Platycodon grandiflorus

Balloon Flower / Chinese Bellflower --- Großblütige Ballonblume / Chinesische Glockenblume

 

Native / Vorkommen: East Asia / Ostasien (China, Korea, Japan, Eastern Siberia / Ostsibirien)

 

Medicinal Uses --- Medizinische Verwendung:

Common colds, cough, sore throat, tonsillitis, chest congestion, bronchitis, asthma, anti-inflammatory, analgesic, sedative, and fever agent --- Erkältungen, Husten, Halsweh, Mandelentzündungen, Verschleimung, Asthma, Entzündungshemmer, Schmerzmittel, Beruhigungsmittel und Fiebermittel.

 

[Source / Quelle: Wikipedia]

 

Toronto Botanical Garden

C-State asylum.

"The passionate red, the sedative blue, the racy yellow. No problem: go for the schizophrenic black and include them all. In case your mood has a quick shift, you are always prepared."

-Michael Simon

my first post-365 photo. i feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, and i'm now free to experiment more with my work -- although there was never really a restriction during my 365 in terms of what kind of stuff i could create. i think it's that knowing i'm not obliged to make something makes the process of making things more exciting and adventurous, if that makes any sense. the mind works in strange ways.

So, you all remember Eros. Well, remember how I said he was in a new storyline? Guess what, they killed him for no reason. Someone made him mad, then he got knocked out, when he woke up he went to go get a little pay back and he shot the person who crushed him, with a sedative. The person he shot's friend thought she was dead EVEN THOUGH EROS SAID IT WAS JUST A SEDATIVE and decided to attack Eros which ended up with him being eaten because nobody would help him. Heck, there were 6 other people in the room and nobody helped him!

So I took revenge and brought in his 15 year old daughter, Hedone. She is so sweet, innocent, and only sees the good in others. She takes his place in his unit to find out he was wrongly murdered and since she looks almost just like him, now everyone gets to see Eros' face every time they look at her.

Karma you jerks... -_-

I slow down as I turn towards STAR Labs, please let Ron be alive. It's been a quiet run.

 

Victor: "Hey, bud, you still here?"

 

Ron taps my back with his hand. But no response, I need to hurry.

 

I look through the now dark windows, but Mr. Orr is still there. He has to be able to hear me.

 

Victor: "ORR! MR. ORR, I NEED YOU TO LET ME IN!"

 

Orr shakes his head as a scowl forms. I can sense his eye twitching behind his thick sunglasses, why is he mad?

 

Sorry Mr. Orr, I need to save a life.

 

I back up with Ron still over my shoulder, then blast through the glass. I trip and Ron slides across the floor, now bloody.

 

Orr: "What the!?"

 

I quickly gather myself and heave Ron over my shoulder once more. Orr gets aggravated and reaches for his gun.

 

The elevator isn't far, I run to the button as he pulls the gun on me. He's a fair distance away, but who knows what he could do.

 

I flinch as the elevator sounds with a "DING!"

 

I need to do something.

 

Victor: "Shoot me. Or do you prefer closed casket funerals?"

 

Orr violently throws his gun to the ground. He runs at me as I back into the elevator. I press the button to the tenth floor.

 

Orr closes in as the doors begin to shut. As he gets close enough, I send my foot into his chest. Orr falls backward and curses as I quickly pull my leg back in. The doors shut but Orr pounds on them until the elevator starts moving.

 

Orr was going to shoot me. What the hell? I know I broke the window but, why?

 

The elevator halts as I reach the tenth floor. As I walk out, the once joyful lab is now a strange, dark lab. One small light shines in the distance.

 

I run with Ron through a blur and take a right, a well-lit station has my dad, seemingly hard at work.

 

I walk up the steps, trying to make noise as my dad slowly turns around.

 

Silas: "Victor! What the hell are you doing here?"

 

Victor: "Dad, it's Ron, he got in an accident."

 

Silas: "Son... Are you alright?"

 

I realize I'm panting like a dog. That was more work than football practice and I didn't even realize I was sweating.

 

Victor: "I ran from Ms. Dunkin's house here. Also, Orr wouldn't even let me in. So I had to bust the window. He almost shot me!"

 

Silas: "That's breaking and entering, son."

 

Victor: "I know, but I'm not here for me."

 

I drop Ron to the floor, I hadn't even realized how bad he looked.

 

Victor: "Ron..."

 

Dad runs around his lab. Picking up something he was working on earlier.

 

Silas: "I just finished this sedative. It should help with pain. Ron's lucky tonight, he's the only human I'd try this on."

 

I'm too tired to refute, my vision starts to blur as I fall to the floor.

 

Victor: "Dad--"

 

==============================

 

I wake up, reclined in an office chair. This isn't the lab.

 

I look ahead of me to see my dad, he looks back, disappointed?

 

Silas: "Well, it worked."

 

I quickly get up out of the chair and hug my dad. This is unreal. I know he hates Ron but this meant too much to me. For once, I feel like he actually cared again.

 

Victor: "Thank you."

 

Silas: "Well, he's not the same."

 

After my one-sided hug, I back away in shock.

 

Victor: "What?"

 

Silas: "Go to that room."

 

He turns around and points towards the left wall.

 

Silas: "There."

 

I know I passed out from exhaustion but that was a while ago, I presume. I run into the room that my dad instructed me to enter.

 

There I found Ron, on a slab, wires connected to a screen, patterns, graphs I didn't understand all crammed onto the monitor.

 

A scanner is on the desk beside the screen. On top is a red jewel, this is all too familiar. I look back at Ron, my arms feel restrained like his. This isn't right.

 

Victor? Victor?

 

What's happening?

 

Ron's eyes slowly open as my arms feel free once more.

 

Ron: "What--What am I?"

The name “belladonna” means “beautiful lady,” and was chosen because the belladonna berry juice was used historically to enlarge the pupils of women.

Belladonna is/was used as a sedative, to stop bronchial spasms in asthma and whooping cough, for Parkinson's disease, colic, motion sickness, etc.

 

Seen at Sweny's pharmacy, Dublin, which is featured in James Joyce's Ulysses.

Ever since Vincent and Aiden had been discovered by the authorities in the street, it had been nothing but a whirlwind of activity and loud men demanding to know what happened all the way up to Vincent's flat. Aiden had claimed, "I found him like this!" a handful of times already! Now, Vincent was laying in his bed asleep, resting fitfully with a couple of peelers surrounding him, one pressing linen to his abdomen to stop the bleeding. Across the room, Aiden was seated on Vincent's chaise while staring at his captain. Nearby, Pete the lantern lay deactivated and turned off.

"Alright, son. From the top. Who is this, who are you, and what happened?"

Aiden pulled his gaze away to look back at the constable who had pulled up a chair and taken a seat before him. Unlike the other men, the constable seemed to show more empathy and wanted to actually hear what happened. It was obvious he wasn't going to accept the rushed answer Aiden offered his subordinates.

"Sir, this man is my captain: Vincent Dubois. He runs a cargo airship and I'm his engineer: Aiden Anderson. See, the captain missed an appointment with a client yesterday afternoon and well...I was worried. To be honest," Aiden elaborated as he motioned the constable to lean in a little closer but said quietly but loud enough for the others to hear, "he's a bit of a drunk and he gets into trouble like this every so often." He cleared his throat and spoke up more with a small sigh. "I figured he'd gone and got himself drunk and forgot all about it. I assumed he'd made his ass home by now, but I found him around the corner like this with all his belongings gone and everything! He woke up for a moment but he said he didn't know who it was. I was trying to get him upstairs but he'd already passed out again just before your men found us."

Behind the constable, one of the peelers snorted slightly and added, "He's not wrong, Sir. This guy gets drunk every time that he's in town." The constable glanced over his shoulder and quirked his brow at his subordinate who smirked and nudged the seated man beside him.

Aiden bit back an angry remark and instead turned his attention back to the constable who turned to look back at Aiden. Aiden didn't want to talk about Vincent like that and call him a 'drunk.' However, they needed the authorities off their tail! He hoped that the constable would buy his story and just call it an unwitnessed mugging and move on.

"Does he have any relatives in town?"

"Yes, Sir! His uncle and aunt and their daughters! But I don't know where they live or...or any of their names."

Behind the constable, the man standing rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. Aiden felt a little embarrassed that he couldn't offer that information but it wasn't like he could help it! Vincent was a private person, and he'd never had a reason to know until now. However the constable didn't seem phased by Aiden's response and continued to patiently question him.

"Alright, son. Do they share the same family name? Does he have any other contacts?"

"I believe so, Sir. And the only other person I know of is Damien O'Connor, our other crewmate, who is staying with family but I don't have his address or their names memorized. I'm sorry."

"John," the man pressing the linen to Vincent's side interrupted, "this guy's not looking so good. He's starting to get clammy." And even as he spoke, Vincent's painful groaning could be heard as he shifted uncomfortably in his sleep.

Aiden felt his heart clench at the news, but it wasn't surprising either. With the severity of Vincent's injuries and the conditions he was subjected to at the private jail, the chances of getting through this alive had been slim. Now that sickness was setting in with an apparent infection, the odds were even less likely! So many people died every day from even the stupidest, simplest injuries that became infected! The idea of losing Vincent made Aiden want to throw up. He couldn't lose Vincent! He couldn't!

There was a knock at the door and the man standing went to answer it. It was only a minute later that he returned and looked at his commanding officer and informed him, "The hospital sent word that someone is on the way."

The constable gave a nod, then looked at Aiden. He gave a small sigh though his eyes held empathy as he explained, "I'm going to try to contact the Dubois family. My men will stay until the doctor arrives. Forgive me, but I am sure you understand the severity of this situation. I am very sorry. My prayers are with your captain that he makes it through."

"Thank you, Sir."

Once the constable took his leave, Aiden's gaze returned to Vincent who lay there in bed looking very much in pain and sleeping restlessly. It was clear the constable didn't have much faith in Vincent's chances of recovery. Honestly, there wasn't much else Aiden could do but wait and pray that Vincent would pull through and that the doctor would be able to save his captain.

He'd made it this far, Aiden thought. He has to make it. He has to!

...

It was about twenty excruciating, long minutes later that there was a brisk knocking at the door which made everyone jump. Everyone looked at each other before one of the officers went to answer it. Aiden prayed it was the doctor! If there was any chance of saving Vincent, it had to be now! The peeler's voice came a moment later, sounding slightly put off at whoever the visitor was.

"Can I help you, Madame?"

"Pardon me but I have a patient to attend to."

"I know who you are. We were expecting the doctor, not YOU, witch."

"...come again?"

"The gentleman inside is very ill. He needs a REAL doctor, not some woman playing with sticks and leaves pretending to be one!"

"Move."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Out of my way!"

"Just...hold on! You can't just go in there! Madame!"

Both Aiden and the peeler attending to Vincent looked up with wide eyes as a fiery red haired woman barged into the room, heavy bag in hand and looking determined as she marched towards the sleeping Vincent. As her eyes fell upon him, her expression shifted and she looked so heartbroken.

There was something familiar about the woman, but before Aiden could figure out why the peeler was at her heels barking, "Madame, you will cease this intrusion!" The woman forcefully set her heavy bag down on the edge of the bed and turned on her heel. She got right up in the man's face without fear despite her short stature. She set her hands on her hips and glowered up at him.

As if it wasn't clear enough that she wasn't going to accept being spoken to in this manner, she retorted hotly, "The doctor is not available to come tonight because when he heard the condition of Mr. Dubois, he expressed his lack of faith in his recovery so I volunteered to come in his stead! I care more about the rat shit on my 'boot'," she said with emphasis, “than I care about who you expected me to be or not! Now...if there is to be any chance of saving this man, I need to get to work! If you are going to arrest me or throw me out, I will drop on my knees this very second and pray to God that He damns you to remember EVERY DAY that it was YOU who killed this innocent, sick man just so you could feel powerful over some woman for two minutes! OR you can choose to do the right thing and let me get to work!"

The peeler's jaw dropped and he stammered, unable to form a proper response. Disgusted with this man, the woman leaned up on her toes to appear bigger as she growled quietly, "And might I remind you, Benjamin Burke, that two Summers past when that snake bit you it was NOT the doctor who sucked the venom from your veins. It. Was. Me."

Her bold statement was followed by the loudest silence Aiden had ever experienced. He was furious at the audacity of the peeler for his attitude towards her; especially since it was apparent that she'd saved his life in the past! He hadn't forgotten the "witch" accusation from when she first called either but this woman was something else! He was intimidated as much as he admired her boldness!

For a long moment, nothing was spoken as the peeler's face grew a dark shade of red. It was clear he was angry and embarrassed! However, after a few more seconds he seemed unable to formulate a retort. Aiden wondered if the woman was going to antagonize him further, but instead simply quirked her brow at him before turning away and stepping up the bedside to reach for her bag calmly as she stated, "If you are finished with your reports gentlemen, you may take your leave. I have a life to save."

With a sneer, the peeler glanced across the room to his colleague. "C'mon," he growled as his eyes turned darkly upon the woman's back. The other peeler looked across the room at Aiden apologetically, then set the linen down and began to follow after the other. As he drew up with the woman, he paused and said sincerely, "Thank you for coming so quickly, Madame, despite what my colleague says..."

"Of course," she replied with a small, appreciative smile. "Thank y-"

"Let's go!" came the angry voice of the man behind them. As the peeler joined the angry one, he held the door open and seethed impatiently. As the second walked out, the first said loudly, "That guy's a goner for sure! Witch!"

And the door slammed shut leaving his accusation ringing behind him.

Before he realized what he was doing, Aiden was on his feet and about to go chasing after the peeler and beat some sense into him! He didn't care that he was about to be arrested for it!

"That bastard!"

Still pumped and not caring about repercussions, he began to march for the door! But as he drew up with the woman, she reached out and gently but firmly tugged his arm and yanked him back as she pointed out, "Wait, Aiden! It's not worth it! Vincent needs you more than that pig needs a beating!"

Disarmed, Aiden immediately paused in his steps and stared down at her. He saw now that she was young; perhaps his own age and with a cute, round face. She quirked her mouth in a slight peek of a smile, evidently amused. And then in her eyes, even in the dim light, Aiden recognized the familiar, gorgeous colors of the sea. That along with that slight smile at the corner of her mouth made him realize why he recognized her even if he didn't know why. Even with her fiery red hair and plump figure, she reminded him of Vincent!

"How do you know my name?"

"Haven't you heard? I'm a witch," she responded dryly as she released his arm. Making haste, she moved around the bed to inspect Vincent. As she did, she explained quickly, "My apologies for speaking your name so informally. Vincent told me about you. Well, all of us really, when he came to visit for family dinner last week. I'm his cousin, Miss Bernadette Dubois, second eldest of the brood. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance though I do wish it were under better circumstances." As she pressed her hand to Vincent's warm, dampened forehead, she frowned and quickly shifted to check his vitals and groaned softly. "I'm glad I got here when I did. God knows I REFUSED to leave my cousin in the hands of that incapable man."

'What a bold thing to say,' Aiden thought silently as he stood on the opposite side of the bed and just took in the sight of this surprising young woman. She wasn't like any other woman he'd ever met! But then again, she was supposedly Vincent's cousin and he certainly wasn't a typical man.

"As do I, Miss Dubois. I am thankful you are here. Vincent isn't looking too good, is he?"

"He's not looking good at all! We'll be lucky if he doesn't have tetanus to contend with as well! I fear my cousin is living on borrowed time."

"What can I do to help?"

Bernadette was grateful for Aiden's willingness to stay. If he hadn't, this would be a much harder ordeal and treatment would not have been started until it was far too late! As for Aiden, it wasn't even a second thought. He was going to help in any way he could.

The first thing Bernadette had done after giving Vincent the safest large doses of opium from a small tincture bottle was burn some kind of dry herb she called sage to "clear the air" as she put it. While she did that, she sent Aiden into Vincent's kitchen to look for some of his rum or any other alcohol he could find and to boil some water. While the kettle was heating up, he'd found some rum hiding in a cabinet and brought it promptly over. Already knowing what this was for, he prayed Vincent would stay asleep for it. Aiden had witnessed before the pain of alcohol on an open wound.

As he returned to the bedside, he set down the bottle of rum and was suddenly distracted by a rather odd, pungent smell that wasn't the sage or the alcohol. Aiden made a slight face as across from him, Bernadette withdrew and began unwrapping a small, damp package. Inside was a round lump of something that smelled even more pungent and with a hint of citrus outside its packaging. In Aiden's opinion it greatly resembled a dark green rolled up ball of feces! It looked gross and smelled suspicious!

"What is 'that?!'" he asked bluntly and skeptically before he could stop himself. His question drew a highly amused smirk from Bernadette. She held out the sticky ball for him to see with a quirked brow.

"Bhang*."

"Bhang?"

"Yes. Technically it's-" she put a strange, foreign accent on it "-'bhang goli.' It's a foreign recipe. It's going into the tea. It's made from the plant our people call cannabis. It has many healing properties." As she shifted it stickily in her hand, she elaborated more much to Aiden's surprise and appreciation. "This particular bhang mixture helps with anxiety, pain, nausea, and has sedative effects." Immediately Aiden's eyes widened as he stared at the green round ball in her hand.

"I've never heard of it before! Is ALL of it going into the tea?"

"Heavens, no!" she exclaimed with a chuckle as she set the ball of bhang on the tea plate she'd previously set down the nightstand beside her. "He'd probably sleep until next week if I gave him this whole thing, and throttle me for it...or possibly thank me. Hm. Best not find out! No, just a couple pinches is all." She cleared her throat and began to wipe her hands. "I'm surprised you haven't heard of it, being around Vincent and all."

Before Aiden could ask what she meant by any of that (for it all sounded as confusing as it was interesting to him), Bernadette continued, "The opium should be kicking in very soon. Then afterwards the bhang and valerian root tea will be potent and ready. Right then! Let's get started."

  

...

 

Vocabulary

*Bhang- A mixture of the pieces of the cannabis plant ground and turned into a paste and used in drinks or other edibles.

 

Disclaimer: Fictional liberties have been taken for the dosing of all medications mentioned in the story above.

For more information about bhang, I strongly recommend doing some research!

But to help you get started, here is a useful link:

 

wayofleaf.com/recipes/what-is-bhang

 

***

Next part: www.flickr.com/photos/153660805@N05/52269466069/

 

To start from the beginning or to read another chapter, here's the album link:

www.flickr.com/photos/153660805@N05/albums/72157717075565127

 

***Please note this is a BOY LOVE (BL/yaoi/gay) series. It is a slow burn and rated PG13!***

 

***

Special thank you to Vin Aydin Raven-Mysterious for collaborating with me on this series and co-starring as The Captain!

  

DISCORD SERVER:

That's right! The Captain and The Engineer has a Discord Server! If you wanna join and chat with other crewmates and see what's new and happening before it gets posted to Flickr, click the link!

discord.gg/qBa769TAC4

  

***NEW!!!!***

 

The Captain and the Engineer now has a FACEBOOK PAGE! Please come Like, Follow, and join the crew! Thank you so much for all your support!

FACEBOOK PAGE:

www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61558531406088

Passion flower at Callaway Garden in October

Explore HP 456, October 24, 2008....thanks all!

The dried fruit of P. alkekengi is called the golden flower in the Unani system of medicine, and used as a diuretic, antiseptic, liver corrective, and sedative.[7]

My Summer red passion in a poppy field

Poppies

are herbaceous annual, biennial or short-lived perennial plants. Some species are monocarpic, dying after flowering. Poppies can be over 4 feet tall with flowers up to six inches across. The flowers have 4 to 6 petals, many stamens forming a conspicuous whorl in the centre of the flower and an ovary consisting of from 2 to many fused carpels. The petals are showy, may be of almost any color and some have markings. The petals are crumpled in the bud and as blooming finishes, the petals often lie flat before falling away. Poppies are in full bloom late spring to early summer. Most species secrete latex when injured. Bees use poppies as a pollen source. The pollen of the oriental poppy, Papaver orientale, is dark blue, that of the field or corn poppy (Papaver rhoeas) is grey to dark green. The opium poppy, Papaver somniferum, is mainly grown in eastern and southern Asia, and South Eastern Europe. It is believed that it originated in the Mediterranean region.

 

For more informations:

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poppy

 

THE MEANING:

The Poppy is one of the most widely used symbolic flower around the world. Ancient Greek, Egyptian, and Roman societies linked it with sleep due the sedative effect of the plant’s sap. The Greeks in particular tied it to sleep because of Morpheus, the God of sleep. The Victorians gave the flower a variety of meanings based on the color, including consolation for loss, deep sleep, and extravagance. Chinese and Japanese flower experts recommend the Poppy for couples because it means a deep and passionate love between two people, but white Poppies are tied to death in those cultures too. Other colors represent success and beauty in Eastern cultures. The red Poppy is the traditional flower of remembrance for Europe and North America because of its ties to World War I and II. Some people simply think it is a cheery sign of summer because of its size and intense colors.

The Poppy Flower’s Message is…

Remember those who have passed away to protect you and all that you love. Develop your own sense of inner peace so you can rest at night and get all the sleep you need. Honor the dead and cultivate your imagination for a richer life.

 

*******************************************************************************

“It is an illusion that photos are made with the camera…

they are made with the eye, heart and head.”

[Henry Cartier Bresson]

*******************************************************************************

Please don't use any of my images on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit written permission.

© All rights reserved

Native Americans used lobelia to treat respiratory and muscle disorders, and as a purgative. Today it is used to treat asthma and food poisoning, and is often used as part of smoking cessation programs. It is a physical relaxant, and can serve as a nerve depressant, easing tension and panic. The species used most commonly in modern herbalism is Lobelia inflata (Indian Tobacco).

 

Extracts of Lobelia inflata contain lobeline, which showed positive effects in the treatment of multidrug-resistant tumor cells.[3] Furthermore, lobeline can be modified to lobelane which decreased methamphetamine self-administration in rats. It therefore opens a perspective in methamphetamine dependency treatment.

 

As used in North America, lobelia's medicinal properties include the following: emetic (induces vomiting), stimulant, antispasmodic, expectorant, diaphoretic, relaxant, nauseant, sedative, diuretic, and nervine.

 

Because of its similarity to nicotine, the internal use of lobelia may be dangerous to susceptible populations, including children, pregnant women, and individuals with cardiac disease. Excessive use will cause nausea and vomiting. It is not recommended for use by pregnant women and is best administered by a practitioner qualified in its use.

Looks like it is another day of poor air quality here, due to the smoke blowing from the forest fires in Washington State (US). A Poor Air Quality Alert is still in effect for Southern Alberta. Heavy rain is in the forecast for northwest US, so hopefully this will happen and will help with the severe fire problem before even more damage is done. Even from so far away, I am feeling the effects from the smoke-filled air.

 

Three days ago, on 25 August, 10 of us arrived at a friend's house, ready to go north of Calgary to near Sundre, for a few hours of botanizing, This was the second visit to Judy Osborne's for a few of us, me included. The previous trip was on 30 June 2015. By now, of course, a lot of the wildflowers are finished, but I found enough other things to photograph, including a distant, beautiful Red-tailed Hawk, a Wood Frog and a Yellowjacket (wasp) and the bright red clusters of berries from the poisonous Red Baneberry plants. I also took a few photos of the plants in our friends' garden at the beginning and end of the day. Their garden is one beautiful sea of yellow at the moment. No scenery shots during the day, as the visibility was so bad due to the smoke.

 

"All parts of the plant are poisonous. However, accidental poisoning is not likely since the berries are extremely bitter. The berries are the most toxic part of the plant. A healthy adult will experience poisoning from as few as six berries. Ingestion of the berries causes nausea, dizziness, increased pulse and severe gastrointestinal discomfort. The toxins can also have an immediate sedative effect on the cardiac muscle tissue possibly leading to cardiac arrest if introduced into the bloodstream. As few as two berries may be fatal to a child. All parts of the plant contain an irritant oil that is most concentrated within the roots and berries." From Wikipedia.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Actaea_rubra

 

Thanks so much, Judy, for having us out on your beautiful property again. It was a most enjoyable day, despite the dreadful, smoke-filled air. We look forward to being out there again next year! Many thanks, too, to Barry, who drove a few of us out there and back to Calgary. A long, long drive and it was much appreciated!

Taken from Aguereberry point. I love how you can see the different layers in the range below.

 

Bobby is still holding his own, no improvement in his condition, but then, that may be my fault. He seemed uncomfortable late last night, and had all of his pain meds, so I gave him a sedative so he might sleep well. Anyways, he has appeared dopey all day. I think that the next time I have to give him a sedative, I will cut it in half.

December 08, 2015

 

"I have no riches but my thoughts. Yet these are wealth enough for me." - Sara Teasdale

 

-----

 

Another day of not feeling 100% for me, but other than a sore throat, I'm starting to feel like myself again.

 

Madeleine's kitty, Laisa had to go to the vet today, they've found a mass on her kidney and needed an ultrasound so now we sit in anticipation and wait for the results. Laisa, however, didn't seem to mind the procedure and was happy to get home to her window.

 

Took the opportunity to grab a few shots of her in the window since she was calmer than usual today, thanks to a slight sedative.

 

Should have results tomorrow, so keep your fingers crossed for her!

 

Hope everyone has had a good day.

 

Click "L" for a larger view.

Friday we said goodbye. Tom couldn't bear it. It was time. I held him close as he got a heavy sedative. Within a minute he was very relaxed and then we sent him over the bridge.

We miss you terribly, your little happy patient soul, our hearts are broken. The best little guy we have ever known...the stories we can tell...you live in our hearts forever.

Maybe I will tell you about them...for now it just hurts too much.

Oscar is 4 days into recovery from his leg surgery. He is still groggy from the sedatives he gets every 6 hours.

Amanita muscaria is a mushroom native throughout the temperate and boreal regions of the Northern Hemisphere, and has been unintentionally introduced to many countries in the Southern Hemisphere. It forms symbiotic relationships with many trees, including pine, spruce, fir, birch, and cedar.

 

American Fly agaric is one of three recognized varieties. It is found from southern Alaska down through the Rocky Mountains, through Central America, all the way to Andean Colombia.

 

This mushroom is POISONOUS. Amanita muscaria contains several neurotoxins: ibotenic acid (structurally similar to the excitatory neurotransmitter glutamic acid), muscimol (structurally similar to GABA which is the main psychoactive component producing sedative and dissociative manifestations), and, in a much smaller amount, muscarine (a cholinergic toxin). Poisoning has occurred in young children and in people who ingested the mushrooms for a hallucinogenic experience.

www.facebook.com/claudiahantschelphotography

SN/NC: Erythrina Mulungu, Fabaceae Family

Several Erythrina tree species are used by indigenous peoples in the Amazon as medicines, insecticides and fish poisons. Tinctures and decoctions made from the leaves or barks of Mulungu are often used in Brazilian traditional medicine as a sedative, to calm an overexcited nervous system, to lower blood pressure and for insomnia and depression.

Commercial preparations of Mulungu are available in Brazilian drugstores, but is not very widely known in North America and almost unknown in Europe; mostly appearing as an ingredient in only a few herbal formulas for anxiety or depression.

The contrast with Canada shown previously

 

Ahuejote, también conocida por Bucare (Venezuela) es parte del grupo de Erythrinas. Son de unos colores que no pasan desapercebidos. Impresionante como son bellos estos árboles y decoran las márgenes de la Autopista Don Romero en San Salvador, estando ubicadas en el Parque del Bicentenario.

 

Mulungu, planta da familia das Eritrinas. Cores chamativas e nao podem passar despercebidas. Elas estão no Parque do Bicentenario de San Salvador. Dá cor ao outono salvadorenho...

It's a very sedative scene on the pathway to Tinap Saitar Waterfall, Bandarban, Bangladesh...

FOLKLORE

 

Passion flower has a mild sedative effect that encourages sleep. This property has been well-substantiated in numerous studies on animals and humans. Nervous symptoms and cramps that inhibit sleep are alleviated by ingestion of the herb, and leading quickly to restful uninterrupted and deep sleep. When Spanish explorers first encountered the Indians of Peru and Brazil, they found this plant used in native folk medicine as a sedative. They took it back to Spain, from whence it gradually spread throughout Europe. It was in Europe that the leaves of the plant first found use as a sedative and sleep-inducing substance. Interestingly, its sedative effect was not noted by American until lately.

 

Copyright © 2004 Springboard ..

SN/NC: Erythrina Poeppigiana, Fabaceae Family

Several Erythrina tree species are used by indigenous peoples in the Amazon as medicines, insecticides and fish poisons. Tinctures and decoctions made from the leaves or barks of Mulungu are often used in Brazilian traditional medicine as a sedative, to calm an overexcited nervous system, to lower blood pressure and for insomnia and depression.

 

Commercial preparations of Mulungu are available in Brazilian drugstores, but is not very widely known in North America and almost unknown in Europe; mostly appearing as an ingredient in only a few herbal formulas for anxiety or depression.

 

Just to show the contrast with previous Canada... so great is nature.

Folkloric

• No reported folkloric medicinal use in the Philippines.

• In Latin American traditional medicine, used for asthma and allergies.

• In Mexican traditional medicine, used as a sedative and tranquilizer for mental disorders and nervous excitement.

source: stuart xchange

Post card from the garden

 

Spiderwort had many uses in First Nation’s culture as food and medicine. The seeds are edible when roasted and ground into a powder (although they are somewhat bitter to taste). Leaves can be made into a tea or tossed into salads, soups, etc. The root can be collected all year round. The flowers can be tossed on top of a salad and eaten. (Dried, powdered flowers were once used as a snuff for nosebleeds.)

 

Externally, this plant can be used as a poultice to help heal wounds and hemorrhoids. Internally the leaves and roots are a valuable alternative medicine used by medical herbalists for their patients as an antidiarrheal, analgesic, anthelmintic, antiperiodic, astringent, diaphoretic, emetic, emmenagogue, expectorant, sedative, tonic, vermifuge, and vulnerary. Also, drinking spiderwort tea is supposed to be a good for increasing breast milk (Galactagogue)

www.ediblewildfood.com/spiderwort.aspx

Atlanta is not the funnest city in the world for sled dogs. Jamie and Alice have been acting as if they're under the effect of a strong sedative ever since we entered 90+ degree temperatures yesterday.

"Man, it's making noise again."

 

"Just give it more sedatives."

 

"Same amount as last time?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Did we ever find out what that thing was in the xray?"

 

"Don't know. Doesn't look safe. This one's going into surgery tomorrow."

 

"What about the rest?"

 

"Half tomorrow and the other half the day after."

 

"Aaaand he's out. Man, only fitting these two are roomed together."

 

"Well, it's not like the Joker could be put in a room with someone normal. And it doesn't help that we're at maximum capacity. Huh, these blinds should have been closed."

 

"You think he's watching?"

 

"Who?"

 

"The Batman."

 

"Oh, I don't know. Probably. Those security guards are sure as hell watching him."

 

"Are they really necessary? I mean, he's cuffed to the bed."

 

"It's the Joker..."

 

"You're right..."

 

"C'mon. We got the other ones of these to take care of."

  

Anne Frank wrote her final diary entry on August second of 1944.

She was discovered and arrested in Amsterdam three days later.

The 15-year-old's final entry read:

Dearest Kitty,

"A bundle of contradictions" was the end of my previous letter and is the beginning of this one. Can you please tell me exactly what "a bundle of contradictions" is? What does "contradiction" mean? Like so many words, it can be interpreted in two ways: a contradiction imposed from without and one imposed from within

The former means not accepting other people's opinions, always knowing best, having the last word; in short, all those unpleasant traits for which I'm known. The latter, for which I'm not known, is my own secret.

As I've told you many times, I'm split in two. One side contains my exuberant cheerfulness, my flippancy, my joy in life and, above all, my ability to appreciate the lighter side of things. By that I mean not finding anything wrong with flirtations, a kiss, an embrace, an off-colour joke. This side of me is usually lying in wait to ambush the other one, which is much purer, deeper and finer. No-one knows Anne's better side, and that's why most people can't stand me.

Oh, I can be an amusing clown for an afternoon, but after that everyone's had enough of me to last a month. Actually, I'm what a romantic movie is to a profound thinker - a mere diversion, a comic interlude, something that is soon forgotten: not bad, but not particularly good either.

I hate having to tell you this, but why shouldn't I admit it when I know it's true? My lighter, more superficial side will always steal a march on the deeper side and therefore always win. You can't imagine how often I've tried to push away this Anne, which is only half of what is known as Anne-to beat her down, hide her. But it doesn't work, and I know why.

I'm afraid that people who know me as I usually am will discover I have another side, a better and finer side. I'm afraid they'll mock me, think I'm ridiculous and sentimental and not take me seriously. I'm used to not being taken seriously, but only the

"light-hearted" Anne is used to it and can put up with it; the "deeper" Anne is too weak. If I force the good Anne into the spotlight for even fifteen minutes, she shuts up like a clam the moment she's called upon to speak, and lets Anne number one do the talking. Before I realize it, she's disappeared.

So the nice Anne is never seen in company. She's never made a single appearance, though she almost always takes the stage when I'm alone. I know exactly how I'd like to be, how I am... on the inside. But unfortunately I'm only like that with myself. And perhaps that's why-no, I'm sure that's the reason why I think of myself as happy on the inside and other people think I'm happy on the outside. I'm guided by the pure Anne within, but on the outside I'm nothing but a frolicsome little goat tugging at its tether.

As l've told you, what I say is not what I feel, which is why I have a reputation for being boy-crazy as well as a flirt, a smart aleck and a reader of romances. The happy-go lucky Anne laughs, gives a flippant reply, shrugs her shoulders and pretends she doesn't give a darn. The quiet Anne reacts in just the opposite way. If I'm being completely honest, I'II have to admit that it does matter to me, that I'm trying very hard to change myself, but that I I'm always up against a more powerful enemy.

A voice within me is sobbing, "You see, that's what's become of you. You're surrounded by negative opinions, dismayed looks and mocking faces, people, who dislike you, and all because you don't listen to the advice of your own better half."

Believe me, I'd like to listen, but it doesn't work, because if I'm quiet and serious, everyone thinks I'm putting on a new act and I have to save myself with a joke, and then I'm not even talking about my own family, who assume I must be sick, stuff me with aspirins and sedatives, feel my neck and forehead to see if I have a temperature, ask about my bowel movements and berate me for being in a bad mood, until I just can't keep it up anymore, because when everybody starts hovering over me, I get cross, then sad, and finally end up turning my heart inside out, the bad part on the outside and the good part on the inside, and keep trying to find a way to become what I'd like to be and what I could be if... if only there were no other people in the world.

Yours, Anne M. Frank

and your heart's a hummingbird,

raven thoughts blacken your mind,

'til you're breathing in reverse.

all your friends and sedatives,

mean well,

but make it worse.

every reassurance just magnifies the doubt,

better find yourself a place to level out.

     

to write love on her arms.

   

i like it on black.

Acte 8 Footfalls (and the obligatory Epilogue)

Subtitle (striking the irons)

 

It had indeed been a trying day for The Mistress, as had the whole affair actually, and she was just too tired to continue putting up with it.

 

Exhausted after being run through an entire gauntlet of emotions, some of which had been entirely new to her and which she had found to be quite distasteful to someone of her carefully orchestrated upbringing, The mistress took some heavy sleep sedatives and had one of the downstairs servants( Maggie being shunned to the barn) put her to bed.

 

Later that evening as Edmund and her ladyship lay fast asleep in the separate rooms that extend out on either side of the large, shared sitting room, a most rude intrusion is made upon their chambres.

 

A pair of dark figures, moving silently as cats, walk up the stairs from the first floor, where they have spent some time lifting various pieces of silver, but now it was time for their main objectives:

 

They enter Edmunds room first, spending about twenty minutes as they expertly locate and removed his lordships valuables from their various hiding spots, some of which had been unlocked from a ring of keys in the possession of one of the thieves.

  

The pair then enters her Ladyships bedchamber, spending twice as much time inside as they had in Edmund’s chamber. They take great pains to make sure all of her hiding spots are located and relived of the valuables contained within; trying all the remaining keys out from the chain they have in their possession. Their torches touch upon many cases which when opened, contain a dazzling collection of colourful jewels, brite gold and pearls,( white black and coral.) Having been given a sleeping draught, The Mistress is blissfully unaware that all of her expensive jewelry and knickknacks are being collected and placed in a large black carpet bag. And since the Mistress liked to keep are of her most expensive possessions close at hand in her Boudoir, it was quite a large and extremely valuable collection that was being stolen from right under her pointed, upturned nose.

 

They lastly work around the large canopy bed where her ladyship is sleeping peacefully.

 

One of the dark shadowy men peel back the blue satin coverlet, exposing the mistress in her long black nightgown. Thin, dark fingers feel carefully along her satin clad figure checking for anything of value er the Mistress may have worn to bed. A jeweled ruby ring is located, one she always wears to bed feeling that it is the safest place for it, and is ever so gently pulled off her finger.

 

Her silver rhinestone sleeping masque is then lifted off, as are the pair of tortis shell clips holding up her long hair. As they are pulled away, she turns in her bed, saying a name( her lawyers as it so happens) exposing a black string protruding from the bottom of her pillow. The string is pulled, and out comes a black silk pouch. ( later that pouch is found to contain a letter for a certain solicitor along with a healthy wad of fivers!)

A long thin knife is pulled out, and for the second time that evening, the thin straps of her negligee are slit, and the negligee is slowly pulled coff of her figure.

 

The two shadowy figures leave with their loot, and make their way back outside. They almost get away undetected, but for one female servant, who had watched the pair from the servants quarters. And said servant, instead of sounding an alarm, may have chuckled a bit as she hobbled back to her bed and soon had fallen peacefully, innocently, back to sleep….

 

The Obligatory Epilogue :

All’s well that ends well, one can suppose:

Edmund and The Mistress, the robbery effectively relieving them of the last of their savings, and facing the loss of their estates, attempted to get back the money they had paid the crooked magistrate. He immediately had the pair charged and arrested for intimidation of a judge. Unable to pay the fines, they both were sent to debtors prison, where Edmund expired of a heart attack 8 months later, giving Errol the opportunity to inherit the family title.

 

The Dowager Aunt paid the debts of the Estate ( but not those of Edmund and The Mistress), acquiring Staghurst in the process. She set up Errol and his wife in the great estate as overseers; eventually Errol was bequeathed the estate upon the Dowagers passing some 6 years later. The Dowager was buried at Staghurst, and her mausoleum, even though overgrown and buried by vines, can still, not easily, be found..

 

Now it is known that The Mistress was quite inconsolable at Edmund’s funeral, so one would like to think there were some embers of love giving minute bits of heat to an otherwise seemingly soulless heart.

 

Lady Elisa apparently took pity on the poor creature, and convinced His Lordship Errol to forgive the Mistress’s debts. He apparently took money from his own household and finally got her release from debtor’s prison a year after Edmund’s passing. The Dowager Aunt allowed her to rent out one of the estates small cottages. Elisa sent Fanny to teach the Mistress how to be a seamstress so she could earn her keep. It was recorded in the family chronicles that her first order of business was taking some of her own stunning gowns that the Mistress had left behind at Staghurst and altering them to fit Elisa and Maggie to be worn by the ladies at various functions.

 

Sadly, Maggie’s scratches on her cheeks became infected and left her with some rather nasty scarring. Elisa brought the poor creature into Staghurst to be her companion. It is not chronicled whom Maggie eventually wed, but it was recorded in the Staghurst manor’s archives that one of Maggie’s daughters married a younger son of Lord Errol’s. A bloodline that carried the title of the house of Staghurst into modern times.

 

As for Staghurst itself, the great house still looms, standing in commanding atonement! But times have changed, and like so many great estates of the day, the majority of the manor has been re-envisioned into a rather upscale overnight, run by the current Lord and his family, direct descendants of Errol and Elisa.

 

As for the Assault and Robbery, no one was ever caught and punished. But one can imagine, without naming names, that those who had a hand in obtaining the small fortune acquired, soon found their positions in life elevated, and one can always hope that some good came of it…

  

The pub mentiond, The Poet and the Peasant, is the name of an actual welsh pub, and the 400 year old building it is located in has been the site of many drinking establishments over the years. Although its part in this story is fictional, one who has been there can well imagine that if its darkened and smoky walls and chambers could talk, therein would lay many tales, both rude and glorious.

 

UN REMEI PER A AQUESTA CALOR⁉️

💦 Un bany en el mar, que a més de refrescar, aporta:

📍 El calci i el fòsfor que existeix en el mar és el millor fixador d'ossos.

📍 El nostre cos pesa vuit vegades menys que fora del mar i això fa que es relaxi fins al punt que els músculs i les articulacions milloren la seva mobilitat.

📍 És un remei completament natural per a aquestes petites esquitxades que els produeix el frec de la roba amb la pell.

📍 La influència del magnesi ajuda a calmar l'ansietat i la tensió que anem acumulant i, en tenir un efecte sedant i relaxant, després dormiran millor.

 

Tot i parant la fresca, a mitja nit, en aquests dies de tanta xafogor des de la Platja dels Griells de L'Estartit (Costa Brava) CAT.

-------------------------------------------

Summer sea.

 

A REMEDY FOR THIS HEAT⁉️

💦 A swim in the sea, which in addition to cooling, provides:

📍 The calcium and phosphorus that exists in the sea is the best bone fixative.

📍 Our body weighs eight times less than out of the sea and this causes us to relax to the point that our muscles and joints improve their mobility.

📍 It is a completely natural remedy for these small splashes caused by rubbing clothes with the skin.

📍 The influence of magnesium helps to calm the anxiety and tension that we accumulate and, having a sedative and relaxing effect, they will then sleep better.

 

Despite stopping the cool, at midnight, in these days of so much rain from the Platja dels Griells of L'Estartit (Costa Brava) CAT.

 

  

© Copyright notice: Do not use my images without my written permission, even for a non commercial use. If you're interested in any of my photos you must contact me first. All my images are under full copyright.

© All rights reserved worldwide.

 

"Maman, fais passer les calmants du chien ; il a encore une crise !"

 

"Mom, give me the dog’s sedatives ; he has an attack once again!"

 

Atlantic Ocean - Plage du Porge - Gironde - France

Beach in Le Porge

After Alice had her drainage in for a few days, she was obviously feeling better and started playing like normal. So we had to be careful to prevent too much playing - the sedative pills from the vet helped with that.

It is with a broken heart that I have to tell you that my sweet Lucky boy has crossed over the rainbow bridge. He left us yesterday at around 1pm. When he woke up yesterday, he couldn't get out of his crate- he was unable to walk. Once we got him out he took no food or water, and was shaking with fear- the strength and mobility in his back end was gone. We knew it was time. My wonderful husband fashioned a stretcher from a dog ramp, a dog cushion, and duct tape so he, my daughter and myself could get him safely into the dogmobile. Then my husband and I drove him to a 24-hour vet clinic which was about 2 hrs. away. I rode in the back of the dogmobile, on the cushions right beside my Lucky boy,petting and loving him during the drive. He was such a brave boy. At the clinic when it was time, My husband and I had the privilege of being on the floor with him as he crossed the bridge. As the sedative was being administered, he was licking my face with his wonderful puppy kisses, reassuring me in his beautiful and selfless way. I was able to tell him how he was loved and to thank him for sharing his life with us, and what a special gift he was to all of us - stroking him the whole time, as he gently rested his head on my lap and went to sleep. It was both beautiful and devastating. I know he is happy and safe now, playing with my dad,my former dogs Ringo and Poochie as well as his friends Emma and Koi and Holly and all the wonderful flickr friends that have already crossed the bridge.

 

He was such a very special being. He taught me the true meaning of loyalty- I had to once be away from my family for a while- and he never stopped waiting for me. When I arrived home, he was overjoyed to see me- happiness oozing from every pore. He never left my side- he was my shadow. Lucky was such a happy boy. His tail never stopped wagging. People were always amazed upon meeting him- saying that all the dalmatians they had met were sometimes aloof - and Lucky was so friendly and gentle. Even the vet commented that he was the best tempered dog he had ever seen. He loved cucumbers- and often stole them from our neighbor's garden. He was called the "cucumber bandit" that summer. He was a great big brother to Bentley- he would bark to alert me when Bentley was hijacking food from the counter top. Bentley heard the tags jingling from Lucky's collar when I moved them yesterday- and looked room to room trying to find Lucky. It will take awhile for all of us to adjust. I loved him so very much- we all did. He was such a joy to us- a beautiful blessing in our life. I will never forget how he has been there for me- his dedication never wavering. I miss him and it hurts.

 

I am so sorry for disappearing for so long. I have been busy with one thing after the other. What a disappointing contact I have been!! I am so sorry and I have missed everyone so, so much. I hope everyone is having an amazing summer. I will be back in a little while longer. I need some time for my heart to begin to heal. I look forward to seeing everyone really soon!

The Kingston’s - Issue #10 “Hunted”

 

*So turns out the thing in the sewer that took those men and then me was an old Villain of Susan and I. We thought he was getting the lethal injection but apparently, the prison system can be just like Arkham Asylum and he escaped. I don’t know why this guy has let me go or where the missing sewer workers are but I’m not going to ask why. I’m just going to leg it and hope Susan is okay. I run through the woods tripping over an exposed tree root and skid across the dirt.*

 

Coby: “Ugh. So cliche.”

 

Death-Penalty: “Run little pig!”

 

Coby: “Blow it out your butt, douchebag!”

 

Death-Penalty: “Still mouthy I see. Good, it’ll be just like old times only this time you’re the one getting the Death-Penalty!”

 

Coby: “Ah... now the name makes sense.”

 

*Coby pats down his jeans and curses feeling that his bracelet that turns into a chain is gone. Death-Penalty must’ve taken it, he really did plan this hunt. Maybe the missing workers in the sewer were just a ploy to lure him and his sister out. God, he hoped Susan was okay. Hopefully, it was just a sedative or something he injected her with. Susan must be freaking out right now, he better survive this. Coby keeps running and hears a chainsaw sound behind him, he glances back and screams seeing a motorised triple axe blade. It spins attached to a chain and whizzes past him, tangling around a tree before shredding through it.*

 

Coby: *panting* “How do villains make these things?!”

 

*Coby sprints faster as sweat begins to run down his face and neck, his T-Shirt sticks to his back and chest and his throat mouth and throat begin to dry from exhaustion. He skids down a hill narrowly avoiding the bladed chain which Death-Penalty throws towards him, cutting through trees like paper. The blades pass over Coby’s head, slicing a few hairs off the top of his head, the chainsaw sound deafening him. He comes to a stop, getting an idea and catching his breath.*

 

Death-Penalty: “You can’t run forever, little pig!”

 

Coby: “Watch me!”

 

*Coby runs in a zigzag pattern, weaving between trees and running through the dense terrain. Death-Penalty continues to run but comes to a stop swinging his weapon around in an arc but Coby ducks under it, the chain tangles Round the trees the blade didn’t destroy. He continues to run through the woods seeing Death-Penalty pulling at his chain trying to untangle it.*

 

Coby: *laughs* “Have fun with that!”

====Elliot Memorial Hospital===

 

*Gar was stirring now. They'd had to use a sedative to get him in the car- He refused to come quietly. If there was but one face he *didn't* want to wake up to, it'd be Ted Carson's gloating mug. But of course, you can't always get what you want*

 

Carson- Hello, Lynns. Been a while

 

Gar- Huh? Carson-? Urgh. My memory must be fuzzy, because I was worried for a moment there that someone credible had captured me. Thanks for snapping me back to reality.

 

Carson- If I wasn’t credible then I wouldn’t have been able to capture you eh?

 

Gar- Touché. Is that Dr. No Fucks-Given over there?

 

*No-Face was working away, a ghastly noise coming from his mouth- clearly his attempt at a whistle*

 

Carson- No-Face. And yes. You see Lynns, I have an ingenious plan to kill Walker and the Misfits. With them gone, Mr. Moth will rise to the top of Gotham’s criminal underworld and I will finally be able to go home to my wife.

 

Gar- You have a wife? Since when?

 

Carson- Since before Walker ran me over. *sigh* ... You know, I haven’t seen her in so long.

 

Gar- She’s probably moved on. I would.

 

Carson- Well you're not her, are you?

 

Gar- I mean if I was I'd probably have shot myself.

 

*Gar smiles and turns to see Carson primed to explode with rage and quickly decides to change the subject*

 

Gar- What is this plan anyway?

 

Carson- Well, I probably shouldn't tell you... Ah screw it, I love to monologue! Meagan here is going to take your face.... off

 

Gar- My face... off?

 

Carson- Yes! And then I will wear your face... I will become Garfield Lynns! The real Firefly, the one I was always meant to be. No more Cockroach. No more Carson

 

Gar- Is this before or after you shag your wife because-

 

*Carson punches Gar right in the face, bursting his already blistered lip*

 

Carson- Shut. Up. I’ll give you my face and under my instruction, The Misfits will kill you. And then- I will kill them. And reclaim my face from your corpse

 

Gar- And what if they kill me with a head shot?

 

...

 

Carson- We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Meagan!

 

*Meagan has proudly lined up his surgical tools, to prepare for the surgery. Gar tries struggling, but the bonds are too tight*

 

Gar- Carson! Carson you can't do this! You want to be Firefly? Be Firefly, I don't give a shit! There are like, ten Clayfaces anyway! Carson!

 

Carson- Bye bye, Gar. See you on the other side.

 

————————

 

Ono- So, you’re Tara’s ex?

 

Mr. Moth- Yes, I am.

 

Ono- Cool. Cool. I married her last fall, you see. Hope it doesn’t make this whole thing awkward or nothing

 

Mr. Moth- Nah, it’s fine.

 

Ono- That makes Drury your kid then?

 

Mr. Moth- It does.

 

Ono- Was abortion out of the question?

 

Artie- Here’s your coffee boss

 

Mr. Moth- It’s cold. Idiot!

 

Artie- You try making coffee with one hand!

 

-------The Bar--------

 

*The bar's cleared out following the football game. Now Len's on his own, cleaning pint glasses when there's a knock at the door*

 

Len- We're close- Ah. Drury.

 

*His eyes were red- he'd been crying, a lot. Gone was the spring in his step and that goofy smile of his. There was no doubt about it, he was a mess*

 

Drury- Hey Len.

 

*Drury sits down at the bar, and Len gets to pouring him a bottle*

 

Len- I heard about the funeral. I'm sorry, Drury. Bad enough a father has to bury his son, even worse if he isn't even allowed that.

 

Drury- Yeah.

 

*Drury gulps down his drink, and looks back down at the floor*

 

Drury- So, um, Carson’s back. Ted Carson. You'd think being demonised and sprayed by Otis would have killed him but... I guess these things don’t always work out

 

Len- Suppose not.

 

Drury- I’m thinking of hiring an exorcist. Don’t suppose you know any? Heh. *sniff*

 

Len- I might actually... See, I can set you up with a guy, but he’s an acquired taste. British. Comes in here every so often. Into freaky occult stuff.

 

...

 

Drury- You’re serious?

 

Len- Course. I’m not to lie to a grieving father am I?

 

Drury- I never asked, did you ever have-?

 

*Len looks at Drury for several moments then disappears into the backroom*

 

Len- He left me this once- I reckon he fancies me, he certainly doesn’t hang about here for the atmosphere... “John Constantine- Master of the Mystic Arts”

 

*He hands the card to Drury, who fiddles with it*

 

Len- Oh, no, I wouldn’t, some guy was playing with it then spontaneously combusted. Now I think about it, it might’ve been *Mr* Combustible....

 

*Drury nods and pockets the card*

 

Drury- Hey, um, Len, I was just thinking... after Cobb and all, there’s an empty seat at city hall. You don't think-?

 

*Len smirks*

 

Len- If you can keep the health inspectors away, then you've got my vote.

 

=====The Iceberg Lounge===

 

*"So this is what high society feels like?" thought Walker; the fine wines, the rich sauces... Yes, he could get used to this. But as he surveyed the maps of the city, so "generously" gifted by Penguin, picking out his next target, there came a fast paced tapping at the door. Disgruntled, he sent Wrath to check it out. He expected some annoyed gangsters seeking vengeance or hopeful henchmen looking for jobs. What he wasn't expecting was Gaige, a pistol in his hand*

 

Gaige- We need to talk

SN/NC: Erythrina Mulungu, Fabaceae Family

Several Erythrina tree species are used by indigenous peoples in the Amazon as medicines, insecticides and fish poisons. Tinctures and decoctions made from the leaves or barks of Mulungu are often used in Brazilian traditional medicine as a sedative, to calm an overexcited nervous system, to lower blood pressure and for insomnia and depression.

Commercial preparations of Mulungu are available in Brazilian drugstores, but is not very widely known in North America and almost unknown in Europe; mostly appearing as an ingredient in only a few herbal formulas for anxiety or depression.

The contrast with Canada shown previously

 

Ahuejote, también conocida por Bucare (Venezuela) es parte del grupo de Erythrinas. Son de unos colores que no pasan desapercebidos. Impresionante como son bellos estos árboles y decoran las márgenes de la Autopista Don Romero en San Salvador, estando ubicadas en el Parque del Bicentenario.

 

Mulungu, planta da familia das Eritrinas. Cores chamativas e nao podem passar despercebidas. Elas estão no Parque do Bicentenario de San Salvador. Dá cor ao outono salvadorenho...

either whisky or morphine. The juice of the Barley for me. :)

A poppy is any of a number of showy flowers, typically with one per stem, belonging to the poppy family. They include a number of attractive wildflower species with showy flowers found growing singularly or in large groups.Those that are grown in gardens include large plants used in a mixed herbaceous border and small plants that are grown in rock or alpine gardens.

Papaver rhoeas is a species of flowering plant in the family Papaveraceae. It has a variety of common names, including the Corn Poppy, Field Poppy, Flanders Poppy, or Red Poppy, one of the many species and genera named poppy. The four petals are vivid red, most commonly with a black spot at their base. It is a variable annual plant, forming a long-lived soil seed bank that can germinate when the soil is disturbed. In the northern hemisphere it generally flowers in late spring, but if the weather is warm enough other flowers frequently appear at the beginning of autumn. Like many other species of its genus, it exudes a white latex when the tissues are broken.

 

Papavero è il nome comune di un genere (Papaver) di piante erbacee della famiglia delle Papaveraceae. Al genere appartengono 125 specie circa.Il papavero è considerato una pianta infestante. Papavero è il nome comune della specie Papaver rhoeas, comunissimo nei campi all'inizio dell'estate.

Il Papaver rhoeas, o comunemente papavero o rosolaccio, è una pianta erbacea annuale appartenente al genere Papaver. La specie, largamente diffusa in Italia, cresce normalmente in campi e sui bordi di strade e ferrovie ed è considerata una pianta infestante. Petali e semi possiedono leggere proprietà sedative.

È alta fino a 80 - 90 cm. Il fiore è rosso dai petali delicati e caduchi. Spesso macchiato di nero alla base in corrispondenza degli stami di colore nero. Il fusto è eretto, coperto di peli rigidi. Tagliato emette un liquido bianco. Foglie pennato partite sparse lungo il fusto. Il frutto è una capsula che contiene numerosi semi piccoli, reniformi e reticolati. Fuoriescono da un foro sotto lo stimma.I boccioli sono verdi a forma di oliva e penduli. Fiorisce in primavera da aprile fino a metà luglio.

 

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Acte 7 : Harbinger

Subtitle : Insulting the Injuries

As he finishes sounding the alarm, the Constable pulls the whistle from his lips, and takes a clearer observation of the situation. He immediately realizes that whatever the pair was , they were not a immediate threat.

  

Ere you two can’t go about dressed like its Guy Fawkes evening, or sumthin. He yells to the grimy figures as he approaches closer,his confidence restored as he hears footsteps running up the block towards him.

  

The Mistress pushes Edmund off to the side, my good man, I need to report a molestation. The officer, taken aback by what he assumes is a couple of vagabonds daring to give him orders, answers back tartly,

Ere now, ewe do you think you are, the Qheens mother?

No you insolent bastard, The Mistress retorts, don’t you recognize Lord and Lady Edmund of Staghurst manor. Ya,the Constable retorts, and Im the Duke of Wellington. At this time he is aware of a couple of his fellow officers are now at his shoulder. He begins to bark out orders, calling for the paddy and has the quarrelsome pair of miscreants hauled off to goal to let them cool their heels till morning.

.

 

Fortunately for the Lord Edmund and the mistress, the local station was being visited by a superintendent whom knew of Lord Edmund( both belonging to the same gentleman’s club) and was in fact on his way to the same Ball. He had the constable apologize and after taking statements, arranged for the pair to be driven back to The Manor House, where they arrived fairly late in the evening.

  

Sheets are brought out as the servants watch; giggling to themselves over the situation, help drape them over the abused figures of Lord Edmund and the Mistress. Both take heavy sedatives, and are immediately put to bed for the evening, and soon the entire household is quietly at rest, at least for the time being.

 

--

For, as the the Lord and Mistress are driven back after finally being released from prison, another series of events have been taking place:

  

On a darkened market block, still busy at this time of the evening, a familiar figure is seen weaving in and out amongst the crowds, threading her way through vendors still lining the streets. There is still some gossip being passed around about the police activity of a few blocks away, and more than one pair of eyes are on the lookout for anything unusual, give the girl more than a passing glance.

    

The young teenage gypsy girl now walking briskly down a street, is ignoring the calls from the vendors carts and the old men leering at her from doorways and alleyways as she makes her way. She is a dark green eyed, long haired beauty, with a secretive look on her face. Still wearing the colourefully long silken tiered skirt, with a white full sleeved blouse, and several silk scarves that she had been wearing when first coming upon The Lord and Mistress of Staghurst almost 90 minutes ago by their out of commission Roll-Royce. She is also now wearing a small rucksack, and carrying a parcel neatly wrapped in old newspaper.

  

She stops in front of an old blackened building that houses a Pub, named The Poet and the Peasant, which carries with it a dark reputation. She stops, letting her eyes look about her, she suddenly moves, darting inside with a swishing of her long silken tiered skirt. She walks purposefully through the main bar room, again ignoring the cackling old drunks sitting on stools at the bar and around ill-lit tables.

  

She walks into a darkened, smoke filled back hallway, and cautiously enters a room at the end. A man with rather unusual features ( hook nose, right eye half closed, and a nasty scar along one hollow cheek below right eye, thin moustache) is sitting at a table, talking in a whisper to a pair of rather devious looking characters, a cigar hanging precariously from one side of his mouth. He spies the girl, and grins showing a mouth full of yellowed, chipped teeth. “Gentleman”, I have a visitor he announces, sharply. The pair of men looks at the girl, then rise, and silently slips past her without a second glance.

 

Wotcher the man with the cigar says In careful greeting, but with a wary look on his humorless face.. The girl approaches, and sitting down, opens her fist and setting a ring of keys on the table, slides them towards him.

 

He picks them up, toying with them for a few seconds. He looks backup, interested, still up to your mysterious games I see, whose pocket got picked for these I wonder?, he asks himself. Then looks full into her green eyes.

 

What will this get me, sister’s daughter? He asks throwing them back on the stained oak bar table top, his curiosity and attention both peeked.

  

The girl undoes her silk scarf, and opens the collar of her silken blouse, exposing a magnificent necklace of shimmering sapphires and diamonds, where it had been hidden from the view of anyone treacherous enough to indifferently slit a young girl’s throat to have them from her.

  

You cheeky imp!, the man whistles, it makes a funny sound as the cigar is still clamped in his mouth. Taking risks ware’n a fancy choker like that round ere. Don’t tell me you got that fancy decoration by using just your fingers lass ? She just smiles mischievously, her eyes opened doe wide, as her Uncle reads into them, accurately interprets the message hidden in the depths of the sparkling dark green eyes gazing at him..

  

Where’s the rest then he asks, but it is not really a question, he knows the answer all too well. She hands him the parcel, and with a swing of her body, her hair flying off to one side, she takes off the small, rucksack and lays both on the table.

  

He cuts the strings of the newspaper clad parcel with a thin knife he seems to produce from thin air. Inspecting the contents, he lifts up something thin and slippery, dyed a purplish hue, he also lifts a white fluffy fur sleeve. He then opens the small rucksack and peers inside, his left eye opening wide, as a thin smile cracks his usually stern demeanor, he lifts up a sparking diamond bracelet He looks up at his niece, and opening g his hand, beckons with his fingers. She obediently removes the necklace and placed it shimmering into his palm. He places it inside the rucksack with the rest.

  

Were your cousins involved with this, he hisses sharply. The Gypsy girl still doesn’t say a word, but he reads his answer in her sly dark green eyes, not that he really needed her confirmation on that suspicion.

  

Things need to cool a bit, these will have to be buried in a very deep dark, quiet hole indeed. Gather the boys and lay low for a few weeks till things die down with the local bobbies He opens a thick billfold and extracts several pound notes, this is just for starters till the tide washes back.

 

Payment for information after, he says to her, it was not a question. She leans in towards him, and finally breaks her silence, speaking in a low murmur into her Uncles ear. The name Staghurst is mentioned, along with a few more particulars. He listens intently to the girl, his eyes gathering in every last tidbit, until she finishes. He asks no more questions of her, he has all that he needs.

  

She leaves, and her uncle reaches under the table and presses a button. Strike while the irons hot he is thinking, and then murmurs to himself, and this iron is bloody steam’en.

 

A rather oafish fellow, with keen eyes enters. The man at the table starts to bark out orders, orders that place into motion a string of events that will be carried out and completed straightaway. Orders that will totally cover any tracks made by a pair of events, one that occurred earlier in a dark alleyway,and a second that will occur well before cock crow

 

End of Acte 7,

Watch for the final Acte 8 ( Footfalls) coming soon

 

A passage taken from a collection of works written in 2004 regarding the influence of mystical phenomenon on psychosis.

  

Most people have very specific situations they link to occult related mass hysteria- The witch hunts of the 16th and 17th centuries & McCarthyism in the 1950s. One might even draw connections to the fear surrounding the supernatural aspects of the game Dungeons & Dragons. Today we focus on one specific, and much more recent event. The gruesome murder of 22 year old Jessica Willett that took place at The Scarlett Hotel on March 13th, 1999, better remembered as “The Scarlett Sacrament”

 

Four young women stand clustered at the front desk of the Scarlett Hotel. Three close friends, and one outsider. That much was evident even at a glance. Witnesses would later recount that the majority of their conversation circled around a concert they were meant to be attending and so the nervous energy of the group was easily brushed aside as anticipation. Easy enough to regard the separated individual as perhaps uncomfortable. Dressed with slightly less regard for modesty, and perhaps a tiny bit less clean cut than her companions Jessica Willett was easily marked the odd man out. Nobody gave the gaggle of girls a second glance. They weren't the only crowd of young adults on their way to this concert. Plenty of out of towners dressed in various levels of glam and grunge swarmed the hallways and loitered in the hallways. Glass shattered and furious screaming matches held behind doors were barely acknowledged. Just another raucous roar to add to the cacophony.

 

No, there was nothing special about this group of girls until about 2am the next morning. Not when a shriek of terror sounded from behind the doorway of Room 233. Not even when three girls emerged with horror stricken faces and makeup marred with trails of tears. It wasn't until one followed the officers inside to peer at the desecrated body of the fourth member of their group. Jessica lay, arms outstretched. Nearly saintly. Her flesh peppered with abrasions and the blossoming of new bruises, a tarot card in each open palm and the rest scattered at her feet.

Death.

The Devil.

Her face seemed to hold the brunt of the abuse, an image that will surely turn stomachs for decades to come. Small wooden crosses, tied haphazardly, were jammed into the woman’s eye sockets and a terrible spike pierced her glitter flaked cheeks.

 

The press flew with the story. OBVIOUSLY this girl’s three friends were innocents. They were good godly women who only came to this concert in order to befriend a troubled girl, you see? The girls spoke freely about how she was a classmate of theirs from a small rural school college. They knew she dabbled in the occult and they were worried for her. They saw a woman on the precipice of peril and were determined to be a good influence. They wanted to act as disciples to Jessica and the best way to do that was by taking interest in her and winning her over after they became friends. When they got to the hotel, however...they stated that Jessica didn't stay with them for long. She found a familiar face in the crowd, one that they said seemed dangerous. Frightening. A man among a group of degenerates wearing all black, with odd symbols scrawled onto their clothing. Try as they might, the girls could not tear her away from her newfound gaggle of heathens… so they went to the concert on their own. They didn't want to go, of course, but they hoped that she would find them there and they could pick up right where they left off. When they arrived at the hotel to find her body they were stricken with horror. “Possible Human Sacrifice” and “Dangerous Satanic Cult Killing” topped headlines nationwide. The religious symbology in conjunction with the gruesome murder could only point to desecration. The dangers of Heavy Metal, tarot and spirit boards were murmured among sewing circles. The terrible outcome of watching horror movies was preached from the pulpit… those could be blamed for this young woman’s death. They were a cross the nation could pin their fears upon, and so they did.

 

Some individuals were much more reluctant to pull out their torches. They claimed that something didn't quite add up. There were no unexplainable early check outs… and no groups checking in that fit the makeup of the supposed cult of murderers. Nobody could find anyone matching the descriptions the friend group provided that didn't have an airtight alibi. The tarot cards in the hands seemed… wrong. Amature. The choices of someone who simply saw the faces and names of the cards and took them at face value. Even Jessica herself didn't seem to match up with the image that these girls were painting. She seemed extremely...ordinary. Maybe a bit more ‘edgy’ than the average student at the small rural school, but only barely. Certainly not the blood drinker she was being made out to be. Then, the autopsy. None of her gruesome wounds had killed the woman. Instead it was the heavy dose of sedatives that eventually led to her death. She had no marks of restraint and the signs of a struggle were minimal. Things were not aligning, but the nation was roiling with righteous anger and they had something easy to blame.

 

Years later, with changes in the way DNA evidence was used, we would discover the truth of the thing. No longer could we paint Jessica’s death as the outcome of toying with darkness. Her death was instead caused by the righteous anger of the holy. Three young women who thought themselves victors of all that was good happened to find a target that would make them martyrs. They were whipped into a frenzy by their own brand of panic. Small harmless traits became compounded. Just different enough… just threatening enough that they could easily view Jessica as some terrible corrupting force. A woman who was acting as the right hand of Satan himself. She listened to the Devil’s music, after all, and dabbled in fortune telling and communing with the dead. Their fervor declared her a danger that they needed to stamp her out. If they couldn't do it with the conviction of their words, they would cleanse her by any means necessary. It was easy enough to slip in the things they needed with their luggage. Easy enough to disappear in the crowds of degenerates if they needed to leave. Easy enough to pin the blame on any faceless demon that might have found itself among the crowd that night. And so they made their own sacrifice on a different altar that night, in the name of good. In the name of justice and righteousness they created a Scarlett Sacrament. A story for the books. A warning against fear mongering and mass hysteria.

 

Still, even today, individuals claim that thefts occur in their rooms at the Scarlett Hotel believing wholeheartedly to have seen Jessica Willet’s ghostly figure carrying out the act.. Even going so far as to attribute violent crimes carried out on the premises to the long dead young woman. Every one of the claims related in some way to religious symbols. Even in her death she is a scapegoat for a fearful world. Jessica Willett- a sobering reminder that witch hunts still happen. That even with all our knowledge, we are not immune to the fear of the unknown and the horrors that fear can cause.

 

'This roadtrip is going to be great!', they had said.

Well, here I was, driving down a seemingly endless road in Kansas, and had been doing so for over two hours. I could hardly remember the last time I touched the wheel - this road just kept going straight ahead with not even the slightest hint of a curve. The scenery was no better and could be summed up in one word: plains. Green, flat, never-ending plains. Sure, ahead you had the majestic outline of the Rockies, and yes, it seemed to be pretty close. But it had already seemed close two hours ago. Like a mirage, taunting you with the promise of something better just to remain out of reach, and at this point I had stopped hoping.

Behind me, eight of my travel companions were all snoozing. Odd, since it was only mid-afternoon, but it seemed this environment had a sedative effect on everyone, not just me. Next to me sat my designated map reader who was the only reason I had not yet gone crazy. There was obviously no map reading to be done. Here there was only one direction: straight ahead. To his credit, he had instead taken it upon himself to keep me occupied and we had had some pretty interesting conversations. Ultimately though, even he had been reduced to just sitting there staring blindly into the distance. We were two friends suffering together in this seemingly static nightmare.

But wait! Surely the mountians were closer now? And we could even spot some of the hills coming up. This was it! It had to be! Yes, the road started to bend, and soon we found ourselves cruising through the foothills! The road flowing with the terrain around it - something new to see around every corner. And trees! Glorious trees!

I looked over at my fellow companion with a smile and he was smiling too. Finally we had some enjoyable driving ahead of us! Our perserverence had paid off!

- 'Good job Emil' I heard a voice from the back. 'Pull over as soon as you can and we'll switch drivers'.

It seemed I was destined to enjoy the foothills through a heavily tinted window in the back of an overcrowded van instead of of having the pleasure of driving through this wonderful landscape.

 

This was from a road trip I took in university with some friends, and although perhaps a bit exaggerated here, the road through Kansas into Colorado is certainly not the most exciting driving to be had ;) Boring driving aside, the trip was loads of fun and I would love to go back with the family some time. But yeah, I'm a trees and mountains kinda guy, and open landscapes, though pretty in its own way, is not where I feel at home. Trees please!

The American writer Katherine Parker-Magyar, residing in New York has traveled to 40 countries. She had a crush on the village of Sidi Bou Said. 💕💞

This admiration, she expressed in her column at the American website The Daily Beast entitled: Forget Santorini, Check Out Sidi Bou Said in Tunisia 💕💞

Here are some excerpts from his chronicle:

Less popular than Morocco or Egypt, Tunisia is a hidden gem for most Americans in North Africa—and a quick ride on the TGM train revealed the country’s biggest surprise of all. 💕💞

Only 12 miles north of the nation’s capital, Sidi Bou Said is an ancient blue and white town overlooking the Gulf of Tunis. Perched atop a steep cliff, the town, aptly nicknamed Ville Bleue, sparkles above the Mediterranean. As everyone with a social media account knows, this two-toned ambiance is most famously found in Santorini. Although travelers are obsessed with blue and white architecture, Sidi Bou Said has yet to be swarmed by Yacht Week castaways or selfie-stick wielding families of six. 💕💟🙌💞❤️😀☕🌷

The town’s lack of social media exposure is sure to appeal to the discerning traveler, as will its mixture of North African influences, Arabic hospitality, and Mediterranean ambiance that is unique to the Maghreb. The village by the sea remains relatively untouched by mass tourism influences, astounding in this age of digital globalization when it feels like no corner of the world has yet to be geotagged. 💕💟🙌💞❤️😀☕🌷

This town of endlessly photogenic proportions has long been a bohemian retreat. In the early 20th century, Tunis was an alternate Paris for artists of the Lost Generation, and Sidi Bou Said its glittering Montmartre. It inspired French writers (Simone de Beauvoir, Collette, Michel Foucault) and painters (Henri Matisse, who painted its famous blue doors). 😍❤️

Upon visiting the city, the artist Paul Klee declared : Colour has taken possession of me. No longer do I have to chase after it, I know that it has hold of me forever. 💕💟🙌💞❤️😀☕🌷

A century later, Klee’s words hold true. But you don’t have to be a famous painter to capture this dreamy ambiance: This painted city is an Instagram lover’s dream. The color scheme reflects the natural environment: the icily gorgeous North African sky, the cerulean Mediterranean sea. The light in North Africa is unlike anywhere else in the world—pale, nearly iridescent—and never is it more beautiful than in Sidi Bou Said. If this sounds dramatic, I assure you one trip to the Maghreb would demonstrate my point. 💕💟🙌💞❤️😀☕🌷

But if you don’t trust me, trust André Gide: the writer who described life in the city as bathing in a fluid, mother-of-pearl sedative. 😍❤️

I’m happy to report the sedating atmosphere also alleviated my post-break up woes. There’s nothing so restorative as overseas travel, or as vindicating for me as an Instagram posted halfway across the world. Don’t mind the no filter needed and blue doors in the background. As the locals would say: chic, c’est la vie. » 😍❤️

 

I am uploading early today because I have to do another sleep study. I flunked the last one because I only slept 2 hours. Hell, that's normal for me.

Whatever

Lila and I are still flying out of El Paso this Thursday. Not matter what.

As I understand it, they are going to give me something to make me sleep. The ER doctor told me not to take any sedatives because I might not wake up. The sleep center people assure me that with the mask and machine I won't stop breathing.

What can go wrong?

Lila is going to stay with me this time, to make sure they get it right. LOL!

Created for Magic Unicorn Pink challenge

 

Fluidr on black ~ View small or *click* to view large ~

 

The rose bush is a small shrub with thorny stalks and dark green leaves and soft velvety blooms. Pink roses are the roses used to make essential oils.

*For me... a dying Rose represents...Always holding in my heart - in the memory of those who have died and gone before us*

 

The essential oil rose is sought after for its aphrodisiac, and as a tonic for the heart and for its uplifting mental characteristics. The rose can be found worldwide, but in France, Morocco, Bulgaria, China and India it is mostly grown to produce its essential oil. The rose essential oil is extracted by steam distillation from fresh petals. It is used for its antidepressant, antiseptic, antiviral, laxative and tonic properties. Rose oil has a rich flowery aroma, and it is often blended with other essential oil such as bergamot, geranium, lavender and Roman chamomile when used in aromatherapy mixtures.

 

Roses have been a romantic symbol throughout history. It is the flower of love and marriage. It has been said that Cleopatra wore rose oil when she first met Mark Anthony to capture his love. The Romans used roses at weddings and funerals, and they scattered rose petals at banquets to prevent drunkenness. Persian Warriors are said to have adorned their shields with red roses. The rose was the symbol of many armies in medieval times. The rose has also long been used as part of mediation rituals for the monks.

 

In today’s aromatherapy it is often used for the skin, rose essential oil is good for all skin conditions, especially mature or sensitive skins. Roses play a psychological role; it has a calming effect for grief, resentment, anger and depression. Rose essential oil has a sedative effect, which aids in times of shock and bereavement. It is used to ease nervous tension and stress, and lifts the heart.

 

Also - Alex ~ Fuji and I ~ informed me - roses used to make a strong alcoholic drink in Bulgaria, similar to the raki, called "giulovica",

Thanks for that ma dear..:o)

BELIEVE IT!

I earned a "FREE" 24lb. turkey

at my local supermarket I cooked it this last week. We have been eating it for days! Turkey dinners, turkey salad, hot turkey/gravy sandwiches. I was at work yesterday after eating turkey for lunch and dinner...my eyes were heavy and I just couldn't seem to snap out of it, then I remembered:

 

Turkey does have the makings of a natural sedative in it, an amino acid called tryptophan.

Tryptophan helps the body produce the B-vitamin niacin, which, in turn, helps the body produce serotonin, a remarkable chemical that acts as a calming agent in the brain and plays a key role in sleep. SO....if you eat a lot of turkey, your body would produce more serotonin and you would feel calm and want a nap.

 

“Her king had to travel to the edge of the world to fight a great war, but he did not want to return years later to an old woman. He consulted his trusted apothecary to try to find a way to preserve his wife's youthful beauty. The apothecary, well versed in exotic botany, led an expedition to obtain a flower known as Royal Nightshade.

The pollen from the flower was rumored to have powerful sedative properties far beyond slowing the rhythms of the heart. Inhaling enough of it could prevent the hand of time from gripping a single cell of one's body. They gathered every Royal Nightshade from the known realms and made her a bed of flowers and petals in a hidden chamber high in the keep's spire. There she was laid to rest, and the pollen carried out its role.

Everyone knew the war could last a decade or more, but after 25 years many began to assume the entire army had been routed or even killed. Not a single soldier had returned, nor had any message been received. As the years tallied the maids no longer even gazed into her cell of perpetual hibernation, finding her permanent gaze of empty hope to be deeply unsettling.” -M.D. Walter

 

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Poppies have long been used as a symbol of sleep, peace, and death: Sleep because the opium extracted from them is a sedative, and death because of the blood-red color of the common red poppy.

Italian postcard no. 167. This is Marion Davies, not Pauline Starke. Collection: Marlene Pilaete.

 

Marion Davies (1897-1961) was one of the great comedic actresses of the silent era. She starred in nearly four dozen films between 1917 and 1937.

 

Marion Davies was born Marion Cecelia Douras in the borough of Brooklyn, New York in 1897. She had been bitten by the show biz bug early as she watched her sisters perform in local stage productions. She wanted to do the same. As Marion got older, she tried out for various school plays and did fairly well. Once her formal education had ended, Marion began her career as a chorus girl in New York City, first in the Pony Follies and eventually in the famous Ziegfeld Follies. Her stage name came when she and her family passed the Davies Insurance Building. One of her sisters called out "Davies!!! That shall be my stage name," and the whole family took on that name. Marion wanted more than to dance. Acting, to her, was the epitome of show business and she aimed her sights in that direction. She had met newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst and went to live with him at his San Simeon castle. They stayed together for over 30 years, while Hearst’s wife Millicent resided in New York. Millicent would not grant him a divorce so that he could marry Davies. San Simeon is a spectacular and elaborate mansion, which now stands as a California landmark. At San Simeon, the couple threw elaborate parties, which were frequented by all of the top names in Hollywood and other celebrities including the mayor of New York City, President Calvin Coolidge and Charles Lindbergh. When she was 20, Marion made her first film, Runaway Romany (George W. Lederer, 1917). Written by Marion and directed by her brother-in-law, the film wasn't exactly a box-office smash, but for Marion, it was a start and a stepping stone to bigger things. The following year Marion starred in The Burden of Proof (John G. Adolfi, Julius Steger, 1918) and Cecilia of the Pink Roses (Julius Steger, 1918). The latter film was backed by newspaper magnate, William Randolph Hearst, with whom Marion would continue a long-term romantic relationship for the next 30 years. Because of Hearst's newspaper empire, Marion would be promoted as no actress before her. She appeared in numerous films over the next few years, including the superior comedy Getting Mary Married (Allan Dwan, 1919) with Norman Kerry, the suspenseful The Cinema Murder (George D. Baker, 1919) and the drama The Restless Sex (Leon D'Usseau, Robert Z. Leonard, 1920) with Carlyle Blackwell.

 

In 1922, Marion Davies appeared as Mary Tudor in the historical romantic epic, When Knighthood Was in Flower (Robert G. Vignola, 1922). It was a film into which Hearst poured millions of dollars as a showcase for her. Although Marion didn't normally appear in period pieces, she turned in a wonderful performance and the film became a box office hit. Marion remained busy, one of the staples in movie houses around the country. At the end of the twenties, it was obvious that sound films were about to replace the silent films. Marion was nervous because she had a stutter when she became excited and worried she wouldn't make a successful transition to the new medium, but she was a true professional who had no problem with the change. Time after time, film after film, Marion turned in masterful performances. Her best films were the comedies The Patsy (1928) also with Marie Dressler, and Show People (1929) with William Haines, both directed by King Vidor. In 1930, two of her better films were Not So Dumb (King Vidor, 1930) and The Florodora Girl (Harry Beaumont, 1930), with Lawrence Gray. By the early 1930s, Marion had lost her box office appeal and the downward slide began. Hearst tried to push MGM executives to hire Marion for the role of Elizabeth Barrett in The Barretts of Wimpole Street (Sidney Franklin, 1934). Louis B. Mayer had other ideas and hired producer Irving Thalberg's wife Norma Shearer instead. Hearst reacted by pulling his newspaper support for MGM without much impact. By the late 1930s Hearst was suffering financial reversals and it was Marion who bailed him out by selling off $1 million of her jewelry. Hearst's financial problems also spelled the end to her career. Although she had made the transition to sound, other stars fared better and her roles became fewer and further between. In 1937, a 40 year old Marion filmed her last movie, Ever Since Eve (Lloyd Bacon, 1937) with Robert Montgomery. Out of films and with the intense pressures of her relationship with Hearst, Marion turned to more and more to alcohol. Despite those problems, Marion was a very sharp and savvy business woman. When Hearst lay dying in 1951 at age 88, Davies was given a sedative by his lawyer. When she awoke several hours later, she discovered that Hearst had passed away and that his associates had removed his body as well as all his belongings and any trace that he had lived there with her. His family had a big formal funeral for him in San Francisco, from which she was banned. Later, Marion married for the first time at the age of 54, to Horace Brown. The union would last until she died of cancer in 1961 in Los Angeles, California. She was 64 years old. Upon Marion’s niece Patricia Van Cleve Lake's death, it was revealed she had been the love child of Davies and Hearst. The love affair of Marion Davies and William Randolph Hearst was mirrored in the films Citizen Kane (Orson Welles, 1941), RKO 281 (Benjamin Ross, 1999), and The Cat's Meow (Peter Bogdanovich, 2001). In Citizen Kane (1941), the title character's second wife (played by Dorothy Comingore—an untalented singer whom he tries to promote—was widely assumed to be based on Davies. But many commentators, including Citizen Kane writer/director Orson Welles himself, have defended Davies' record as a gifted actress, to whom Hearst's patronage did more harm than good.

 

Sources: Denny Jackson (IMDb), Wikipedia and IMDb.

 

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