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15 servings, 4 points per serving
It's called "dump cake" because you just dump everything in, stir, and bake.
1 box cake mix
29 oz canned fruit
1 egg
2 Tbsp ground cinnamon
2 Tbsp Splenda blend
1 second spray Pam
Mix egg, cake mix (any type), and canned fruit (any type) in a mixing bowl.
Spray 9x13 pan with cooking spray. Pour mixture into pan. Sprinkle cinnamon and Splenda over the top.
Bake at 350 degrees for about 20 minutes.
Pictured is a butter pecan cake mix with peaches. Other delightful flavor combos include:
cherries with chocolate cake
apples with white cake
pineapples with strawberry cake
The possibilities are endless!
It's also amazing with some RediWhip or CoolWhip on top.
I got sunburned today. This is an insane situation because
1)Sun safety is a real passion of mine and
2)Brisbane is flooding and for most of my walk I was having to protect my camera (and myself) from rain.
Yep, this is a nation of extremes. It is so true that it never rains but it pours.
Oswald was nothing special as a cyclone but after being downgraded to a tropical low he really packed a punch. Belting rain and terrifying winds have been hitting Queensland finally letting up just a bit this morning.
So we went out for a walk and it was hard not to be immediately hit by thoughts of 2011 and the massive floods that hit the city. Then, like now, it was after the sun came out that the worst of the flooding hit from water coming down the Brisbane River from further upstream.
We are reassured that the levels will be nothing like what we experienced last time but everyone was talking about it. Today at West End along the river there was clear evidence of flooding. The Citycat terminal was under water, parks and roads were inundated and residents were starting to sandbag units in preparation for the worst of it from noon tomorrow. Water logged birds were emerging to try and dry off and get a feed.
My Mum is still without power and while the lights are on at our place there is no phone, no pay TV and (gasp!) no internet. While the teen considers the lack of technology to be an intolerable hardship we know how lucky we are. Our thoughts are with those who are not doing so well.
“...because a higher order of being is trying to express itself in it and irradiates it violently.” ― Bruno Schulz, The Sanatorium under the Sign of the Hourglass
(Ilfotec DD-X 1+4, 10 minutes)
Background replacement
-why? Because I only had a white 2X3-foot board as a backdrop.
Head replacement (lol that sounds so funny)
-why? Because the shot of him smiling was ruined by his very blurry hand
Slight Retouching of eyes for a simpler catch light
-why? Because the two large catchlights in the original were distracting. A simple catch light keeps the focus on the little guy.
The complete set of my Gene's pictures is on my Ipernity account : www.ipernity.com/doc/nylonbleu/album/404435
Carlino is named after the cutest dog on earth. Why? Because it’s the cutest font ever made.
www.myfonts.com/fonts/pio-pio/carlino/
Especially intended for stationery use, it’s loaded with lots of alternates and ligatures, not only in the lowercase but in the uppercase. All of them are Open-Type programmed, so the possibilities of having something unique are endless.
Following nowadays trend, Carlino is a multi-layered font: shades, holes and dots were made to work alone or all together with fantastic results! The way it works is so easy that It’s impossible not to enjoy it: Just type a word; then the same one set in another style and voilà!
The font has also a lot of sweet ornaments to embellish your projects. Find inside: hearts, fleurons, party icons, flags, and the funniest animals.
To accompany Carlino, there’s nothing better than Carlino Capitals. Its cute flavor makes everything more lovely.
Have fun with Carlino and oh! don't forget to feed this little pug or it will bark all day long!
Special thanks to Maximiliano Sproviero, whose advice helped me make this dream come true.
Because we are crazy, Dale, Tracy, Carmel and I decided to have our hand at some Bahamanian parasailing.
Because we are crazy, Dale, Tracy, Carmel and I decided to have our hand at some Bahamanian parasailing and driving the boat (some of us, in the WRONG direction LOL...
Because we are crazy, Dale, Tracy, Carmel and I decided to have our hand at some Bahamanian parasailing and driving the boat (some of us, in the WRONG direction LOL...
This is my hair in the morning.
I laughed silently to myself after I took this picture because I was reminded of
the old Pantene adverts from the 80s featuring Kelly LeBrock in which she said "don't hate me because I'm beautiful - this is my hair in the morning." The hair on this camel conjured up the memory of her "hair in the morning".
I hate that advertising seeps into our brains as such.
More people know product jingles than know their own history.
If you want a bit of the old jog down memory lane you can view the advert I speak
of by clicking on the word "This" above.
=)
Copyright 2013 Val.
All rights reserved.
No unauthorized use, reproduction or distribution without prior permission.
I included this view of the parade because I wanted to point out how darn polite everyone watching this thing was. They all sat down on the ground! That way everyone could see over everyone else! If you stood up in front of someone you were reprimanded (politely of course).
The Sansha Taisai (also called the "Three Floats Festival" or the "Hachinohe Summer Festival") is a beautful festival, the center of which is 26 huge floats that are paraded through the streets. They are accompanied by people in tiger and dragon costumes, samurai on horses and shrines from the three temples that sponsor the event.
No one goes to Norfolk by accident. I means its not on the way to anywhere else, so those who come, we must assume, want to go there either to visit of live. And in Kings Lynn, out in the bandit country of west Norfolk, you really only come here because you're going to Kings Lynn, or gong on to Hunstanton or trying to escape via the A17.
I was posted to RAF Marham at the beginning of the 90s for two years, though before getting married we used to go to The Globe and other such delights, the finer points of its trading past were somewhat lost on me.
So, a long held plan was to revisit, so when Jools suggested I go away for a few days, King's Lynn was the answer.
The answer to the question nobody asked.
I found a cheap place to stay, paid, and so come Tuesday morning, after coffee and packing, Jools dropped me off at Dover Priory, where I found that they only sell "anytime" returns at that hour, and the £88 return I saw online the night before was going to be that amount for just the single to get me there.
Sigh.
I paid, and hoped I could get something cheap on the way back on Wednesday, though I was seeing how I could use this to factor in a stop off in Ely on the way back.
I took a seat once the train pulled in, and a working couple, colleagues at Saga, sat opposite, and she began talking about how undervalued she was there, and how people were not promoted on merit, and then they left, the company had to pay double to get someone to take over those tasks.
Such a familiar story.
Anyway, the train wasn't full, so all very pleasant, and just a walk over the road to King's Cross, so time to go to M&S for something for breakfast, then ambled over only to find I had just 90 seconds to gallop over the platform 9 to get the train, which was three quarters full.
The young lady in the seat in front took an hour to re-apply her make up using the phone camera as a mirror. I don't know, but it that normal amount of time to achieve the "natural" look?
I don't know.
I ate my fruit and pastrami sandwich to follow, eating as the countryside rolled by, happy in my air-conditioned chariot.
Through Cambridge, where most passengers got off, and off into the fens beyond and north, where once upon a time this was endless mires, marshes and stagnant pools, where the Isle of Ely, once an actual island, is visible for ten miles before arriving,
Tomorrow, I thought, I'll explore the Isle of Eels once again.
The train eased out and after the junction with lines leading north west and east, we headed north to Downham Market and King's Lynn beyond.
A family got on at one of the small intermediate stations, two older parents to a hyper ten year old boy who wanted everything, but out here in the wild west, there was no signal, phones could not be pared, so there was just looking out the window at the flat line of the horizon and the drainage sewers and sluices.
We arrived in King's Lynn just before eleven, and the heat hit like it did when I worked in Vegas. I walked out of the station, over the main road, the family following me as the father tried to cope with two suitcases, their son and a cowardly small dog, stopping every ten yards to collect everything that had been dropped.
They had to get to the bus station to go on to Hunstanton or some other glittering resort dotted with casinos and pleasure beaches.
Their bus was in, waiting.
I walked on.
I walked through a shopping centre exotically called "The Vancouver Centre". I couldn't see nothing in common, but who knows?
I walked through and along the main street to a junction, where I felt I should sit down and have a swig of the remaining pop I had. I was outside the King's Lynn branch of Wimpy.
Wimpy, a British fast food chain based on at table slow food, named after a character in Popeye, so of course King's Lynn had a huge branch.
There were signs to the historical quarter, so after a while I set off, heading for the Purfleet Sluice and the Customs House.
Did I mention it was hot?
I got shots, then walked on to the quayside, where candy-coloured buoys were lined up for their next duty, and behind the quay, a warren of cobbled lanes with brick houses and courtyards and warehouses, showing how prosperous the town clearly once was.
A lady saw me taking shots and made sure I came to her private yard to see the large, church-like tower built to keep an eye on incoming ships.
It was getting hotter.
I walked down the quay, then into Saturday Market Place where there is a market on Saturdays. One side is lines with the Guildhall and the other the Minster church.
I took shots of the Guildhall, and it being half midday, went in search of food and drink, and came upon Wenns Chop and Ale House, where I asked if they had cold bears (beers). They did.
I ordered a pint of Coke and burger and fries.
The place was quiet, but efficient, with enough staff to fill glasses and bring sauces.
I eat up but order another half pint of coke to build fluids up, then after paying walk over to the Minster to take shots, before an organ recital meant children and photographers made their escape. Not that I don't like organ music, church organ music, but this had a shrillness to it, that wasn't altogether pleasant.
It was then I received the call.
The room where I was booked into, had a flooded toilet and so I would not be able use it, so there was nowhere to stay. Something was mentioned about a refund, but I was in town, there was a music festival on and almost no rooms.
I tried a hotel portal, got a room for eighty quid, like I had a choice, then repaired to a pub for some more cold beer.
I watched the Hundred cricket as I drank, and people watched a family as they tried to claim control over their finances after falling out with a son who had messed up their mail be redirecting it, or something.
So calls were made between pints, games of pool and going outside for a gasper.
I drank on, and the cricket carried on.
I had three pints of ice cold German beer. It was wet and cold, which is all that mattered as the hottest part of the day blazed down outside.
It was five, so I had better find my room for the night. Now, here's the thing with these hotel portals: you don't know if its an hotel or just a room in a house.
This was a room in a house.
And it was a 15 minute walk, but in temperatures of 33 degrees back round to the station and then on a bit, and I had to check the address twice as I walked past it three times.
I had been texted a code to get in, and a code for my room on the top floor.
So far so good.
The room as in a converted attic, a foot from hundreds of tiles that had been baking all day in the sun. It was like an oven.
I should have gone to the station and went home, but using the desk fan, I cooled down, though any time away from the bed and the fan meant I was sweating like a waterfall in a couple of minutes.
I hoped it would cool down. I had a shower in the bathroom one floor down, went back up and was as hot and sweaty as before in ten minutes.
There was water to drink, and I wasn't hungry, so I whiled away the evening until dusk, when I collapsed on the bed and facing into the full force of the fan, fell asleep.
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Kings Lynn is Norfolk's third largest town, but it feels bigger than the second largest, Great Yarmouth, because it is so far from anywhere else. Lynn is proudly and inarguably the centre of its large rural hinterland, the gateway to the Ouse delta and the largest town on the Wash.
It is a fascinating town. In the middle ages, Lynn was one of the dozen biggest towns in England, and until 1960 or so it could boast one of the finest medieval centres of any town in England. During the course of the next twelve years, about a quarter of this was destroyed, to be replaced by dull, soulless pedestrian shopping concourses; these are now themselves being taken down, and replaced with superstores and car parks. Given that traffic in the town is already horrendous, you might think that they'd be better off trying to keep traffic out rather than attract it.
But much remains of Medieval Lynn, and of Georgian Lynn as well, for it was a wealthy merchant town until well into the 19th century. The geography of the town is complex, but satisfying. As the Ouse silted up, the mouth of the river moved westwards, and the town was extended towards it in a series of phases. Parallel with the river front, and several hundred metres from it, the main street connects two open spaces; at the north is the wide square of the Tuesday Market, and at the other is the more cluttered Saturday Market. This was the heart of the town at the end of the medieval period, and contains the finest buildings, including the magnificent 16th century guildhall. Opposite is the vast bulk of St Margaret. The church's three towers rise high above the Saturday Market and the narrow streets around, the huge bulk of the nave and chancel brooding at the ends of openings, new and intriguing vistas presenting themselves. It is one of the finest urban medieval moments in England.
St Margaret is far bigger than any of the Norwich medieval churches, and is second in size in East Anglia only to St Nicholas at Great Yarmouth, which is the largest medieval parish church in England. From the west, the overall layout consists of two western towers separated by a west front, a clerestoried and aisled nave, a central tower above a crossing with transepts, and a clerestoried chancel. Pevsner, who has measured it, tells us that the building is 235 feet long from end to end.
To understand it, it is best to consider the order in which it was built. A Norman Priory church came first, probably on the site of the present nave, but little trace of it survives. The Priory was founded in 1101, five years after Norwich cathedral, by the same man, Herbert de Losinga. The Priory's fortunes burgeoned, and about the middle of the 12th century the two massive towers were begun at the west end. They would take almost a century to complete. The south-west tower is pretty much in its original form, changing from Norman to Early English as it climbs. The tower to the north-west was either not completed, or was for some reason taken down and replaced, because what we see today is largely the work of the 15th century. It would continue to cause trouble, as we shall see.
In the 13th century, the body of the church was rebuilt, the vast chancel being added in the height of the Early English style, with a walkway in the clerestory. The east window was added in the 15th century; it is a curious rose shape, although we need to be aware that it was reconstructed by Ewan Christian as part of a 19th century restoration. Beneath it, in the external east wall, are three large and elaborate image niches, which may have contained a rood group. Because of the layout of the town, this east front is hidden away in a narrow side street, and is easily missed.
Also in the 15th century, the crossing tower was surmounted by a lantern, probably a bit like that at Ely cathedral, 20 miles away. The nave was completed, and the upper exterior of the chancel was redone, retaining the internal structural features. The west front with its porch and massive window was completed, as was the north-west tower. Both towers were surmounted by steeples, and the church was now at the peak of its glory, spired, battlemented, replete with gargoyles and grotesques. It must have looked like a cathedral.
The Priory was dissolved along with all the others in the 1530s, and after the Reformation the church fulfilled its new role as a large, urban protestant preaching space. The lack of emphasis on the upkeep of buildings in the 17th and 18th centuries served it ill, however. About midday on the 8th of September 1741, the spire and the top of the north-west tower came down in a storm, right into the heart of the nave, pretty much destroying it.
It took five years to replace the ruined nave, during which time the congregation retreated into the chancel. The rebuilding was the work of the architect Matthew Brettingham, most famous for Holkham Hall. Perhaps because country houses were being fashionably designed in a kind of proto-gothick at this time, Brettingham used the same language for the nave of St Margaret; intelligently, because there was no liturgical imperative for the aisles, arcades and clerestory. The result is curiously modern, a smoothed-off Gothic with wide, languid arches and elephantine pillars. The lantern tower was removed, as was the spire on the south-west tower. Externally, that was pretty much it; the Victorians tarted up the transepts and removed a row of shops that had been built on to the north side (hence the curious north porch with its tall arch to the east). The clock on the south-west tower shows the time of high tides.
And so, to the inside. This is one of the most welcoming of all urban churches. It is open everyday, and the people greet you warmly as if they're really grateful that you've come; which they probably are, because Lynn is a socially deprived area and benefits from tourism when it can. There is a little cafe in the south transept where you can get a cup of tea and a bun. It is possible to enter from the north porch, which is done out really well in a full-on 1960s style in modern glass and slate. You certainly should not miss this, but for the full effect it is really important to enter St Margaret for the first time through the west doors. As you go in, notice on your right the markers that record successive town floods in the 19th and 20th centuries.
You step into a vastness that swallows all sound. The arcades stretch away into the distance like a forest glade, and you will see straight away that, as little as the Victorians found to do outside, no effort was spared by them internally to bring the church up to scratch. An acreage of shiny encaustic tiles spreads before you, and the windows to north and south are all full of Victorian glass, most of which depicts Saints, but only some of which is good, I'm afraid. George Gilbert Scott was responsible for the restoration of the nave, and the font is, again, not the best example of 19th century work, although it looks rather imposing on its high pedestal. However, be patient; the nave is not St Margaret's best feature.
Brettingham had raised the nave floor, and when Scott lowered it again he revealed the bases of the original pillars of the arcades, which are curiously elaborate, like elephants feet, under Brettingham's columns. The nave is a good place to wander; it is not a complex space, but each vista is pleasing, and some are of interest; note the way that the west end of the south aisle ends in a Norman arch, and you can see the roofline of the original Norman church above it. There is a massive Norman pillar and arch facing south from the base of the north-west tower. The soaring chancel arch is surmounted by a Charles II royal arms, which looks a little lost up there.
You step beneath the chancel arch and immediately it gets more complex and more interesting; you wonder at what must have been lost in the nave. Now the eye is drawn by Bodley's 1899 reredos, a glorious Flemish-style confection of angels and Saints. In such a large sanctuary it does not impose as it would in a smaller church, instead providing a backdrop to the complexities of the chancel. In the middle of the chancel is one of those big latten eagle lecterns with lion feet, so familiar from this part of Norfolk. This is the best of them, I think, being from the same workshop as the one at Redenhall. A modern sculpture of the Blessed Virgin and child has been intelligently placed to the north of the sanctuary. Again, the hugeness of the space means that nothing dominates, and allows you to take in the whole chancel with all its details.
Most striking of all is the clerestory. Unusually, it has a walkway within it, the inner pillars being 13th century and the exterior windows 15th century, so the arrangement must have existed from the start. The south chancel aisle extends to the east end, tapering slightly, while that to the north is truncated. The aisles are separated by some of the most elaborate screens in any Norfolk church, wonders of intricate and characterful carvings. In particular, the little figures that form the conceits of tiny corbels to the arcading. The best date from the early part of the 14th century. The capitals to the arcade are also full and elaborate, full of intricacies. Shadowy beyond, the chancel aisle chapels are secretive places, each furnished in a modern style for private prayer.
Ewan Christian was responsible for the 19th century restoration of the chancel, and it was much more successful than Scott's work in the nave; even the encaustic tiles lend a sympathetic rigor to the place, as if acknowledging that this is the business place of the church. There are reminders of the Priory status of St Margaret before the Reformation; return stalls with misericord seats fill the western part of the chancel. The best of the seat carvings features a mysterious green man, but all the heads are full of 14th century confidence.
Coming back into the crossing, there is another screen which is equally remarkable in its own way. This is across the north transept, which now houses the 1754 organ. The lower part consists of blank arcading, while above there are two levels of open arches. It is dated 1584, but as well as Thomas Gurlin, the mayor, who was perhaps the donor, it also records James I becoming king in 1603. The wood is a delicious chocolatey brown, as evocative of its age as the 14th century screen in the chancel.
East Anglia's two largest brasses are reset in the south chancel aisle. They date from the middle of the 14th century, immediately after the Black Death; they depict former mayor Adam of Walsoken, who was carried away by it, and Robert Braunche, who was himself mayor at the time. They are not English brasses, but Flemish, being uncut latten plates, and reflect Lynn's links with the continent. Each man is depicted with his two wives; either bigamy was a privilege extended to burgesses of 14th century ports, or the first died and each man then remarried. The plates are about two metres tall, and there are elaborate illustrations at the feet of the figures.
St Margaret is a pleasing church to visit; it is not a complicated building, but repays time spent poking into its corners. Peter and I were in here for nearly an hour without getting bored. As with many big, Victorianised buildings, there is not really much of an atmosphere; but unlike the Lavenhams of this world this is not a pompous building. It has a feel of the thousands of ordinary townspeople who have known it over the centuries as their church; less a matter of civic pride, than recalling busy lives lived in its shadows.
Simon Knott, November 2005
clickeventonline.com/event/cultura/161028-BecauseofLoveCo...
Created by our Director of Music, Jorge Rodriguez and supported by Anibal Cruz
Meet the Artists
Anibal Cruz
Cuban born tenor Anibal Cruz was drawn to music and performed from an early age at multiple events in Cuba.
A gifted musician, Anibal's love of music is an integral part of who he is, however he started his professional career not as a musician, but as a medical doctor. He entered the Instituto Superior de Ciencias Medicas (ISCM) - Facultad de Medicina in Camaguey, Cuba in 1980, received a Doctor of Medicine degree in 1987, obtained specialization in Gynecology and Obstetrics in 1990, and practiced OB/GYN medicine in Cuba until 2001. During those years, he skillfully combined his medical career and his passion for music by remaining actively involved in music events. He appeared in Cuban television programs, recorded songs with notable interpreters, and earned numerous music awards.
In 2001 Anibal left Cuba for Mexico with an engagement as soloist of the group 'Oasis de Cuba', and remained with this group for several years.
Today Anibal lives in Miami, FL with his family, and enjoys a music career as vocalist in group and solo performances.
Jorge Emilio Pis-Rodriguez
Cuban born pianist Jorge Emilio Pis-Rodriguez passion for music was evident at the early age of 4. He started his professional career in The National School of Arts in Havana, and completed his studies at the prestigious Tchaikovsky Moscow State Conservatory, where he received a Master's degree in piano performance and chamber music accompaniment, and graduated with honors.
Jorge Emilio has performed as a soloist, accompaniment to gifted vocalists, and with renowned orchestras in his native Cuba, Europe, the United States and other countries. He has won numerous awards, and his extensive repertoire encompasses diverse music genres from classical to contemporary, and his own compositions.
Jorge Emilio resides in Miami where he regularly performs and continuously participates in diverse musical events.
He is also a talented music teacher and an outstanding mentor always willing to encourage young musicians, and lend support to others in a remarkable manner.
I forgot to overexpose this roll (because it's old), so most pictures are underexposed.
This is a really cool cove near my college that I'm attending next year (I took this picture when I visited with my parents last month) (I have decent pictures (I hope) on the roll of film that I haven't yet developed from my Bronica)
I really like a lot of the pictures I've put up lately. I feel like I'm getting better. I don't know.
But, in some ways I'm not having as much fun. I'm trying too hard, I think, to get a "good picture" rather than do it because it's fun and to put things up that I like.
I just took this. It's not perfect, but I love it. I love the colors, and the blur, and the fact that the flower is dead. And the dirty dishes behind it. And that I only took seven or eight shots rather than twenty! Ha!
So, for awhile I think I'm just going to put up things I like, that are weird, or bad, or boring, or whatever. They may all suck, but I don't care. Maybe that's the point. Maybe I just need to be bad (or worse!) for awhile! Here goes!
Because of the new camera installations, the exhaust gasses from this vent needed to be re-routed away from the bottom of the fuselage, so they didn't obstruct the cameras view.
All parts hand fabricated from stainless steel.
Redone because I had rushed up the first one after stretching it out to fit the music, and it was jerky and overlong. This one is under 25 seconds as apposed to the first one that was 108 seconds. I also changed the music. I learned some batch processing along the way. sorry I lost your comments.
Because it's not a Road Runner, and something has to be making that dust trail, right? Lost in the 50s Cruise Night, Marley Station Mall, Glen Burnie, MD, April 14, 2018.
Because each other can believe in both the car and the driver, a run is fun.
Such a car is Porsche. It is the fellow who is not just a machine!
Türen einer öffentlichen Toilette in Schaftalberg in der Steiermark.
Doors and doorknobs in styria.
Türen & Türgriffe in der Steiermark
I got a problem and I don’t know what to do about it
Even if I did, I don’t know if I would quit but I doubt it
I’m taken by the thought of it, and I know this much is true
Baby, you have become my addiction, I’m so strung out on you
I can barely move but I like it
And it’s all because of you
And it’s all because…
Never get enough,
He’s the sweetest drug
Muchas cosas que hacer, he tenido pegada esta cancion <3 me encanta . Gracias por sus comentarios :)