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Jose Bonifacio Romero, one of the early settlers of Conejos County, was born near Santa Fe, N.M. in 1825. At seven years of age he was taken to Kentucky where he was educated in the common schools, returning to New Mexico in 1846. He engaged in the mercantile business until 1861, when he enlisted in Company G. New Mexico Volunteers, & served in the United States Infantry until the close of the war. For brave combat he was made captain of his company & at Fort Union was commissioned brevet major. After the muster out of the volunteers he was commissioned major of the Fiftieth Infantry, U.S.A., but resigned his commission on account of ill health & in 1866 was mustered out of the service in Santa Fe, N.M.
In 1870 Mr. Romero located in the San Luis Valley, buying a small ranch on the Conejos River. Soon after coming here he was appointed commissioner of the insane asylum at Pueblo, Colo., & continued to serve in that capacity for eighteen successive years, his term expiring in April 1897. He now devotes himself to ranching & farming *& owns three hundred & twenty acres, in two farms. The governor of Colorado, in 1874 appointed Mr. Romero brigadier-general of the second division of the territorial militia. Politically he has always been a Republican, active in local & state matters, & among the Mexicans of this county has been a leader, his judgement being sought by them in important affairs. For about twenty years he served as judge of elections. As secretary of the school board of district No. 4, which position he has held since 1884, he has been of great assistance in promoting the welfare of his home school & has advanced the educational interests of this locality. He served in the legislature of New Mexico from 1857 to 1860.
In 1852 Mr. Romero married Miss Maria Agapita Lopez, who was born in New Mexico in March 1834. They became the parents of seven children, namely: Maria Salome, Jose Amieto, Maria Rita, deceased; Jose Martin; Jose Elias, deceased; Jose Camilo, & Maria Ynecita, deceased. The four living are all married, & there are thirty-four grandchildren.
For the challenge Words Hatch.
Lyrics. It almost doesn't matter the genre, give me lyrics that speak to me, and I'm hooked. This is one of my favorite songs. I spoke a verse of it at my dad's funeral.
Who knows who it is?!
PS: Thanks for giving me the opportunity to listen to this album this morning and drone out some of the pinging I often get at work from Teams. :-)
I'm hand writing notes to my students this year, adding the two words, "You matter!" to each. This is based on Angela Maiers' TED talk which you can view at a new site she created
Here's a note I folded up before I thought of taking a picture, so I put it on top of a blank foldable note so you can see how it folds up to an envelope shape. As I finish a note, I place it in a magnetic clip which I have on each student's locker so they see it right away when they walk in the classroom. I'll post an example of those later. :-)
Black Lives Matter Berlin, Nein zu Rassismus! "Silent" Protest Demo -
am 6. Juni 2020 auf dem Alexanderplatz in Berlin.
Über 20.000 Demonstrant:innen saßen oder standen, überwiegend schwarz gekleidet und meist mit Mundschutz auf dem dicht gedrängten Alexanderplatz um eine Bühne am Brunnen.
Deutschlandweit demonstrierten über 200.000 Menschen gegen Rassistische Gewalt und Rassistische Strukturen in Deutschland, Europa und ganz Amerika.
Auslöser der Demonstration war der gewaltsame Tod des unbewaffneten 46-Jährigen Afroamerikaners George Floyd durch einen Polizisten am 25. Mai in Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA, aber viele Kundgebungs-Teilnehmer:innen protestierten auch gegen Rassismus in Deutschland durch Polizei und Behörden und forderten Aufklärung und Gerechtigkeit für zahlreiche ungeklärte Todesfälle von Schwarzen in Polizeigewahrsam, wie z.B. Oury Yalloh.
Der Aufruf zu einer „Silent Protest Demo“ wurde vom ISD Bund e.V. (Initiative Schwarzer Menschen in Deutschland) sehr kritisch gesehen. Ein Auszug aus der Presseerklärung des ISD: „SILENCE IS NOT THE ANSWER: (…) Denn egal für welche Widerstandsformen wir uns entscheiden, unsere Stimmen als Schwarze und BIPOC werden seit Jahrzehnten systematisch gesilenced und selbst friedliche Widerstandsformen wie der Refugeeprotest am Oplatz oder das Lampedusa Protestzelt in Hamburg wurden von der Polizei gewaltvoll zerschlagen. Und ausgerechnet jetzt, da viele Städte in den USA und zunehmend auch in anderen Teilen der Welt brennen und die Wut der rassistisch Unterdrückten endlich mehr Gehör finden, denken wir, dass es in Deutschland nicht der richtige Moment ist zu schweigen oder leise zu sein. Stattdessen ist für uns genau JETZT die Zeit laut und wütend zu sein. Wir wollen aufzeigen: Rassistische Polizeigewalt ist Teil unseres täglichen Lebens in Deutschland! Jede einzelne Abschiebung ist ein Fall rassistischer Polizeigewalt, jede im Mittelmeer ertrunkene Person ist eine Folge der von Deutschland dominierten rassistischen EU-Außenpolitik!“
Schon gegen 13:30 war der Alexanderplatz sehr voll, kurz nach Beginn der Veranstaltung um 14 Uhr konnten die Corona-Abstände auf dem Alex wegen Überfüllung nicht mehr eingehalten werden. Die Polizei sperrte den Platz zwar ab, aber dahinter drängelten sich viele weitere Menschen noch enger als auf dem Platz…
© Bernd Sauer-Diete
#BlackLivesMatter #BlackLiveMatters #GeorgeFloydProtests #IcantBreathe #GeorgeFloyd #berlin #NoJusticeNoPeace #rassismus #antirassismus #saytheirnames #rassismustötet #racismkills #BIPoC #PoC #ISD
Custom House Square, Belfast.
Standing in solidarity with George Floyd and others affected by racism and violence.
Photography by Matt Leebody, @gyaku_zuki.
FullStack London 2018 skillsmatter.com/conferences/9815-fullstack-2018-the-conf... www.tellingphotography.com
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Scala eXchange 2017. skillsmatter.com/conferences/8784-scala-exchange-2017.Images Copyright www.edtelling.com
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Scala eXchange 2018. skillsmatter.com/conferences/10488-scala-exchange-2018. Images copyright www.tellingphotography.com
The Postcard Matters is an online magazine that is used to advance the hobby of collecting post cards. They did a featured article on Route 66 and used an image I took during a trip last November on Route 66. The image is the Tower Station located in Shamrock, Texas. It pays to post on Flicker.....
Peaceful protest in front of the Los Angeles Hall of Justice, held in honor of families that have lost their children because of police violence.
So I challenged myself to do a massive clustery style layout and use some embellishements at full size, which I almost never do.
Mum and Dad Shanhun's 40th wedding anniversary was just a few days after Edward was born.We all went out for Dinner at Blue Water Grill on the day - the 12th of May, 2013. We always enjoy eating there and it was on our shortlist of wedding reception venues when we got married, but it ended up being too small.We all enjoyed a lovely dinner, dessert and coffee. Dad presented Mum with a new engagement ring (herâs had been lost many years earlier). A solitaire diamond in gold - we all approved! Such a special gift.I really loved this photo of our family that was taken on the night.
Life Every Day by L Drage Designs available at Scrap Matters; Love Always by L Drag Designs available at Gotta Pixel; Love Every Day by L Drag Designs available at Scrap Matters; Fonts: Melissa'sHand
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Nottingham, June 2020
Forest Recreation Ground
A moving and challenging demonstration. Peaceful but emotional.
#blacklivesmatter
www.itsnicethat.com/news/resources-supporting-black-lives...
no matter how clear you see or understand something does not necessarily translate to how reality is to others
No matter how cute u make the little tooth on ur sign, I'm not impressed. I know what ur up to in there!
Filming a tribute to Malcolm X on Black Lives Matter Plaza on 5/14/21, to be aired on We Act Radio on Malcolm X Day
Participants attend the plenary session on "Peatlands around the world: Challenges and opportunities" at Global Landscapes Forum: Peatlands Matter in Jakarta, Indonesia, Thursday, May 18, 2017.
Photo by CIFOR
More information on the Global Landscapes Forum, please visit landscapes.org
If you use one of our photos, please credit it accordingly and let us know. You can reach us through our Flickr account or at: cifor-mediainfo@cgiar.org and m.edliadi@cgiar.org
For The Rogue Players' challenge tonight - "free verse"...
So - I didn't really follow the rules - big shock, eh? The idea was to write the verse down on an object and then to include that object in the picture, along with a credit for the poem.. Well - I could never find a poem that I liked until way after dark, and so, this is going to have to do.. It's a portion of a poem that Vanessa included on her page, in tribute to a great man in her world that had passed on - and I've spent lots of time thinking about it's message... The "dash" refers to the part of our lives between our birth date, and our death date on our tombstones... the "dash"... all the things we do during the days of our lives...
I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end
He noted that first came the date of her birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years
For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not how much we own;
The cars, the house, the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.
From The Dash by Linda Ellis
Please - click this link, and read her moving account of a man who spent his dash the way they should be spent, and her moving tribute to him...
And - see it on black...
Participants confer prior to the start of the Global Landscapes Forum: Peatlands Matter in Jakarta, Indonesia, Thursday, May 18, 2017.
Photo by CIFOR
More information on the Global Landscapes Forum, please visit landscapes.org
If you use one of our photos, please credit it accordingly and let us know. You can reach us through our Flickr account or at: cifor-mediainfo@cgiar.org and m.edliadi@cgiar.org
Matters of Decay | Paintings by Constance Mallinson
Jun 09, 2012 - Jul 28, 2012
Closing Reception, Jul 28, 2012, 6:00 PM - 9:00 PM
Constance Mallinson uses the traditional genre of landscape painting to suggest a new way of looking at the world. For the last 25 years her large scale oil paintings have consisted of a unique painted "collage" technique in which she constructs panoramic landscapes from thousands of photo derived images via an Old Masters technique. In addition to expanding the traditional single view landscape to incorporate multiple views, perspectives, time frames, and narratives simultaneously, her paintings have dealt with the complex global environmental issues we are now facing. In the past few years, she has used her collage process and technical virtuosity to make large-scale paintings that merge the man-made world and nature literally by constructing figures from images of leaves, twigs, and decaying organic material. They are grotesque meditations on both the mortality of humans and the world in which they live. Her full-figured "nature people" reference both the works of Giuseppe Arcimboldo, the 16th-century Italian known for paintings in which still life objects are used to form surreal portraits, and famous paintings, such as Edouard Manet’s 1863 seminal painting "Olympia."
In examining her recent paintings created from decaying matter, L.A. Times critic Christopher Knight wrote that "after painting savvy landscapes for more than twenty five years"… the current "imagery suggests the way in which we project ourselves on conceptions of nature, creating the natural world even as we go about assuring its destruction."
Mallinson has had numerous group and solo exhibitions in galleries and institutions ranging from Ace Gallery, Santa Monica Museum, Los Angeles Municipal Art Gallery, Angles Gallery, and Pomona College Art Museum. She has been the recipient of a National Endowment of the Arts Fellowship, City of Los Angeles Artist Grant, and has attended residencies from the Djerassi Foundation to the Santa Fe Art Institute. Her work is represented in the collections of Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Orange County Museum of Art, San Jose Art Museum, Pomona College Art Museum and many private corporations and collections. She has also taught painting and theory at many major universities in California that include UCLA and Claremont Graduate University. In addition, Mallinson's criticism and writing has appeared in many art publications from Art in America to the current internet journal The Times Quotidian. More information on her work can be found at constancemallinson.net/.
For more information visit www.culvercenter.ucr.edu
When I finally looked at this old throw away shot again, I noticed how everything seemed to be "unstraight" so to speak... mostly anyway. Exceptions I see would be the windows in the parking deck on the right and the cross over walkway in the distance. Maybe there's more than that, but hey, it was a throw away shot, so what does it matter.
The Western Owl.
The sky was grey and dim yet in the distance Shalon could make out plumes of smoke rising over the distant plains and could hear the thunder clap of explosions echoing through out the entirety of the region. It would be only a matter of weeks before the fight, a fight that was neither hers, nor her friends concern, was upon them. Rain lightly misted on her hairless head and sighing forlornly she looked around at her people and their encampment. Or rather was left of them. Shalon was a Psi-Stalker of a small tribe called the Pale Skulls. The Pale Skulls had lived nomadically for many generations in relative isolation in the open plains, their only significant contact being with their some times friends and sometimes rivals, the Gursallu, a tribe of Simvan.
Two years prior a strange sickly man came from the east sowing disease and ruin. He passed through heading north by north west leaving a trail of sadness and wasting death. Before any Psi-Stalker or Simvan could retaliate he was gone as were the majority of both their numbers. Psi-Stalkers and Simvan are both very proud and tough people, but their toughness is forged directly from the ugly brutalities of survival which call above all for pragmatism. With both camps equaling less then fifty adults both together they did what had to be done and joined forces.
Yet more trouble came from the east. A war between Wizards and Men in high tech armor was raging. Strangers passed through their lands causing trouble and frequently black vehicles screamed across the sky. A few men left to the east to hire their services as scouts or warriors and never returned. Including a man named Skylo, whom Shalon was to marry. Skylo was the only man her age that was not a direct blood relative. Her customs forbid her to marry or bare a child with her father, an uncle, a brother or a half brother. To her now the east was death and the east was getting closer. The east had taken her tribe, had taken her man and taken away the chance at having a child and rebuilding her tribe.
Nursing a bottle of moonshine a few feet away was her Simvan friend Derok. Derok was a bit small by the standards of his people and his peers bullied him for it. Sensing that the Psi-Stalker men often treated him poorly as well. Not that he wasn't as tough as of them, he was just the runt and had to deal with twice the grief. Derok, like Shalon, knew that their time was short and was repairing to leave. They knew that too many people lay to the south, that the north, while an option, was already territory claimed by other Simvan and Psi-Stalkers, and yes that the east was death. While Derok knew it wasn't quite like that. Unlike Shalon he had more contact with outsiders. Being the runt he was forced to handle all the trading and negotiating with outsiders. From that he knew there was even more wilderness beyond the ugly cities of Wizards and Men in black armor and that beyond their pathetic war was another cradle of land they could live a good life in. But who wanted to wade through a war? Very little was known of the west, but no war was west and if only be default the west was not death.
Shalon walked over and took Derok's bottle from him. "How many days before were equipped enough to leave?", she asked. He was about to reply when the sky exploded above them.
Huge plumes of fire shot forth from the mouth of a vast red-scaled flying reptilian creature that was being chased and shot at by men in flying black armor. Missiles rained downed on their encampment, leaving many of the few Simvan and Psi-Stakers who were remaining a steaming vapor of red mist and charred debris. The journey west began quicker then they thought.
************************************************************
Whatever name it once knew itself by was a long forgotten memory. It didn't need to call itself anything. It had very little sense of self or identity, it merely was and it merely DID. What it did was hunt and kill. But others had millions of names for It, some names that were screamed in terror and other names spoken in awe struck whispered tones. It was a dreaded presence periodically emerging through out the deep south and magic zone like a earth quake or flash flood that wipes out whole communities.
It was one of the Corrupt, an unholy barely structured cult of killers in the willing service of a demonic god the called the Liberator who in turn transformed each of them into beastie killing machines. Yet even among the Corrupt it was singular. Amongst the corrupt it was a creature of fear and envy because it was the most brutal of them all. Some of the Corrupt envied it, seeing it as the epitome of the liberation offered by their hidden master, but all of them certainly feared it. To the Corrupt it was called Hyrzaku, a word in the language of demons meaning freedom, and to the Corrupt It was seen as a demi-god or avatar with-in their grim numbers.
Yet this was not true. It was merely one of them, but what it once was before turning to the Liberator was far greater then what the various Corrupt were before hand individually. It simply did not care to explain, or even remember. It did not care about or even acknowledge its fraternity. It merely hunted and killed. It would seek out were ever violence was and join in the fray in one manner or another. After a few years even the dark excesses of the magic zone would not tolerate its feral, aimless, wanderings. A unit of Mystic Knights lead by the notorious Lord Kalki, called from retirement from his Los Alamo fortress, was assembled to drive the thing into a rift and lunge it into the middle of Coalition held territory during the siege on Tolkeen.
For weeks It killed Tolkeenite and Coalition solder with equal disregard. It was like a pig at a troth, and gorged itself amongst the violence and gore, haloed in a garland of ruins, waste and entrails. During one of its indulgent, opportunistic days crashing the war it was hunting down a dog pack squad that was patrolling a ruined building on the outskirts of Tolkeen. Ensorcelled in shadow it stalked the biggest dog boy, a massive mutant wolf and pack leader into the basement. As It got to the basement It saw the Wolf across the interior of the open floor and the Wolf laughed. The hunter had became the hunted and the Coalition lead it here to bury. All it remembered was the whining roar of SAMAS jets, the cry of missiles and a black sea of rock falling upon It.
With its ruin womb It fell to further insanity as with in a few days of being trapped by the weight of the building its mind retreated into a nightmare of hallucinatory visions from its dark god. Briefly it recalled something of his former life. It could see its old hands, very strong, powerful scaly green clawed hands. It was a HE and He was proud of himself. It/He stood in a chamber lined with skulls of countless monsters and humanoids. Even though It/He knew that It/He had killed them all they were all still laughing at him. The view of the once proud trophy chamber grew to a tiny, warblely pin poke that seemed to be fractal and misty at the edges. He was lost in waves of paranoia and multifarious, distorted senses of self and reference. Then It/He was looking down at his old body before the transformation, bloody and mangled adrift in some unknown desert waste. That wasn't right, it didn't happen like that It knew, but one thing was true. The proud hunter was once hurt, and hurt more then its dying body was its vast hubris that was unwilling to drift calmly into death. It/He pleaded out of its bloated sense of entitlement to endure further to anything, to any sense of God, meaning or macrocosmic context. The hunter must hunt, and so the Liberator who saw in this creature a unique chance to create one of his most enduring and powerful expressions of his liberation yet heard his pleas. It/He saw and remembered how it was and It/He was It again.
Like any hunter It was patient. The kill took grace, poise and timing. It lay in its rock hell for weeks until one day it had a vision of a giant white owl soaked in blood and covered in ash. In the roar of the great bird wings flapping Its trap was being clawed away. Much to the shock of a unit of Coalition personnel bulldozing and leveling the area it clawed out of the rubble and slaughtered them all in a matter of minutes. It then saw the great bloody Owl once again and it was flying west. It followed.
************************************************************
Weeks passed sense they Derok and Shalon had abruptly fled. No one had followed, neither survivors nor the eastern fighters. Derok hoped some of their friends and family just escaped in another direction. They hadn't seen a soul sense and were grateful. They rode ever westward upon their Ostrosaurous steeds with grim memories and desperation pounding in on their hearts. Worst of all Derok had quickly ran out of liquor shortly into the trip and spent a few days with the shakes. He dreamed of getting as far west as he could and building a still as soon as possible. "Shalon, what does it mean for us to do this really? I'm mean were too separate races going into the unknown and for what? To grow old alone with children and tribe?", Derok asked. Shalon gave him a dirty look, then pulled a rock out of her boot and threw it at him. Laughing she said, "Derok my boy I'm surprised at you. We move because we are alive, this is what we do. We move, hunt and fight. We'll do this until death is no longer from the east but from all around us as is only fitting to both our great peoples".
After many great trials the two friends eventually found an area they thought could only be heaven. It was a vast wilderness of huge red-hued trees so massive one couldn't see their tops that was in turn filled with more game to hunt then the open plains ever boasted. They built themselves a tree fort and Derok went quickly to building a still. Shalon found that the area to the north of them was filled with little winged creatures of magic that she adored to hunt and drain. They were easy to find, always look for huge toadstools that they'd live in. These mushroom houses in turn were edible. In short order Derok had gathered a large assortment of beasts to their lair, from a stable of wild boars, to a few birds of prey he thought not likely natural to the world, but with in his means to subdue none the less.
Nearly a year had passed when one day Shalon was chasing the mushroom dwellers far to the south. Hiding in a tree she snatched one floating by and bit its head off. She absolutely hated how weak and dainty these creatures looked. Their colorful butterfly wings were too much for her to stand. She didn't care that they talked or pleaded with her. They dripped with the energy she needed to eat and they had so much of it she only had to eat two of them a month. Feeling bloated Shalon took a nap in the tree. She awoke to see a huge giant white covered in blood flying over head. Startled, she leaped to the forest floor and followed it. Pressing far more south then she had ever gone before she followed the great white bird to a little cluster of ruins around a small lake. The ruins had signs with language on them but she couldn't read. Though she saw that the signs also had the design of owls on them. Then all of a sudden the hair on neck stood up. This place was humming with energy and drove her on edge. Prying deeper she found a giant owl effigy at one end of the lake and before lay a gore stained and ash caked altar. This place was evil and so was this owl. This was magic and there for not of the natural order of things. She hated the place in a way similar to why she hated the mushroom dwellers, but the mushroom dwellers were clearly contemptibly weak. They existed as food for her to eat. She knew then and there however that the owl was not food but a fight. Maybe even it could kill her. She wasn't going to find out that day however. Shalon ran quickly back to Derok.
************************************************************
It traveled on westward where the owl went regardless of time or conclusion. Visions from the Great Liberator drove it further. It knew that in the western most reaches, with a vast an ancient forest, dwelled with in a grove a place of foul worship where the men of power of this world would gather for centuries to sacrifice their sense of caring. This was sacred to the Liberator and It understood its hidden master much further. He was the Great Annihilator, which gives Liberation by destroying concern, care, purpose or meaning. Meaning was delusion in an uncaring megaverse. Things simply did. The strongest things did best and did so for longer. That was that and that is what It also did.
It found the Grove and used magic to reveal the language of men written on signs about the place. One read, "Weaving Spiders come not here", which It dismissed though mainly because it confused him. Something only important from before Men shared the world with other creatures It figured. Pressing on It found a small lake and a giant owl effigy stood in view. It curled up in a ball before the statue and the giant bloody white swooped down in a loud buzzing roar like insects and flames, grabbed It in it's claws and took off upwards. It was torn in half and dropped from the sky. Crawling back to its missing lower half It frothed in agony as both halves reattached themselves and It knew that once a year It had to come back to this place. The other Corrupt who fawned over It in fear and awe thinking It was an avatar of the Liberator were mistaken, the white owl was. He would return east in a few more days and force them all to the western grove.
************************************************************
Upon reach the tree fort Shalon cried out to Derok, "Ready the Lizards and grab all the guns!". Confused as he may have been Derok did so with hesitation. A moment later he was coming to her both of their mounts and carrying to two plasma cannons they had in case of heavy-duty monsters. Derok look happily excited as he approach and Shalon didn't like it. "There's a place of devil worship and a giant ******* demonic white owl a few hours south of here, we have to kill it before it kills us", she said matter of fact way as she checked everything on her gun.” I guess then we ride", he responded and they both were off.
The two reached the lake and they very easily saw the Giant White Owl standing in front of the giant owl statue. Both statue and owl seemed obscene to the two, but such thoughts quickly left Shalon's mind as she could sense something moving in the trees but couldn't make it out. Panicing she cried out for Derok. He came to a halt, and then was knocked off his Riding lizard. In a quick abrupt burst an unseen force stuck Shalon and for her all went black.
The first thing that she could sense again was the smell of burning flesh. Her eyes opened to find Derok eviscerated and aflame before the statue. Next to it was a humanoid creature of muscle, claw, horns and full body black leather armor that cleaning off Derok's skull with its index finger claw. Screaming she pulled out her sword and ran towards It. Not immediately bothering to notice or react to Shalon's attack, in one simple seeming, subtle nonchalant fluid motion It grabbed her arm with one hand, drew his hulking rune cleaver and ran her through with the other. It then popped her head off and placed it before the giant owl effigy. It was to be the first two of many yet to come.
Death was the west after all.