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Firestorm is a nuclear-powered super-hero with the ability to transmute elements. The Firestorm Matrix is a composite of multiple people bonded together, originally high school student Ronnie Raymond controlling the body and nuclear physicist Professor Martin Stein giving direction as an additional consciousness. Mikhail Arkadin became a later Firestorm, Stein took control at one point, and Lorraine Reilly was also part of the matrix for a period.
Jason Rusch takes over the identity after the death of Raymond during Identity Crisis, and goes through several partners including Mick Wong and his girlfriend Gehenna.
In an interview Gerry Conway discussed his reasoning and influences while creating the character "I always loved the idea of the hair on fire, I think it goes back to Johnny Storm, The Human Torch, an entire flaming character, of course."
Conway further elaborated, "I’d been playing around with the idea of a teenage superhero for DC, who could sort of fill the hole that had been left in my heart by leaving Spider-Man behind. I’d been thinking about the tropes — one of which was the meek, mild alter ego, the brainy kid who, in wish fulfillment, gets superpowers, is extremely powerful… able to do things that he hadn’t been able to do before. That was, I think, the major motivating force—I wanted to play on that trope.
To do that, I wanted to flip it around: create a guy who wasn’t the brightest guy in the room, the not-terribly-smart guy who became a superpowered character. The way I’d make that work: I’d bring him into contact with the smarter person, who would also share the powers. This led to… the multiple-people-in-one, Professor Stein/ Ronnie Raymond dynamic."
Jack Kirby's 1971 design for Lightray's costume influenced the look of artist Al Milgrom's creation of Firestorm in 1978. In an interview from 2019, Milgrom admitted: "The facemask on Firestorm, the way it comes around the chin, was probably inspired by Lightray more than anything... I liked the [Lightray] head-covering thing; I said, "I'm stealin' it!"
Aliases
Ronnie Raymond / Martin Stein
The original Firestorm was distinguished by his integrated dual identity. High school student Ronnie Raymond and Nobel Prize-winning physicist Martin Stein were caught in an accident that allowed them to fuse into Firestorm the Nuclear Man.
Due to Stein being unconscious during the accident, Raymond was prominently in command of the Firestorm form with Stein a voice of reason inside his mind, able to offer Raymond advice on how to use their powers without actually having any control over their dual form.
Banter between the two was a hallmark of their adventures. Stein was initially completely unaware of their dual identity, leaving him concerned about his unusual disappearances and blackouts, but Ronnie was eventually able to convince him of the truth, allowing them to bond as separate individuals rather than as parts of a whole.
Ronnie Raymond / Martin Stein / Mikhail Arkadin
When Conway left the series in 1986, John Ostrander (with artist Joe Brozowski) began writing the Firestorm stories. His first major story arc pitted Firestorm against the world as the hero, acting on a suggestion from a terminally ill Professor Stein, demanded that the United States and the Soviet Union destroy all of their nuclear weapons.
After confrontations with the Justice League and most of his enemies, Firestorm faced the Russian nuclear superhero Pozhar in the Nevada desert, where an atomic bomb was dropped on them. A new Firestorm resulted, a fusion of the two heroes: this new Firestorm was composed of Ronnie Raymond and the Russian Mikhail Arkadin but controlled by the disembodied amnesiac mind of Martin Stein.
Fire Elemental
The Firestorm with Arkadin proved to be a transitional phase, as in 1989 Ostrander fundamentally changed the character of Firestorm by revealing that Firestorm was a "Fire Elemental".
Firestorm now became something of an environmental crusader, formed from Ronnie Raymond, Mikhail Arkadin, and Svarozhich, a Soviet clone of the previous Firestorm, but with a new mind. Professor Stein, no longer part of the composite at all, continued to play a role, but the focus was on this radically different character.
New artist Tom Mandrake would create a new look to match. It was during this phase that Firestorm met and befriended Sango and the Orishas, the elemental gods of Nigeria. He also met their chief deity and Sango's older brother Obatala, Lord of the White Cloth.
By the series' 100th issue, Stein learned that he was destined to be the true Fire Elemental and would have been being it not for Raymond also being there by circumstance. Raymond and Arkadin were returned to their old lives, and Stein as Firestorm was accidentally exiled to deep space in the process of saving the Earth. He thereafter spent many years traveling through space as a wanderer, returning to Earth only rarely.
After the transition to the elemental Firestorm, all of the main characters from the series vanished from the comics for some time after the cancellation of the Firestorm comic in 1990.
Raymond eventually returned in the pages of Extreme Justice.
Raymond, at the time undergoing treatment for leukemia, regained his original powers after a chemotherapy session. It took the combined might of the Justice League led by Captain Atom, and the returned elemental Firestorm, to restore Ronnie's health. Firestorm began to appear regularly in a number of DC titles, though lacking the guidance and knowledge necessary to use his skills wisely.
Firestorm was drafted by Batman into a "replacement" Justice League that was commissioned in case something befell the original team (in this case, being stranded in the distant past in "The Obsidian Age" storyline).
After the original team returned, Firestorm stayed on as a reserve member and participated in events such as a team-up with the Justice Society of America (in JLA/JSA: Virtue and Vice) and the intercompany crossover JLA/Avengers. He was also briefly a member of the Power Company.
Jason Rusch
In 2004, DC revived the Firestorm comic for the second time, with writer Dan Jolley and artist Chris Cross, but instead of the original Firestorm, Ronnie Raymond, there was a new protagonist; the teenager Jason Rusch.
Jason was a 17-year-old living in Detroit who wanted nothing more than to escape his home city. He lived with his father, who had turned abusive after he lost his hand in an industrial accident. His mother left the family sometime after the accident.
With the loss of a job he needed for college tuition, Jason turned to a local thug for money, accepting a job as a courier. It was on that job that he encountered the Firestorm Matrix, searching for a new host after Ronnie Raymond's death. In the aftermath, Jason struggled to cope with his new identity and powers—a struggle that led to the death of the man who had hired him.
Jason Rusch / Martin Stein
In the 2006 miniseries Infinite Crisis, it was revealed that Martin Stein, alive in space as the "Elemental Firestorm", had sensed the presence of Jason Rusch within the Firestorm Matrix, but was unaware of Ronnie Raymond's death. When Jason, as Firestorm, was gravely wounded in the line of duty, Stein linked with him in a variation of the merge, promising Jason a new Firestorm body to let him return into battle (although Martin had been unable to save Mick) and asking him about Ronnie's fate.
Accepting Martin's proposal, Jason asked Stein to become the permanent second member of the Firestorm Matrix. Sensing his "errors" (including Mick's death) were the result of his youth and lack of experience, he sought the experience and maturity of Stein. Stein refused at first, but later accepted Jason's request, thus ensuring both a new Firestorm body and the reconstruction of human bodies for both Rusch and Stein.
It was revealed in Infinite Crisis that if the Multiverse had survived up to the present, Jason would have been a native of Earth-Eight.
Jason Rusch / Firehawk
As the storyline jumped ahead one year (and the series itself was now re-titled as Firestorm the Nuclear Man from issue #23 on), Professor Stein has mysteriously vanished, and Jason Rusch has been merging with Firehawk to become Firestorm, allowing him to use her powers as well.
The two decided to look for Stein together. Stein had been kidnapped and tortured by the Pupil, a former teaching assistant of Stein's. Flanked by the D.O.L.L.I.s, a group of cyborg soldiers of limited cognitive ability, the Pupil (formerly known as Adrian Burroughs) questioned the nearly dead Stein about the secrets of the universe.
Jason and Lorraine, along with the mysterious teleporter Gehenna, freed the captured Stein and restored him to full health. Jason is a college freshman at New York City's Columbus University and seems to have ties with Dani Sharpe, a member of the senior staff at LexCorp.
The Firestorm team of Jason and Firehawk made several appearances across the DC Comics Universe before the search for Martin Stein ended. This included dealing with the latest OMAC and teaming up with Superman in the "Back in Action" story arc in Action Comics.
Firehawk later introduced Jason to Pozhar, a Russian superhero who was once a part of the Firestorm Matrix; together, the trio takes on a newly reborn Tokamak. This series ended with Firestorm the Nuclear Man #35 (April 2007).
Jason Rusch / Ronnie Raymond
In the 2009–2010 Blackest Night miniseries, Ronnie Raymond is called by a black power ring to join the Black Lantern Corps. Like other Black Lanterns, the undead Firestorm mimics the personality of Ronnie Raymond, often wisecracking and exhibiting other stereotypical teenage behavior.
In the 2010–2011 Brightest Day miniseries, Ronnie Raymond arrives at Jason Rusch's apartment with Professor Stein and Ray Palmer to attend Gehenna's funeral.
When Ronnie is actually unable to remember Gehenna's name, Jason angrily lashes out and punches him in the face. This causes the two young men to merge into Firestorm, and they begin arguing inside the Matrix.
Palmer manages to separate Jason and Ronnie, but not before the Firestorm matrix causes a huge explosion. It is revealed that Deathstorm intends to create enough emotional instability between Ronnie and Jason that the Matrix will trigger another Big Bang, thereby destroying all life in the universe. Ronnie and Jason must find a way to contain their Firestorm matrix from the explosion in less than 90 days.
After the events of the 2011 Flashpoint storyline, The New 52 reality altered Firestorm's personal history to the point of it being completely restarted. Ronnie Raymond is now introduced as a high school senior and the captain of the football team. During a terrorist attack on their school, classmate Jason Rusch produces a vial given to him by Professor Stein, which contains the "God Particle", one of Stein's creations.
The God Particle transforms both Jason and Ronnie into Firestorm, and the two teens briefly battle each other before accidentally merging into a hulking creature known as the Fury.
Sharing the identity of Firestorm, with Ronnie being the brawn and Jason being the brains, Firestorm is considered for recruitment into the Justice League along with several other heroes.
DC Rebirth
In the Watchmen sequel Doomsday Clock, Firestorm becomes a subject of controversy after claims arise stating that he was created by the American government. Firestorm profanely denounces the "Superman Theory" and insults his Russian counterpart Pozhar, much to the dismay of Martin Stein.
Firestorm subsequently becomes embroiled in a fight with several Russian superheroes before appearing to inadvertently turn a crowd of civilian protesters into a glass (a feat previously deemed beyond his capabilities). Firestorm flees with the body of an affected child and is found in hiding at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant in Ukraine by Superman.
With Superman's encouragement, Firestorm returns the child to normal. Firestorm and Superman return to the affected crowd and are engaged by the Russian military. The area then becomes engulfed in an explosion of blue light. Subsequent discoveries reveal that the 'Superman Theory' is actually partially correct, as Stein deliberately engineered the creation of Firestorm to make himself a superhuman, even if Raymond genuinely had no idea of this until recently.
Powers and abilities
Firestorm has the ability to rearrange molecular or particle structures of any substance into most anything else, creating different atomic structures of equal mass. He can transmute the basic composition of an object (e.g., transmuting lead into gold) and can also change its shape or form at will. Much like Green Lantern's limitations, Firestorm can only create items whose workings are understood by the "driver" of the Firestorm Matrix, through he can make more complex sentient constructs out of the Matrix's energies. Unlike Green Lantern's creations, Firestorm's alterations are permanent unless he reverses them.
Initially, he could not affect organic matter without painful, even lethal, feedback (i.e., fatal biophysical disruption or even localized particle motion phenomena like extreme changes in the weather). It was later revealed that Firestorm could always change organic matter, but opted not to. As Jason Rusch became Firestorm, however, this weakness appeared to have dissipated. With old and new variations, the organic limitation does not extend to his own person, as its users can molecularly change their driver self at will, allowing them to regenerate lost or damaged bodily tissue, boost immune systems, shape-shift, increase physical capabilities and survive indefinitely without food, sleep, water or air.
Capacities as such produce superhuman levels of strength, durability, stamina and resistance to injury great enough to challenge the New Gods—the likes of Orion, Lashina, or an empowered Kalibak—or surviving the rigors of outer space and sitting near the inner corona above the sun's photosphere without discomfort.
Firestorm's power has been stated by Prof. Stein to be theoretically infinite, harnessing the spark of creation, the Big Bang itself. However, infinite power runs the risk of burning out its host.
While the Firestorm Matrix can be utilized by a singular host driver—as was the case with Ronnie, Stein, and Rusch—it is not recommended. The Matrix functions best with two people, a pilot and secondary, to comprehend and master it. Martin instructed Rusch on how to study current and potential powers available to them within the Matrix and to manually adjust them on the fly at a later date. Its main source of energy stemmed from the ambient stellar energies of native stars and suns but could also use its co-pilot as a power source, though they will burn out over time and genetically disintegrate if not properly adjusted to its power.
The merging aspect of the Matrix can enable outside fusions which assimilate any inherent abilities these others might possess. However, this can diminish its effectiveness and stability. Rusch has shown he can spontaneously warp himself and others he had previously merged with to his specific location, triggering the neural pathway connection and allowing the gestalt to access each other's knowledge and memories to better utilize Firestorm's capabilities.
Users of the Firestorm Matrix can access a type of ancestral memory from the continuum of past Matrix users, allowing them to access the latest knowledge of the atoms comprising it. This also translates into a form of time-space sight in which the Matrix user can glimpse the past, present, future, and alternate lives of every other Firestorm throughout reality using a collective of subatomic wormholes which exist as a part of the Matrix. This power is too complex to properly control; thus, it has been highly unreliable as an ability.
The driver can fly at supersonic speeds in an atmosphere and reach escape velocities. The driver can also adjust the driver's body's size or pull and enlarge others from the subatomic universe at will, Rusch having once dragged Ray Palmer from his microscopic size to the natural world while on Apokolips. Manipulation of the self at the subatomic level allows the driver to become intangible and pass through solid objects. This allowed Rusch to communicate with John Stewart and sift through his mind telepathically after he had been taken over by the void beast. Firestorm is also adept at absorbing and redistributing radiation or energy both harmlessly and productively (such as in Green Lantern: Circle of Fire #7, having both absorbed Zeta Radiation from Adam Strange's body and repurposed it to turn a universe-destroying quasar back onto itself and absorb the fallout from a massive nuclear detonation).) He can generate destructive or concussive blasts of nuclear energy, through which he can also channel his transmogrification powers.
While the Matrix grants the fusers unique powers, it can also accidentally bestow them on individuals caught in the Matrix by mistake. One example is Nanette Phaedon, wife of the late Allen Phaedon, who gained the ability to change her quantum state for size-shifting and flight by her own will. Following Raymond's resurrection during Brightest Day, Firestorm gained the ability to switch "drivers" between Ronnie and Jason at will; before that, only the active driver was in control, with the dormant consciousness only able to advise the other on what action to take. One of the faults of a Firestorm fusion is that the stronger psyche will have dominance of the Matrix's power, such as when Jason fused with Luis Salvador who overpowered him from the passenger seat of the Matrix.
During The New 52, the Firestorm Matrix could be shared through multiple users at a time. Users could fuse and become stronger, but more unstable. The entity formed between Ronnie and Jason when using the Matrix in tandem created a nuclear being called "the Fury". It was also shown that The Matrix shares a kinship to the Quantum Field in some way, enabling Firestorm users to derive its power for subatomic transmutation and manipulation. Some believe it is key to the fabled God particle theory. Its merging properties can place a large burden on the user; Firestorm runs the risk of reaching critical mass and detonating. At worst, the fusion of too many users in the Matrix could trigger a second Big Bang.
⚡ Happy 🎯 Heroclix 💫 Friday! 👽
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A year of the shows and performers of the Bijou Planks Theater.
Secret Identities:
Ronald Roy "Ronnie" Raymond
Dr. Martin Stein
Dr. Mikhail Denisovitch Arkadin
Jason Thomas Rusch
Publisher: DC
First appearance: Firestorm the Nuclear Man #1 (March 1978)
Created by: Gerry Conway (Writer)
Al Milgrom (Artist)
This is one of, if not the oldest Publix in Gainesville, having opened way back in the late 1960's. I'm sure it has been remodeled numerous times since then, but this store looks like it's sort of stuck in the mid to late 90's. I keep hearing rumors of this store eventually closing, being torn down, and rebuilt complete with a parking garage on top! I'll believe it when I read it in the Gainesville Sun. I heard the reasoning for the stalling of this project has to do with the fact that the Checkers Fast Food Restaurant in the northwest corner of this plaza refuses to relocate.
Spotmatic II | Sears 135mm | Arista Edu Ultra 100
All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event — in the living act, the undoubted deed — there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through the mask! How can the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting through the wall? To me, the white whale is that wall, shoved near to me. Sometimes I think there's naught beyond. But 'tis enough. He tasks me; he heaps me; I see in him outrageous strength, with an inscrutable malice sinewing it. That inscrutable thing is chiefly what I hate; and be the white whale agent, or be the white whale principal, I will wreak that hate upon him.
Roll #133, Frame 32. f/8.
Dev: D-76 (1:1, 225mL), 8 min @ 18°C (EI 50). 10 sec rolling agit / min.
(I don't have photoshop yet, so all manipulations are done using microsoft picture manager, pixeasy and similar programs. after that there's manual retouching using different kinds of paper and sometimes watercolor or pencil)
Conservative arrives in shades of navy and cream
With matching suitcases and fine cuisine
Appraising the violation of violet hair
With offerings of love and inquisitive reasoning
Reminiscing leads to a sideways shunt
With silver clouds the seaside comes beckoning
Surprise seizes at an appropriate location
With arms crossed and collars adorned
Lilac locks are no longer so livid
With cobalt, cherry and lime surrounding
Blackpool 2008
©Camera Poetry
I read in an article recently that those three parallel horizontal stripes on many American school buses are more than decorative, that they actually indicate something. The bottom one is supposed to coincide with the floor. The middle one indicates where the tops of the seats are and the top line indicates the tops of the seat backs. The reasoning given was that if needed during an accident, rescuers would have a visual indication of where to open the bus bodywork to access trapped passengers.
But I also read another article that stated that those black stripes in the shape of channels simply reinforce the structural integrity of the body which is essentially made of just flat pieces of sheet metal.
People love to stand in front of Van Cortlandt Manor at the Great Jack O' Lantern Blaze and take selfies or photos of the house itself while it's all lit up for Halloween. This year, I noticed that the vast majority of people I saw taking pictures were using their cell phones rather than regular cameras. This surprised me very much and made me wonder at their reasoning. Are they simply trading quality for simplicity or is it something more? I take a lot of pictures with my cell phone since it's very quick and easy but it can never replace my "real" camera. What does everyone else think about using a cell phone for photography versus an actual camera?
House of Rastafari is the traditional reference point in the festival for all people interested in getting closer to the Rasta culture or just curious about it. A space dedicated to reflect and deepen on this topic.
Among the proposals in this area are Nyabinghi songs, Reasoning Grounds, art and photography exhibitions, as well as solidarity activities to support projects in Ethiopia and Jamaica.
House of Rastafari es el tradicional punto de referencia en el festival para todas las personas interesadas en aproximarse a la cultura rasta o simplemente sienten curiosidad sobre ella. Un espacio dedicado a reflexionar y profundizar acerca de este tema.
Entre las propuestas de este área hay cantos Nyabinghi, Reasoning Grounds, exposiciones de arte y fotografía, así como actividades solidarias de apoyo a proyectos en Etiopía y Jamaica.
Rototom SunSplash 27º European Reggae Festival.
Benicàssim 16-22 August 2022 (Spain)
Bragging still, but telling the truth still, . . . during all this time I was getting A’s and B’s in high school, mainly because I used to cut class at least once a week, to play hookey that is, just so I could go to the Lowell Public Library and study by myself at leisure such things as old chess books with their fragrance of scholarly thought, their old bindings, leading me to investigate other fragrant old books . . . loving books and the smell of the old library and always reading in the rotunda part of the back where was a bust of Ceasar in the bright morning sun . .
When I read this paragraph in the book thought to myself “wow, where was this book when I was in High School” ?!! My last two years my schedule consisted mostly of AP classes & bunch of electives and honestly I cut them often. Most of the time just to read other books or go to work. Not even just to go out or socialize. I was never that social to cut classes just for that.
Maybe it is good that I never came across this book in HS. Remembering myself as a teenager I am sure that that page would be in my school bag religiously to present it to my teachers and deans when got caught.
One time in HS my poetry teacher didn’t let me stay (I believe in English Department) . . . “Don’t worry” I thought to myself “wait till I get to your class . . . guess where I’m gonna catch up on my New York Times” . . . Anyone who thinks he / she is stubborn should try me . . . I can be the most flexible person ever but if someone rubs me the VERY wrong way . . . I can turn into irreversible stone head !
If I knew that Jack Kerouac did something similar back then I would go out of my way to get that book for him.
Thank God I didn’t know !!!
Of course today I would never behave that way. I would come up and say “Look, I understand your reasoning but I have a substitute teacher and class will loud and it will give me a headache. Please understand that I don’t mean to disrespect anyone. Just don’t want to waste 45 minutes of my time.”
Robert is a wild crow who befriended us, he would chatter away all day at times. He has learned to say "corn", one of his favorite treats.
Recently he disappeared, about 6 months ago and I was so worried about him. I was afraid that he ran into trouble somehow. Well guess what, Robert came back finally, with a family of about five kids!!! I knew when I heard, "corn, corn, corn" that was him, and he and his wife proudly showed me the kids!!!
Robert was never captured, he has remained wild but is a good friend of the yard and loves people!
Crows have a reasoning ability rivaling that of a human seven-year-old, research has shown.
www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2590046/Crows-int...
On our way back down to the valley post-holing was unavoidable. Luckily, the famous “this is only for a short section” reasoning was for once true.
At the F50's heart there could only be a V12 engine. Mounted inline amidships and coupled to a six-speed transaxle, the four-cam 4,699cc unit employed five-valves-per-cylinder technology borrowed from Ferrari's contemporary F1 engine, from which it was directly descended. While not capable of the five-figure maximum revs of the smaller race engine, the F50's V12 used its increased capacity to good effect, producing an astonishing 520bhp at 8,500rpm, with 347lb/ft of torque available at 6,500rpm. A stressed chassis member, the otherwise mostly alloy engine employed cast iron for the crankcase in the interests of rigidity.
One of the most challenging areas of the F50 project in terms of adapting it for road use, the double-wishbone suspension featured inboard-mounted coil-spring/damper units operated by pushrods in the manner of a modern single-seater racing car, the damping response being controlled electronically. Perhaps surprisingly, neither steering nor brakes had any power assistance; nor did the latter have ABS, the F50's designers no doubt reasoning that the interposition of such systems would limit the degree of feed-back to the driver. The wisdom of this approach was demonstrated emphatically as soon as testing began, the F50 proving 3.5 seconds quicker around Ferrari's Fiorano test track than its F40 predecessor.
Photographed at Blenheim Palace during Salon Prive 2016
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What If I Am Father?
Comedian W.C. Fields was reading the Bible one afternoon when a friend asked him what he was doing. The actor responded wryly, “Looking for loopholes.”
Somewhere within the intended humor of this statement probably lies a revealing glimpse of our often-ironic approach to God. That is, if God is real, there is something irrational about thinking in terms of an entity that can be manipulated; if there is such a thing as truth, there is something ridiculous about defining it to suit ourselves. But we do this regularly.
Author A.J. Jacobs always assumed that religion “would just wither away and we’d live in a neo-Enlightenment world.”(1) When this did not happen, he figured he should examine whether he was missing something essential to being a human or whether half the human population was simply deluded by the existence of God. So he decided to follow literally every command in the Bible for a year—including not trimming his beard and making tassels on the corners of his garments. In his book A Year of Living Biblically, he describes his experiment, which he admits held a bit of irreverence. In the end, nonetheless, he draws the conclusion, “I now believe that whether or not there’s a God, there is such a thing as sacredness.”(2)
Many, including Jacobs, point out the irony of his experiment—namely, deciding to follow the Bible literally is hardly the same thing as deciding to follow God. Yet the popular approach to theological inquiry is not much different and is often equally suited to our own interests, the difference perhaps being that we rarely point out our own incongruous thinking. Truth is comfortably understood in terms of preference, and God is readily comprehended as one who must prepare a defense for our own thunderous line of questioning, even as we question this God’s very existence. Somehow we have arrived at a state of mind where we can live in anger with God for existing, where we can each choose our own brand of reasoning and be frustrated with life for being unreasonable—and see none of the contradictions in our words. Or else we simply choose to overlook them—along with the desperate love of the one crouched at our feet.
The prophet Malachi screamed of crisis during a time when people were asleep to their own incongruous thoughts. Malachi’s message came at the end of a thousand year period of God’s revelation to the people of Israel. The next voice to be heard centuries later was that of John the Baptist preparing the way for the Messiah. Yet historically, the people of Malachi’s day were standing in a period of almost eerie stillness. There was no looming threat to be addressed, no extraordinary prospering to be consumed by, no real reason to be moved by much of anything. Whether for lack of excitement or for excess of ease, the hearts of the people had grown cold and weary. Their worship was tired. Their complaints had no end. It was Malachi who pointedly voiced the irrationality of their half-hearted approach to God, the sheer irony of finding the almighty God wearisome.
Through Malachi, we hear a series of distinctive questions and answers in a dialogical fashion, and we get an eye-opening glimpse of the often-cynical, often-illogical cries of humanity in light of the cries of a Father’s heart in response to his children.
The opening lines of the closing book read powerfully, “I have loved you, says the Lord. Yet you say, ‘In what way have you loved us?’… A son honors his father, and a servant his master. But if I am a father, where is the honor due me? If I am a master, where is the respect due me?”(3) The inquiry is both direct and personal, referencing a great story of pursuit and belonging, embrace and subtle or not-so-subtle rejection. If I am Father, why am I the one being questioned? While you have grown cold and weary, I have loved you. Yet you ask, “In what way?”
In these words, in the midst of whatever inconsistency we may or may not see in ourselves, I believe a loving Father still beckons. This declaration of love, which could easily be spoken in anger, voiced as one taking back the words and years of care, is not spoken in terms of retreat. On the contrary, spoken in perfect tense, the phrase “I have loved you” signals past actions, but present implications. The immense history of God’s pursuit and care is indeed called to mind, but the sentiment remains unscathed, present and active. It is as if God is saying through a crippling lament that remembers every costly act on our behalf, and yet still hopes to assure: You don’t know what you’re saying or doing. I have loved you. I have loved you. I have loved you.
Similar words would be spoken even closer centuries later as God stood among humanity as one of us. “And when they came to the place called the Skull, there they crucified him, along with the criminals—one on his right, the other on his left. But Jesus said, ‘Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.'”(4)
What if God is dissatisfied by empty worship, not out of greed or arrogance or self-preoccupation, but because God’s love is so far from empty itself? What if God is grieved by barren, distant images of abstract religion, not out of legalism or fastidiousness, but because God lives so much nearer than we know? What if God laments our self-consumed inquiries as to divine love and character simply because the statement is far truer than we have imagined: “‘I have loved you,’ says the Lord.”
How do we respond to this love? For one, there is really no need for loopholes. And if we will remember the immense demonstration of this love in history, there is also no reason to ask “in what way?”
Jill Carattini is managing editor at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.
Please indulge me here:
Many people are either in love with themselves
or they hate themselves-which is just another form of self love, but we can call that self absorption or self indulgence.
There is little middle ground here!
There is only you in the world and everyone else is either out to lower or raise your self esteem.
Other people are either our makers or breakers.
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As people/human organisms we mostly want obedience, loyalty, UNCONDITIONAL LOVE, UNDERSTANDING, GRATITUDE, AFFECTION, ACCEPTANCE.
We want our asses kissed, our flaws overlooked, our attitudes accepted our negativity applauded, our way of making coffee the best ,
We crave the best homes, gardens, cars, children, kitchens, bathrooms
basically .......... the best of everything!
And the MYTH that only America is great, all other countries are filled with ignorant morons who kill and hate and beg and have no money and dont strive and lack ambition and are dying to come to AMERICA but arent as good as Americans and basically AMERICA is the greatest thing since oral sex
well... is truly a MYTH!
Many of us think we are interesting.
Not true at all.
MEDIOCRE is the word for most Humans and
IGRAM and Youtube are prime examples saturated with MEDIOCRITY.
The DEMOCRATIZATION OF talentless talent!?
Many of us want an audience, fame and applause without actually making the effort.
Many of us are Narcissists, self aggrandizing and want clones of ourselves.
Materialism justifies our entire existence & it leaves us empty & poor in the soul and deceived because its illusory, ephemeral and basically just crap put together until its replaced by version 2.0
We dont want to work at relationships.
We want the relationship one way
our way
with our values
our opinions matter
our decisions are always the right ones.
What we say goes. Its our way or no way. We want it ALL our way.
THE LOYALTY OF THE DOG THAT ONLY A DOG GIVES IS WHAT We WANT .................. a DOG.
MANS BEST FRIEND.
SMACK A DOG,
CURSE IT,
THROW ROCKS AT IT,
POKE ITS EYES
KICK IT
REFUSE ITS AFFECTION
ABUSE IT
THROW IT DOWN A FLIGHT OF STAIRS
MAKE IT AN OBJECT THAT HAS NO FEELINGS AND MAKE IT ENDURE AS MUCH VENOM YOU GOT FROM YOUR CHILDHOOD....
A DOG WILL ALWAYS BE LOVING AND OBEDIENT.
IT WILL NEVER ABANDON YOU.
IT WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU.
IT WILL WAG ITS TAIL AND JUMP ON YOU AT THE DOOR UPON ARRIVAL AND CRY WHEN YOU LEAVE IT.
EVEN AFTER A SEVERE BATTERING.
MANS BEST FRIEND ....
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We treat,
evaluate
and judge others like we were treated as a child.
some call this PROJECTION for you psychology nuts.
If uncorrected or unanalyzed ( most human beings ) we pass all this crap on to our offspring, thus
a generation of drug addiction, hopelessness, you get it...
OUR VIEWS are " DOGMA "
a principle or set of principles laid down by an authority as incontrovertibly true.
Our opinions are rarely unchangeable, we are rigid, we are so full of our childhood traumas we dont even know they are traumas. We find others to convince that youre reasoning is the right reasoning and they should join forces with you.
We want universal unconditional non negotiable unmitigated floridly wholeheartedly 100 percent edly acceptance. Yes basically........ we want DOGS!
ruff ruff.................
Dr Losack ......
Photography’s new conscience
Sounds like the title of a dodgy film doesn't it?
Just been having a look back over my photos and it would seem that I don't really know who I am or who I want to be at any one given time! Well I know who I want to be but that's another story.
When I first started getting a little more serious about being who I am it was suggested that I shouldn't change my look rapidly from day to day because people like to see a constant and would take me more seriously if I present one image all the time. I can see the reasoning behind that advice honest I can but I just love playing different characters.
Not sure Helen is the kind of girl who would ever stop surprising she is one of those girls who likes to keep people on their toes. One day she is a saint the next she is a sinner (not really), one day she is the neighbour next door the following day she is a princess.
Most of the time she just a girl/woman trapped in a world that can't see her or won't see her.
So in order to be seen I am wearing this gold/yellow satin dress. Think I will stand out in this one and that makes this girl happy.
There's a sad knowledge in my heart of where this tendency of content overpolicing is going on a larger scale. This overreach of control and micromanagement. If I'd posted this pic to a small local URBEX Facebook group, my post would be deleted without any explanation and prior communication on rules regarding location disclosure elsewhere, although I never disclose locations explicitly - not on Facebook, not on Flickr, not anywhere. And have been rude in the past to make clear that I won’t disclose the info, so that the received message is as laconic and clear as possible. So that the potential explorer in contact could go fuck him/herself ASAP and hard.
Today – after being around abandoned places for 30+ years and pondering this for a quite some time, especially in 20/21, I’m thinking a tad differently. Do I care about Fecesbook drama? No, I’m on my way out of there for good and only my business interests hold me to that decrepit shithole, plus I can find another ways to reach local customers, so the ban affects me only in principle (first post sanitization without prior communication) that’s laid bare below.
So, my first post in that group was deleted yesterday. Basis? As it turned out when I PM’d the admin of the group for some reasoning: “You have disclosed locations on your Flickr”, which just amazes me. I upload to Flickr using external tool exclusively, and have set a Publish rule to never post GPS locations. So I went through my Flickr titles, and found out whopping 5 unique places named.
This will be the 6th.
Some might argue that even this amount of information disclosure is too much, to which I wholeheartedly agree to a degree: only if the place is not in public domain, AND if there’s anything but walls and smashed windows left in there. Yesteryear I’d told you to fuck off. Today I’d do some work before doing so. I’d check your profile for signs of thorough and non-damaging interest, and will disclose the place only if some evidence is found. This is the healthier approach, in my opinion, and here’s why.
If you do some critical thinking on this idea of info non-disclosure between URBEX people, at least a couple of problems present themselves gloriously clearly, and they tend to contradict the assumption that information non-disclosure will somehow magically stop the entropy, and will keep the place up and in good health. 1) Places getting ruined or demolished anyways (entropy); 2) Places getting renovated and made boring to explorers.
I’m highly doubtful that scrappers, vandals, teens and addicts use local URBEX internet groups as their primary source of information. These places attract all these kinds of people. They use brains too, and scrappers can smell abandonment miles away, for their living depends on it, not just a silly drive to trespass and explore the living past. Teens and vandals are usually local pricks that enjoy the feeling of smashed windows and falling walls, and I can’t really blame them, it’s a ton of fun, if you look at it honestly.
I’ve been exploring long enough to see non-disclosed places destroyed by scrappers and vandals time and time again. To see how bulldozers level a premium undisclosed Soviet fallout shelter / Communications center – twice at least.
Been here long enough to experience a building getting renovated and opened to the public once again – this very picture is from that place!
And the net result of this is what exactly? What’s the message to take home?
Well, those bulldozed places are leveled, no more living history to experience and less quality pictures, because inevitably some talented photographers missed the place because of the lack of exchange of info between URBEXers. So - fewer enthusiasts got to experience those places and… that’s about it.
And this particular piece I’m posting – it’s Spilves lidosta in Latvia, an Airport that’s an example of premium Stalin's neoclassical architecture in an awesome shape. Only some boarded windows and that’s about it. Why it was in such a pristine condition when we visited it in 2010 and managed to get in? Well, because it was a tad harder to access (some activity on runways and around, and a very naked/open place, no hiding to be had) and guarded the whole time: security personnel, cameras and all that sweet Jazz for us to bypass non-destructively. Today this airport is available to the public and the net result is? Well, less explorers got to experience the place and take pics on their own terms, and access now inaccessible areas.
You tell me if this approach isn’t damaging to URBEX movement as a whole? I see a whole lot of Ego masturbation in this too, and it’s ugly. Because scrappers will find their scrap, vandals will find their stuff to smash, and owners or the city will one day demolish or renovate our URBEX sites, and we will move on, trying to protect this information from ourselves.
Thanks for the read! : )
Jessops Pan 100S scanned with Plustek 7600i Ai.
Best enjoyed with Dark Ambient / RUREX
My story is nothing spectacular. It's the world around me, nature, that is spectacular. I'm only but an actor. The sound level is OK. I wish my nose had not started running... I was about to delete this video, for all kinds of reasons, but I decided to "throw it in the water" anyway. I kind of like videos, especially the fact that one comes alive, not only in one's movements but, more importantly, in the voice comment. I have to confess I'm always ansxious to do videos because I never know what I will say? What "should" I say? Probably nothing? In French, we have an expression that says "Talk is silver but silence is gold". I never know whether I should talk while doing the video but I always end up reasoning that my voice is fine :-)
lacking sense or clear, sound reasoning.
When else can you open the gate?
I couldn't resist taking this snap of a sign on a local gate.
Used the LEEFilters Landscape Polariser, little stopper and the 0.9 nd hg.
It was a nice quiet evening at the IJsselmeer near Stavoren. Some small clouds and a bit of wind which just gave enough reasoning in the water.
“I believe in a long, prolonged derangement of the senses to attain the unknown.
Our pale reasoning hides the infinite from us.”
(Jim Morrison - American Poet and Singer, member of The Doors, 1943-1971)
This is the ceiling of the Sas-Bahu temple (mother-in-law and daughter-in-law temple) located in Gwalior, in the central Indian state of Madhya Pradesh.
This temple, initially dedicated to Vishnu, was built in red sandstone during the rule of the Kachchhapaghatas in the 10th century.
I was alone lying on the ground in the center of the temple, allowing all my senses to be free and for a while I felt that I was attaining something close to what I could name the unknown...
It was a strange and warm sensation provided by the architecture of this sophisticated game of spheres making a passage to the infinite...
Join the photographer at www.facebook.com/laurent.goldstein.photography
© All photographs are copyrighted and all rights reserved.
Please do not use any photographs without permission (even for private use).
The use of any work without consent of the artist is PROHIBITED and will lead automatically to consequences.
The X40 has been revised to no longer serve ARI Bus Port daytime hours with only the hourly evening service which is linked to the 4 at the bus port still serving it.
The reasoning is to make the X40 a faster more direct service into the city with the aim of attracting more passengers. The risk is that the loss of passengers who catch the bus from ARI will outweigh any increase from Kingswells as First have hinted the X40 will go hourly from Kingswells if the numbers do not increase.
Artic 10161 loops round the bus port in the last week of the link.
LOCATION:- Eastleigh.
DATE 2.06.2018
Running as a four car unit rather than the usual five. Does anyone know the reasoning behind this, if any others have run as four car units, dates etc ?
Yes, we got the message Leica, but we will not go away without a bang, so that it is clear that we can beat you at your own game. This seems the reasoning for the last luxury L39 rangefinder from Canon. Often called the dream lens, the Canon 50/0,95 was for 40 years the unchallanged queen of high speed 50 mm for 24 x 36. The camera is still based on th Canon P, but it is far bigger, heavier and complicated. The shutter speed sports another position for T and there is a built-in sellenium meter, coupled if you may. The viewfinder is commanded by a disc on top where you manually change the frame lines according to the lens in use and each frame is labelled. The viewfinder is not Leica M bright, but much better than anything coming from Russia. The time for these rangefinders was over, but Canon managed to sell about 130.000 units of these, largely because there was no competition anymore, except for Leica.
This is a class act camera, there isn't one single bit of plastic to be seen, the fit and finish are better than my Leica M6 TTL (ok, no great compliment, I admit!). The camera is all about the "feeling", it is heavy, gives you confidence, it is a serious tool, do something serious too, not happy snapshots.
This is a REAL instance of ice even without vaccines and it's not the Trump ICE lockup and covid super-spreader site for migrants and kids in Denver. A while back, I grabbed more Clover Basin ditch shots down at Willow Farm when I hauled my D700 back down even though the sky was blank blue. I therefore had no choice but to point the camera downward for captures and keep the sky from the shots. Just like today and tomorrow and tomorrow! I decided that I needed some better originals to edit! I liked this view as well as the other. I got few real duds in my "action" takes of the ditch but I do have several NORMAL shots of the ditch now (they call it Willow Brook) but I call it a ditch. It's not much of one either. Let's face it, most of the St. Vrain stream and ditch flows have been ripped by the towns and cities to water blue grass instead of agriculture.
I can't figure why anyone would cut a ditch this darn squirrely. Drunk diggers, probably, though Longmont was a temperate colony at the time. Not so now When I first saw it, It was nearly impossible to follow the reasoning for this ditch but it does seem that the floods scoured this ditch somewhat. I think I noticed the colors of the reflections and contrasts and decided to take advantage. They seemed to oversaturate in this case but that's about everything posted on Flickr. The water course was a bit torn up but there must have been no serious flooding here.
We hit the end of autumn then and the chills came through but we hit the 60s after Christmas - so no coat. I won't go down to shoot ice today - it hit the 67 degrees in early December and await the 80s later in the week. No Coats in the 60s, no Clarks either. I've still got a lot of captures in the temp directory in today's stretch of no skies. I found Willow Farm on Google maps when searching for a barn I glimpsed and made some trips down there and added some more weird captures to temp stash. This is a shot of Willow Creek, another ditch, IMHO. I went back down with my D700 to see if I could capture some shot of the barn. I may go out soon if we can retrieve some skies and clouds at all.
Here is a normal, if not fairly slow hand held exposure. I already posted other shots that were "action" shots and they were the better shots. I grabbed a couple of slices in Lightroom and dropped them into Photoshop to see what might appear.
There are times when the ideas and thoughts that sprout out of our fertile imagination appear to be out of this world to our reasoning mind. We tend to compare them to what has been done before or to what the current trend is and then hurry to dismiss them as a state of temporary madness. But what if new art can only arrive to us in a new never before seen form? What if it must look crazy for it to be real? What if it demand us to be brave enough to step into the realms of the unknown for it to show itself?
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Memory loss, which is usually noticed by someone else.
Difficulty communicating or finding words.
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Difficulty handling complex tasks.
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Looking for information or advice about dementia or Alzheimer's? Call the Dementia Helpline free on 0800 888 6678 for support from our dementia specialist Admiral Nurses. The Helpline is open from 9am to 9pm Monday to Friday and 9am to 5pm on Saturday and Sunday.
A few minutes after takeoff my reasoning for asking:-
#1 - For a window seat
and
#2 - Being a complete pain in asking for it to be on the left side of the plane, finally paid off.
Seat 30A on the United Airlines flight from Portland to Chicago did it's job nicely, the view of Mount Saint Helens and Mount Rainier over the top of the clouds was simply stunning, and made me so glad that I remembered to ask for a specific seat and also remembered to drop my compact camera into my trousers when boarding.
Of course I do have the cloud level to thank for the shots I managed, as having spent three weeks trying to get a good shot of either mountain had left me dissappointed - I reckon it was the clouds way of apologising to me.
Title.
Door.
( LUMIX G3 shot )
Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. … 6 / 6
(Today's photo. It was previously published, but I re-edited it.)
Images:
Drake - Laugh Now Cry Later ft. Lil Durk
youtu.be/JFm7YDVlqnI?si=a9_Ovo-jmTB8Wnef
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 13 😄
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
The Republican Party had chosen Justin Bradford as its presidential candidate.
In response, the Democrats put forward Ryan Bennett.
Ryan sat in a room of his white-walled mansion on South Beverly Drive, gazing out at the manicured garden and tree-lined street. His mind drifted back to his childhood. He had always lived within a carefully calculated order. His days followed a strict timetable; his homework was flawless. Teachers praised him, while classmates kept their distance. To Ryan, being a model student was both a source of pride and a burden of solitude.
In the hush of the library, he first brushed against the realm of politics. During student council debates, his logic seldom drew applause, and often invited cold stares. People were moved by instinct and emotion. Reason alone could not stir the crowd—this he came to understand.
It was in that abyss of loneliness that Sophia appeared. A gentle voice, steady eyes, and a generosity that never rejected his logic but embraced it instead. They exchanged words, they shared silences, and in each other’s presence they found solace. Sophia was not only the one who steadied his reason, but also the light that warmed his solitude.
After graduating from UCLA, Ryan stepped onto the path of politics. First as a state legislator, then as a member of Congress, he rose without falter. Yet the public gaze remained cold. His patrician face, his meticulous speeches, his flawless reasoning—all these bred distance and resentment. People whispered, “Another elite come to lecture us.”
In that harsh world, his running mate, Alex Murphy, stood by him. Eight years his senior, Murphy possessed a seasoned intuition and decisiveness. He bridged the gap between Ryan’s logic and the people’s emotions, reading the shifting tides of resentment and expectation.
Then came the day when former Democratic president Owen Reed was struck by a sniper’s bullet during a speech. The shot did not take his life, but Ryan felt, with a shudder, the cruelty of the political stage. That night, alone in his study, he stared at the shadow cast by the streetlamp beyond his window. The long silhouette mirrored the solitude and the weight of order he had carried all his life.
Doubt flickered in his eyes, reflecting the city’s lights. Should he follow reason and order, or turn toward the people’s emotions? Having walked the path of the elite, he now saw that logic alone could not redeem reality. Without Sophia’s warmth and Murphy’s intuition, he might not have been able to take another step forward.
Sophia quietly took his hand. “You are not alone. We are here.”
Ryan gave the faintest nod, feeling the chains of solitude loosen, little by little, in the depths of his heart.
During his university years, Ryan had often felt estranged from the public. The scarce applause at debates, the cool reception of his political essays, the smirks at his street speeches. His arguments were correct, but people yearned for emotion. Logic alone could not move them.
Sophia understood her role as the wife of a politician. She stayed by Ryan’s side when public duties drained him, offering the warmth of home. On quiet nights, they would simply sit together, thinking wordlessly of the future.
Murphy, by contrast, acted on instinct. In moments of crisis, he guided Ryan—the tightening of security after the shooting, the handling of the media, the appeal to the public. Where reason could not reach, experience took over. Ryan came to rely on him, and to trust him deeply.
His solitude was also the weight of politics itself. Cool analysis, flawless planning, correct judgment. Yet often, the people could not understand. A reason stripped of feeling drew criticism, and deepened his isolation.
And yet, Sophia made him human. She gave warmth to cold logic, and the power to reach hearts. Murphy, with his decisiveness and experience, built a bridge between reason and emotion.
When the news of the shooting reached him, Ryan felt fear as something tangible for the first time. Politics could not be defended by theory from a study alone. Confusion, the crack of gunfire, the press of terror—faced with them, he knew his own helplessness.
Streetlamps reflected in his eyes; bloodstains on rubble, neighbors clasping hands, mothers crying out. Reality pressed itself upon him. Reason alone could not save, nor logic alone preserve order. Compassion, empathy—these were what people needed.
Sophia spoke softly. “Logic matters. But now is the time to show your heart. People are seeking empathy.”
Ryan smiled faintly and set down his pen. The alignment of order was paused; he resolved to entrust himself to the waves of feeling.
Murphy looked out the window and nodded gently. “Do not fear, Ryan. Your reason, my intuition, Sophia’s warmth—together, they will keep us true.”
Buoyed by those words, Ryan slowly cast aside the shadow of solitude.
The attempt on Owen Reed’s life was both terror and warning. Yet it was also a teacher, revealing the reality of the political stage. Ryan grasped its weight, and steeled himself to go forward.
On the street corner, trembling citizens; beneath the rubble, neighbors holding hands; a mother’s anguished cry. As he listened, Ryan was tested—not only as a politician, but as a human being. Torn between reason and emotion, he found in Sophia and Murphy an unshakable support.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
Door.
( LUMIX G3 shot )
マンハッタン。ニューヨーク。アメリカ。2017. … 6 / 6
(今日の写真。それは過去に発表しました。しかし、再編集しました。)
Images:
Drake - Laugh Now Cry Later ft. Lil Durk
youtu.be/JFm7YDVlqnI?si=a9_Ovo-jmTB8Wnef
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第13弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
重要な部分は公開していません。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
共和党大統領候補のジャスティン・ブラッドフォードに対し、民主党は、ライアン・ベネットを選出していた。
ライアン・ベネットは、サウス・ベヴァリー・ドライブ沿いの白壁の豪邸の一室に座り、窓の外に広がる手入れの行き届いた庭園と並木道を見つめながら、子供の頃の自分を思い出していた。幼い日の彼は、常に計算された秩序の中にいた。時間割通りに生活し、宿題も常に完璧に仕上げた。教師は彼を褒め、同級生は距離を置いた。彼にとって、優等生であることは誇りであると同時に孤独でもあった。
図書館の静寂の中で、彼は初めて政治の片鱗に触れた。学生自治会の討論で、彼の論理は拍手を浴びることはなく、しばしば冷たい視線に晒された。人々は直感や感情で動く。理屈だけでは、群衆の心を動かせないのだと、彼は知った。
その孤独の淵に、ソフィアが現れた。柔らかい声、落ち着いた眼差し、そして彼の論理を拒むことなく受け止める包容力。二人は言葉を交わし、沈黙を共有し、互いの存在に慰めを見いだした。ソフィアは、ライアンの理性を支えるだけでなく、彼の孤独を温める光でもあった。
カリフォルニア大学ロサンゼルス校卒業後、ライアンは政治の道を歩み始めた。州議会議員として、そして連邦議会議員として、彼は順調に昇りつめた。だが、国民の視線は常に冷たかった。エリートの顔つき、整然とした演説、完璧すぎる論理は、多くの人々に距離感と反感を与えた。人々はつぶやく。「また、エリートが我々に説教するのか」と。
副大統領候補のアレックス・マーフィーは、その冷徹な世界にあって、ライアンを支える存在であった。八歳年上の彼は、経験に裏打ちされた直感と決断力を持つ。ライアンの論理と感情の間に立ち、国民の反感や期待の波を読み解く力があった。
民主党前大統領オーウェン・リードが演説中に狙撃された。弾丸は命を奪わなかったが、政治の舞台の残酷さをライアンは身をもって知った。その夜、ライアンは自室の書斎で、窓の外の街灯に映る自らの影を見つめた。長い影は、これまでの人生で背負ってきた孤独と秩序の重さを映していた。
街の灯りに反射する瞳の中には迷いがあった。理性と秩序に従うのか、それとも国民の感情に寄り添うのか。エリートの道を歩んできた彼の目には、論理だけでは救えない現実が見えていた。ソフィアの温もりとマーフィーの直感がなければ、彼は前に進むことさえできなかったかもしれない。
ソフィアはそっと彼の手を握った。「あなたは一人じゃない。私たちがいる」と。
ライアンは微かに肯いた。心の奥で、孤独の鎖が少しずつほどけていくのを感じた。
大学時代、ライアンは何度も国民との乖離を体感した。討論会での拍手の少なさ、政治論文の冷たい評価、街頭演説での冷笑。論理は正しくとも、人々は感情を求める。理屈だけでは、人は動かない。
ソフィアは、政治家の妻としての役割を理解していた。公務で疲弊したライアンに寄り添い、家庭の温もりを提供した。静かな夜、二人はただ座り、言葉少なに未来を思った。
マーフィーは直感で動き、危機的な場面ではライアンを導いた。銃撃事件後の警備調整、メディア対応、国民への呼びかけ。理性だけでは追いつかない現場を、彼は経験で補った。ライアンはその存在を頼りにし、信頼した。
ライアンの孤独は政治の重さでもあった。冷静な分析、完璧な計画、正しい判断。それらが国民に理解されないこともあった。感情に欠ける理性は、時として非難を招き、孤独を深める。
だが、ソフィアの存在が、ライアンを人間らしくした。冷たい論理に温度を与え、心に寄り添う力を持たせた。マーフィーは行動力と経験で、論理と感情の橋渡しを行った。
狙撃事件のニュースを聞いたとき、ライアンは初めて恐怖を身近に感じた。政治は書斎の理論だけでは守れない。瞬間の混乱、銃声、恐怖。それらを前にして、彼は自らの無力を知った。
街角の光、瓦礫の中の血痕、避難する人々。全てが現実として彼の前にあった。理性だけでは救えない、理屈だけでは秩序を維持できない。感情に寄り添い、共感を示すことが必要だった。
ソフィアは静かに語る。「論理は重要。でも今は心を示すとき。人々は共感を求めている」
ライアンは微かに笑い、ペンを置いた。秩序の整列は一旦休止し、感情の波に身を任せる覚悟を決めた。
マーフィーは窓の外を見つめ、微かに肯いた。「恐れるな、ライアン。君の理性、私の直感、ソフィアの温もり。全てがあれば、我々は道を誤らない」
ライアンはその言葉に支えられ、孤独の影を少しずつ振り払った。
オーウェン・リードの狙撃事件は、恐怖であり警告でもあった。だがそれは同時に、政治の舞台の現実を教える教師でもあった。ライアンはその重さを理解し、前に進む決意を固めた。
街角で震える人々、瓦礫の下で手を取り合う隣人、泣き叫ぶ母親。その声に耳を傾け、ライアンは政治家として、そして人間としての判断を試されていた。理性と感情の間で揺れる彼の心に、ソフィアとマーフィーは揺るがぬ支えとして存在していた。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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The C&O bought the South Shore back in either 1966 or 1967 and found out that the interurban needed diesels to help move the freight. I think there might have been a customer who didn't want electric locos or the catenary on the property. I don't know the reasoning, but the C&O furnished several old first generation EMDs, mainly high nose GP7s. They primarily were used to haul the NORX coal trains from Burnham, IL to Michigan City. They came in the classic Enhancement Blue with a couple showing up in Chessie colors. When the GP38-2's came on the property, the old veterans were returned to Chessie and were placed in service on the B&OCT. I had the misfortune to ride one on one of my dispatcher road trips, something I"ll never forget. I thought the poor beast was going to fall apart. It rattled so badly that I couldn't hear the engineer or head brakeman; I just hung on for dear life. What we see here is a sharp set of four, looks can be deceiving, headed west after meeting an eastbound MU. They're probably on their way to pick up a NORX train and take it to the generating plant at Michigan City. The coal trains still run today, only the power is about a zillion times better..
Red Herrings :
Act Four - Deliverance
It was not until late Sunday afternoon that the first real break came in the case.
The sergeant detective with the constable in tow had arrived at the directors London town house.
Even though a search warrant was still forthcoming, they joined forces with the London constable and tried the doors and windows, only to find them all securely fastened.
The three policemen were all huddled at the back of the house when they heard a car pull up on the graveled drive way. Going around they saw a late model green jaguar parked, and a tall, thin bearded man in his fifties pulling a suitcase out of the boot as he was eyeing the collection of police cars in the driveway.
Immediately the unsuspecting chap found himself surrounded by police officials waving identification cards in his face.
He identified himself, and turned out to indeed be the director of the test filming that had been taken at St. David’s. He was taken inside for a quick questioning as to where the film crew and his female assistant could be found, along with the were bouts of the van could be found. The quite flabbergasted director gave them all the information without hesitation.
This information was relayed back to Eastminster police CID and officials were dispatched to collect the wayward members of the film crew, equipment and the van …
As the London detective stayed to search the directors house, the director was placed, sputtering, into the back of the police detective sergeants car, along with all of his luggage, and driven back to headquarters to be interviewed.
The officers had not talked about the case, and the director on the drive back appeared to know nothing of it, and appeared( or feigned) ignorance as to why he was being treated like a common criminal!
Once they arrived, he was hustled into an interview room, where the Chief inspector interviewed him personally.
The director demanded to know what the purpose of all this was. But his request was ignored and he was asked to explain his activities over the weekend.
The director, his assistant and the two camera men had driven from London on Friday evening and had occupied a townhouse of a friend’s. It was a well-known fact that when away on a shoot he always stayed at friends or rented a private home, detesting hotels as filthy public places!
Leaving their cars parked at the townhouse, the director and his assistant had driven down early Saturday morning in the van. They had gone up and scouted the area, took some shots, figured out camera placement and angles, before going back into town for supper. Afterwards they had driven right to the hotel, met the limo picking up the two actors he had hired, and left for the function.
They had had to take a shortcut due to construction, and the limo had suffered a flat trye along the rather deserted country lane they found themselves taking. Changing the flat had caused them to arrive much later than anticipated.
Then after the filming, and the impromptu autograph session, the limo had driven the actors back, and they had taken the van back to the townhouse. Where the had spent the evening and some of the morning editing the film. Then after a late lunch, they had all split up and headed home.
No, nothing unusual was seen on the film.
I need to see that film sir, where is it?
Unfortunately, it had been collected that morning, , The director had been able to give the description. It was the red-haired assistant to the producer who had picked it up. She had been wearing driving gloves, black leather jacket over a green frock, dark glasses, and her hair was done up and covered with a long green scarf.
He was asked to tell his story from the beginning, as the Chief Inspector silently cursed that the film was not yet in their possession…
The director was first contacted a month ago by a dark skinned young man wearing dark tinted glasses, looking in appearance like a young harry Belafonte with a smartly trimmed beard, and a thick Scottish accent.
The description closely resembled that of the Romeo in the fancy tux who was suspected as being light fingered.
Accompanying him was his red headed secretary with thick glasses that gave her an almost owl like appearance.
He had said he was form a small independent studio and offered £ 25000 for a test shoot, £ 15000 before, £ 10000 after the film and negatives were received by his secretary. He told them the avenue for the test film had to be done in the chamber and garden pagoda at St Davids…
No, they had not met at his London townhouse. The meeting had taken place at a restaurant. He had received a contract the next day by post. Kept his copy, signed and returned the other. No he had not kept the envelope, or noticed the postal mark. Yes he could have his assistant produce the contract if needed. A money order for £ 15000 was received the following day.
The Detective Chief Inspector had a notion, and after asking a few pertinent questions, the producer realized that it had been the man who had suggested the figure to offer the bishop..
Didn’t you find it odd, asked the Chief Inspector, that he wanted the film right away? He wanted to see it raw, didn’t want to pay anything extra for editing or such the director answered, if you work in the industry ling enough, request like that are anything but out of the ordinary, its the nature of the beast one must simply accept it as such and just as told.
But you said you did edit some of the film. Yes, the director admitted, just curious as to how it all came out. And, again, no one saw anything out of the ordinary? inquired the Chief Inspector.
No, as I told you, answered the director, a puzzled look on his face, just what is all this on about anyway?
But the Chief Inspector saw no reason as of yet to enlighten the director on that matter, instead he rose, and had the director taken to a cell and held as a material witness; someone still suspected as playing a role in the whole affair.
Soon after the director had been processed, news came that the two cameramen and the secretary had been rounded up and were in interview rooms.
The van had been also recovered and was being towed to an impound yard.
The Chief inspector interviewed the two camera men separately.
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The first one, a rather burley chap in his forties, sat with a smug look plastered upon his rather doggish mug.
As a witness to the occurrence, the Chief Inspector found that he was not going to be much help.
He was the much more experienced of the team, and when filming his focus was on the director’s direction and the action taking place. He was not paid to watch everything else going on round about him, especially fancy dressed prats with more money than sense in their wee pointed heads!
So you like money, the Chief Inspector asked him?
Why the cameraman asked him?
No Reason The Chief Inspector answered, figuring the gents expression looked innocent enough.
Did he remember talking to a lady in red satin?
No , as I told ye, I don’t mingle, no time if I am going to get the filming done.
Ask my partner, he fancies emself the ladies’ man!
The rest of the cameraman’s story jived with what the director had told him earlier.
The Chief Inspector finished up, and also had the man placed in a cell as a material witness under suspicion.
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The second cameraman was a bit younger, slender with a rather ragged beard upon his quite handsome mug.
Unlike the first cameraman, he had noticed a bit more, at least where the ladies were concerned.
He was able to describe several of the ladies he had observed dancing, and at least one matched the suspected light fingered darker haired lass in green satin.
The Chief inspector asked if he had noticed anyone of her dance partners. He thought a bit, and mentioned two.
The first one he described did not match anyone the Chief Inspector had seen or interviewed.
The second he thought may have been her brother, a man with the same dark complexion wearing a fancy suit. But he had only caught a brief look as they had danced.
Yes he remembered the priest who had greeted them at the door, but he had not seen him atoll the rest of the evening. Wait a minute he said, and the Chief Inspector could feel his hairs rise, as they did when he sensed a clue coming forthwith ( a feeling that he had as yet to have previously since starting this case) .
Apparently he had caught a glimpse of the priest talking to the lady who had those sparkling earrings, as both watched the dance scene being filmed..…
He described a slender lady in a long rather pretty dress that been wearing a pair of quite sparkly earrings that had played the devil with his camera during the second shoot. During the third shoot he had noticed her again in the crowd, but without the earrings. He just assumed the director had had her removed them to prevent the camera glares he must have noticed. Yes she had been dancing both times with the same bloke, the rather smarmy bloke in a fancy tux, rather dark that he had seen earlier with the lady in green…
His description matched the girl who had discovered her earrings missing at the chamber
Do you remember seeing the dark skinned lad wearing the fancy tux at any other time?
The Chief Inspector asked the cameraman.
After a long minutes ponderance his face brightened, jolly right, while they was signing autographs.. He had come u to me with a question. was with a lady in red, asking me about the actor, she was interested in meeting up with him, in private.
Describe the lady please
Fair skinned blonde wearing a rather tight fitting shiny red gown, lots of sparklers, poshy snob if you ask me!
Did you take them to the actor?
I could give then no help, I did not know the gent.
He had the constable remove the second camera man , musing that he at last had a sighting of one of the 3 missing girls, and all tied in with 3 of the suspected thieves.
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The Chief Inspector than entered the room where the Directors assistant was being held,,,
She was a lady in her mid-forties, thick glasses, severely bobbed hair, and a rather school teacher’ish stern look upon her face.
She rather tartly stated that she had been busy helping the director help set up the cameras, and film the scenes. She had also selected the extras for the dance floor, and had helped keep the on lookers back.
She had remembered the priest, but did not know of him. She had only seen him when he had escorted them in, and when he had helped set up with the autographs.
The cameraman, the younger one, did you remember seeing him talking to a couple during the autograph session.
She thought a moment, pursing her lips, which did nothing to help her rather homely looks.
Yes, her face brightened a bit, a rather poshy boy and a lady in red with all these diamonds just dripping off her. They were talking to him, not sure what about. They walked off after a few minutes, and met up with the priest who was with a lady in green
What Priest, the Chief inspector asked, this time his hair did more than just prickle?
The one who had met us at the door! She rather snapped her answer back at him.
Thought you said you only saw him twice.
Yes she said, when he met us and at the autographs.
But you never mention him meeting up with the couple.
Why would that be of any importance, she again snapped, priests are always meeting and helping people , that’s their job is it not!!
Describe the lady he was with please
Black hair, shiny green dress and matching gloves.
And she wore this diamond tiara! I remembered her because she was with the crowd that wanted to be an extra, but I felt the tiara would be far too distracting and out of place.
Was she alone with the priest? he asked Quite she said, though her husband was probably pretty close by, I know I wouldn’t let anyone stray too far flaunting jewels like hers!!
The Millionaires wife and one of the twins, all seen together with the priest and the dark skinned Romeo…..! The Detective Chief Inspector though to himself.
The Chief Inspector gave a long sigh.
That is, what it is, he murmured dejectedly to himself… daylight was finally being spotted at the end of the tunnel, but none of it was making any sense…..
He released the personal secretary from more questions, having her also detained until the whole matter cleared itself.
At 10 pm a report on the van was received
The vans interior was quite taken apart in hopes of a clue being found to prove that the whole filming was a sham, and only done as a front operation to hide the thieves real intent. Though It was clean, its tyre marks matched those of the caste taken near the gardens….
******************
He recalled the first cameraman who had been driving the van and asked him about it.
He had seen the headlights of two cars coming down the road as he was leaving and had swerved to go around them, going off road for a bit.
Did you get a look at the cars the Chief Inspector asked.
No, it was too dark, and they swerved off a bit on the other side, so his eyes had been mainly kept on the road.
Would you say they were in a hurry the chief Inspector asked.
Not particularly, it was more that they had appeared out of nowhere.
No more questions, the Chief Inspector indicated to the guard, who took the cameraman back to the holding cell…
The Chief inspector than went back to his off to go over the facts so far…
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There was not a single clue yet unearthed to connect the director on his crew with the crime that had been committed Saturday evening at St. Davids’ Chambre…. All avenues appeared to be leading to the ring of pickpockets that had been suspected to be working amongst the guests at the event. But as of yet there had been no sighting of them outside that evening.
Could the filming have been all an elaborate ruse set up by the ring of thieves for their own nefarious gain? Leaving a trail of wriggling red herrings scattered about to be followed to as many cold dead ends while they got clean away snickering amongst themselves?
Bloody cheeky of them if it was!
But what part had the missing Ladies played?
That they had been last seen in the company of the thieves, there was no doubt… Could they have been held captive in the automobiles that had passed the cameraman’s van. But why? Certainly not as hostages, for they had apparently gotten clean away. If they had been kidnapped, than certainly the ransom notes would have been delivered by now! There could be darker reasons for the disappearance, but doubtful…
He decided to keep the Director and his crew overnight, and release them in the morning if nothing new developed…
Another report came in, interrupting his line of reasoning…
From an detective inspector whose team had been given Interpol’s list of suspected jewel thieves operating in the area recently.
Only three were tracked down, and all three had alibis. Though one of those alibis proved to be because that evening he was burgling the country of a wealthy Lady. This confession was given light when he was caught red handed with the jewels as the police had come knocking at the door. One of the few bright spots of the investigation, though the Chief Inspectors superior failed to see it that way!
It twas a quite battered and beaten down chief detective who put a call in in to his superior at 10 pm on Sunday to repot the progress that had been made. He, to put it nicely, had his head chewed off and handed back to him on a platter.
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Early on Monday morning a detective sergeant escorted the director back to the Eastminster townhouse where he had spent the weekend in. Going inside to look for any clues that the mysterious secretary may have left. Even though the director had said she had been wearing driving gloves.
The envelope that had held the money had been recovered, and it was placed in a bag for evidence, the detective noting that the envelope was embossed with the seal and address of the Diocese of Eastminster, and had never been posted, or Witten upon.
As they were searching the basement a knock was heard on the door.
The detective opened it and looked down upon a smallish, puckish older lady with grey hair and pince-nez glasses. She identified herself as a neighbor ( snooper he thought unkindly) and excitedly asked the detective if he was investigating a murder, like those in Agatha Christie ! (her eyes lit up at this).
She was disappointed when informed that no, it was not any type of murder investigation!
Oh! I see, she said, sorry to bother, and turning, stated to walk away.
Then, before the detective had had time to go back inside, she stopped . Turning back around she timidly held up a tattered old notebook, don’t suppose you would be interested in me notes than ,, she innocently asked fully expecting to be disappointed again.…..
The startled Detective Sargent took the steps down to her three at a time……….
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End of Act 4
“Quand on rencontre un mystère, on croit généralement être scélérats cachés “
Author Unknown
To be Continued and Ended in Act 5 ( The Pygmalion Ring)
975 Knox Abbott Dr.
I met the owner, Steve, who told me this was once part of a franchise based out of Florida. This was the last one built, in 1967. He seemed somewhat proud of the fact that he'd pretty much maintained the restaurant's original appearance and showed me a couple vintage photos.
www.coladaily.com/communities/batesburg_leesville/archive...
Tony’s Pizzalicious in Cayce celebrates 50 years, asks customers to share memories
Oct 3, 2017 Updated Sep 24, 2019
By Michelle Renew
Cayce residents have eaten under the red and white checkered roof of Tony’s Pizzalicious since 1967.
The Anderson family established Tony’s 50 years ago. Over the decades, Tony’s became famous for its lasagna, baked ziti, roast beef sandwiches, and its namesake; pizza. When Tony’s was sold to the Seremetis family in 2010, they knew more than just the restaurant business; they understood the importance of operating a legacy.
“One of the first things we did when we took over the business is to try to maintain the same quality and consistency while still keeping the same flavors and everything that has made Tony’s the icon it is,” said co-owner Valerie Bennett-Seremetis. That does not mean that changes haven’t been made.
“Tony’s was always (a) cash and check (establishment) but ninety percent of the people out there now use their debit or credit card. Two months after we took over, we started taking cards for the convenience of our customers,” said Valerie Bennett-Seremetis.
Another change that was made was to the pizza. When asked about the reasoning behind this change, Bennett-Seremetis said,
“My husband, Steve, had ulcers for the longest time, so he had to be careful what he ate. He developed the sauce so it does not bite you back,” she said. “It has a nice smooth flavor. And the ingredients took us a year of preparation before we put our pizza [in the restaurant] because we wanted to choose the right pepperoni, the right sausage, the most flavorful ingredients. Pizza is our love. We were 17 years pizza people up in Montreal and we wanted to show people that pizza is a well-balanced meal. It’s not just a Friday supper or a feed-the-kids while you go out on date night. It can be your date night food.”
In their fifty years, Bennett-Seremetis says Tony’s has seen its share of date nights. “We have seen people going from dating to getting married and having their first kid. We’ve seen babies going to elementary school. It’s great to watch them grow up and know that this is where they come.”
While on Flickr last night I discovered, to my own small horror, that I was blocked by someone for the first time. I can understand their reasoning, a bit, as my 'try before you trash' stance on the new bratz bodies was met with some contention by others. Still, as I'd been contacts with this person for over a year, talked to them before and had found this them to be both a splendid photographer & interesting person it did hurt a bit, if only because with my own comments gone I looked it made my character seem untoward and because I thought our rapport was built enough to that if they had a problem with me, they could just tell me. Hrm
But that's not what this upload's about.
Earlier this morning, while running errands with my mother before an appoinment of my own, we were almost in a very bad car accident. Were it not for my mother's supreme driving ability and an open lane beside us, I would be in serious trouble right now as a man, who wasn't looking where he was going, came within a hair's breadth of her car (our mirrors were almost touching, for serious) and nearly slammed into me.
Collecting myself, I was able to identify the car as one representing a dealership, thanks to the gigantic logo, and reported the driver. And although still a bit shaken up about it, it reminded me just that I'm so, SO grateful to be safe as well have my friends & family around me who care & certainly put things into perspective. I won't pretend that I'm not a little miffed still over it, as I've always tried to be someone that seemed open to requests & criticism from others, it certainly put things in perspective and made me realize how unimportant last night's events actually were in the first place.
Still - if someone has a problem with me, in the future just let me know, okay?
The Magpie Oculus
Part 2
Acte 1
In for a Pound
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Wales, UK
10 years later
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A Midsummers Late afternoon ‘Formal wedding Reception’
Carmarthenshire, Aberglasney Manor House, and Gardens
Enter here to visit the charming place:
www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&s...
An attractive lady is seen swishing about as she demurely makes her way to and then inside, the deserted garden that is hidden from the olde stone manor by an ever-growing strip of woods and olde hedges.
She had heard tell of these gardens while conversing with a group of fellow guests that were gathered around the cheese and wine tables inside the manor’s reception hall with its glass ceilings.
Interest piqued, she had stolen off to sneak a peak around.
After all, as she had been snidely telling the same group, it was quite boring being here alone attending this function, without any escort! Her husband, Sir so and so was a very important man of course! And being so very vital to his business was currently away on one of his overseas business junkets.
She was wearing one of her usual thin, slinking gowns that said husband enjoyed having her wear.
This particular one was made of shimmery silk, dyed the deep blue of a sunny Bahamas ocean. As she moved, it almost resembled ocean waves as the pretty fabric whipped and swirled along her rather petite figure.
Her jewels, as could be expected, were sapphires. Quite the collection of overly expensive gems which royally sparkled like the same ocean that had inspired the matching colour of her evening gown! The Lady’s baubles, though shining with a royal radiance, were no match for those on display at the Tower of London, but could be considered a close cousin to them!
Which begs a question, should someone be flaunting jewels like that under every one's nose then be also telling tales about her husband being away? Can almost hear the thieves smiling wickedly, as well as feel the insurance agents’ shudder, can’t one?
But, totally believing she was out exploring alone, the pretty lady made her way along the cobblestones that made up the pathways amongst the roses, fountains, and ivy-covered statues that were displayed with an almost reverence aire in the interior of the hidden gardens.
As she wandered about, finding herself increasingly bewitched by the tranquillity of the magic garden terrace she had found, she remained blissfully unaware of the two pairs of eyes that had been, with piercing interest, following her every move since she had made her entrance!
From a hidden vantage point that extended out and above the high hedges that surrounded the garden proper, one set of those eyes was watching! They belonged to a large sassy magpie, perched with expectantly fluttering wings in the gnarled branches of an old wytch elm.
The bird penetratingly observes the young female human, especially eyeing the enticing glitters from her jewels. Most noticeably the pricy bracelet that from one wrist is rippling blazing pinpricks of blue and white fire as she moves about.
Enticingly those sparkles are, erupting from around her wrist as she lifts up a rose up to smell its sweet fragrance. Then again, the show is repeated, as she flicks, one by one rose petals into what had been the still water of a fountain.
Spying a bench, she swishes over, adjusting her gown before slipping upon the coolness of the mossy stone bench. Appearing to become immersed in the surroundings as she closed her eyes and leaned back in delight, her long hair spilling out behind her, exposing her longish, glittering earrings dripping down like identical twin blue waterfalls from her earlobes.
The magpie flies in for a closer look, alighting silently upon the sculpted head of a bow drawing cupid statue. The bird instinctively remains mute lest he is noticed.
He then suddenly cocks his head, as he observes a second figure, a human male, and he flies securely away to an even higher perch, letting out a soft caw at the intruder.
The dreaming beauty opens her eyes and catches movement as she spies the gentleman approaching.
Opening her eyes to their fullest she turns and smiles. He had been one of the groups inside, and had also coincidently, been the one to bring up the story of the secret gardens.
She turns to face him, eyes smiling impishly, for a truth to be admitted, she was not lying about being bit lonely, and a brief rendezvous with a charming mystery man may prove quite a pleasing interlude to spend an hour or so!
He comes up, and with a bow, gestures his permission to join. She nods smiling, granting consent, and he slips down upon the bench, keeping a discreet distance between them. He begins to speak, his deep Welsh accent again charming the London born and bred high society lass.
And as it turned out for them both, the rest of their afternoon encounter had indeed produced a quite pleasing interlude, within the isolated secret garden and its’ magic terraces. The whole area they ended up having all to themselves.
The gardens’ charm grew upon the couple, to the point of a dance being offered and accepted. They danced for a long time, with the melody of twittering jays, long tailed tits, and other gremlins like darting bird denizens of the secret garden being used to keep the dancing humans in rhythm.
After that magical afternoon, they made their way back and parted with a hug before going their separate ways. The warm feelings that had intertwined, intrigued and fulfilled the young female beauty, staying with her for quite some time afterward.
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After the pair of humans leave, all is quiet for a few long, waiting minutes, before the wilder denizens deem it finally safe again to prowl about.
One of them being the inquisitively sassy magpie. He flutters down from his perch and lands upon the outer rim of a fountain by a bench. Curiously he pecks at the rose petals floating about in the fountain’s cool waters. The petals still carry a whiff of fragrance from the lilac perfume of the lady who had thrown the petals there.
Then the Magpie’s darting black eyes keenly pick up something else of interest. With a soft inquisitive caw, he leaves the fountain perch and darts down to the base of moss rose bush for a closer examination of the glittering object that lay amongst the roots.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The girl wearing the swishy blue gown and magnificent sapphires was now indeed very happy.
The yearning pangs for her absent husband had been sated for now by her most excellent experiences encountered during her unplanned tryst in the gardens earlier. This happy, warm feeling lasted well into the late afternoon while she remained at the reception. Lasting right up until she realized, with a chilling cold dawning, that her quite expensively jewelled bracelet, the one that had been dangling from around her gloved wrist, was now gone, rudely vanishing without even giving any proper notice!
She had, at the time, been chatting with a white collar wearing priest who had approached her and began to inquisitively barrage her with questions. She put it down to him being bored because he was there alone, out of his normal realms, and did not really know anyone there. He had asked her a question concerning the unintentional cross-shaped decoration on her cocktail ring, and it was as she held it up for him to see that she made the dreadful discovery that her wrist was bare.
The bloody thing must have snagged on a rose bush and fallen off while she was out in the gardens!
She reasoned this, as she took polite leave of the overly friendly priest without really explaining her reasons why. Happy to be away from him, she anxiously made her way back to retrace her steps in the now moonlit garden.
None of the same eyes watched this time as she fruitlessly searched, alone in the now disenchanted secret garden for her missing jewels!
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The scene fades away.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Well hello again!
Quite glad to see you have kept up with us for the continuation of our story.
It had now been 10 years since our group’s successful trial run in Monaco at that year’s Bal de l'Eté.
Since that time our team of three had worked hard at perfecting our craft with its employ of our rather unique team and work strategies. The team, whom you’ve met in the first story, still consisted of:
My wife, the charming Irish beauty and undoubtedly the brains behind the scenes. She is also the natural actress of the operation. Her smiling ways having more than once saved the game from being lost.
Myself, the Welsh born frontman, whose light fingers were used more than for lifting up a frothy pint. Though I am a male of course, and so do make my share of mistakes. But with my wife’s loving tutelage, have managed to hold up my own part of the venture.
Then, of course, there is Sammy, the runner of the group. His unmatched skills allowed us to successfully carry off the sparkling fruits of our operation. Sammy adores my wife, and she is the only one who can ever truly smooth out the ruffled feathers he gets whenever I fail to carry out my end of the played game to his satisfaction.
And the game we played?
Well, let us just say it involved the targeting, lifting and secreting away of certain pricy jewels in such a manner that, like a magician uses misdirection, no one knows for certain how or what exactly had happened to cause the loss! The jewels, always worn, were also always found by us exclusively at the various upper-class end functions we were attending at the time.
And admittedly it had been paying off fairly well!
We were careful to live modestly within our means. So we were able to afford the time to carefully select our potential avenues without undue haste and no worries if not one glittering opportunity failed to come within our grasp on those planned evenings out.
So, for 10 rather intriguing years my wife, cohort Sammy, and I were able to satisfy the playful urges whose enticing callings had led us to select this rather unique path to make a livelihood.
And we always had a good time of it, wine, dance and thrill of the hunt…even if we were successful or not! Many adventures over those years led us delving down avenues that created an abundance of daringly bold tales waiting someday to be intriguingly, innocuously told!
For 10 years we had managed to attend some rather glamourous functions, see my pretty wife attired in some rather eye-catching fancy dresses and adorned with the beckoning glittering array of colourful jewels that ever so divinely kept one’s interest! Also at a rather surprising percentage of these events, we had managed to ( with our cohort Sammy ’s unique assistance) guile'ly steal away with a few pieces of select, insured jewels from wealthy ladies who could certainly afford to weather through their loss.
For 10 years we had operated in this manner, throughout the kingdom’s wide realms, staying safely away from our own nesting grounds, as we sagely built up and grew our nest eggs.
And so far, we had apparently not come under any suspicion from any of the local constabularies in the areas where we had operated! Since the jewels had luckily been assumed lost, fallen away like warm pearls will sweat off a lady on a cool evening ( as the olde Victorian saying goes).
But it was to be the autumn of the 10th year when that charmed existence would finally be really put to the test! Although deep down we knew it would all have to come to an end sooner or later. We had always figured, and hoped, that it would be up to us to say when the games we played would be up.
Now, almost two years past that autumn, I have finally begun to write this second chapter, a yearning to tell the tale that has been with me since day one! In that space of time, I now have had quite a bit of freedom to, with a writer’s eye, reflect on those events that led up to and ended in that tenth and final year of our unique team’s operation.
It’s funny how sometimes one can do everything perfectly, not deriving from the pattern they have done hundreds of times before. But by a thin chance someone else with the seeing eyes of a hawk, a bloody nosey hawk at that, happens to put two and two together, and like a house of cards, ones whole life’s plans can start to slightly sway in the wind, precariously threatening to tumble…
Well, quite enough then with the building up of my story’s mystery and intrigue. Let's start the tale properly then, and let the facts speak for themselves, shall we?
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Chalfont St Guiles
It had been an early thaw that year, and several spring birds had already begun to plan parties to celebrate.
Through contact with a mutual friend of the family, we had been invited to their daughter's Debutante Ball.
The fact that we had to secure an invite left this event to be fair game in our books! For it had been our practice that any affair where my wife and I received a personal invitation to attend, were always off limits in our opinion. So, to those, we went with the intent just to enjoy ourselves, not to conduct business. Although a bit of practicing play between ourselves could be expected.
But this private Ball was not covered by that particular umbrella!
This debutant affair also promised to be a late party.
It was being held on the well-lit green that stretched out for a full 2 hectares, starting from the front of the quite large, definitely ugly, olde stone manor, and ending up to the main roadway.
When we arrived, there was a band was playing soft music on a raised stand next to a refreshments table just outside and below the manor’s stone terrace that was being used as the makeshift dance floor.
It was also announced on the invites that it was to be a dry party.
But, of course, was not! For the odd flask or twenty-two, that had naturally been smuggled in must have been fairly large ‘uns judging by the already rather tipsy posh guests that became more and more abundant as the night wore on.
Though I should talk, for my own silver flask of Brandy held enough to keep my wife and me cheerful enough also. Though I had to watch how much I was imbibing. For this venue was going to by no means be an easy walk in the park for us this evening!
We began by splitting up, starting with mingling in and about in order to get a quick lay of the land.
The young debutante, pretty in diamonds and frilly lace, had led her gangly group of sponger friends to hold court in the back gardens. So, in a sense, there were two parties in full swing.
My wife and I did not bother with the finely baubled fillies in the back gardens, concentrating our efforts on the magnificently jewelled thoroughbreds located in the front area.
My wife was the first to get a drift of some of the gossip swirling around, and soon, via a dance, drew me into it also.
It appears that the Elder Daughter (the debutante was her kid sister) had a boyfriend, a rather pointy nosed ner-do-well git from the other side of the tracks (attended Harrow, not Eaton! dontcha know!)
My wife observed that this bloke obviously was eyeing up all the young skirts present, his wandering attentions totally unnoticed by his pie-eyed, doting wealth-blinded girlfriend.
Said girlfriend had also apparently smuggled a flask of her own, probably stuck in her garter belt, hidden by the long swishy skirt of her costly party frock. Judging this by the way she was prancing about and giggling with silly recklessness with her own posse of leeching acquaintances.
This elder daughter was in her mid-twenties, adorably dressed (by one or two maids?) in a sheer silken gown of deep purple. Diamonds beautifully blazed from her gloved wrist, fingers, and necklaces. Two necklaces: one a diamond pendant swinging about on a silvery braided chain, the second one was a blazing collar style necklace of impressive diamonds, that sat just off the high neckline of her gown.
Either one worth the attempt, but the sparkling collar was obviously her mother’s jewels and thus the more intuitively attractive lure of the two.
As the long afternoon threatened to progress into the dusk, I was to be found nursing my drink from the flask, while watching from afar, my wife swishing her way about.
This evening my lady was wearing a newly bought, sleekly enchanting, gown of meadow green satin, embellished with flickering rhinestones. This posh frock had been slickly flowing and ebbing along her fine figure in a most mesmerizing manner all evening She was also wearing her party emeralds, the “good” set, and they sparkled most attractively as she flitted about! So, I found myself, as always, stealing looks upon her whenever the opportunity arose.
I was mulling over this when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I had been so lost in my lubricious thoughts that I had not even noticed her disappearing, nor heard her approach.
“Mon Cher, forget about me will ya, and get to work !” I heard the words softly spoken in my ear..…”Sammy boy is getting twitchy, close to his bewitchin hour ya know…”
I turned and looked into my wife’s smiling (yet stern) eyes.
“Yes commandantee,” I said, with a saluting nod.
Then I admitted sheepishly, “Not to muddle the issue darling, but, ahem, where is she, I sorta lost track?”
“No kidding my love, I don’t think you were on the track of anything but me, and my jewels are not on this evening’s menu, save play for later, but business now please…!”
I felt a brace of ringed fingers discreetly slap me on the tush, and with a flicker of her emerald earrings, my wife nodded her head sideways to where the elder daughter, along with that rippling fire still flaming from her brace of necklaces, was idling in a dark corner of the dance area. She was surprisingly alone, and I should have been the one to notice that!
So, it was to be her, the elder daughter that we decided, with the time remaining would be our victim!
Sammy was more than ready, watching, waiting as he bobbed his head about, which I knew was his habit while holding his lonely vigil. He was stationed high in the shadows of a tree just above a hedge on the west side of the house. There was a narrow cobblestone path meandered its way along the interior of the hedge, and it was pretty much deserted, all the action is behind, and on the opposite side of the stone-built manor that evening.
With the elder sisters leeching friends now apparently watching the elephant in the room, namely the Harrow-educated boyfriend’s antics with a toffy, giggling female, I was able to walk up and easily steal away the older daughter for a dance.
She took me up on the offer, especially after I lyingly mentioned that I had attended Harrow and I was suddenly “in like flint!” She chatted away amiably, if not also a bit slurred, as I led her off. Thick as thieves we had now become, as we went to the large stone patio that had been converted for use as a low lighted Ballroom.
I took her warm, decidedly inebriated figure, sanguinely into my arms and we elegantly waltzed around the stone-floored patio ballroom to the music. I kept her on the outer fringes, making small talk.
As I did, I studiously worked open the clasp, and easily lifted off the collar necklace of dazzling diamonds from around her throat in the process.
Leaving the pendant still intact, swinging ever so vexingly free along with her gown as we finished, I thought that the pendant appeared to sparkle a bit more brightly now that its competition around the lady’s throat had been removed from contention.
Edging close to the low wall of the patio, I dropped the purloined necklace over from behind my back. I could swear I heard it plop onto the grass. I twirled my pretty partner around, and from over her shoulder, I watched as my wife moved in from the shadows of the trees close by.
The dance ended and I walked the damsel back towards the refreshment table. Before reaching the tables, I touched my dance partner on the shoulder and she turned, smiling, to face me. I again apologized that I could not offer her a drink, and she giggled.
During our dance, I had mentioned how boring it was without a swig of any spirits in sight. She had giggled then also and then had confided in me of her secret stash.
Follow me she now said gaily and I did.
Together we ducked around the refreshment table and headed off to a far corner on the east side of the house. There she lifted the hem of her flowy gown, and from a garter, pulled out her small, thin, 14k plated gold flask and offered me a drink.
I calmly took a careful swig of what I found to be warm vodka and handed it back.
For what thief in his right mind would casually hang around drinking with his victim after lifting the darling’s jewels? Not many I dare say!
But soon, right on a hoped-for queue, we were joined by her jealous boyfriend, himself two sheets to the wind. I was introduced and spotting my opening, tactfully made my excuses.
So sloshed was this young man, that he failed to yet notice anything amiss with his lady, and I was not going to give him any length of time to do so.
I left the sniggering couple to their devices. A sojourn into the woods I believe was on their agenda. The idea quite possibly suggestively guided into their lovely drunken minds by me!
I re-joined my wife, we then daringly did one last casual turn on the ballroom dance floor.
“Mission accomplished, Luv?” I pointlessly asked for I could see the answer in my pretty wife’s eyes.
“The package was dropped off onto the cobblestone path as prearranged!” she stated cheerfully, hugging me in turn.
“Bye the bye love, remember Benny C?” she asked me, as I raised her hand and twirled her around me in a circle.
I had to think for a minute, then came the dawn.
“Yeah, the snotty whelp a couple of years behind me at the seminary, always had a thing for you, didn’t he now!” I teasingly answered.
“Me and anyone else in a skirt!” she snorted. “Well its 'Father Benny' now, and he is, or was here at the ball. I couldn’t get away without dancing with him, sends his regards of course!” she informed me with a rather wry look in her now fully green eyes.
“I'm sure he does, suppose I should track him down and say hello. I said a bit wearily, not bothering to hide the snideness from my own voice!
“Well, he said he tried to find you, but told me that you were obviously enamoured off somewhere with another pretty young thing! I think he was trying to make me jealous laddie!”
“What do ya suppose he meant by ‘again’ I wonder? Told you that he always was a bothering one! Becoming a priest hasn’t changed him one bit. Wonder how his congregation finds the git?” I thoughtfully said out loud.
“Well let us not try tracking him down, to find out luv! I don’t think I could handle more of his sweaty palms again dontcha know!” my wife said sweetly enough, though irony was dripping off each well-chosen word.
So instead we sought out our hostess, giving our regards and congrats. She was magnificently attired in a taffeta ball gown that must have cost her husband a mint. Her jewels were sparse though. A pair of glittering earrings, a pair of thin diamond bracelets and her wedding rings. I found myself wondering why her throat was barren of jewels?
Taking leave, we casually strolled out the front gate to claim our coupe.
My wife leaned against me and said to me as we drove off into the night,
“Cette jeune peste d'un beu sera que les dames tombent, mark mes mots !”
She sighed then said
“Loved her pendant also, but that sparkling necklace will be a nice final trick before starting our Holiday, now will it not my love?”
I smiled meaningfully as I placed my foot on the accelerator and started the beast of a car out onto the main road.
We arrived back home to find an excitedly pert Sammy Boy eagerly waiting to receive his worthy praise. For the glittering collar of diamonds that he had gathered for us were now laid out in magnificent sparkling splendour at his feet.
So it was that two quiet weeks later, on a pelting rainful blustery Saturday, we were to be found flying out of the country on a fortnight’s holiday, for a visit to our dear friend Tatiana.
Totally unaware that there were dark clouds of a quite different storm gathering and brewing in from a new, but not entirely unexpected, quarter!
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Chiltern CID
(Covering the Chalfont St Guiles area under its umbrella of protection)
A fortnight after the Debutante’s coming out ball held in the Chalfont St Guiles area.
Inside the old brown brick building that houses the police station.
Scene entirely played out in the Chief Inspector's office.
^^^^
The Chief Inspector looks up as his summoned detective strides, a bit reluctantly, into his superior's office.
The Detective is wearing a slightly abashed expression on his handsomely chiselled face, for he knows that there are questions to be answered, and he wishes that what thin answers he has to give are going to be enough to shield him from probably being properly chewed out by the Chief!
“Drawn and quartered” was the phrase used at the station for some unfortunate Bobby who came under the Chief’s irate wrath for not properly following procedures! Or in the detective's case, tardiness in producing results in an investigation.
The poor sod did not even have time to shut the door when the question, like a stinging bullet, spit out of his superior's mouth!
“Now, what progress on that diamond collar necklace that took a bender at that Lord’s young daughter’s debutante thing last month in Chalfont, Detective Inspector !? Starting to take some heat from the City Super on a seeming lack of any progress! Has the bloody thing even been found yet!”
“N-N-No sir, it appears to have vanished…” the D.I. stammered, wilting under the harsh grey eyes of the Chief Inspector.
“Vanished eh..well tell me this lad how does a £25,000 (insured) necklace of diamonds simply vanish!?“ the Chief shouted, then continued on without waiting for an answer.
“Well Detective Inspector, it decidedly does not! There has to be a quite logical reason, and that reason must be found!! At least according to the Super, and Her Ladyship, the girl’s mother! She insists her daughter's boyfriend played a part in its disappearance… apparently, she also expects results along those lines!”
The Chief paused to catch a breath after decisively snapping all this out at his poor Detective.
The beleaguered detective answered, rushing his words before the Chief was able to yell some more mainly because he knew his answers would be anything but a satisfactory one!
“Yes sir, well the facts are that her Ladyship’s eldest daughter was wearing her mums necklace without permission. But then the lass, her ladyship’s daughter I mean, appears to be a bit vague about any events what went on that evening, even at what time the necklace was actually missed.”
He took a quick breath himself before continuing.
"Apparently 'someone' had smuggled in drinks, and the lot attending in her age bracket was pretty much plastered by the party's’ end.
No one at the party recalls seeing it missing from around her throat and several actually could not say what jewels she had been wearing atoll to begin with! The daughter herself supposedly did not discover it had disappeared until her mother asked about it the next morning!”
The Chief Inspector arches an eye, a habit that was not a good omen, to anyone!
“I know those facts, Detective. I need something new to report to the Super, now don’t I? Didn’t this lass notice it missing as she went to undress for bed, sounds like a bit of tosh if not!?”
The detective answered smartly.
“Well there is some confusion also along those lines: she says she passed out, still dressed for the evening, on the bed in her room. Says that there must have been an Hors de orve which she ate didn’t agree with her. But from what I got, she was fair lit with drink and no one of the servants can recall when she had gone up to bed. Apparently, there was some horseplay going on deep in the woods late that evening if you know my drift, sir!”
“Do go on Detective, this is all so very interesting!” the C.I. said smoothly, not trying to hide the dissatisfaction of his ever disapproving mood.
The D.I. went one, choosing his words like one would carefully choose their steps walking blindfolded amongst a yard full of rotting eggs.
“Well I investigated the boyfriend and he is certainly a gigolo from a toff family of foreigners. Any of whom would probably have no problem lifting the family silver! But there has been no record of any jewels disappearing in his vicinity before this accusation, and he is rather educated, Harrow, (the Chief Inspector snorted rudely at that information,) so not just street, so really nothing definite there in his history, er, to implicate the bloke?
The servants also, most have been with the family for ages, doubtful any of ‘em would have lifted jewels the daughter was wearing while passed out, if indeed she had still been actually wearing it at that point!”
“but…”
Questioned the Detective, rather hopefully, as he ended his statement and saw the fire again flaring up in his Chiefs hard grey eyes.
“But what detective!?” He snarled, sounding ever like a short-tempered feral mutt who someone had the audacity to have chained.
“Well sir, my cousin, the priest, was attending a reception up Carmarthenshire way, at the Aberglasney Manor House earlier this year.”
He paused, cagily watching his superior’s eyes before deeming it safe to continue on.
“Well, he mentioned a lady in attendance there, lost her jewelled bracelet, 22,000 worth! It was reported as being lost in the gardens. That is what she believed happened, that it had simply fallen off in the gardens.
But my cousin, Ben is his name, remembers seeing that she was coming out of the gardens with someone he recognized from seminarian university, a fellow student two years ahead.”
The Chief Detective cut callously in!
“Carmarthenshire is not our jurisdiction lad, ‘AND’ just pray to tell! Why are you discussing a case with your cousin!” The chief exploded, taking a step forward, daring the Detective to satisfactorily explain his reasoning.
The Detective bravely weathered the storm of his chiefs words.
“He is a priest, sir, so he can keep a tongue in check. But he is a bit of a snooper, and when him and his mother, my auntie, were over, he happened to see an envelope I had received from her ladyships jeweller. He asked about what it was all on about. And then, when I stayed mum, my Auntie started inquiring for Ben,and one thing led to another, you see, um, that’s how it went ?”
“Ok, not really interested in yer family tree detective am I! So this bloke fancies himself a Father Brown chap, knows someone? What evidence is that of anything I ask you!? The Chief Inspector snorted in ridicule.
“Well, er, no, not evidence, at least not in and of itself ...”
“Explain yourself quickly Detective, I am running out of both patience and time here!”
“But, so you see.” The detective stammered, visibly afraid that he was not going to be able to sell the Chief on his detecting and make him “see”.
“Make me see, please DI, quickly, I do not ‘ave all night here! And I also may need a new patrolman for the graveyard shift!” The chief said with an evil promise.
The Detective bravely sallied on.
“Well my cousin Ben, as it so happens, was also in attendance at this debutante ball affair. Apparently he is performing deacon duties at His lordship’s, the Girls fathers, parish. And that same man was there, at the ball also.
Saw him with the daughter then, well that...”
But the chief was cut off in correction,
“No sir, he did not see that this boke atoll this time actually, but rather ran into his wife, who told him her husband was somewhere about. But it got me thinking to check back over some of my papers.”
“Papers DI, what papers?”
DI: “well I urm, you see, I had been taking the liberty of checking past occasions in the realm where expensive jewels were reported to have become mysteriously missing to insurance companies. Went back 20 years or so I did.”
“Most of em, the missing jewels that are, were eventually written off by the insurance as simply haven fallen away and somehow being lost, so no information gathered was not bothered with to have been kept on file.. so, no information on guests was collected on that angle.”
“But there have been a few reports over the past years that stated that there was believed to have been shenanigans afoot, and robbery was mildly hinted at, and sharp concerns were filed with local police through the insistence of the insurance companies. Those cases were left open, and still on file at some stations.”
“I was able to collect around 30 files of those unsolved case files that had looked into for signs of robbery going back 20 some years. Well, 18 of those files came with complete guest lists.”
The detective was cut off in his report by the impatient Chief!
“Yes, detective, let us finally cut to the chase, shall we now?!”
“Er yes sir, well you see, on 12 of those lists the some of the same names came up multiple times.”
“So I had been checking those names against the Yards police records, but none had been convicted for thievery, though a few had some minor dalliances against the rules. So, I figured it was all a dead end down that alley. But, after talking with my cousin, I double checked that list and... this blokes name popped up on two of the more recent ones as being a guest. The same bloke that was recognized by twice my cousin at the two other posh functions, from both of which jewels had been reported lost!”
The Detective then triumphantly points to a name on the list.
“Let me see that list constable… right, That’s the name then?”
“Well, a nice bit of detecting here,( this was said with reluctance), But this cousin, I see he was charged with breaking the peace, but that was almost 15 years ago, he and a lady were making noise at a pub, getting the locals stirred up over a price increase on the beer! Hardly a thief's mannerism, eh detective!”
“He’s not my cousin sir, rather a bloke my cousin went to seminary with, and that lady is now this Gents wife”
“But he seems to be the only one connected with these jewel thefts, ours and that one up in Carmarthenshire?
The Detective stammered as the chief inspector shoots him a look!
“Point being detective, where does this all get us to then, are you bringing this chap in for questioning?”
“We will sir, the bloke my cousin saw, that may be a bit of a sticky wicket, bringing him in.”
“Sticky wicket! Haven’t heard that one used in a ripe old age Detective, what make this wicket so sticky concerning this chap?”
“Well sir, he is the fourth son of a sitting parliamentary official, a titled vice-lord no less, and his wife, well, er, her father is a high crown court judge.”
The detective said all this quite sadly, knowing what was coming.
“Good lord Detective inspector! You can bloody well pick em! Do you really think we should stir up a hornets nest like that without solid evidence implicating this bloke!!” The chief inspector blew up at his subordinate incredulously!
The Detective quickly spoke, hoping to quell his Chiefs temper before it continued to grow any worse!
“Well not really, above suspicion, this gent.”
“He is the Earl's 4th son, with no title, no support from the father's house. He appeared to have been studying for the RC seminary, but left before his last year.”
“Since then, for the past 15 years, he and his wife show no real income, he has held no steady jobs outside teaching part-time at university, the criminology department no less.”
He sees his superior arch an eye at that. “I know sir, suspicious that, but apparently one of his ancestors help found the ‘Yard’, so he is teaching a history course based on that subject.”
“He also calls himself an investor, but where is his investment capital coming from?”
“The wife?” asked the Chief Inspector, calming down a bit as his mind began to mull things over.
“No, ‘er parents are still alive and spending it! She receives a small bit as a stipend, but not nearly enough to support their lifestyle of attending parties. Nor is it enough to explain the backing for his investments. Plus, She has also never worked atoll after her university studies!”
“ Money has to come from somewhere I would say, but it is not apparent as to exactly where?”
The Chief Inspector looks over the report carefully.
“Are they living above their means? How much went missing on the other two affaires this bloke was at?”
“The jewels? Two pieces, together valued at around £2.”
“Two Thousand detective?”
“No sir, two hundred thousand.”
Whew, the chief whistled, there is your investment money if it was this gent. So, they are living well above their means.
“Not really. They live on a small cottage on 5 acres, kinda pricey, but not overly extravagant. Bought from a sister of the wife’s father, her Auntie. They don’t throw many parties themselves, but obviously, appear to be able to attend a lot.”
Then he looks up at his chief as if to ask to ask for an opinion.
“But, just saying if, if he is involved, how is the gent getting away with it? The chief's voice had now lowered to a thoughtful grumble.
“Well sir, that lot is known for being, well rather snooty and not believing one of their own would be a thief. And they do like to party, like their drink ya’ know. Not really all that concerned bout their valuables. For to them the value is nothing, not to someone who spends a bloody fortune on their toys and vices. And you know how these rich young things are, they lose a bloody toy, just gives them an excuse to buy a newer, better version.”
“Still detective, a crime is a crime, and if one has been committed in my jurisdiction I’ll be damned to let them get away with it, no matter if the victim doesn't show any worries over it’s loss. Not sure we have enough really to go on here?”
“Either it’s this gent or the gigolo boyfriend, have to be suspected if the necklace was stolen.”
“But then, the necklace could actually have been lost, lord knows what that randy couple could have been up to? If he was pawing her rudely enough, it’s a wonder she wouldn’t have lost all her jewels in that manner!”
“We checked the grounds sir”
“Well, I want them rechecked detective , and then recheck the bloody house, tooth and nail, all of it you see!”
“I will tell the super that we are awaiting further developments on our leads. If nothing turns up, and you are sure about that lover's late-night tryst, then it will have to be written off as being lost somewhere in the woods. And I will not, mark my words detective, be happy about reporting that as an outcome!”
“So, keep an eye out. Keep the shadow on that Harrow-educated foreigner boyfriend!”
“And as for this smarmy professional party guest?”
“All to a bit A.J. Raffles’ish for my liking, just keep out an ear. If he’s our bird, perhaps we can get some salt on his tux tails!”
“Find out also, just what other experience he has acquired that gives him a bloody right to teach criminal history... one never knows what that privileged lot can really get up into and away with!”
“Yes sir, smartly said the detective, relieved at finally being dismissed.
He half salutes and heads gratefully out the door hearing his Chief muttering behind his back.
“A Harrow lad? Really !”
Fini
Part 2
End Acte 1
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Although it reflects poorly on the speaker, it is not uncommon to hear the comment : "all these temples, or all these statues, look the same to me". The best way to remedy this easy boredom with historical and religious monuments is knowledge. Knowing what to look for and how to differentiate between different structures, will make for a much more interesting experience. The Buddha is always in one of four postures deemed suitable : Sitting, Standing, Walking or Reclining Postures. The dress of the Buddha is the monastic robe, draped over both shoulders, or with the right shoulder bare. There are six major hand gestures of the Buddha (in Sanskrit - mudra):
1. Meditation - Dhyana Mudra
2. Charity - Varada Mudra
3. Absence of fear - Abhaya Mudra
4. Reasoning, Giving Instruction - Vitarka Mudra
5. Setting the Wheel of the Law in Motion - Dharmacakra Mudra
6. Subduing Mara, calling the Earth to witness - Bhumisparsa Mudra
Photo detail of a Hand, Ayutthaya Historical Park - Thailand. Posture of 'Subduing Mara' or 'Calling the Earth to witness'. The front is still one of the best preserved complex but in the back of the temple complex you can still see the destruction done by the Burmese army in 1767.
The last one no.6 is only in sitting position like photo above. The position is similar to the meditation position. The left hand remains in the lap. The right hand is resting on the thigh near the knee, palm inward, and fingers touching the ground slightly. This posture of the Buddha is the most common to be seen in Thailand. While the above represent the most common gestures to be seen in Buddha images, many more exist. For instance, during the early Rattanakosin period in Thailand, a list of 40 standardized poses was compiled. However, except at few locations, one will not see these 'secondary' poses In Thailand.
Become like the sky
...for the sky never rains anything but pure water.
Become like the sky. Become like the cloud and shed rain:
the spout rains, too, but it can't produce the rain.
The water in the spout is borrowed;
the water in the cloud and sea is original.
Your thought and reasoning resemble the spout;
inspiration and revelation are like the cloud and the sky.
The rain water engenders all the colors of the garden,
while the spout causes quarrels with your neighbors.
Plein air watercolor painting/ July2011
Chehel Sotoun/ Isfahan
Size: 28-39.5 Cm
Waiting, again, for TD Julia to make Landfall. Thought we would get out for a bit before the blow starts.
NOTE: This is a second account that I will be using for photos depicting the cities, beaches, mountains, and nature of the Southeast outside of my home state of Florida. Please see my original Humble Christ Follower account for photos that showcase Florida: www.flickr.com/photos/humblechristfollower/albums
BIBLICAL CONTEXT: Romans 1:18-32 NASB
(from biblegateway.com)
Unbelief and Its Consequences
18 For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of people who suppress the truth in unrighteousness, 19 because that which is known about God is evident within them; for God made it evident to them. 20 For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, that is, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, being understood by what has been made, so that they are without excuse. 21 For even though they knew God, they did not honor Him as God or give thanks, but they became futile in their reasonings, and their senseless hearts were darkened. 22 Claiming to be wise, they became fools, 23 and they exchanged the glory of the incorruptible God for an image in the form of corruptible mankind, of birds, four-footed animals, and crawling creatures.
24 Therefore God gave them up to vile impurity in the lusts of their hearts, so that their bodies would be dishonored among them. 25 For they exchanged the truth of God for falsehood, and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator, who is blessed forever. Amen.
26 For this reason God gave them over to degrading passions; for their women exchanged natural relations for that which is contrary to nature, 27 and likewise the men, too, abandoned natural relations with women and burned in their desire toward one another, males with males committing shameful acts and receiving in their own persons the due penalty of their error.
28 And just as they did not see fit to acknowledge God, God gave them up to a depraved mind, to do those things that are not proper, 29 people having been filled with all unrighteousness, wickedness, greed, and evil; full of envy, murder, strife, deceit, and malice; they are gossips, 30 slanderers, haters of God, insolent, arrogant, boastful, inventors of evil, disobedient to parents, 31 without understanding, untrustworthy, unfeeling, and unmerciful; 32 and although they know the ordinance of God, that those who practice such things are worthy of death, they not only do the same, but also approve of those who practice them.
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5 MORE THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW:
1. Like it or not, we are ALL sinners: As the Scriptures say, “No one is righteous—not even one. No one is truly wise; no one is seeking God. All have turned away; all have become useless. No one does good, not a single one.” (Romans 3:10-12 NLT)
2. The punishment for sin is death: When Adam sinned, sin entered the world. Adam’s sin brought death, so death spread to everyone, for everyone sinned. (Romans 5:12 NLT)
3. Jesus is our only hope: But God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners. (Romans 5:8 NLT) For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 6:23 NLT)
4. SALVATION is by GRACE through FAITH in JESUS: God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it. For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago. (Ephesians 2:8-10 NLT)
5. Accept Jesus and receive eternal life: If you openly declare that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. (Romans 10:9 NLT) But to all who believed him and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God. (John 1:12 NLT) And this is what God has testified: He has given us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have God’s Son does not have life. (1 John 5:11-12 NLT)
Read the Bible for yourself. Allow the Lord to speak to you through his Word. YOUR ETERNITY IS AT STAKE!
Legs of some of the dancers of Whitchurch Morris, who were performing at Pitstone Green Museum on 6th May 24. Taken on film (shutter priority, 1/15 second, f22). Film was developed and scanned by Analogue Wonderland. This is an edited version of my original image Morris Legs. The edited version has recently been used in a Buckingham Camera Club internal competition. My reasoning for editing, was I felt the white marquee in the background and the crack in the patio in the foreground were unnecessary distractions.
Went digging through the archives, today...alongside the normal musings, "what happened to ____", "why didn't I try _____ again", I stumbled upon a bunch of faces I realize I could now photograph oh so much better.
Not regret, that's not the feeling, more like realizing I can now read a language that was alien to me, back then. "Oh, NOW I get how to photograph this person!"
This ties into something I'll be talking about in an upcoming Flickr blog article, the idea of being self-critical. It's not about going back and thinking all your old work is shit. I do it because I so often see something new in old photos. A new approach, a new appreciation for photos I didn't fully understand.
Same reasoning folks use for re-reading books. Seeing something new in the same sea of art. Discovering what you'd missed, what you weren't ready to experience, that first time.
And while there's a tinge of "hm...wish I'd photographed that person again", it's mostly an excitement for the future, for using these realizations moving forward.
...whenever the hell that is!