View allAll Photos Tagged RETELLING
I saw you....I walked with you once upon a dream....AND WE WANT YOU TO COME DREAM WITH US! Enchantment has opened it's doors once more for a fantastic and inspired retelling of SLEEPING BEAUTY. Each Creator has gone above and beyond and we are thrilled to share it all with you. Grab your horns, your coin, and your dreams and come experience, ENCHANTMENT'S SLEEPING BEAUTY!
enchantmentsl.com/ <----WEBSITE
Morganna Ley Fey, is the great white sorceress from the Legend of King Arthur. Merlin often stole her limelight in the many retellings of this legend but in truth behind each great sorcerer was an even greater sorceress.
Findus hat Besuch!
der Schwede Sven Nordqvist hat die Figuren von Findus dem Kater und seinem Menschenfreund Petterson erdacht, gezeichnet und erzählt. Wunderbare Geschichten, liebevoll gezeichnete Figuren beleben die Kinderbücher.
Die beiden Freunde erleben viele Abenteuer, die die Fans von Findus und Petterson reich beschenken. Zum vorlesen, nacherzählen und eigene Abenteuer mit ihnen zu erleben.
Bitte verwenden Sie keines meiner Fotos ohne meine schriftliche Zustimmung. Sie erreichen mich unter meiner emailadresse bei Flickr. Ich bin jeder Zeit ansprechbar, Danke.
Findus has a visitor!
The Swede Sven Nordqvisth invented, drew and told the characters of Findus the Cat and his philanthropist Petterson. Wonderful stories, lovingly drawn figures enliven the children's books.
The two friends experience many adventures, which richly reward the fans of Findus and Petterson. To read aloud, retell and experience their own adventures with them.
Please do not use any of my photos without my written consent. You can reach me at my email address at Flickr. I am available at any time, thank you.
Findus a un visiteur !
Le Suédois Sven Nordqvisth a inventé, dessiné et raconté les personnages de Findus le chat et de son philanthrope Petterson. Des histoires merveilleuses, des personnages dessinés avec amour animent les livres pour enfants.
Les deux amis vivent de nombreuses aventures que les fans de Findus et de Petterson présentent richement. Pour lire à haute voix, raconter et vivre leurs propres aventures avec eux.
Traduit avec www.DeepL.com/Translator
Veuillez ne pas utiliser mes photos sans mon consentement écrit. Vous pouvez me joindre à mon adresse courriel sur Flickr. Je suis disponible à tout moment, merci.
(Best in Large)
Little Red Riding Hood, also known as “Little Red Cap”, is a European fairy tale about a young girl and a wolf. Its origins can be traced back to the 10th century by several European folk tales, including one called “The False Grandmother”. The best-known versions were written by Charles Perrault and Brothers Grimm. The story has been changed considerably in various retellings and subjected to numerous adaptations.
This is a resin head wall mount from my son's bedroom. For the theme "Portray a Fairy Tale" of Smile on Saturday.
Weekly Theme Challenge -"Photoshopped"
Thank you very much for your kind comments and visit, much appreciated! © All rights reserved.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=JeAP1KyPDzM and Vic Chesnutt www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7Bb3anv3Rw
Tom Waits from his Opera "The Black Rider" another retelling of Faust. Vic C. being out in the barn....The image is inspired by complicated changes in agriculture, capitalism,family and global warming.
30 years ago Fall walks with my hunting dogs along hedge rows, woods and grass was pure serenity as the sun set. Then I could sit by the fire and warm my feet with a very happy dog. I would shoot in the air at pheasants to please the dogs. They must have thought they needed a better companion hunter. I would occasionally shoot a rabbit and made some fine mittens from their tanned hides when I was 14. That was when we used to have winter.
This image was also taken exactly a year ago today . This is a B/W version of a colour shot I posted last year, the earlier post can be seen at the top of the comments
I have told this story before but its worth retelling . One of the nicest things about flickr is that you occasionally get to leap from the virtual world into the real one . One of my contacts John Barclay agreed to meet up with us in Vancouver he thought it would be good to go and do some photography together .
Given that John has a medical background you feel you would be pretty safe to go and a walk with him. This was not necessarily a correct assumption . He choose to take Mary and I to Lighthouse Park on the far side of West Vancouver . We had a great chat in the car as we drove out there, John is a very genuine guy and a total gentleman . Maybe though he should not take up a new profession as a guide . I am sure there was a relatively straightforward trail to get from the car park to the rocks below the lighthouse. John preferred to use a path used by mountain goats and it involved a fair bit of climbing aver some very slippery rocks . Mary and I survived intact though sadly John sustained a pretty bad gash on his arm . He assured us it was superficial, though it looked horrid . He did fully recover from the experience
We got to the beach and took a bunch of photographs . I had left my tripod in my hotel so had to work on hand held shots . Anyway this is my shot of the lighthouse if you want to compare it with Johns rather superior version his can be found at ,
THANKS FOR YOUR VISITING BUT CAN I ASK YOU NOT TO FAVE AN IMAGE WITHOUT ALSO MAKING A COMMENT. MANY THANKS KEITH.
ANYONE MAKING MULTIPLE FAVES WITHOUT COMMENTS WILL SIMPLY BE BLOCKED
Taken at the amazing sim The Salted ruins
Touched By An Elephant - Copyright © Mavis Jackson | Year Posted 2017
"I felt as if I was intruding, invading her space,
When instructed, I reached out and touched her face.
I stood in awe before South Africa’s gentle giant.
I listened to the story of her proud and defiant
Fight for survival. Elephants at Knysna are so few.
The hunters had slain thousands, tragic tales but true.
I stopped and looked deep in her eyes, it is hard to explain,
But it was a special moment, as if we shared the pain.
What terrible memories has she stored of times gone by,
Back when she wandered wild beneath South Africa’s sky?
As her trunk took the fruit I offered from my outstretched hand
I knew it was impossible for me to understand
That greed could prove to be just as deadly as a disease
That anyone could even think of killing one of these
Magnificent, peaceful creatures, it seemed obscene to me
That so many had died for the sake of their ivory.
She finished eating the fruit, turned, moved away ambling, slow,
Reluctantly I turned also, it was time for me to go.
My meeting with this great old matriarch had meant so much.
Then, I felt it, gently with her trunk she reached out to touch
My neck. It was like a velvet teardrop, caressing, soft,
I turned, she raised her trunk in triumph, high aloft.
The sad story of her herd we must tell and then retell,
Save elephants from extinction, stop that final farewell!"
"The bud
stands for all things,
even for those things that don’t flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing . . ."
~ Galway Kinnell
Melanitta americana photographed a few years ago in east Texas.
Photographing these birds remains one of my fondest memories in my pursuit of wildlife. It was simultaneously the most fun I've had in a long time, and the most miserable I've been in an even longer time. I've shared the story before but think it warrants retelling.
These scoters were fairly approachable by foot, and I could have obtained some decent images that way, however I wanted more than that. To capture these images I had to lay down along the lakeshore, half in the water. I was laying on top of small diameter riprap with thousands of rocks that ranged from the size of softballs to basketballs. I laid in this position for hours, trying not to move much in hopes they wouldn't notice me. When I was sufficiently concealed they approached extremely closely, at times within 15 feet. The tricky part was getting them at the right angle with respect to the sun. Occasionally all of the individuals would dive at the same time. When they did, I quickly stood up and ran across the rocky shore to a better position and immediately dropped back down until i was laying flat. This went on most of the day.
At the end of the day I left with scrapes, bruises, and freezing extremities. I also left fond memories and dozens of intimate photos of this rarity that I would not have been able to obtain any other way.
Black Scoters are rare winter visitors to the Texas coast, and extremely rare visitors farther inland, which made this encounter all the more special.
Mannequin is a 1987 American romantic comedy film directed by Michael Gottlieb in his directional debut, it is a modern retelling of the Pygmalion myth, the film revolves around a chronically underemployed passionate artist named Jonathan Switcher who lands a job as a department-store window dresser and the mannequin he created which becomes inhabited by the spirit of a woman from Ancient Egypt, but only comes alive for Jonathan.
Mannequin received a nomination for an Academy Award for Best Original Song for its main title song, "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" by Starship.
(From Wikipedia)
It received almost unanimously terrible critics, which tear it apart.
Still, may this image serve to wish you all a Happy Valentine's Day, my dearest Flickr friends!
The Song: youtu.be/3wxyN3z9PL4
Tourists wait for the 2nd-to-last cruise boat to leave for iconic Spirit Island. I was on the last boat of the year. The crew celebrated the end of the season with jumping in the chilly lake and allowing us a few more precious minutes to enjoy Spirit Island.
Visitors can explore the lake from the comfort of glass-enclosed and heated cruise boats while a knowledgeable guide retells Maligne’s history and explains its geology, wildlife, weather, flora and fauna. If near Jasper, the cruise is highly recommended.
A few more pics from the cruise in comments.
Thanks for your visit. Always appreciated!
Have a wonderful week!
Taken from the television.
The ship that Ernest Shackleton took to the Antarctic, The Weddell sea was where she was trapped in the ice and finally sank. The story is amazing - and Peter is reading a book at the moment - and retelling chunks of it as he goes. They have found the ship in near pristine condition 3000 meters under water!!!
URBAN LEGEND
A story doesn’t have a shape
But if it keeps retelling by generation
And passing a very long time
An energy, a power could be born from the story
A power
To plant “terror” in human’s heart
by .Maria Sudibyo
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
A question that pops up from time to time. At this moment, it has been triggered whilst reading Pat Barker's "The Silence of the Girls" (a retelling of the Iliad from the perspective of captured women).
Can we speak of our lives with intimacy
Let the stories and the pain unfold
A retelling of cries amid the lies
Or is it like trying to keep the memories inside
Like building the levee up further
To stop the incoming tide
We walk around with our heartbreaks
So many apparent on our sleeves
Often we just grin and bear it
We never learnt to say please
The silence becomes another person
We become adept at introductions
Passing the conversation over
Hoping they will take the lead
The hurt is carried like an old suitcase
One you keep under the bed
You only take it out on rare occasions
Like that leech left over in the jar
One you use when you need to be bled
To speak of your life with intimacy
Is to leave nothing unsaid
To unburden your litany of regrets
Is to flay the skin from your bones
Feel again those metaphoric thrown stones
And wish you were completely alone
Literally better off dead
You may be the only one left standing
But at least you can recognise who you are
The mirrors have shattered
And even your ghost cannot hide
It has been waiting forever
Until your shade showed another side
*****
This image was taken in St.Mary’s churchyard, Eastbourne, East Sussex, in the UK. When I looked at it later, this poem came out, written in a continuous stream, as a response to it.
The only thing I can do is to leave it here and perhaps that is all there is to say, all that is needed to be said, while we find our courage to live well.
I have paired this work with the song “Ghosts That I Knew” by Mumford and Sons, as it is a song about coming to terms with loss and haunting regrets, which is what I felt when I took the image that accompanies this poem.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1eZLCxvpDI
And if you would like to see more of my work, have a look at my website at:
Jaffa, in Hebrew Yafo (Hebrew: יָפוֹ, About this soundYāfō (help·info)) and in Arabic Yafa (Arabic: يَافَا) and also called Japho or Joppa, the southern and oldest part of Tel Aviv-Yafo, is an ancient port city in Israel. Jaffa is famous for its association with the biblical stories of Jonah, Solomon and Saint Peter as well as the mythological story of Andromeda and Perseus, and later for its oranges. Jaffa is mentioned in an Ancient Egyptian letter from 1440 BCE. The so-called story of the Taking of Joppa glorifies its conquest by Pharaoh Thutmose III, whose general, Djehuty hid Egyptian soldiers in sacks carried by pack animals and sent them camouflaged as tribute into the Canaanite city, where the soldiers emerged and conquered it. The New Testament account of Saint Peter bringing back to life the widow Dorcas (recorded in Acts of the Apostles, 9:36–42, takes place in Jaffa, then called in Greek Ἰόππη (Latinized as Joppa). Acts 10:10–23 relates that, while Peter was in Jaffa, he had a vision of a large sheet filled with "clean" and "unclean" animals being lowered from heaven, together with a message from the Holy Spirit telling him to accompany several messengers to Cornelius in Caesarea Maritima. Peter retells the story of his vision in Acts 11:4–17, explaining how he had come to preach Christianity to the gentiles. Sourse: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jaffa
Fredriksten festning - Halden - Østfold - Norway
This is taken on my daily walk from a viewpoint I'm passing..
On the hilltop you see Fredriksten Fortress
The Clock Tower (the white tower) - is a building from 1833
Maybe you will catch a glimpse of the White Lady..
The White Lady or in Norwegian known as “Den Hvite Dame”
is said to reside at Fredriksten Fortress in Halden, Norway.
She was once the fortress commander’s mistress.
After her lover was killed by a cannonball fired by Swedish forces attacking the fortress, his remains were never recovered.
She killed herself by jumping off the fortress wall.
She is said to appear near "the white tower" at midnight. Retellings include waving at people or staring out across the city. Others have claimed she turns the fortress spot lights off just before appearing
On a clear day we can see forever and ever
We know where we came from and why we are
here on earth and where we ultimately are going
The threads woven into the fabric of our lives are
beginning to create a beautiful tapestry
― Marilyn S. Bateman
•*¨♪ღ♪ ¨*•
Texture: Shadowhouse Creations
Thanks to everyone who takes the time to view,
comment, fave and invite my photo, much appreciated :o)
The Indian festival of Diwali is one of its most anticipated and widely celebrated festivals. And in a country so diverse, Diwali celebrations find resonance and retelling in multiple ways across the country. Popular traditions mark it as the day Lord Ram defeated the demon, Ravana, and returned to his home city, Ayodhya. Southern parts of India call it Deepavali instead and celebrate the day Lord Krishna defeated the demon Narakasura. Irrespective of which mythological camp you fall in, Diwali or Deepavali is a time of joy and togetherness throughout the country.
Poetry is about beauty, pure and complicated
the unfolding of a flower
the rebirth of a dormant idea
the retelling of tragedy to Shakespearean intent
the revealing of personal scars which give access to the ineffable...
[from "Some words are not for poetry - I" in I am Keats as you are by Glenn Peirson, July 2, 2009]
In the velvet hush of the nightclub, where shadows sway like dancers who haven’t yet been born, I feel the world pause the moment I step beneath the lights. The Melania Dress clings to me like a whispered secret… a dress that remembers every contour of my body and retells it for the man watching me from across the bar.
This is not merely an outfit. It is a silhouette sculpted from temptation itself.
The front drapes sleek and fitted, the fabric gliding over my breasts and waist as though poured in the exact shape of my desire. Vertical paneling traces me like the memory of a lover’s hands, drawing the eye inward, downward, deeper. Then comes the skirt… a delicious tiered ruffle, short enough to provoke imagination but textured enough to crown my hips with movement.
With every shift of my body, the layers flutter—scarlet whispers, soft rebellions—turning my stride into something men follow without realizing they’ve begun to chase.
But it’s the back that steals breath. A lattice of laced ribbons reveals the vulnerable expanse of my spine, a sensual architecture reminiscent of 18th-century corsetry yet reborn for women who rule the night. It echoes the daring spirit of the club goddesses of Studio 54, women like Bianca Jagger and Jerry Hall, who knew that a dress should not simply be worn… it should be lived in, sweated in, sinned in.
The fabric stretches like a second skin, tracing the curve of my thighs, drinking in the glow of the club lights. Fishnets wrap my legs in diamonds, and the entire look smolders—dangerous, feminine, untamed. I become the kind of woman who turns the hunter into the hunted.
And when I slip into the HUD… Melania becomes infinite.
The adorsy Melania HUD offers a full fatpack with 45 rich colors and 10 additional prints for group members—silks, satins, mood-deep hues, and nightclub-bright tones. Each selection transforms the ruffles, the bodice, the lacing, letting me shift from gothic midnight to sugar-pink flirtation to sultry Bordeaux in a single breath.
Every choice is PBR-rendered, catching light realistically—metallic gleams, fabric depth, and shadow play that makes photographers ache for the perfect shot.
Compatible bodies include: LaraX, PetiteX, Legacy, Reborn, and Waifu.
Bodies shaped for women who do not merely walk into the night—they claim it.
If you wish to slip into Melania Dress and let her do the speaking for you, she awaits you at the adorsy mainstore:
And as Yves Saint Laurent once said,
“Fashion fades, but style is eternal.”
Tonight, in Melania, my style is the kind men never forget.
To a casual passerby this dilapidated barn with broken windows and doors askew merits a brief glance. But to an old farm couple taking a slow drive in the countryside, the snow melts, the windows are repaired and the barn is freshly painted as they recall days long ago. At my age I find myself retelling events from my farm youth but the recounting is now more for myself than my listeners as the memories are akin to the warmth of my mother's handmade quilt on a Minnesota winter's night pulled up high to stifle the cold.
I'm not sure that everyone who follows our journey understands about Marc's Window and how important it is to us and why. As many followers who have joined us may have missed my early explanations, I will gradually retell the story in coming posts so that what I write in my posts, may make a little more sense.
For now, as I post this picture for Marc I will explain that it is the view of the nearby hamlet which you will have seen quite frequently from the elevated position of his room previously. As always in the 'Marc's Window' series, this is entirely his own work My involvement, other than posting it, is to crop out obvious things not wanted and to add the frame. His eye catches everything else.
As the weather has been good to us and I have started in earnest to redevelop the garden I tried to enthuse Marc to once again pick up his camera while watching me. We had some success, and for that I am delighted.
I'm off ( in so many ways), but this morning in another attempt to do what has to be done do straighten, tighten, loosen, and normalize (all at once) my spine. Oh, to be like a mockingbird, once more to sing voluntarily.
I hope to be able to mock the mockingbird once more immitating a cat and a car horn at the same time. I'll keep you informed and retell you stories of these beautiful clowns ... and the sooner the better.
The northern mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos) is a mockingbird commonly found in North America. This bird is mainly a permanent resident, but northern birds may move south during harsh weather. This species has rarely been observed in Europe. This species was first described by Carl Linnaeus in his 1758 10th edition of Systema Naturae as Turdus polyglottos. The northern mockingbird is known for its mimicking ability, as reflected by the meaning of its scientific name, "many-tongued mimic". The northern mockingbird has gray to brown upper feathers and a paler belly. Its tail and wings have white patches which are visible in flight.
Marigot Bay, a lovely Caribbean hideaway on the island of St Lucia.
Marigot Bay is a historic landmark, having been used by the French and British navies before and after a number of nearby battles. It is widely claimed that a British fleet under Admiral Barrington hid from French pursuers within the bay, in some retellings attaching palm fronds to their masts in order to disguise themselves amongst the trees however this story is likely to be apocryphal, with no primary source evidence to support this.
The bay was used as the setting for the 1967 film adaptation of Hugh Lofting's Doctor Dolittle books. Scenes of the shipwreck, Great Pink Sea Snail, and the construction of the harness for the Giant Lunar Moth were filmed in the bay.
The American novelist James A. Michener, in his 1978 novel Chesapeake, famously described the bay as "The most beautiful bay in the Caribbean".
The all-girl trio Arabesque featured a song "Marigot Bay" appearing on the album of the same name in 1980.
Text curtesy of Wikipedia.
♫♫ RIOT GIRLS Succubus Satisfaction Guaranteed♫♫
The Riot Girls were on fire. Their sound, once raw and rebellious, was now polished with a sophisticated edge, fueled by the fresh energy brought in by new acquaintances of Ronnie Jett. These weren't just any musicians; they were creative souls, drawn to the band's infectious spirit like moths to a flame. To commemorate their electrifying debut performance at Mercury After Dark, the girls decided to host a celebration, a warm embrace of friendship and success. Isa's apartment, now buzzing with an electric hum, was the chosen sanctuary for this joyous occasion. Champagne flowed, its effervescence mirroring the bubbly laughter that bounced off the walls, mingling with the infectious fun. As the night wore on, conversations swirled like a potent cocktail, filled with excited retellings of the show, glowing impressions, and a shared vision for the band's soaring future. The air was thick with anticipation and the intoxicating promise of what was to come, each member of The Riot Girls, now led by Isa's powerful voice, ready to conquer the world, one electrifying performance at a time.
(To be continued)
Devoted to the Riot Girls Band
right now i feel withered and bare. but i also feel the sun. i hear words from galway kinnell: “sometimes it is necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness, to put a hand on the brow of the flower, and retell it in words and in touch, it is lovely.” sometimes it’s necessary for me to place my hand on my own brow; to be gentle and kind; to see my inner and outer loveliness.
Consonance and dissonance.
I the body would be sharing certain events cached in its data files.
I shall remove the text if anybody feels hurt, offended or humiliated by its contents.
Prakash Sathyan:
Prakash is the eldest son of the legendary Malayalam film actor Sathyan.
I met him first at Tharangini Studio (the music company owned by the great musician K.J.Yesudas). I used to visit Tharangini Studio for recordings and meet some artists, and it's there that I entered a studio console for the first time in my life. Prakash occupied the studio's front desk, and though nearly blind, he could easily recognize anyone from their voice.
Tharangini Studio was doing peak business those days, and Prakash was quite busy from early morning till evening. He lived alone in a room that is a portion of a house at Plamood in Trivandrum. Though much senior to me, within a short time, he considered me his best friend.
He had a fascination for colourful poster calendars, as he can see large pictures if held close to his face. I used to collect colourful posters from wherever possible and hand them over to him when I meet him.
His mother, Jessy Sathyan, stayed with his younger brother at his parental home in Manacaud, about 5 km away from where he stayed. As I had a vehicle, I visited the studio and took him to his mother whenever he wanted to meet her. By around 6 pm, he would say, " Anuj, it's 6, right?" and prepare to wind up his work and leave. On the way, we stop at Eastern bakery in East Fort, from where he buys cupcakes for his mother. After spending some time talking and having tea with her, we return, and I leave him back in his room. On the way back, seldom he asked my assistance to visit a tailor but has never sought my help to buy provisions, visit a barbershop or even consult a doctor.
We never talked about his late father, who is one of the greatest actors in Malayalam cinema. In fact, we never discussed movies as he probably might have rightly guessed that I'm not much fascinated with the topic. Yet, one day while talking about music, I mentioned certain marvellous pieces in movies that went unnoticed without receiving the attention they deserve. He grew curious and asked me to name one. I referred to the short song 'Mahal-thyagamey ' from an old Malayalam movie 'Snehaseema' (1954) and a few other songs. Snehaseema is a Malayalam movie based on a Malayalam novel retelling Alfred, Lord Tennyson's 'Enoch Arden'. The mentioned piece is depicted as a background song in melancholy by an empyreal disembodied voice glorifying sacrifice out of love. In astonishment, he asked how I know such old songs, which were released decades before I was born, and apologetically he admitted that he doesn't remember such a song even though it's from a hit movie with his father in the lead. All attentive, his face turned towards me, as his drooping eyelids looked like he's watching the floor; he asked, " Anuj, can you please sing it?". Usually, I never sing if people request me out of the blue, but I sang the first few lines in a soft voice, stopped, and asked him whether he can remember the song. He said, "No, please sing the full song". I sang with my eyes closed, and once over, I opened my eyes to see him weeping. As if I didn't notice it, I diverted the topic to something cheerful before I left his room.
My visits to the studio and our visit to meet his mother continued for a long time, but eventually, I often got busy with my studies, travel and many other activities that I couldn't meet Prakash as I used to. He called my number, and though I got the messages that he conveyed, I couldn't meet him in person for some time. He even left messages hinting at golden opportunities and breakthroughs for me.
On returning home after a long trip, I glanced through the day's newspaper, and right on the front page, I saw the headline, "Jessy Sathyan no more".
Few days after the funeral at LMS church, I visited Tharangini Studio inadvertently at about 6 pm to meet him. As he's always at the reception desk facing the entrance, visitors to the studio may think he's watching them. I approached him and, standing a few meters away, facing him, asked, " Do you remember this voice?". He mumbled, "Anuj", and following a pause, he asked, "Anuj, it's 6, right?" and extended his hand. Without uttering a word, he stood holding my hand. Often, a sigh speaks volumes. He released my hand with a sigh when someone interrupted. I left, promising him that we shall soon meet again. That didn't happen as I was too busy with my activities.
Prakash Sathyan died this day ( 15 April ) in 2014.
Mahal-thyagamey : Mahal-thyagamey
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© 2020 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.
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________________________________________________
© 2020 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.
All images are the property of Anuj Nair. Using these images without permission is in violation of international copyright laws (633/41 DPR19/78-Disg 154/97-L.248/2000).All materials may not be copied, reproduced, distributed, republished, downloaded, displayed,posted or transmitted in any forms or by any means,including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording without written permission of Anuj Nair. Every violation will be pursued penally.
This house has stood in the centre of Lavenham since the 14th century. Built when Lavenham was rapidly becoming one of England's richest towns, Lavenham's decline was equally as rapid, as Lavenham blue cloth fell out of favour, the weavers moved where the money went, leaving the town of Lavenham impoverished. Without investment to improve, Lavenham has as a result become a very well kept medieval village.
The crooked house has been a grade II listed building since 1958, and the latest incumbents are retelling the story of the house, along with their blue MG BGT, through experience afternoons.
I was recommended Bob Mortimer’s autobiography recently, unfortunately however life is a little busy right now and I don’t have much time to sit down and read, so instead I downloaded it as an audio-book, (narrated by Bob himself - I feel this adds something to an autobiography, hearing the stories in authors own voice) and have spent the last week or so listening to it. There is an early chapter on his young adulthood and his adventures with his friends which really resonated with me. I grew up in the same town a few decades later, but when it comes to imagination and friendships it was almost like a retelling of my own youth.
I like to think of woodland as a way for me to reengage with my imagination which I feel gets a little lost as we get older. I like exploring interactions between shapes of trees and branches and the way they can create a real sense of story and that’s what I felt when I imaged this scene.
Man kann nicht alles glauben,
was man hört - aber zum Weitererzählen reicht es ..
You can not believe everything
what you hear - but it's enough for retelling...
C'mon Everybody wish all a Fantastic weekend
WILLIE NELSON SEVEN SPANISH ANGELS
He makes bad decisions
like he’s signing autographs.
Shirtless, inked, sunglasses on -
indoors, midnight, no shame.
The neon says TEQUILA,
but he’s the one glowing.
He doesn’t ask for permission.
He orders regret with salt on the rim.
If you’re gonna fall - make it loud.
If you’re gonna flirt - make it epic.
If you’re gonna dance - do it on the bar
with one boot off and a dare in your grin.
He doesn’t sip. He sermons.
Doesn’t stumble. He poses midair.
And when the bartender says, “You sure?”
He laughs: "I was born for the bad idea"
Because tequila confidence isn’t about being right -
it’s about being legendary.
All the way down.
No brakes. No apologies.
Just lime, fire, and a story worth retelling.
A retelling of Aesop's fable in which the clever crow works out that if he drops enough stones into the pitcher (jug) of water, it will eventually overflow and he can get a drink. This particular clever crow is Welsh, shot in Conwy Harbour; the tangled trees in the background are from the woods off the Watkins path in Snowdonia, North Wales and the pitcher or jug is one of my collection of ceramics and, together with the stones, is a 'light painted' still life shot in my garage.
NEXT YEAR IN JERUSALEM
ADAPTED BY HOWARD SCHWARTZ & ILLUSTRATED BY NEIL WALDMAN ‧ RELEASE DATE: FEB. 1, 1996
A princess of light, a vampire demon, peasants, and proud kings appear in these 11 tales of miracles, wisdom, and kindness, adapted by one of the creators of Sabbath Lion (1992). This beautiful collection of Jewish stories is true to its heritage; if the title perfectly echoes that heritage, it may also suggest a more parochial audience than the book, with its universal appeal, deserves. The flowing retellings are presented in suitably unsophisticated language—as folktales should be—with sidebars highlighting useful historical and biblical information. While these can be distracting, they are full of interesting facts and add to the attractiveness of the layout by preventing the pages from appearing too dense with text. Waldman sometimes draws a full- page scene, sometimes chooses a symbol for a vignette. His paintings, in soft sunset watercolors, reflect the dreamy, hope- filled tone of the stories. (bibliography) (Folklore. 8+)
The reader exquisitely retells a story OF MAGIC and just like magic my mind suddenly drifted as if I had jumped right inside his book, hanging on to every word and every moment. I was not the girl sat on the grass no more. I was Elermere the magical unicorn girl. What a great way to spend a lazy Sunday afternoon, I had thought. As I closed my eyes, I could hear a tap tapping on the glass of the door. Peering through the murkiness and dusty window pane, and to my surprise was the most peculiar of creatures, and not one I was expecting to see. It's eyes were peering right back at me. I jumped as he did too, both startled we began to laugh so loud it was quite embarrassing. I opened the door and he rolled through the doorway with such a thud it shook all the pots and pans that were hanging from the hooks which were suspended from the ceiling. "What an entrance, dear sir" I exclaimed. "I hope you did not harm yourself?"
"No, NO my dear, I am quite fine, actually I am fantastic and very glad I have finally found you!"
"Found me?" I replied.
"Yes indeed, I have been looking for you since the day you were born, but I am not the only one who has been looking". "Quickly shut up the door. I have some news! You will need to sit down and listen carefully, your life is in VERY grave danger!"
And it was there he began to tell the story of the unicorn girl and why he had come to find her.
The door behind me in the old tree creaked open and out hopped one of it's inhabitants. "Oh dear, I exclaimed. I guess that was my cue to get on with my day, same time next week, Victor"?
Victor nodded, not at all pleased I had paused his story, however he understood how busy I can get and we both looked forward to our next meeting and instalment of the Unicorn girl.
- I have a feeling I will be pretty busy. You are more than welcome to continue. Post below what you think happens next....
Another old shot released from the archives of Private shots on flickr . For some reason I have found nearly 500 photos sitting hidden away .
This one was taken at Old Warden Airfield on a display day and on this day P3717 was fresh out of restoration days and the pilot after displaying with a couple of other Hurricanes had the sky to himself and did he give the Hawker Hurricane a right work out !!
For more information checkout the shot of SWOP the Hurricane to read a fuller story of this iconic aircraft .
After having spent the last couple of years going to photo workshops with Spitfires and then actually taking a flight in a Spitfire , I think a promotion of the Hawker Hurricane is in order .
During the Battle of Britain, both the Supermarine Spitfire and the Hawker Hurricane played crucial roles in defending Britain against the German Luftwaffe. These iconic fighter planes were at the forefront of the aerial combat during that pivotal period.
Supermarine Spitfire:
The Spitfire was a single-seat fighter plane that had recently entered service just before World War II began.
It was fast, sleek, and highly agile.
Although outnumbered by the Hurricane, the Spitfire’s performance was remarkable.
The Battle of Britain Memorial Flight still operates Spitfires today .
Hawker Hurricane:
The Hurricane was another single-seat fighter aircraft.
It was often overlooked in popular retellings of the battle, but its impact was immense.
Most of the RAF squadrons flying over London during the Battle of Britain were equipped with Hurricanes.
The Hurricane helped turn the tide of the war and left a lasting legacy in aviation and other aspects of modern life .
In summary, both the Spitfire and the Hurricane fought valiantly to defend Britain’s skies during the Battle of Britain, contributing significantly to the eventual victory .
WEEK 21 – Summer 2017 Kickoff!
So here it is: my summer 2017 kickoff store is a full-blown, in-the-flesh Albertsons! Before you get too excited, let me preface this by saying that (unfortunately) I still have yet to step foot in a live Albertsons myself. Rather, these photos were taken by my dad at one of the four Missoula, Montana, stores, while he was in the area last July. So here's a big thanks to him! Sorry I sat on these so long :P
Albertsons // 1003 E Broadway Street, Missoula, MT 59802
(c) 2017 Retail Retell
These places are public so these photos are too, but just as I tell where they came from, I'd appreciate if you'd say who :)
Meet Blue
Out of the Depths: The Blue Whale Story is a ROM original exhibition that retells the tragic story of 2014 and the unprecedented opportunity for research and conservation that resulted. Come face to face with the enormous eighty- foot skeleton of Blue, and discover the mind-blowing biology of blue whales; the humongous size of their heart, their unusual feeding behaviour, how they communicate and their evolution from land to sea.
Construction, Week 12
Finally moving over to the north side of the lot to see a wide view, we can see work has begun on the front corner walls, but they pale in comparison to the big brother wall on the right side of the photo. The size difference makes me picture the front corner walls as the height of that brick wall the Peanuts gang would always frequent in the comics :P
Compare to this very nearby vantage point from Week 3: Dirt II
(c) 2015 Retail Retell
These places are public so these photos are too, but just as I tell where they came from, I'd appreciate if you'd say who :)
Please excuse the crude painting. It's just an excuse to upload this song lyric! As a result of conversations with "Davies up North", I have been revising (and hopefully improving) a series of lyrics on the Mabinogion. The first draft was written ten years ago. Here is the first:
Lords of Annwn
Here begin the Mabinogi:
Tales of youth, of heroes past,
Following the strong Pryderi
From his first breath to his last.
His father Pwyll – a man to trust –
Hearken how he conquered lust!
Pwyll mounts his horse to hunt
At Glyn Cuch with his hounds.
They bay, they bark, they forge in front;
His hunter’s horn resounds
Through the woods. His grey dogs stop
And bristling, sniff the breeze.
Pwyll lifts up his riding crop;
His hounds dash through the leaves.
Through moss and fern the hounds are gone,
Gnarled oaks loom overhead.
The trees close in; Pwyll trudges on,
His horse by halter led.
The woods close in upon his way:
The distant howls of dogs.
He pushes on without delay
Stumbling over fallen logs.
At last he steps into a clearing:
Strange dogs stand on slaughtered prey,
With milk white fur, red eyes leering,
And slavering, bar Pwyll’s way.
Pwyll finds a bleeding stag,
No other huntsman to be seen.
He takes the quarry for his bag
And beats the hounds off through the green.
He baits his own hounds, blood in hands,
Running slick and wet.
A stranger in the clearing stands;
Looking up, he cries, “Well met!”
The stranger scowls, calls, “Nay indeed!”
White dogs cower at his feet
And slink about his dappled steed.
He shouts, “You steal another’s meat!
Discourteous and dull thou art
To drive my hounds away!
Fast have they pursued this hart!
You bait your own beasts with the prey!
Pwyll smites himself for shame,
“Forgive my inadvertent slight.
You shall dine tonight on game,
And for your friendship shall I fight!”
“Arawn, Annwn’s king, am I,”
The towering man replies,
“Your favour shall I test and try,
My kingdom weeps and sighs:
Evil Hafgan seeks my throne;
He covets my dominions proud.
You shall face him on your own
And lay him dead beneath a shroud.
By my arts you will be changed
Into the likeness of myself.
Take my kingdom, my face feigned;
Protect my wife, wield my wealth.
Your own fine lands shall I rule
For the passage of one year –
At that time, Hafgan cruel
Is trysted to meet me here,
But you shall meet him in my stead.
Smite him hard, with but one blow.
When Hafgan gutters, cold and dead
My affection shalt thou know!”
Pwyll comes to Arawn’s court;
All there take him for the king.
He is before a damsel brought
Wearing Arawn’s wedding ring.
No fairer woman has caroused
With any man in Wales,
The court, by beer and wine aroused,
Gold brocaded, Pwyll regales.
Yet when at last they come to bed
She lies naked, sight to see!
Faithful Pwyll turns his head,
Says not one word. No move makes he.
And so it is for all the year:
He touches not, though tested sore,
And she sheds many a secret tear:
“Arawn desires me no more.”
The year gone, Pwyll rides out
Surging forward through the mist
And Hafgan with a husky shout
Also rides to keep the tryst.
“At last, the killing-hour is here!”
Cries Hafgan in his rage.
He spurs his horse and bares his spear
Faithful Pwyll to engage.
Pwyll strikes Hafgan on the shield;
It splinters, the lance drives home;
Hafgan, writhing on the field,
Pleads for death with helpless moan.
Arawn of Annwn comes before
Pwyll, and bows on bended knee:
“You snubbed me once, but never-more!
Faithful friend! My land is free!”
Pwyll rides to his own domain
And finds his lands grown twice as rich.
Lushly grow the fields of grain;
His ladies sew with silken stitch.
Arawn comes home to his court
And calls his knights to hear his tale;
“A lesser man would come to nought
But faithful Pwyll did not fail!”
Then he goes up to his bed
And puts away his kingly gowns.
Kisses his wife upon her head;
But she recoils, glowers, frowns.
He lays his head upon her breast
But she pushes him away:
“This bed’s seen naught but silent rest
For twelve months and a day!
Has my body lost its beauty?
Have my eyes their lustre lost?
Were you so laid down with duty
That my charms enticed you not?
Have my breasts gone slack or dun?
Have you lost the ability?
Perhaps there is some other one
Who gains from your virility?”
Arawn laughs, explaining all,
Unwinds her hair, in golden braid:
“Never once did it befall
A king found such a true comrade!”
Source material: The first tale in Branch I of the Mabinogion, ‘Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed’, adapted into verse from the translation by Gwyn and Thomas Jones (1974). The Mabinogion is preserved in two Welsh manuscripts, the White Book of Rhydderch (scribed between 1300 and 1325) and the Red Book of Hergest (1375-1425), but the tales are evidently very much older, despite courtly and Christian accretions such as the emphasis on courtesy and chastity. The story of a human being changing places with the Lord of Annwn (the Celtic underworld) is undoubtedly of great antiquity. I have argued elsewhere that a similar story is implied in the ballad of ‘Robin Hood and the Potter’. It would be absurdly reductive to offer a dogmatic interpretation of the tale, but it is possible that on one level, Arawn’s wife is Pwyll’s ‘muse’, and Arawn is Pwyll’s weird: his doppelganger, or the dark side of his own self. By this interpretation, Hafgan too is a projection of Pwyll’s own self. In fact, the Mabinogion tells and retells this same story under different guises: it is there again, for example, in the love triangles of Pwyll, Rhiannon and Gwawl (Branch I), and Lleu, Blodeuwedd and Gronw (Branch IV). On another level, the story may be read, like ‘Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, as a parable on the changing seasons. Ultimately, however, the narrative is spiritual in nature, and so should be read with spirit rather than with reason. The white hounds with red ears are invariably associated with Annwn, and are its chthonic messengers, quite probably sharing their genesis with the Gabriel Hounds of the Wild Hunt. Lyric by Giles Watson, 1999; revised 2009.
Enjoy in LARGE and smile at least one tag line on right. Have many Blessings!
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Celebrate St. Patrick’s Day today, tomorrow, and Monday 3.17.2008, by blessing your family and yourself at www.e-water.net/viewflash.php?flash=irishblessing_en
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Pope: Augustine Is Model of Humility
Says His Conversion Lasted Until He Died
VATICAN CITY, FEB. 26, 2008 (Zenit.org).- In his final reflection on St. Augustine, Benedict XVI spoke of the saint's interior conversion, calling it "one of the greatest" in Christian history.
The Pope affirmed this today during the general audience given in Paul VI Hall. He recalled how his trip last year to pay homage to the mortal remains of Augustine was meant to "demonstrate the admiration and reverence of the entire Catholic Church toward St. Augustine, and my own personal devotion and recognition of a figure with whom I feel I have close ties to due to the part he has played in my theological life, in my life as a priest and a pastor."
Recalling Augustine's own retelling of his conversion in the "Confessions," the Holy Father said that the process is best "described as a journey that remains a true example for each one of us." It was a journey that "continued with humility until the end of his life."
"We can state that all the stages of his life -- and we can easily distinguish three phases -- together make up a single long conversion," the Pontiff explained.
Truth seeking
Benedict XVI characterized the first phase as a "gradual approach to Christianity," since Augustine was a "passionate seeker of the truth."
He explained: "Philosophy, and especially Platonic philosophy, led him closer to Christ by revealing to him the existence of the Logos, or creative reason. The books of the philosophers showed him the existence of 'reason' from which the whole world is derived, but did not tell him how to reach this Logos, which seemed so inaccessible.
"It was only through reading the letters of St. Paul, in the faith of the Catholic Church, that he came to a fuller understanding. […] His eyes fell on the passage of the Letter to the Romans, in which the apostle urges the abandonment of the pleasures of the flesh in favor of Christ. He understood that those words were specifically meant for him. They came from God, through the Apostle, and showed him what he had to do in that moment."
Augustine thus began to seek God, the Pope explained, "the great and inaccessible."
"His faith in Christ made him understand that God, seemingly so distant, was in truth not distant at all. In fact he has come near us, becoming one of us," the Holy Father said. "In this sense his faith in Christ allowed Augustine to accomplish his long search for truth. Only a God who made himself 'touchable,' one of us, was a God to whom one could pray, for whom and with whom one could live."
Mercy
Benedict XVI said a last step, or "third conversion" in the journey, "led [Augustine] to ask God for forgiveness every day of his life."
The Pope explained: "At first he thought that once christened, in a life in communion with Christ, in the sacraments, and in the celebration of the Eucharist, he would attain a life as proposed in the Sermon on the Mount, which is one of perfection given through baptism and confirmed in the Eucharist.
"In the latter period of his life he understood that what he had said in his first homilies on the Sermon on the Mount -- that we as Christians permanently live this ideal life -- was a mistake. Only Christ himself realizes truly and completely the Sermon on the Mount. We always need to be cleansed by Christ, who washes our feet, and be renewed by him.
"We need a permanent conversion. Up to the end we need to demonstrate a humility that acknowledges that we are sinners on a journey, until the Lord gives us his hand and leads us to eternal life. It is with this attitude of humility that Augustine lived out his final days until his death."
A model
The Holy Father said that Augustine, once "converted to Christ, who is truth and love," became a model for every human being, "for all of us in search of God."
"Today, as then," the Pontiff said, "mankind needs to know and to live this fundamental reality: God is love and meeting him is the only answer to the fears of the human heart.
"In a beautiful text St. Augustine defines prayer as an expression of desire, and affirms that God answers by moving our hearts closer to him. For our part we should purify our desires and our hopes in order to receive God's gentleness."
"In fact," the Holy Father concluded, "this alone -- opening ourselves up to others -- can save us."
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2nd post on 20080315
I am emailed below from www.medjugorje.org
or Steve Shawl
Peace to All! Below please find the official English translation of Our Lady's February 25, 2008 message to the world as provided by the Information Center in Medjugorje.
“Dear children! In this time of grace, I call you anew to prayer and renunciation. May your day be interwoven with little ardent prayers for all those who have not come to know God´s love. Thank you for having responded to my call.”
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The Abandoned Valley
Can you understand being alone so long
you would go out in the middle of the night
and put a bucket into the well
so you could feel something down there
tug at the other end of the rope?
Poem by Jack Gilbert in
“Refusing Heaven” (Alfred Knopf 2007)
winner of National Book Critics
Circle Award For Poetry
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In 2006, the local electorate blessed Dallas County, Texas with a new District Attorney (DA) who has been exemplifying extremely different philosophies like: “Society wins when justice is done, even if the Government fails to convict and lengthy imprison in most cases”.
What leadership qualities resulted in Texas’ old Dallas County DA’s Office causing Dallas County to be the “Send Innocent People to Prison Capital of the USA”. Is it worth studying those procedures, goals, attitudes, techniques to encourage or discourage their continued use else where?
Question: Is the criminal justice system dysfunctional and merely about the sneaker attorney winning?
Question: How do we start drastically altering such a screwed up trophy system? Does innocents being imprisoned, embarrass no one anymore? Why? Because there is so much of it going on?
Answer below please: ______
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Sunday, March 16, 2008
Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion
Reflections on Holy Scripture at the Procession of Palms:
Matthew 21:1-11
At the Mass:
Isaiah 50:4-7
Responsorial Psalm:
Psalm 22:8-9, 17-18, 19-20, 23-24
Reading II:
Philippians 2:6-11
The Gospel:
Matthew 26:14—27:66 or 27:11-54
Today we begin the most sacred week of the year—Holy Week.
It all begins with the Lord's triumphant entry into Jerusalem, seated astride a donkey, with the crowd shouting "Hosanna!" and it ends with the most astounding event in history, the God-man Jesus, rising from a borrowed tomb. He rises with the light shining from the wounds of His horrible passion and death.
As our Savior rode toward His great confrontation with the powers of evil, the words of today's first reading were very possibly in His mind:
I have set my face like flint, knowing that I will not be put to shame.
(Isaiah 50:7)
No, the shame is ours that our sins and those of the millions before us have brought Him to this hour. This is the week for us to bow our heads and hearts in sorrow and compassion as we put aside our daily distractions and focus on the events of the dying and rising of our loving Redeemer. We need to reflect prayerfully on the ancient Christian hymn that forms our second reading for this Mass:
He emptied himself, taking the form of a slave . . .
he humbled himself, becoming obedient to death,
even death on a cross. (see Philippians 2:7-8)
No wonder every knee must bow at the mention of His name! The early Church fought long and hard to establish the doctrine for all time that it was both God and man that took up that cross for our redemption.
So what is our cross?
It's the cross of responsibilities, the cross of sickness, the cross of loneliness and failure. We gain so much strength to carry those crosses when we take time this week to journey with Jesus to Calvary.
The Church is a master of drama in the liturgies of this week. Through the use of the celebrant and two readers for the Passion this week, and in the voices of the congregation, we all become part of the action. Most of us feel embarrassed to cry "Crucify Him" with the palm branches still in our hands. We feel like hypocrites. Yet it was our sins which brought Him to Calvary.
The Passion Narrative of Matthew is a reminder of the ugliness of sin—Christ's betrayal by Judas, the denial of Peter, the hearings before Caiaphas and Pilate—the awful scourging by the Roman soldiers, the thorny crown jammed upon His weary head, the whip cutting slashes into His flesh, the blood running down his shoulders and back, the cursing by the crowd, the nails tearing through His hands, the thud of the cross into the ground. As He hangs on the Cross, He cries, "I thirst!" How that cry echoes down the centuries as a reminder of His search for our love!
The shock of Palm Sunday's liturgy compresses nearly two thousand years into this present moment. We have no place to hide.
We need to suspend all other activities, quiet our busy-ness, and focus on the events of this week—the local penance services, the Stations of the Cross, the Thursday night adoration and the Good Friday veneration of the Cross.
All this will prepare us for the coming out of darkness into the new fire, the new light, the new saving water of the Easter Vigil—and the Resurrection.
- Msgr. Paul Whitmore | email: pwhitmore29@yahoo.com
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I did my best
yes, I did
and this is how I so wish,
to be remembered
from this day forth
...reaching in all directions
to the farthest extent
depth of reason
with a touch of desire
grace in elevation
but no perfection there
nor the seeking wish
to be better or finer
than one sumptuous feeling
of being embraced
truly
by Nature Herself
unto me with love
Oh yes, pleasures true
how I felt that day
a touch of déja vu
if I recall
yes, in all it's finery
that's it! now it becomes clear
it was devotion
from one stretch of imagination
and passion
with such playful mind
falling in line
one summery day so blue
where I lay down my Soul
and gave my all
to the best of knowledge
my body lost itself
and gave it's best away
now I am left to recount
countless thousands
of lost footsteps
that I'm unable to take
where nerves fail me
not from loss of spirit,
but from these aching limbs
that have grown weary
from my heedless commands
to drive on
as only they can't.
I tried my best,
and gave my all
that summery afternoon
to retell this wintry eve.
by anglia24
15h30: 20/02/2008
©2008anglia24
Achilles, the super hero of Homer's Iliad, does not really shine in Pat Barker's retelling of the story ("The Silence of the Girls"). She describes his complex psychology as amphibious and oscillating between feminine vulnerability and ultra-brutal tantrums of violence. He appears to be an overgrown baby and his needs are equally infantile. Even his appalling sex life is that of mummy's lost little boy, permanently searching for his mum, hence oedipal in nature. Time to grow up - for all the super heroes wasting humanity's time.
Pentacon 3.5/30 wide-open.
Late last year, after Big Lots declared bankruptcy and began liquidating all of its stores, news broke that the company had entered a deal with Variety Wholesalers, owners of Roses and other chains, to acquire the Big Lots intellectual property as well as hundreds of store leases, with plans to reopen them under the same name. Fast-forward to April 10, 2025, and the first batch of “Big Lots 2.0” stores held their soft openings, with Mississippi lucky enough to act as home to two of those initial stores, Tupelo and Pearl. With the latter being my local store, naturally, I decided to check out what the reopened Pearl Big Lots is all about. If you’re interested in seeing it too, then please head over to my recent blog post here: midsouthretail.blogspot.com/2025/04/big-lots-variety-whol...
(c) 2025 Retail Retell
These places are public so these photos are too, but just as I tell where they came from, I'd appreciate if you'd say who :)
To a casual passerby this dilapidated barn with broken windows and doors askew merits a brief glance. But to an old farm couple taking a slow drive in the countryside, the snow melts, the windows are repaired and the barn is freshly painted as they recall days long ago. At my age I find myself retelling events from my farm youth but the recounting is now more for myself than my listeners as the memories are akin to the warmth of my mother's handmade quilt on a Minnesota winter's night pulled up high to stifle the cold.
Construction, Week 15
COP: (drives in front of me as I stand conspicuously under the landscaping island to take this pic)
ME: (thinking, paranoid, as usual) there's no way I can be arrested for this right
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Uploads for this week will be split in half: check out the first five Friday!
(c) 2015 Retail Retell
These places are public so these photos are too, but just as I tell where they came from, I'd appreciate if you'd say who :)
Jaffa, in Hebrew Yafo (Hebrew: יָפוֹ, About this soundYāfō (help·info)) and in Arabic Yafa (Arabic: يَافَا) and also called Japho or Joppa, the southern and oldest part of Tel Aviv-Yafo, is an ancient port city in Israel. Jaffa is famous for its association with the biblical stories of Jonah, Solomon and Saint Peter as well as the mythological story of Andromeda and Perseus, and later for its oranges. Jaffa is mentioned in an Ancient Egyptian letter from 1440 BCE. The so-called story of the Taking of Joppa glorifies its conquest by Pharaoh Thutmose III, whose general, Djehuty hid Egyptian soldiers in sacks carried by pack animals and sent them camouflaged as tribute into the Canaanite city, where the soldiers emerged and conquered it. The New Testament account of Saint Peter bringing back to life the widow Dorcas (recorded in Acts of the Apostles, 9:36–42, takes place in Jaffa, then called in Greek Ἰόππη (Latinized as Joppa). Acts 10:10–23 relates that, while Peter was in Jaffa, he had a vision of a large sheet filled with "clean" and "unclean" animals being lowered from heaven, together with a message from the Holy Spirit telling him to accompany several messengers to Cornelius in Caesarea Maritima. Peter retells the story of his vision in Acts 11:4–17, explaining how he had come to preach Christianity to the gentiles. Sourse: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jaffa
Here is Warner Bros. official Letters from Iwo Jima site:
iwojimathemovie.warnerbros.com/lettersofiwojima/framework...
... one of the great historical movies of our time. Yesterday I watched this movie with Scotty, a friend of mine from Austin. Scotty was a marine on Peliliu in November 1944 when that island was taken from the Japanese by U.S. Marines. Scotty has one of the medals, seen worn by General Kuribayashi, The Order of the Rising Sun. Scotty told me the intriguing story of how he came to be in possession of the medal, but I don't have his permission to retell it here. The medal is the one General Kuribayashi is wearing around his neck in the illustration here. Scotty promised to bring the medal next time he comes and I'll scan it and make him a color print of this image, so he can have it framed with a picture of it being worn. Scotty's job with the Marines on Peliliu was to repair telephone lines. In 1944 radios were powred through tubes which had very delicate filaments and were often out of order. Communications therefore fell back on field telephones which transmitted over wires. As the wires were discovered and cut by the enemy, Scotty would be sent out to repair them. At first his commanding officer sent two guards to go with him, but after a few trips, Scotty asked permission to go alone, because three marines made too much noise and increased the danger of the assignment.
And so, two old men sat and watched a movie and gained a better understanding of those people we hated so intensely, so many years ago. Even, had they been victorious, the Japanese soldier suffered more than the American soldier, simply because of cultural differences. The movie reveals this abundantly..
Wikipedia's Plot Summary:
The film is based on the non-fiction books "Gyokusai sōshikikan" no etegami ("Picture letters from the Commander in Chief" by General Tadamichi Kuribayashi (portrayed on screen by Ken Watanabe) and So Sad To Fall In Battle: An Account of War[4] by Kumiko Kakehashi about the Battle of Iwo Jima. While some characters such as Saigo are fictional, the overall battle as well as several of the commanders are based upon actual people and events.
In 2005, Japanese archaeologists explore tunnels on Iwo Jima. They find something in the dirt, and the scene changes to Iwo Jima in 1944. Private First Class Saigo, a baker conscripted into the Imperial Japanese Army, and his platoon are grudgingly digging beach trenches on the island. Meanwhile, Lieutenant General Tadamichi Kuribayashi arrives to take command of the garrison and immediately begins an inspection of the island defenses. He saves Saigo and his friend Kashiwara from a beating by Captain Tanida for having uttered 'unpatriotic speeches', and orders the men to stop digging trenches on the beach and begin tunnelling defenses into Mount Suribachi.
Later, Lieutenant Colonel Baron Takeichi Nishi, a famous Olympic gold medalist show jumper, joins Kuribayashi for dinner. They discuss the grim prospect of no naval or air support and the fanaticism their fellow officers would show. Kuribayashi evacuates the civilian population of Iwo Jima to mainland Japan. He clashes with some of his senior officers, who do not agree with his strategy of defending inland instead of the beaches; Kuribayashi believes the Americans will take the beaches quickly, and only the mountain defenses will have a better chance for holding out against the enemy.
Poor nutrition and unsanitary conditions take their toll on the garrison; many die of dysentery, including Kashiwara. The Japanese troops begin using the caves as barracks. Kashiwara's replacement, a young soldier named Superior Private Shimizu, arrives for duty on the island. Saigo and his friends suspect that Shimizu is a spy sent from Kempeitai to report on disloyal soldiers since he was trained at a Kempeitai institute. The first American aerial bombings occur shortly after, causing significant casualties. After the raid, Saigo is sickened when he sees the corpse of a friend, still sitting upright. Another casualty was Jupiter, Baron Nishi's horse, which was also killed by a bomb. The raid forces the Japanese to dig deeper into the volcanic island. A few days later, U.S. Marines land on Iwo Jima and the Japanese open fire. The battle for Iwo Jima begins.
As the landings occur, the American troops suffer heavy casualties, but the Japanese beach defenses are quickly overcome, and the attack turns to the defensive positions on Mount Suribachi. Saigo assists the defense by carrying ammunition to machine gunners. When a Japanese machine gunner is killed by a shell from an American ship, Saigo is ordered by the company commander to use his rifle, since the machine gun is damaged. He handles it so clumsily that he is sent to retrieve some machine guns instead. While delivering the request from his company commander to the commander of the Suribachi garrison, Saigo overhears General Kuribayashi radioing orders to retreat northward. The Suribachi commander, however, ignores the order from the general and instead orders Saigo to deliver a message ordering the men of his company to commit suicide. The Japanese soldiers of Saigo's unit commit suicide with grenades, including Saigo's friend Nozaki, and Captain Tanida shoots himself in the head with his Type 14 8 mm Nambu Pistol, but Saigo runs away and leaves the cave with Shimizu, convincing him that it is more productive to continue the fight rather than die. They come across two other Japanese soldiers, but one gets incinerated by an American flamethrower through a hole in the tunnel, causing the three remaining soldiers to flee. They then come across Japanese soldiers beating and tourturing a captured Marine (There are beliefs the captured Marine was Ralph "Iggy" Ignatowski). The Marine pleads to the Japanese to have mercy on him, although his plea falls on deaf ears as the Japanese soldiers stab him to death with bayonets, much to Saigo's disgust.
Saigo and the remaining Japanese soldiers in Mount Suribachi attempt to flee under the orders of Lieutenant Oiso and flee the tunnels at night. However, they run into U.S. Marines, who wipe out all the Japanese troops except for Saigo and Shimizu. The two men flee to friendly lines, but they are accused by Lieutenant Ito of deserting Suribachi. Ito raises his katana to execute Saigo and Shimizu for cowardice when General Kuribayashi appears to stop the punishment, confirming that he had indeed ordered the retreat and thus saving Saigo for the second time.
The soldiers from the caves attempt a futile attack against American positions, with the Japanese taking heavy losses. Saigo and the surviving soldiers are told to regroup with Colonel Nishi. Ito then heads towards the American lines with three land mines, intending to throw himself under an American tank. The next morning, heavy fighting takes place. The Japanese take casualties, but manage to kill several U.S. Marines and destroy a tank. Lieutenant Okubo, Nishi's executive officer shoots a U.S. Marine, who is subsequently captured by Nishi's men. He reveals his name to be Sam, and Nishi orders his medic to give him aid despite the Japanese's dwindling medical supplies. Despite their efforts, the Marine dies of his wounds. Nishi reads a letter the American received from his mother.
As a bomb hits Nishi's cave, Nishi is badly wounded and blinded. His men bind his wounds, and Nishi orders them to another position on the island. As a last favor, he asks Lieutenant Okubo to leave him a rifle. After leaving that position, the soldiers hear a distant gunshot from Nishi's cave.
Being fed up with the battle, Saigo says to Shimizu that he will surrender to the Americans and does not care if Shimizu reports this to the Kempeitai. Shimizu divulges to Saigo that he had been dishonorably discharged from the Kempeitai. In a flashback, it is revealed that he was discharged because he refused to obey a superior's order to kill a barking dog. He was then reassigned to Iwo Jima. This causes Saigo's attitude towards Shimizu to soften considerably. Shimizu breaks down and fearfully asks Saigo to surrender with him. Shimizu and another soldier attempt to flee the cave where they are stationed. Okubo orders them to halt; when they fail to stop, he shoots the other soldier while Shimizu escapes.
Shimizu surrenders to a U.S. Marine patrol and finds himself in the company of another Japanese soldier who had surrendered. The patrol moves on, leaving Shimizu and the other Japanese soldier and two Marines. One of the American guards, who does not want to be burdened with POWs, later shoots them, much to the other Marine's surprise and the two catch up to their patrol. The dead soldiers are discovered by the Japanese and Lieutenant Okubo points it out as a lesson for anyone else who wishes to surrender. Saigo, deeply saddened by his death, puts Shimizu's senninbari on his dead body.
Meanwhile, Ito has not come across any American forces to attack. Desperate, exhausted, and malnourished, his fanatical will breaks and when American Marines find him, he surrenders.
Saigo and the remaining survivors find that Kuribayashi's cave is under attack, and a fierce battle rages. They charge through the crossfire, and lose several men, including Lieutenant Okubo who successfully neutralizes an American Browning M1919 machine gun and its crew. They enter the cave under a storm of American bullets, meeting up with Kuribayashi, who recognizes Saigo. One last attack with all the remaining men is planned. Kuribayashi orders Saigo to stay behind and destroy all the documents, including his own letters to his family. By this, Kuribayashi saves Saigo's life a third time. Kuribayashi and his remaining troops launch their final attack. Most of Kuribayashi's men are killed, and Kuribayashi is critically wounded.
Kuribayashi's loyal aide Fujita drags him away from the battle. The next morning, Kuribayashi orders his aide to behead him; however, the aide is shot dead by an American sniper as he raises his sword. Saigo appears at this moment, having buried some of the documents in the cave instead of burning them all. Summoning his last reserves of strength, the very weak Kuribayashi asks Saigo to bury him so that nobody will find him. Kuribayashi then draws his pistol, an American M1911 — revealed in two previous flashbacks to be a gift Kuribayashi was given in the United States before the war, at a party in which he was the guest of honor — and shoots himself in the chest. Saigo carries away the dead general (unknowingly leaving the pistol behind near Fujita) and buries his body at another location.
Later in the day, a patrol of American Marines come across Fujita's body. One Marine claims Kuribayashi's pistol and another claims Fujita's sword as war trophies. They then search the area and find an exhausted Saigo with a shovel in his hand. Upon seeing the pistol tucked into a Marine's belt, Saigo swings angrily and wildly at the Americans with his shovel. Too weak to fight properly, Saigo is knocked unconscious with a rifle butt and is taken on to a U.S. aid station on the beach. Awakening a while later, he glimpses the setting sun, with ships in the distance, as well as a U.S. truck, and smiles grimly.
The scene shifts back to the Japanese archaeologists who uncover the bag of letters written by Japanese soldiers on the island, never sent, that Saigo buried in 1945. As the letters fall from the bag, the voices of the fallen Japanese soldiers are heard reading from them.