Demonstration in Brussels, Belgium in support of Ukraine and against Russia starting a war in this country. More than 5000 were present on 6 March 2022 to show their indignation.

Whitey white balloons

Whitey white balloons

Fill them full with shades of grey

Fill them full with your own sadness

Loneliness, estrangement

Hatred and indignation

Let them fly

High ...

And far away ...

Until them

Hiding behind those far far clouds away

---

Whitey white balloons

Whitey white balloons

Filled them full with warm colors

The red of happiness

The pink of love

And the orange of warmth

Hold them tight

By your side

As long as you can

And dont let them fly

Definitely...

Never...

---

Just please

Dont do oppositely

Many seek a responsible, some seek indignation, very few seek the truth, and others simply live life.

“Travelling, one accepts everything; indignation stays at home. One looks, one listens, one is roused to enthusiasm by the most dreadful things because they are new. Good travellers are heartless.”

― Elias Canetti, The Voices of Marrakesh

THE NEW VERSION DRAG FLICKR IN FREEFALL

see details below from Alexa Apr 3

website: www.websiteoutlook.com/www.flickr.com

GATILLAZO "Esclavos del Siglo XXI"

SALIDA MATINAL CON LOS FLIKEROS..lombartBCN

Victor Carreras

Jendrix56 in Instagram

500 PX / JENDRIX56 PHOTOGRAPHY

PORTAFOLIO photo.medvekoma.net/Photos/24523071@N02

My Dark side in DEPHORMOGRAPHY

PRESENTACION

www.flickr.com/photos/24523071@N02/show/

ALL THE SOUNDTRACK OF ALL MY PHOTOS

TODAS LAS BANDAS SONORAS DE CADA FOTO

<a href="http://www.youtube.com/blogs/id/gQSnUI6sb64"

We have freedom to choose !!!

The icon of Paris and France. One of the most recognizable structures in the world. The most-visited paid monument in the world. The second-tallest structure in France. However its contemporaries were not impressed. A group of prominent artists at the time wrote - "We, writers, painters, sculptors, architects and passionate devotees of the hitherto untouched beauty of Paris, protest with all our strength, with all our indignation in the name of slighted French taste, against the erection…of this useless and monstrous Eiffel Tower…To bring our arguments home, imagine for a moment a giddy, ridiculous tower dominating Paris like a gigantic black smokestack, crushing under its barbaric bulk Notre Dame, the Tour Saint-Jacques, the Louvre, the Dome of les Invalides, the Arc de Triomphe, all of our humiliated monuments will disappear in this ghastly dream. And for twenty years…we shall see stretching like a blot of ink the hateful shadow of the hateful column of bolted sheet metal"

Press "c" for comment or "f" for fave. Thanks!

Judith und Holofernes

Öl und Blattgold auf Leinwand | Oil and gold leaf on canvas

Belvedere, Vienna

"The story of Judith is a common theme in art. To free her people, the courageous woman outsmarted the enemy general Holofernes and beheaded him. Gustav Klimt interpreted the Old Testament heroine as an erotic femme fatale. We only notice the severed head of Holofernes upon closer examination of the painting..." (information text in the museum)

In this context, I highly recommend the oratorio 'Juditha triumphans' (RV 644) by Antonio Vivaldi. This is more than two hours of the most gripping, fantastic music. Here is the link to a particularly well done concert: www.youtube.com/watch?v=dd_2D9Rg_Tk As an appetiser, I recommend the aria 'Armatæ face et anguibus', where Vagaus, Holofernes' servant, has just discovered what Judith has done, full of indignation and anger. You can get there by clicking on 'SHOW MORE' under the video and then on '02:00:01'. Don't miss this art delight!

There's been some heavy photographing of the lovely peonies, that I bought the other day, for the last couple of days or so ...Martina has shown a catlicious interest (who was that said, curiosity killed the cat :) , but Tiny has been ignoring the whole thing with a pure cat-mannered indignation. Anyway, I do hope to get around to posting other pictures of peonies from that series shortly.

Happy Friday my friends!

A Single Dandelion stands in Indignation

Artwork

Jim Carrey

Definition of indignation

: anger aroused by something unjust, unworthy, or mean

Merriam-Webster

Fevers.

Namiętności, horrory wymachiwały ogromnymi prawami, tańczyły na skrzydłach, rzeźbiarskie wysokości, wymyślone kroki, odległe pytania, absurdalne badania,

ακραίες γλώσσες συγκλονιστικές αναταραχές πολυάριθμες διαπραγματεύσεις αναταραχές αποπροσανατολιστικές εργασίες χαλάρωσαν ηθικές αισθήσεις προσωρινά δηλητήρια,

l'indignation énormes rebondissements indescriptibles récits mouvementés superstitions barrières avancées profanes examen des droits préoccupations privées personnes grossières,

intruziuni nerezonabile propoziții interpuse niveluri excesive explozii consumative devierea atențiilor mâini evidente întreruperea studiilor,

поразительные повороты, бегущие юбки, царапающие игровые предупреждения, объяснили частые неощутимые часы энергии полные градусы устойчивый ветер в пределах,

ひどい理由を吹く厄介な言語最も厳しい条件深刻な結果衝動的な夢急性の苦痛の怒りのジレンマ点滅する知覚謎の恐怖が感じた.

Steve.D.Hammond.

Let all bitterness and indignation and wrath (passion, rage, bad temper) and resentment (anger, animosity) and quarreling (brawling, clamor, contention) and slander (evil-speaking, abusive or blasphemous language) be banished from you, with all malice (spite, ill will, or baseness of any kind).

And become useful and helpful and kind to one another, tenderhearted (compassionate, understanding, loving-hearted), forgiving one another [readily and freely], as God in Christ forgave you.

Ephesians 4:31-32

I used Topaz Simplify and Clean to create the painterly effect along with a texture from Shadow house Creations.

Have a blessed day and thank you for stopping by!

Copyright © 2015 Wendy Gee Photo~Art

This image is protected under the United States and International Copyright laws and

may not be downloaded, reproduced, copied, transmitted or manipulated without

written permission.

It was fair to say that by now I was getting a trifle irritated. It was the only time on Super Saturday that I allowed Mr Grumpy to come striding in from behind the curtains, or perhaps there were other guilty parties who had invited him to the centre of the stage. After all, the latterly arrived photobombers were hardly a pair of youthful star crossed lovers whose tender years might go some way to excuse their slightly excessive behaviour. Younger than me by some years admittedly, but that’s not exactly difficult. And right now, as they explored each others’ tonsils for about the twentieth time, they failed to budge a single inch from the position they’d occupied for the last ten minutes; a position directly between the increasingly unimpressed middle aged photographer, standing on top of a dune with his camera pointing right at them and the black church. And you only have to look at the image to see why. This sort of light doesn’t last for long, and when the gods have decided to ramp it up a bit and gone and heaped a cloud that looks like an enormous white duvet over the background mountains, you really need to get on with taking the shot before everything goes flat. I didn’t want my image to be somebody else’s love scene, and I’m really not that good with the clone tool.

And where was Lee when I needed him? His razor sharp elbows are the stuff of legend on the local five a side football circuit, and he hails from the mean streets of a certain city in the West Midlands, where they probably have punch ups for breakfast. In fact I’m sure he told me his Grandad was a Peaky Blinder - although maybe he made that bit up to sound windswept and dangerous. He may only be five and a half feet tall in his Cuban heels, but just one raised eyebrow from him and they’d have been chasing off to their rented Dacia Duster before screeching their tyres in a hasty exit out of the car park in the direction of Reykjavik in record time. Alas, Lee was on a distant dune to the west of me, nose buried in his camera bag, happily oblivious to my increasing angst at the entwined pair. Now the grasses in front of the church were glowing as if they’d been set alight. If Bonnie and Clyde didn’t get a shift on, I wasn’t going to get the shot. I was on my own.

Enough was enough - Clyde looked considerably larger than me at one hundred and thirty-five millimetres (not his height - evidently), but it’s amazing what a bout of righteous indignation does for one’s sense of puffed up bravado. I coughed loudly, shouted “excuse me,” with as much authority as I could muster, and watched, as sheepishly they skulked off to conduct their business somewhere else in the dunes. Quite frankly, they’d need to find somewhere a bit more secluded quite soon if things carried on the way they were going. At least it seemed that I wouldn’t be paying for the shot I’d finally get by being on the wrong end of a bout of fisticuffs. So far I’ve gone through life without getting involved in disputes of a physical nature, although in moments when my patience has been tested by people standing gormlessly in compositions, I’ve often wondered what I’ve been missing out on. Well when I say I’ve managed to stay clear of the combat zone - apart that is from that playground scrap at the age of twelve when I rolled into what I’m going to politely refer to as “essence of dog,” following which the contest was declared null and void as I raced off home to ask for my jumper to be put in the washing machine without having to face any difficult questions. Nothing to do with the fact that I was losing at the time. He was bigger than me too. Me and my mouth.

Up until now, and henceforth afterwards, Super Saturday had perhaps been the most productive day of my life behind the viewfinder, here or anywhere else in the world. Snaefellsnes, gathered under ever more dramatic cloud shapes, had been our world, and it had been pretty much a perfect one at that. So good in fact, that I’ve decided to create an album within an album and call it……., well you’ve probably worked it out. And with the greater part of the action taking place across three evening hours that will live long in the memory at Budir, our time here provided some spectacular conditions with which to work.

In fact I had to stop writing for a few minutes to remind myself what remains to be shared from Super Saturday, and while I must confess I feel I saved the best until first (The Big Pink Sky Show), there are still a few treats left lurking in the goody bag - well I think so anyway and I hope you’ll agree as I drag them out and polish them off. I’d better get on with it then.

The Big Pink Sky Show: www.flickr.com/photos/126574513@N04/52380684960/in/album-...

Location: D o X @ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Island%20Fantasy/188/15/21

On bended knee is no way to be free

Lifting up an empty cup I ask silently

That all my destinations will accept the one that's me

So I can breath

Circles they grow and they swallow people whole

Half their lives they say goodnight to wive's they'll never know

Got a mind full of questions and a teacher in my soul

So it goes

Don't come closer or I'll have to go

Holding me like gravity are places that pull

If ever there was someone to keep me at home

It would be you

Everyone I come across in cages they bought

They think of me and my wandering

But I'm never what they thought

Got my indignation but I'm pure in all my thoughts

I'm alive

Wind in my hair, I feel part of everywhere

Underneath my being is a road that disappeared

Late at night I hear the trees

They're singing with the dead

Overhead

Leave it to me as I find a way to be

Consider me a satellite for ever orbiting

I knew all the rules but the rules did not know me

Guaranteed

― H.G. Wells, The Wife of Sir Isaac Harman

This is the look I captured when this little one saw Laura, Tom, and Kevan with their Canon gear !!

Psalm 103 NKJV

A Prayer of the afflicted, when he is overwhelmed and pours out his complaint before the Lord. Hear my prayer, O Lord, And let my cry come to You. Do not hide Your face from me in the day of my trouble; Incline Your ear to me; In the day that I call, answer me speedily. For my days are consumed like smoke, And my bones are burned like a hearth. My heart is stricken and withered like grass, So that I forget to eat my bread. Because of the sound of my groaning My bones cling to my skin. I am like a pelican of the wilderness; I am like an owl of the desert. I lie awake, And am like a sparrow alone on the housetop. My enemies reproach me all day long, Those who deride me swear an oath against me. For I have eaten ashes like bread, And mingled my drink with weeping, Because of Your indignation and Your wrath; For You have lifted me up and cast me away. My days are like a shadow that lengthens, And I wither away like grass. But You, O Lord, shall endure forever, And the remembrance of Your name to all generations. You will arise and have mercy on Zion; For the time to favor her, Yes, the set time, has come. For Your servants take pleasure in her stones, And show favor to her dust. So the nations shall fear the name of the Lord, And all the kings of the earth Your glory. For the Lord shall build up Zion; He shall appear in His glory. He shall regard the prayer of the destitute, And shall not despise their prayer. This will be written for the generation to come, That a people yet to be created may praise the Lord. For He looked down from the height of His sanctuary; From heaven the Lord viewed the earth, To hear the groaning of the prisoner, To release those appointed to death, To declare the name of the Lord in Zion, And His praise in Jerusalem, When the peoples are gathered together, And the kingdoms, to serve the Lord. He weakened my strength in the way; He shortened my days. I said, "O my God, Do not take me away in the midst of my days; Your years are throughout all generations. Of old You laid the foundation of the earth, And the heavens are the work of Your hands. They will perish, but You will endure; Yes, they will all grow old like a garment; Like a cloak You will change them, And they will be changed. But You are the same, And Your years will have no end. The children of Your servants will continue, And their descendants will be established before You."

Shot w/ Lumia 1020. Post edit w/ Oggl.

This western lowland gorilla lady at Erlebniszoo Hannover was not at all pleased about the attention she got from a large group of photographers. At first she simply turned her back to us, but when the clicking of the cameras didn't stop she suddenly swung around as if to say "Oi, that's quite enough now!"

Some days, it does not pay to bring your camera to work.

a look of indignation.

The game was in full swing, chips stacked high and oil flowing freely under the flickering neon lights. XR-77 had just upped the ante, his servos whirring as he confidently pushed a stack forward, when he suddenly froze mid-bet. The robot’s camera lens narrowed at KE-9, seated opposite him. "You’re hacking into my visual circuits, aren’t you?" XR-77 accused, his voice a blend of static and indignation. KE-9 raised his hands in mock innocence, metallic fingers glinting. “Please,” he replied smoothly, “just because I can calculate odds faster than you doesn’t mean I’m cheating.” The other players chuckled, while XR-77 muttered something about “trust issues” before grudgingly shoving his chips to the center.

Birchings.

Chwyrligwgan tywyll yn sgrechian megin yn taro'n drwm oriau fferdod ymchwydd cythreuliaid poenau tragwyddoldeb poenus o ddrygioni deddfau cysegredig griddfanau rhincian digywilydd,

tardum linguas suas extendit insaniam insanire gravamina animas immensa tergum tristem morteque pessima morte eiusdem opera pulsare cruentum oculis hauriendum,

άγριο σφύριγμα δηλητηριώδεις κλίμακες φιδάκια σκουλήκια σκληρές απολαύσεις εγκαταλειμμένα σχέδια ξεσπάσματα εγκέφαλοι ζηλοτυπία σκιές καταρρέουν τα τεράστια νεκροταφεία της ζωής αποτρόπαιοι καπνός,

chaud furieux chefs abstrait étincelle brûlant règles poète invisible tendons monstres boueux peste tourbillonnant diables portes furieuses barres maudites indignation bêtes,

わがままなオオカミ巨大な悲しみ不器用な時間織り怒り悪性の線怒りの門妄想の年強い力古代のレッスン数え切れないほどのアーティキュレーション燃えるようなビジョン敵を叫ぶダークフォールド目覚める球.

Steve.D.Hammond.

One trail + one mountain + one lake = Happiness !

Shooted in Kluane National Park, near Kathleen Lake.

Listen "Guaranteed" by Eddie Vedder to enjoy this pic...

On bended knee is no way to be free

Lifting up an empty cup, I ask silently

All my destinations will accept the one that's me

So I can breathe...

Guaranteed...

Canon EOS 400D, f/8, 0,005 s. (1/200), ISO 100, 55 mm.

The Postal Box at the Paprihaven Mall is something of a nexus for love and intrigue.

If a letter does not have appropriate delivery and return addresses, the postman will drop them in a 'dead letter' box in the Paprihaven Mall mail room.

Then, and no one seems to know who started this or why, some of the missives were opened and posted on the message bulletin board at CenterSocial, the main gathering area at the mall.

Rather than outrage or indignation, the denizens, especially the teen set, began using this to write anonymous letters, usually along the lines of undeclared love.

It is always of great interest among this young social set to gather and see what new anonymous missives may have been posted and try to discern who may have sent it!

For this reason, when dropping the letter in the mail box, the sender must either be quick and unnoticed or have someone drop it off for them.

•───────────︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵────────────•

A year of the shows and performers of the Bijou Planks Theater.

Fate/Stay Night

Rin Tohsaka

2015, Figma

The Moroccan and Chinese Arbitration Committee set criteria for choosing the queen of beauty, they were represented in: "beauty of the face, beauty and harmony of the body, beauty of indignation, and the beauty of the movement”.

A picture from my documentary " ROSES FESTIVAL "

Instagram | Behance

Palermo’s Piazza Pretoria has long been the city’s most unabashed open-air gallery of flesh and flourish. These marble figures—gods, goddesses, nymphs, beasts, and mortals alike—have weathered centuries of sun, scandal, and curious stares. Some strike classical poses of virtue and poise. Others flaunt grapes, grip sea monsters, or simply let it all hang out. It’s not subtle. It’s not prudish. It’s Palermo at its most baroque—and its most brazen.

Originally sculpted by Francesco Camilliani in 1554 for a private villa in Florence, the Fontana Pretoria was shipped to Palermo in 1573, where its arrival caused an uproar—particularly among the neighbouring convents, who dubbed it the Square of Shame (Piazza della Vergogna). Today, it’s embraced with local pride, international amusement, and the occasional side-eye from visiting aunties.

This series captures the sensuous splendour of the statues in all their unabashed glory—no fig leaves, no apologies, just pure Sicilian stone-cold confidence.

⸻

La Piazza Pretoria de Palerme est sans doute la galerie en plein air la plus audacieuse de la ville. Ces statues de marbre — dieux, déesses, nymphes, monstres et mortels — ont affronté les siècles avec grâce, insolence et un sens du style tout sicilien. Certaines posent avec une dignité classique. D’autres exhibent des grappes de raisin, chevauchent des créatures marines… ou se tiennent fièrement dans le plus simple appareil. Subtil ? Non. Pudique ? Encore moins.

Sculptée en 1554 par Francesco Camilliani pour une villa privée à Florence, la Fontana Pretoria fut transportée à Palerme en 1573, provoquant l’indignation des religieuses voisines, qui la surnommèrent Place de la Honte. Aujourd’hui, elle est célébrée avec humour, fierté et un brin de provocation.

Cette série d’images rend hommage à la sensualité marbrée de ces statues sans tabou – une Sicile baroque, assumée et résolument sculpturale.

Part of the exhibition “1945. Not the End, Not the Beginning” at the POLIN Museum in Warsaw, Marek Cecuła’s installation ZAAM uses 40 ceramic heads to evoke the emotional aftermath of the Holocaust. Some figures have open mouths in a mute scream, others open eyes and sealed lips—visual metaphors for trauma, survival, and the silence of both victims and witnesses.

The Hebrew word zaam, meaning anger or indignation, gives the work its name. The artist, himself a child survivor from Kielce—where a postwar pogrom took the lives of at least 42 Jews—bridges past and present. His work invites viewers to reflect not only on historical violence, but on the enduring relevance of memory, empathy, and moral responsibility.

if you don't mind, why don't you mind? where is your sense of indignation? you are too kind. much too kind. where is the madness that you promised me? where is the dream for which i paid dearly?

link to this song, if you're so inclined

“Travelling, one accepts everything; indignation stays at home. One looks, one listens, one is roused to enthusiasm by the most dreadful things because they are new. Good travellers are heartless.”

― Elias Canetti, The Voices of Marrakesh

Demonstration in Brussels, Belgium in support of Ukraine and against Russia starting a war in this country. More than 5000 were present on 6 March 2022 to show their indignation.

Behind the bar, a small radio faded in and out of range…I think the song playing was ‘Sowing the Seeds of Love’ by Tears for Fears but, I couldn’t be certain. The fading afternoon light was invading the gloom of the room, giving everything an orange glow. A friend of mine had once told me it was the “golden shower”. I had never really understood the term, though the cascade of glittering, yellowish hues could have been construed as a ‘bathing of light’, I suppose. Katie sipped at her tea and I kind of stared down at my half pint of Belhaven’s Best. There happened not to be many folk in the joint and the deafening silence threatened to drown out Roland and Curt’s attempt to sound like the Beatles. I became more fascinated with how the soothing, colour hues played with the bubbles bobbing around on the top of my glass and asked, “Katie, do you like the golden shower?”

At first her teacup just hung before her mouth and a slight audible breath exuded - properly dressed in tones of flabbergast and surprise. When she asked me to repeat my question, I did but, with slightly different intonation and accent of alternate syllables…heck! Didn’t seem to make any difference…the cup slammed down on the table, the chair got pushed back with a look of indignation that, if utilized during Custard’s Last Stand, would have laid all those attacking hordes of savages to rest in seconds flat (and still time for lunch)!

I drained my beer. I waited for some clarity…none came, so I got up and wished the bartender a pleasant evening and exited into the elongated shadows splaying themselves across Main St.

Demonstration in Brussels, Belgium in support of Ukraine and against Russia starting a war in this country. More than 5000 were present on 6 March 2022 to show their indignation.

Петербургскую музыкантшу Наоку (Диана Логинова) арестовали на 13 суток за то, что она со своей группой Stoptime исполняла песни артистов, признанных российскими властями иностранными агентами: Noize MC, Монеточки и других. Видео с их выступлениями завирусились в соцсетях. На артистку посыпались доносы и возмущение Z-общественности.

St. Petersburg musician Naoka (Diana Loginova) was arrested for 13 days because she and her band Stoptime performed songs by artists recognized by the Russian authorities as foreign agents: Noize MC, Monetochki and others. Videos of their performances have been circulating on social media. Denunciations and indignation of the Z-public rained down on the artist.

My husband of almost 34 years, has negotiated his life by a philosophy - no expectations. It works for him - not me!

I am the exact opposite. I am always expecting - although, it has caused me a lifetime of heartaches, trouble, disdain, self-righteous indignation, worry and through the years an attitude of disbelief at how people without regard for their fellow man, haphazardly, without thought, navigate their life causing horrific consequences that reverberate in the hearts of many.

I started writing this a few days before New Years. It was to be a tiding of joy to my Flickr friends, however, that all changed in the wake of the events that led to the callous and pointless death of a Police Officer that never made it back home on New Years Eve. It hits home. Our son is a Police Officer. It grieves us to the very core of our being…

I grew up with the Golden Rule - “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

I feel that I am a minority. I might be wrong. Maybe, I came from another planet and got dropped off here by mistake. I live in expectation. I expect someone to hold the door instead of letting it swing shut in my face. I expect that the people behind the counter should be treated like human beings. I expect that if I let people in with their car that they would give me a nod or a wave of acknowledgement. I expect people not to allow their dog to defecate on my beautiful yard. I expect people to follow the law. I expect that when people go through my school zone they would drop their speed to the safe, legal posting. I expect that when people finish their hamburgers, fries and soft drink that they don’t open the window and spew their litter everywhere. I expect that when I am pushing my shopping cart through the snow covered parking lot at Costco that people would put their brakes on instead of whipping by to get that empty parking stall.

I expect decency. Respect. Kindness.

For quite a few years I worked as a casual employee at a Postal outlet. If you want to witness your fellow, human protoplasm’s worst behaviours, stand by the counter for a few hours. I was renamed every vulgarity you could think of and a few more I’ll bet you don’t even know about! I was threatened - one time with a fellow who said he planted a bomb in his parcel and another from someone that was going to come back with a gun. I was often the only ‘white’ female working amongst many ethnicities. I saw firsthand the atrocities of racial abuse.

In my efforts to keep the corners of my world accountable, I have encountered trouble. When my children were young I championed the school patrol for a time. I helped the young patrols in guiding their peers across the street. There was one instance that was particularly horrific in my endeavours to keep the children safe. In front of no less than fifty witnesses, a mom, blatantly, attempted to run me over and put the children in peril. It took me a long time to process this act of vigilantism. The law was swift in laying charges and restitution.

Another time, I honked ( I know. I know. Count 1,2,3,4,5,6,7… Breathe! ), when some guy in a big truck cut me off in rush hour. The guy returned the honk, threw a huge disposable cup full of pop onto my windshield and made my acquaintance even further by calling me a name that I will never forget.

My son’s vehicle was in the shop that day and I was dropping him off somewhere. I remember vividly, how he sat in the passenger seat shaking his head. He knew his Mama was not one to back down from a confrontation like this. I stopped the vehicle and got out. ( I know. I know. I have learned since not to do that - well, hardly ever…).

Through my indignation, I could hear the voice of reason, as my son, in a calm, but authoritative voice told me to get back into the car. Role reversal! I knew he meant it. He got out of the vehicle - (all 6’7” 250 pounds of him) and introduced himself to the guy in the truck. I watched from the rear-view mirror as the little guy in his big truck, momentarily humbled, slumped down into the seat. They exchanged a few words. My son got back into the car and we drove away in silence.

I can chuckle now recalling the incident, but, I learned that day that as much as my son would have my back he certainly was not going to ride shotgun with his Mama everyday!

I remember another occurrence that happened that left me conflicted. My son was playing on a high school basketball team and during half time he witnessed something in the locker room. I knew the minute he went back onto the court to resume playing that something was wrong. As we drove home after the game he confided in me that he had seen a boy breaking into a locker and he stole someone’s brand new, expensive shoes. I told my son that he had to go to the Coach the next day and let him know what had transpired. He said that wasn’t going to happen. The boy was a gang member. There would be retaliation - after-all, my son, was the only one that had seen the crime.

I was conflicted. It bothered me that this boy was not going to be accountable. What kind of lesson was this going to teach my son? We had another discussion. I was able to reinforce my belief in the concept of reaping and sowing or Karma as some may call it.

I prayed for that kid. I made a promise to my son that I would let it go. That same boy, tragically, a few years later, accelerated his crime sprees to murdering another young boy. I remember my son phoning me on his break. He had been doing a prison transfer and he saw that same boy incarcerated. I think about him often. How did this happen?

Years ago, when I was chauffeuring people around the city I remember retelling something I had heard on the news that morning to one of my passengers. It was a horrific accident - completely preventable. Many people were killed. The fellow responsible for the safety of those people, went to work stoned. I told my passenger that I could not believe that such a senseless act could happen. His remark has haunted me ever since. He said, “You assume conscience.”

I am a mom. I am a sister; a friend; a daughter and a wife. I live my life as best as I can. I am motivated and driven with the intent of doing what is right. I can see consequences before they happen and as a result switch gears, or go down different roads. I am getting better at it - sometimes. I can see how our actions create domino effects.

I recognize though, and sometimes painfully, that I am still under construction - even right now in my senior years. I have much to learn…

Is it wrong to expect?

My husband has navigated and quite successfully through his life without expectations. Maybe I should follow his lead… Maybe I should throw down the gauntlet, so, to speak, and give up in my pursuits of expectations. Maybe they ARE too high. Maybe, this is the year that I should not expect anything - especially after this past, challenging year.

… and then I think HECK NO! As long as I have breathe and the will to live I cannot live without expectations. I will always try to look for the goodness in my fellow human being.

The Serenity Prayer is a prayer written by the American theologian Reinhold Niebuhr. It is commonly quoted as:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.

At a time when we are watching people perish by the hundreds, thousands and hundreds of thousands, it may be wise to take inventory of our own life's. We probably need to revisit, no matter how difficult it may be, our mortality. What does our legacy look like? What will we leave behind? How will our loved ones remember us. How will our neighbours remember us? Will the clerks at our local grocery store remember our faces, and the way in which we dealt with them?

I want to be remembered for my serenity, my courage, my wisdom, But mostly for my expectations because with expectations there is always a chance for HOPE!

May the road ahead bring you serenity, courage, wisdom and

hope - just don’t cut me off!

This gecko had found a nice spot to sun itself on this Spider Lily leaf, and didn't seem happy that I'd forced it into the shady interior of the plant.

Cuando tomas la decisión de seguir este tren hasta Aranda de Duero tienes que asumir el cúmulo de peripecias con las que vas a tener que lidiar y aceptar que no es un reto para pusilánimes. Mi jornada no empezó mal porque el tren partió de Santurce con solo media hora de retraso. Pero no bajé la guardia porque, como de costumbre, algo se podía torcer y había que estar preparado para ello. La espera en Subijana fue gélida y tediosa, sin trenes hacia Bilbao y con la habitual supresión del Intercity a Vigo. Todo parecía preludiar una rápida aparición del Tramesa pero, con un problema que solo le permitía circular en modo diesel, el tren avanzaba a paso de tortuga. Superado por la espera y con el sol casi perpendicular a la vía, me arriesgué a cambiar de sitio para fotografiarlo en Katadiano. Allí el sol estaba perfecto pero me aguardaban dos formidables mastines (amenazadores, pero guardando la distancia) que me estuvieron ladrando sin parar durante más de media hora. Cuando llegó el tren habían pasado casi tres horas desde su partida, casi el doble de lo habitual, y le hice una foto que en breve os mostraré por aquí. Para la siguiente fotografía fui a La Bureba donde (¡qué raro!) me esperaba todo un arsenal de nubes. La zona de Prádanos parecía la menos "hostil" y me quedé en el denominado "Puente de la Pulmonía" donde el frío y la espera sin fruto suelen ser mis compañeros de fatigas. Y así fue una vez más. El tren tardó una barbaridad en llegar y la foto fue un desastre por culpa de las nubes. El bobinero pasó a una velocidad anormalmente reducida y me tomé con calma la llegada al siguiente punto, el puente de Quintanapalla. Tanto relajo casi me cuesta un disgusto porque el tren llegó solo dos minutos más tarde que yo. La cuarta foto tocaba hacerla en el Directo y después de lo vivido no perdí ni un segundo en dirigirme a Villagonzalo, localidad por la que el mercante apareció unos quince minutos después de mi llegada. Con la adrenalina a tope me dispuse a adelantar al tren y volver a fotografiarlo en Lerma. Mientras llegaba al punto a paso más que ligero, me pareció ver que la vía estaba muy brillante así que me temí que el tren ya hubiera pasado. Pese al mal augurio no me desanimé y me preparé para la espera (larga e ilógica, por supuesto) sacudido por un frío y un viento a los que el calificativo "polar" no les vendría grande. Siendo sensato (esta palabra la borro de mi vocabulario cuando salgo a hacer fotos) habría concluido que el tren se me había escapado y me habría vuelto a casa. Pero no. Me dediqué a mandar WhatsApps a diestro y siniestro en busca de información sobre la situación del tren. Por fortuna, un buen amigo me comunicó que el maquinista había observado una anomalía en la vía y se había detenido para documentarla fotográficamente. Una vez más, tocaba ración extra de espera y con el riesgo añadido de unas amenazadoras sombras que iban invadiendo la vía. Alguno de vosotros (hijo del sufrimiento como yo) podrá barruntar la catarsis que sentí cuando el tren finalmente apareció con el maquinista dedicándome una sonora pitada. Increíble momento, sí.

Comentando la jornada con otro aficionado, me dio la enhorabuena por la suerte que había tenido y yo, lejos de explotar de ira e indignación, le dije que sí, que verdaderamente había tenido mucha suerte.

Sí que estamos locos de atar, sí.....

When you make the decision to follow this train to Aranda de Duero you have to assume the accumulation of adventures with which you are going to have to deal with and accept that it is not a challenge for the faint hearted. My journey did not start badly because the train left Santurce with only half an hour late. But I didn't let my guard down because, as usual, something could be twisted and I had been prepared for it. The wait in Subijana was freezing and tedious, without trains to Bilbao and with the usual suppression of Intercity to Vigo. Everything seemed to prelude a rapid appearance of Tramesa but, with a problem that only allowed it to circulate in diesel mode, a turtle step advanced. Overcome by the wait and with the sun almost perpendicular to the road, I risked changing places to wait for the train in Katadiano. There, the sun was perfect but I expected two formidable mastiffs (menacing, but keeping distance) that were barking nonstop for more than half an hour. When the train arrived, it had been almost three hours since its departure, almost twice that what is usual, and I took a picture of it that soon you will see here. For the next picture I went to La Bureba where (how strange!) a whole array of clouds was waiting for me. The area of ​​Prádanos seemed the least "hostile" and I was in the so-called "Bridge of the Pneumonia" where the cold and waiting without fruit are usually my fatigue partners. And so it was once again. The train took a lot to arrive and the photo was a disaster because of the clouds. The freight passed at an abnormally reduced speed and I calmly took the arrival to the next point, the Quintanapalla bridge. So much relaxation almost cost me disgust because the train arrived only two minutes later than me. The fourth photo was to be taken in El Directo and after what I lived I did not lose a second to go to Villagonzalo, a town where the freight appeared about fifteen minutes after my arrival.

With the adrenaline full, I set out to overtake the train and photograph it again in Lerma. As I reached the point step by step more than light, I thought I saw that the track was very bright so I was afraid that the train had already passed. Despite the bad omen, I did not lose heart and prepared myself for the wait (long and illogical, of course) shaken by a cold and a wind that the qualifying "polar" would not suit them. Being sensible (this word I erase from my vocabulary when I go out to take pictures) I would have concluded that the train had escaped me and I would have returned home. But no. I dedicated myself to send WhatsApps left and right to probe information about where the train was. Fortunately, a good friend told me that the driver had observed an anomaly on the track and had stopped to document it photographically. Once again, I had a extra waiting ration and with the added risk of menacing shadows that were invading the road. Some of you (son of suffering like me) will be able to sweep the catharsis I felt when the train finally appeared with the driver giving me a loud whistle. Amazing moment, yes.

Commenting on the day with another fan, he congratulated me on the luck I had had and I, far from exploding with anger and indignation, said yes, that I had really been very lucky.

Yes we are crazy to tie, yes ....

after the arrival of marina the podenco.

schubert used to sleep with his daddy and louie louie downstairs.

I got the rest upstairs.

but....when marina and chai arrived, chai slept with me, and marina moved in with her dad and louie louie and schubert.

at first marina slept in a cuddler on the floor next to her daddy, but then she decided she'd try the bed, much to schubert's indignation.

so he moved upstairs with me and jones and chai, but not in our bed, in a cuddler.

[chai is also a nasty intruder.]

when leon goes to bed, schubert runs downstairs and into the bedroom with leon. he get a kiss from his daddy and then he comes back upstairs.

funny animals, our pets.

During the visit to the Sachsenhausen Memorial and Museum, it is possible to read the entire history of Nazi concentration camps, victims, aggressors and the conniving points of view of German society of the time in all this.

The feeling at the end of the day is one of indignation. More than 11 million deaths, less than 5% of the Nazis had some kind of condemnation after the end of Nazism. The thousands of German families who lived next to the concentration camps and lived daily with Nazis were proud of them, and were capable of surrendering a fugitive that knocked on their doors in the middle of the night asking for help.

Excerpt from Wikipedia:

Christ's Church Cathedral, the cathedral church of the Anglican Diocese of Niagara, is located at 252 James Street North, in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada. Built in 1835, it predates the existing Anglican cathedrals of Toronto, Kingston, London, Halifax, Fredericton and St. John's, and as such is the oldest extant Anglican cathedral in anglophone Canada and the second oldest in all of Canada. Only Holy Trinity Cathedral in Québec City predates it.

The building has an unusual construction history. Originally a stuccoed wooden Palladian-Baroque structure designed by Robert Charles Wetherall, it was incrementally transformed into stone Decorated Gothic, initially to an 1848 design by William Thomas, with Thomas's chancel and the first two bays of his nave being added to Wetherall's existing wooden church, the resulting hybrid being dubbed "the humpback church." The stone gothic nave was completed to a further design by Henry Langley (the architect of some 70 Ontario churches, including Metropolitan United Church in Toronto and the bell tower and spire of the Roman Catholic St. Michael's Cathedral, Toronto) in 1876, the original wooden portion having been demolished in 1872 to clear room for it and, inter alia, the chancel extended in 1924–25. Meanwhile, Thomas, in a state of indignation over the perverse use to which the Anglicans had put his design, took it to the Presbyterians, who built the still-standing St Paul's Church to Thomas's plan for Christ's Church.

Christ's Church has ornately carved west doors and fine stained glass windows.

Bishopsgate Fountain at Christ Church Cathedral: This fountain sits in front of the Christ's Church Cathedral. The fountain was dedicated in 2004 by Rev. Ralph Spence in honour of Percy Tomlinson, a member of the church.

It’s probably fair to say that the Dunnock is the most overlooked of all garden birds, and even has to suffer the indignation of also being called a Hedge Sparrow – when in fact it isn’t related to sparrows at all and is in a family of birds called Accentors. Both male and female Dunnocks are alike in their grey and brown plumage, but the younger birds tend to be more brown and striped. They can also be identified by their thin bill and orange legs. A very common garden bird, they’re normally seen individually or in pairs and feeding on the ground, or close to it in undergrowth. Overall, there has been a moderate decline in numbers over many decades, with a more sharp decline happening between the mid-1970s and 80s. However, there has been something of a recovery in the last 20 years or so but the species remains amber listed. The dunnock builds a neat nest (predominantly from twigs and moss and lined with soft materials such as wool or feathers), low in a bush or conifer, where adults typically lay three to five unspotted blue eggs.[10] The Dunnock is a streaky brown-and-grey bird, with a dark grey head and a thin bill.