand built during 1970 in Stuttgart, Germany this 3.5 litre V8 engined Mercedes 300SEL was a remarkable car in its day. The self levelling air suspension meant that this car handled like a boat, smoothening out all the bumps on the road, but simultaneously making the maneuverability a cautious exercise - the suspension was a delicate mechanism. I always felt during aggressive turns that the body would snap off the chassis if I turned really hard. Not to mention the problem of the huge amount understeering from the wheel.
The engine itself was a powerhouse. Even with the bonnet closed, the 175ºC heat would be seething into the cabin. A lady friend of mine burnt her little toe when she unknowingly placed it on a part of the passenger floor. The air conditioning never worked and the car smoked just as much as Dad did. With an automatic gearbox the fastest I ever did with this was about 140km/h on the M2 (don't tell anyone)- I would have loved to take it to about 180km/h+ but never had the guts to do it. I know this car will kill me the moment that I think that it can do what I want it to do. You see this car drives YOU. She decides how fast she wants to go and you simply get in sit down and shut up. But when you get confident and start thinking that your able to take over the driving experience she gets very angry VERY QUICKLY. I've never estimated her ability to punch a hole through a concrete wall, but if I were to estimate, I'd say that I'd still be under-estimating!
The comfort in this car was unreal. We had the leather seats replaced and upholstered with new leather from cows from Santa Monica, California (I don't know why they had to be imported) but the quality was superb. It was like sitting on the world's fastest leather couch.
What attracts me to this car is how the designers incorporated the vertical headlight configuration to the classic Mercedes grill. When I look at other 300SELs on the street and see the singular headlight, I laugh because it looks so ugly- like someone wearing oversized goofy glasses. The vertical configuration looks so sophisticated and elegant. Looking at horizontal head lamps on other cars is so boring and urbane, I'm really glad that Mercedes did the vertical on the 300SEL -it's so pretty.
The proportions of the car, I feel are spot on. Being 20cm longer than the 280 (the 300SEL's poor gimpy cousin) the passenger rear windows are elongated and clear - perfect for a princess to be waving out of at plebs who couldn't afford such classic motoring . The rounded front and rear windows flowed with the cabin shape adding to the aerodynamic profile and aesthetic simplicity.
The doors as well had a lovely supple weight to them - they were heavy and felt strong. They curved also, and made the archytypal door closing sound. I'd learn to appreciate this sound often, because the engine was so unreliable that I'd be getting in and out of it to open the bonnet to figure out what was wrong.
Here, me and my Dad spend an afternoon cleaning the Mercedes, shining and polishing, drying and air blowing to a nice reflective finish.
Currently the head gasket in the engine has eroded and a few other components need fixing, not to mention that the transmission needs to be replaced.
but my legs keep carrying me further and further away. I want to stop and turn, and see that you haven't abandoned me completely, that you're there when I need you. I want to fall face down and just lie there until time stops, until we're together in a better place. I want to run to you, but these legs wont take me there. I want to move, but these legs are frozen. I'm full of contradictions but you look past them and see everything else. I am not worth your time yet you still seem to stop the clock each and everyday. The numb feeling that surges through my body is something of beauty, of pain. I need you to kill me. I need me to be part of my past.
my Lord, I want more of you and less of me.
Ex-BR Class 11 diesel shunter 12088, to be named Shirley, receives attention outside the locomotive shed at the Aln Valley Railway Project's Alnwick Lionheart site. The 0-6-0 DM locomotive was built at Derby Works in 1951. She was purchased privately in 2012 from Butterwell Disposal Point. Alnwick Lionheart station will be constructed to the left of the Class 11, with the shed spur continuing forward to meet the 'main line' shortly before it descends steeply to rejoin the original solum. The AVRP aims to reinstate in four phases the two-and-a-half-mile branch line linking Alnmouth and Alnwick. Opened in 1850, it was abandoned in 1968.
FGR invades Middle Finger and Work Bathroom Wednesdays
Oh yeah, it’s a ladder.
…in the bathroom. At work.
But where does it go? Some say it goes all the way to heaven. I once suggested that it led to the roof, but was met with much resistance. Someday I’ll climb to the top, open the hatch and see where it takes me. There’s probably a lesson there, somewhere.
Zombies Hate Icebergs, but Vikings love Volcanoes. That's a fact, and I can prove it.
Check out my new photography field guide, titled Flash in the Wild: A Pocket Guide to the Right Light, co-written and photographed with Dylan Goldby.
Flash Parker Photography:
"the planet, nay, the universe you know is but one. one of many. beyond this world, this world of apocalypse and shadowfall, there lie many, many more. each different. but, among them, some things never change...
But then there is you. 'The Eternal NIght'. the one who lived. the one who survived it all. the man who fought the monsters and won. the Man Who championed tragedy upon tragedy and came out the other end the same.
the man who lost it all. the man who watched every friend he had ever known leave him, one by one. the one who watched them grow old. the one who watched them have children, and families. the one who watched them die, and then their children do the exact same thing.
the one who has burned in heaven and hell respectively. the one rejected by both. the one who came back to earth a martyr. the one who was forgotten.
some would envy your long life. envy how you have lived for what seems like forever, and gotten to see some of the best and worst moments of history. these people do not consider the way it hurts you. me and you, though. we know. both of us are the last of our kind. I am the last Turaga of time, forced to watch over rocks for eternity. and you. you are the last of the monsters. the last beast of the night left to be slain.
But I am left to wonder...
what is it to have experienced all this pain, when soon it will be wiped away" The turaga of time, on the subject of eternity
"Its character building." The eternal Night, In responce.
But he's still cautious. Reflection in window of gaming arcade, Coin-OP, on Fourth Street, near Bryant, SoMa, San Francisco.
The building in the reflection is the original KQED radio and TV station - way back when.
Today started out great, it was steady at work but not as overwhelming as it's been lately. I ate Honey Nut Cheerios for breakfast which I haven't had in months and they were great. I caught up on some phone calls, checked off some of my to-do's, and felt productive. After work I jumped in the shower to get ready for small groups at church. As I was in the shower my mind started thinking about this week's topic at church....marriage. It was already difficult sitting through the message yesterday at church and since the small groups are pretty much a continuation of that I didn't feel like going. I went back and forth on going because I made a commitment to attend all seven weeks of this 'Going All Out' campaign but realllly didn't want to hear more about how to strengthen my marriage. As I was having a tug of war in my mind I could feel my good mood just wash down the drain with my shampoo.
I got out of the shower, dried off and instead of getting dressed I put on my sweats and slippers. I guess my decision was made. I sat on the bed and chatted with God to help me get out of my funk. I thought about calling my mom, my sister, or a friend...but figured I didn't want to push my bad mood off onto them. As I was asking God to help me all I kept hearing was water running. I sat here obsessing about all the things I'm behind on and every once in awhile kept getting side tracked by running water. WHAT ...IS... THAT! A few minutes later I realized it was my oldest taking a shower. I had my youngest go tap on the door and tell him to get done and I went back to thinking and sulking about my bad evening. A lot of time later I was still hearing the water running and my temper started to escalate. I sent my youngest to knock on the door a second time thinking ... ok, he's going to get the hint now. Nope. More minutes went by and by then I was in full irritation mode. Finally he got done and headed to the kitchen to do the dishes (from last night).
As I walked down the hall all I saw was the water running in the kitchen sink while he bopped out to his iPod. MORE gallons of water just floating away..... UGH!! I got to the kitchen and launched into the full ...."Do you know how much water/gas/electricity costs?" speech. He just stood there and I could tell he felt bad. Then I felt even worse. I quickly made dinner, ate and decided to head to bed early.
As I'm writing this just now I realize when my energy started to turn. It was the thought of talking about marriage, hearing about marriage, discussing marriage.... and I don't want any part of it at the moment. Being married is wonderful. I love being married. Heck, I'm still married but I know it's coming to an end. That upsets me. So am I cheery? No. And I'm ok with skipping tonight's small group. This is what I need to do to get through this. One day at a time and today this is the choice that's best for my forward moving progress.
I still love Cheerios, and yes I did apologize to my son for the 'extra' frustration that came through about the running water. The end, good night.
The famous Greek botanist, pharmacologist and physician Dioscorides(c.40-c.90 CE) writes of a venomous, mediterranean spider - which he calls 'Phalankion', but which today goes by the scary name 'Latrotectus mactans tredecimguttatos' - whose bites, he thinks, can be cured or at least soothed by what since their renaming by Carolus Linnaeus is called the Asphodel or the Anthericum (varieties of the lily family, among which St. Bernard's Lily). Early-modern botanists like Thomas Johnson (1600-1644) used the Greek-derived Latin name 'Phalangium' for four flowering plants which they thought to be identical to Dioscorides's antidotal flowers. In English they were called 'spiderwort', a word apparently first used in written Englsih (according to the OED) in John Gerard's "Herball" of 1597.
Enter John Tradescant the elder (c.1570-1638). An intrepid traveller and collector and adventurer and soldier and Gardener to the King and businessman, he had the energy besides to establish a large botanical garden near London, England, and the first museum of natural curiosities. This 'Ark', as he called it, is the forerunner of the Ashmolean Museum of Oxford.
Tradescant was much interested in the profits that might be made from the very young colony of Virginia in North America. He was one of the financiers of the Virginia Company, and his son - also John - actually went to the colonies as a collector and entrepreneur. Part of father and son's project was to expand their collections of naturalia. In the list of plants which the elder John made of his garden around 1630 is included his 'Phalangium virginianum flore albo'. It was renamed Phalangium Virginianum Tradescanti in Johnson's re-issue of Gerard's Herball in 1633, and he clearly distinguishes it from the four known, common kinds of Phalangium: "This plant in my judgement cannot be fitlier ranked with any of those last described; therefore I have given him the fifth place, as the last commer". Later it was named Tradescantia virginiana by Linnaeus (1753), who also saw clearly that this was not a spiderwort - in his time still called Phalangium - and at the same time wanted to honor Tradescant.
Today we thus know these flowers as Tradescantia or Widow's Tears, or even rather self-evidently Trinity Flower. But they are often still also called Spiderwort even though there is no connection at all to Dioscorides and his spiders.
Or is there? Native American medicine has it that these plants when they are ground up can be used to relieve the pain and itching of insect bites, in particular of the black widow and brown recluse found - yes! - as well in the Jamestown area of Virginia. This is lore of the Powhatans of Pocahontas fame. The chief of the Powhatans comes into the story too. In the Tradescant collection is still today kept a mantle: "Pohatan, King of Virginia's habit all embroidered with shells, or Roanoke".
This photo is of a cultivar of the 'spiderwort': Tradescantia 'andersoniana', named after the famous American botantist Edgar Shannon Anderson (1897-1969) from St. Louis, Missouri. It was taken on a sunny Sunday afternoon in the shady glades of the Jochum Hof, Steijl, Limburg, The Netherlands.
She is definitely trouble - to my heart that is! Love this girl! She is so different, but the same as her sister, that the two of them make it hard to breathe.
Bookend - Light training, she is learning very quickly to find the right light!
But really we weren't. We didn't have a care in the world. We smiled, we laughed, we had fun.
Thanks Nickie for being apart of this with me!
His real name is Nick. I call him Nickie, he calls me Mickie. We haven't hung out in forever. I had a lot of fun tonight.
Ailsa: Don't tell anyone but sometimes I say too much.
Meet Ailsa. Her hands are stained by her stock outfit and her wig needs some work but that's why I got her for a nice price. I've treated her hands and arms with a 10% benzoyl peroxide gel four times and the stains are slowly fading.
I love graphic design, but I also love decorating interiors from the finishes to the furniture to the colors on the wall, and of course, the accessories, too! I had a good time working with my client, Dr. Rajul Patel, DDS, in developing the look of her new dental office.
To see more custom design projects, visit www.designwithchon.com
Like me on Facebook! www.facebook.com/DesignWithChon
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Design With Chon (DWC), a boutique design studio with defined niches in (1) visual communication, (2) event design and (3) interiors. Each of these industries are huge in themselves, but DWC has an understanding that bridges them together — color, balance, texture, order and a good eye for design. DWC’s goal is to achieve good design in all its various forms, whether it’s from the branding of your business to saying “I do” to transforming a dwelling in your home. Let me, “Chon," be your go-to person for good design, color, great photography and art. A balanced environment makes you feel good, and I am here to inspire your surroundings.
If you’re interested in sharing an idea or a project, drop me a line at designwithchon[at]gmail.com to start the conversation.
©Design With Chon. All Rights Reserved.
Last stop in Rajasthan: Udaipur. Rajasthan is known for its palaces, forts, and history. Udaipur is no exception. It doesn’t have a “kingdom” to speak of as Jaipur, Jodhpur, and Jaisalmer did, but there is a City Palace, a museum now, which happens to be the state’s largest with a façade 244 meters long and 30 meters high. The palace was begun by the city’s founder, Maharaja Udai Singh II, and completed by subsequent maharanas. There is a uniformity to the palace and it’s not terribly different from some of the others we’d seen: cupolas, courtyards, balconies, towers. All in all, it’s a nice visit and certainly a “must see” if you have a tourist checklist for this town.
The biggest difference between Udaipur and the previous cities we’d visited is the setting. In southern Rajsasthan, Udaipur (population around half million) is nestled among the Aravalli Hills and is on the eastern shore of Lake Pichola. Now, this lake was always here, but not quite at these dimensions. It was enlarged by Maharana Udai Singh II (city founder) to its current size of 4 km (north-south) by 3 km (east-west) by flooding the village of Picholi. Being manmade (or…man-enlarged), it’s shallow and can dry up completely during severe droughts.
Because of its setting, Udaipur is considered one of the most romantic spots in India and, while I haven’t seen much of India, I can certainly say that I can see how this could/would be a romantic spot. My Udaipur experience began when we arrived via overnight bus around 4:00 in the morning on Friday, October 2.
Udaipur was one of the cities where I was not able to actually reserve a guesthouse, but I did have one in mind (Lal Ghat Guesthouse) and we hopped in a tuktuk and made our way there now. Bless their souls and wonderful Indian hospitality for opening the door before the sun had come up and giving us a comfortable – though like most other places, bare necessities – room. (I’m always pleased and impressed, both in China and India, that hotels allow you to check in very early without charging an extra day.)
Needing a few hours of actual sleep, since the bus sleepers felt more like a sarcophagus than a sleeper, we got a slightly late-morning start to the day. The Lal Ghat Guesthouse is located just north of City Palace and on the shores of Lake Pichola. From our room, if you crane your neck just a little bit, you could see the lake (with some flowers in bloom) and the Lake Palace. More on that later.
For now, the first order of business was to find food. I can’t recall the name of the restaurant, but I enjoyed it so much I ate there a second time on my own. It was a few doors south of the guesthouse and, like the guesthouse, was lakeside and afforded wonderful views. Fortified by a delicious lunch of chicken biriyani and reshmi chicken, we made our way to the City Palace (and Palace Museum) and wandered around there for a while.
It’s a very nice palace, mind you, but I was beginning to become a bit anesthetized to grandiose palaces by this point, having been to Jaipur, Jaisalmer, and Jodhpur in the past seven days. Though this is the largest, it didn’t rank as my favorite. (Jaisalmer Fort was my favorite as it’s a living fort, followed by Mehrangarh in Jodhpur, then City Palace here in Udaipur; Jaipur didn’t really have a comparable palace to speak of, though it’s the capital of the state.)
Though I was starting to suffer palace fatigue, I still did enjoy myself quite a bit, though I know I was rushing a little. I was more interested in finding “unique” here, which was only with views of the lake. Other than that, it was standard fare for palace museums with the women’s quarters, various displays, and so on. However, it is a pretty building, and I’m certainly glad to have gone there.
From City Palace, we walked out the south gate to take a boat ride around Lake Pichola. This is where Udaipur comes into play in pop culture. James Bond fans may recognize the scenery around Udaipur and Lake Pichola in particular as the main setting from the movie Octopussy. (It was said to have been an Afghan palace in Octopussy.) You’d also have to be a pretty die hard 007 fan to have seen that movie, I think; it’s usually ranked among the worst of the Bond franchise. But, I digress…
There are really two islands in the middle of Lake Pichola: Jagniwas with its Lake Palace Hotel (Taj Lake Palace) and Jagmandir with its own palace. I’ll start with Jagniwas. It’s not a private island, but you can only go there if you are a guest of the hotel…with rooms that start from 40,000 rupees/night. (I don’t know the high end, but that translates to close to 4,000 RMB or over $600 USD/night for the cheapest available. I’ve seen pictures and, while beautiful, I’m not Daddy Warbucks, and don’t expect I ever will be…so will just settle for their promotional pictures on their website: www.tajhotels.com .)
Jagmandir, on the other hand, is an island you can visit, and we did. The boat left the mooring south of City Palace, went northward to give a close-up view of City Palace from the lake, along with Bagore-ki-Haveli up to the north end before veering south and around Jagniwas and docking at the north end of Jagmandir, 800 meters south of Jagniwas (and roughly in the west central part of the lake).
Jagmandir’s palace was built in 1620 by Maharana Karan Singh, and was expanded by his successor, Maharana Jagat Singh. Not much has changed from those days until recently when it was convereted into a small hotel (nothing like the neighboring Taj Lake Hotel). For the Bond aficionados, the Taj Lake Hotel was the main palace of Octopussy, and I believe Jagmandir’s palace is where Bond stayed in the movie. There was also some filming at the nearby Monsoon Palace, but we didn’t have the time to visit there.
Jagmandir didn’t offer much at all in the way of things to do. Once you get to the island, you’re pretty much limited to wandering around an interior palace courtyard (where you can have very, very overpriced drinks and possibly a bite to eat, though the drink prices kept me from looking further, so I’m not certain). After staying in the courtyard as long as you’d like – and the views from and in the courtyard are lovely, though don’t require too much time or effort – you can walk outside to the boat dock where there is also an outer garden that’s quite pleasing, and affords beautiful views of the wooded Aravalli Hills in the west.
After an hour or two on Jagmandir, we finally took a boat back to the mainland (a whole 10-15 minute ride, tops), and then tooled around the area near City Palace and the guesthouse. We eventually had dinner at a rooftop restaurant down the lane from where we stayed which had a nice view of the lake with its shimmering palaces (well-lit by night) and a bit of a nice view for sunset. The best sunset views, I would say, would have been from the islands, though – especially Jagniwas – as you could have an unobstructed view of the sun setting over the hills with the lake in the foreground. The food at the restaurant, like most every other restaurant we ate at, was spectacular. It was a good way to end the first day in Udaipur.
Saturday morning came along and we didn’t have much planned. I was actually glad to spend the majority of the day alone. After running a few errands, I went to Jagdish Temple. This is an “Indo-Aryan temple..built by Maharana Jagat Singh in 1651. The wonderfully carved main structure enshrines a black stone image of Vishnu as Jagannath, Lord of the Universe; there’s a brass image of the Garuda (Vishnu’s man-bird vehicle) in a shrine facing the main structure.” (Per Lonely Planet India.) This is one of the smallest temples I’ve ever been to, though the details were delightful. I was pretty impressed with how intricate the temples were both here and at Jaisalmer.
After a quick half hour at Jagdish Temple, I went back to roaming the streets of Udaipur, eventually finding my intended destination, the Bagore-ki-Haveli. This is a pretty large haveli in the Gangaur Ghat area. It was built by a Mewar prime minister and has 138 carefully restored rooms around courtyards on three levels. These days, it’s kind of a klitschy museum. There are a few rooms that have interesting exhibits of Indian musical instruments (a sitar, obviously, and many others that I don’t recall the names of), and exhibits with turbans – including the world’s biggest turban. (This, by the way, was a bit strange; don’t know why anyone would want such a huge turban. Anyway, it was in a glass case, didn’t photograph terribly well, and none of us are the worse off for that.) The nicest part about this haveli is that, like the guesthouse, it was on the water’s edge, so had a few rather pleasant views.
After finishing up here, I wandered back to the previous day’s restaurant for lunch (and would even eat dinner there on Saturday night; they were probably happy with me…). For either lunch or dinner, I had hariyali murg tikka and cheese naan. Now…I would gladly eat murg tikka (chicken pieces generally made in a tandoor) any day of the week. Hariyali…is a coriander-yogurt-mint marinade. It’s heavenly. I really need to learn how to make that one, though I don’t really have any way to make tandoori chicken.
The afternoon and early evening was spent eating very well and relaxing, and really waiting for the last thing I had planned for Udaipur: Dharohar. This is a cultural event at the Bagore-ki-Haveli that hosts Rajasthani folk dancing, singing, performance, and so on. It’s an hour long and pretty interesting, in addition to being in a nice setting.
Before bidding farewell to Udaipur, I returned for the last time to Lake Pichola to try to get a few pictures of the Lake Palace and Jagmandir by night. A few turned out alright, but not spectacularly.
All told, Rajasthan was an absolutely brilliant way to spend a week, and I was looking forward to the last few days in Uttar Pradesh, beginning with the Taj Mahal in Agra after yet another long overnight train ride across the Indian countryside.
We were in The Lake District for the August Bank Holiday, great weather for walking but very busy – unlike the last Bank Holiday - where we had Great Gable to ourselves after a bad forecast kept people away. It was grim back home but we walked in shorts and Tee shirts.
Saturday and we were in the Old Dungeon Ghyll car park and away in good time. What a beautiful morning, we headed up Redacre Gill onto Pike of Blisco. The first climb of the day is always tough until the blood gets flowing. I didn’t really have a plan but it wasn’t what we did that’s for sure. I’d thought that we would walk until early afternoon and then head down, probably from Rossett Pike – But! Jayne made a call to her Mum from Pike of Blisco and she asked if we would be going over the Langdale Pikes – Jayne said yes! I looked at her and said “will we?” I was a bit surprised as it is a pretty full on walk – what we call a two Banana walk – and we only had one. She couldn’t believe that I was letting her off without doing the whole circuit of Langdale. We have done this walk before but usually in the opposite direction. There is a lot of slow and tough ground, ten tops ( depending on where exactly you go in the Langdales) over 15 miles and over 6000ft of ascent – a decent walk. The atmosphere was very clear for August, things had turned prematurely Autumnal last week so instead of warm weather haze it was very clear. We could make out buildings on the Isle of Man, we could also see rain in the distance, over Morecambe Bay and out in to The Pennines. It rained over there for hours and you can see it in the background in a lot of the photos.
We walked from Pike Of Blisco across Red Tarn to Cold Pike onto Crinkle Crags – Including the bad step. On Crinkle Crags we met a very Fit 65 year old from London, wiry and experienced, we crossed paths and walked with this guy for quite a while, it slowed us all down a bit but it didn’t matter. Bow Fell for sandwiches and our one banana. We picked our way down Hanging Knotts, the direct route to Rossett Pike. When there isn’t a well-worn path on the direct route there is always a reason – because it’s hard usually! This was the start of the second half of the walk but the afternoon was ticking by, if we were doing it I wasn’t prepared to cut corners and miss any tops so were committed to the whole thing.
We had a long slog over Rossett Pike, It’s a long fell, across Stake Pass and Martcrag Moor. After the dry summer and a wet August the fells were noticeably wetter underfoot and Martcrag was very boggy. Onto Pike of Stickle and Loft Crag. By mid-afternoon the Langdales were very busy with large family groups, every top had a small crowd on it, we took a photo and enjoyed the view and moved on – briskly! My old knee and ankle injuries were starting to tell a story by now but there wasn’t much I could do about it. Across to Harrison Stickle and I decided to include Thunacar Knott as it’s a short easy diversion on the way to Pavey Ark. Stood at the top of Pavey Ark looking over Stickle Tarn I knew that it was going to be a long painful descent – and it was. The mile or so from the New to the Old Dungeon Ghyll wasn’t so bad as there is a path through the fields which was nice and gentle on my aching joints. Eight hours wasn’t bad as we never hammered it, just wanting to enjoy our first big day on the tops for quite a long time. The golden Rule in Ambleside was calling – after a shower.
On Sunday we had another beautiful start although there was a fair bit of cloud later. We drove over Kirkstone Pass and down to Hartsop, there’s a little car park up the dead-end road through the village, it’s only small and you need to be there early, it was already filling as we got there. We had a tough first climb up the nose of Hartsop Dodd, steep but fantastic views. I’d thought long and hard about how to make the most of the fine forecast for today and views from the first climb proved that it was worth it. The day took us over 17 miles and fourteen tops, the ground was easier than yesterday so we finished an hour sooner but it was still a tough day.
Caudale Moor, Stoneycove Pike, down to Threshthwaite Cove, an out and back to Gray Crag and a quick early sandwich on Thornthwaite Crag. High Street, were most walkers never go near the summit but bypass it on the main path – something that’s true of a lot of tops and a lot of walkers – each to their own. Rampsgill Head out and back to High Raise and Kidsty Pike, back to Rampsgill Head and onto The Knott, Rest Dodd. We normally do an out and back to The Nab on this walk but not today, it might have caused some friction wi’ our Jaynie. Across Satura Crag to Brock Crags, we only had the twin tops of Angletarn Pikes to go and we were done with the tops. I usually find Angletarn Pikes hard work at the end of a long walk but we used a different path this time and they didn’t’ seem so bad. The problem with this walk is that you think it’s all over now but it’s a long fast yomp back to the car- around three miles with a little bit of climbing as well, it certainly magnifies the aches and pains.
Monday was forecast to be wet, very wet the further south you went so we headed north. It rained over breakfast and we feared the worst, gale force wind were also forecast and sure enough the trees outside the dining room were straining at the leash. I t might have to be a short leg stretcher. We headed for Keswick and parked below Dodd. We were the only ones there, gales and rain and it was the day of the Keswick show ( Grasmere Games and traffic gridlock yesterday) The rain stopped but it was a dark and grey day. We creaked our way up Dodd with aching legs, I don’t think Jayne was impressed but we plodded up Carl Side, battered by the wind. Once on Carl Side we were wind propelled along Long Side and over Ullock Pike. There was a bit of blue in the sky to the north and a bit of sun but not much. We descended via The Edge and back along Longside Wood. Nearly seven miles and 2000 ft of ascent.
Over two and a half days we climbed almost half the height of Everest, stood on 28 tops and walked 40 miles ( we clocked a couple of evening miles) we used to do eight day weeks in the Lakes with every day a full on day but over the last few years we haven’t made the effort to travel up there, we need to get our act together – and some new knees!
the experimental weapon for the future solider combat system
Pastie: pastebin.com/2RhBWBpb
Pastie for the regular rifle (w/o GL) and the SR: pastebin.com/HTL5Ebvh
This wonderful old house in Rock Island,IL is abandoned but the potential possibilities are endless. Built in 1867, it is of the Italianate style.
a cloudy-day photowalk around Buddha Vihar, atop Mahendra Hills, Hyderabad. It was good to enjoy the 360 deg view of the city Hyderabad. The walk concluded by drenching in heavy rain and a cup of hot coffee after returning home... :)
Super Deformed Ultraman heroes and kaiju figures. Apart from four (two Mega block figures and two others) they are all from a Play set. The set was in the form of Ultraman face and when transformed it turned to be the HQ with many vehicles, It was a real cool toy for my son but over the years most of the HQ parts gone missing but a few bits and pieces left somewhere in many boxes stored in the garage. The set was purchased in 2004 but the actual issue year should be earlier than 2004.
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Scene from the Minnesota state fair 8/29/2017.
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Stereo realist loaded with Kodak Ultramax 400. Contrast was enhanced using DXO Filmpack 3 (Fuji Reala 50 preset)