Change: A Battle Story Episode Three

When I woke up we were flying over what Andrea said was Wyoming. I got my washcloth from Andrea and started sucking on it, i colored and played games with Taylor. I Spy was my favorite one, i never knew how to play that one. We landed on top of a roof and Austin carried me out and down to the nurse's station. They already had a room ready for me, it was room 777. When i got into the room i had to get a hospital gown on until the next morning, when i would get a pretty dress on and go to court. After being there for about two hours my new nurse, Nurse Lydia, came in with a big, gray machine and cold mittens, i have to have another round of chemotherapy. "I'm going to put some apple medicine in your back s-" I cut her off "It's called Chemo, mommy and daddy told me." "Okay... i'm going to put the Chemo in your back, put these on your hands and i'll get some ice packs for your feet, so your nails stay pretty." She untied my gown and rubbed my back. I looked over and saw Taylor and Andrea trying not to cry, I got scared because mommy usually held me and i started to cry. Austin and Taylor came over, Austin held my hand and Taylor picked me up and let me sit on her lap. Nurse Lydia put the needle in and i squeezed Austin's hand really hard. "Ow. Ow. Ow ow ow ow ow ow." I didn't pay much attention to him, all i knew was that my back was on fire. I started crying more. It stopped after about fifteen minutes when i fell asleep. I woke up really early in the morning and saw Andrea ...

Jonas Brothers Story Ep. 18

JB 18 Joe: wats wrong with frogs?? Nick: *runs to the bathroom and knocks on the door* Carma ru ok? Carma *Carma comes out of the bathroom and her face is pale* Joe: Carma? Carma: lets get Ellie to the hospital Nick: but carma wat's happening Carma: nothing lets get her some help come on *They get Ellie into the car and drive to the hospital* AT THE HOSPITAL *Nick, Carma and joe waited in the waiting room* Dr. were r Ellies parents *Nick and Joe look at Carma* Carma: Our Mom is in New Jersey Dr. What abt DAD Carma: umm... he died a couple yrs ago Dr. Im srry and ur her sister Carma: Yea and this is her boyfriend Joe and her friend Nick Joe: how is she Dr. She had a panic attack can you tell me wat happened b4 u realized she uhh.. wasn't ok Joe: well- *carma cut him off* Carma: she was asleep and we just found her on the bed freaking out Dr. ohh well she will be here for at least 2 days Joe: can I go c her Dr. I suppose *leaves* *They walk in and joe goes to her bead and kisses her* Nick: Carma ru gonna tell us whats going on Carma: Ya but I guess but not now Joe: Carama what happened to ur dad Carma: uhh why ask abt that now Joe: idk I always wondered and then the doctor asked 4 ur parents u said ur mom was in NJ but u neva said wat happened to ur dad Nick: and I have this weird feeling everything ties together Carma: it does but now is not the time Nick: then when is the time carma *With Kevin and Zoe who woke up and went into the kitchen* Kevin: Zoe, can I go c ur dad ...

Melchisedec - Who Was He? Was He an Angel? Was He an Old Testement Appearance of Christ?

Who was Melchisedec?

People want to know who Melchisedec was. Was he a real person? Was he an Old Testament appearance of Christ? Or was he a prophetic forerunner of Christ?

King of Righteousness

Melchisedec was first the King of Righteousness. That is the Hebrew tsedeq (tseh-dek), which means the righteousness. The first thing that this Melchisedec High Priest must bring to man is righteousness. This "bringing righteousness to man" must be in the sense of making man righteousness before God. Righteousness is the basis for all that follows. That is why justification, which means innocence from guilt or in other words rightness, is the doorway of the Gospel. The righteousness of God is manifest by grace and that grace is extended to us in Christ.

King of Peace

It is not until righteousness has been established that there can be peace between God and the sinner. And so Melchisedec was first the King of Righteousness; but then he was also the King of Peace. Salem means peace. Peace with God is the inevitable result of being righteous. Since man cannot establish either righteousness or peace on his own, there must be a priest, an intercessor to do it for him. Even so, being righteous before God and being at peace with God involves more than intercession by a priest. That person must be a sovereign with power, authority, and ability. Thus Melchisedec was not only the priest of the Most High God, but He was the King of Righteousness and Peace.

430 Years Before the Law Covenant

There is something that very much needs to be understood. You may resist it; you may disagree with it; it may surprise you; you may not yet understand it. But if you do not yield to this biblical truth, no matter what you have to throw out of your thinking to do so, you will never get straight the matter of Abram and the covenants. The Covenant of Promise, made in Genesis 12:3 and 7 and reaffirmed by the appearance and blessing of Melchisedec, was before the Old Covenant with the Nation of Israel. Right here is the place to see the reality of it. The New Covenant, the Eternal Covenant, the Covenant of Promise, the Covenant in Christ for the all nations of the earth, was before the Covenant for the Nation. The National Covenant, which was confirmed in the animal sacrifices in chapter 15, was established in Mount Sinai in Arabia 430 years later. It had the Levitical priesthood and it was a covenant for the nation only. An Allegory Thus, as to the literal fact of the case, it really does not matter who Melchisedec was; it is what he represented that is important. Melchisedec had no history, no tree of decent, no mother, and no father. As such, he represented Christ, the King from Heaven who also had no origin or beginning. In the beginning The Word existed. The Word was with God and The Word was God (John 1:1, 2). He also represented the Covenant of Promise in Christ that was before the Covenant of the Law with Israel in time and history. That was the testimony of Melchisedec.

Copyright: Earl Cripe

JFK's animus allotment 1- the Zapruder blur was altered

An analysis of the JFK asassination footage known as the Zapruder film Addendum: Some of you are like the south end of a north-bound mule. The film is FAKE. It is a composite. Take the figures of people and freeze and rotate them and they do not match up to the video taken from the reverse angle - which only shows the car speeding away. The fake film also contradicts corroborating eyewitness testimony, the grass looks like astro-turf, the plaza was not blocked off and there were actually 3 times as many people there watching than shown in the "film" and the people further away are actually larger than people closer to the supposed camera, ie a "composite". do-you-get-it? A few quick points; - There were shots, diversionary shots and blanks being fired from everywhere, including the knoll. That is probably why some people cling to the idea that some sort of "kill" shot was fired from there. - The street sign in the film is fake. It does not appear in any of the other research videos, I never saw it when I went there and Abraham Zapruder never mentions it in his testimony. It's also out of perspective. - I think the driver "appears" to have a gun or even fire a shot because there was a "jump cut" at that moment (there may never have been a handgun). I can't say for sure what his involvement was but I am certain he slammed on the brakes. - The idea of a trunk weapon is plausible, but I have no idea what it could have been or how it worked. However, 8 people in Dealy plaza ...

Creative Ideas to Transform a House Into Your Home

These days everybody seems to be concerned about recycling. Going green is definitely a good idea. I have a friend who is absolutely obsessed with this recycle/reuse trend. Since she lives in another city we don't get together often but, recently, she visited my home. She was absolutely enthralled by my decor. I was complimented over and over again about my wonderful recycling ideas.

Looking around the house----and I mean REALLY looking---I noticed things I had just taken for granted. I guess I do recycle to create themes for my rooms! So, let's take a tour of my home...

In the kitchen there's an old necklace jewelry box I redesigned into a key holder, complete with a hinged door and "grapes". It has an antique-look to the grapes (they're recycled cluster beads I got from the dollar store one Christmas) and I sponge painted and sanded the holder to match.

I also moved a bedroom armoire in there to give me added storage. Hand crocheted potholders and knitted dishcloths are scattered throughout. Thrift stores were the source of small decorative shelves on the counters and the wicker covered wine bottles.

An child's dresser mirror was rescued from a going out of business store for $4.00. After making cherub figures from an old candy mold and plaster, I glued them around the edges of the mirror, painted them all black, spot sanded for an aged look and highlighted with gold. a mirror you could buy from a specialty furniture store!

Moving on to the living room...Since my husband is American Indian I decided to go with a Southwestern/Indian theme. I faux painted with a ragged effect right onto the white walls. I draped a sheer window scarf, complete with fabric rosettes, using rubber bands and the hooks that were already there. NO RODS!!!

A long shelf was rag painted to match the walls and attached over a bedroom door (it's a wonderful place to put knick knacks out of reach of my grand kids). Dream catchers and pictures, straight from the local Thrift store, line the walls. A little paint and the small pots I rescued from my neighbor's dumpster becomes a handsome detail. I made plaques from plaster and updated a dollar store frame with feathers and buttons for added touches. My most favorite thing is the large swag that hangs over my doorway. I gathered grapevines (from the back yard) into bunches, securing them with rubber bands, then I made a second one.

I put the two rubber banded ends together with wire and heavy duty twine. I hot glued a few pine cones and a raffia bow to "hide" the joining, sprayed it lightly with gold spray paint, let dry and it pulls the look in the living room together. Even the couch and most of the free standing shelving were rescued castoffs. I didn't tell you about my home to brag----I want you to realize that you, too, can do this in your homes.

I've given all sorts of ideas here. There's an endless supply of ideas and how-to's all around you. Check out bookstores, libraries, even the Internet. Type in a question and Go ogle search it! Look in magazines, even in your neighbor's homes (ask their permission to enter first ). You'll be amazed what that mind of yours can come up with!

Make your house a HOME!!! And GO GREEN in the process.

Memories of Santorini

Let me take you out from the city of Athens, across the darkening waters of the Aegean to the beautiful volcanic isle of Santorini. And sit with me for a while by the old stone quay as the last church bell peals from the cliffs above and the orange melting sun tries once more to set the surface of the sea afire. Stay with me, as the lonely seagulls, swoop and cry, and I try to remember my way back along those sprawling hillsides to a little taverna I visited many years ago. As the sun sets, we ascend the cobbled steps, 587 in all, which weave their way up the face of the red hill to reach the whitewashed hill town of Thera. From here, we pass the houses, where the old men once sat and gossiped away the long evenings of summer and look for the little back road that snakes its way to the little village of Akrotiri. Let us linger awhile, as the air is still hot and listen to some distant kantathes music being carried in the evening air and savour once again that sweet smell of myrtle and eucalyptus, while the haze around my memory clears. After all it has been, as the Greeks do. As the sun sets, we ascend the cobbled steps, 587 in all, which weave their way up the face of the red hill to reach the whitewashed hill town of Thera. From here, we pass the houses, where the old men once sat and gossiped away the long evenings of summer and look for the little back road that snakes its way to the little village of Akrotiri. Let us linger awhile, as the air is still hot and listen to some distant kantathes music being carried in the evening air and savour once again that sweet smell of myrtle and eucalyptus, while the haze around my memory clears. After all it has been, as the Greeks would say, 'kronia polla', many many years.

She's probably married in some northern town in Denmark, but she alone could help us to find the way to that little restaurant. You know, it's only seems like yesterday that we both stepped through that open door into the courtyard of these memories. And all been said, the village of Akrotiri is remote, probably the capital village of that part of Greece that no package tourist ever sees, or would wish ever to return if they had savoured the service in that little taverna. The building, I remember consisted of a string of old buildings opening onto the courtyard, not very romantic and a far cry from the philoloyika kafeneia (literary cafes) of Syntagma Square, where writers and actors were wont to gather in the evenings and sip some ouzos. I remember the green creepers on the flaking white walls and how I felt awkward about having farm animals wandering in the courtyard, but we were hungry then and not inclined to ask questions. There was a long wooden table placed under a pomegranate tree at which a half a dozen locals were eating from platters laden with magaritsa, mousakka and salad. The sweet smell of cooking filled the night air and to our hungry eyes the meal was a banquet. A squeaking metal fan with three and a half blades provided the only background sound but we were tired from searching the smaller streets for food and not seeking more traditional melodies. I remember how the locals stopped eating when we arrived and watched us in silence as we took off our backpacks and waited by the doorway. An old woman, dressed in black, politely shooed away the animals away but left us standing where we were, seemingly unwilling to give us a table. We nodded across at her, even smiled politely, but she just muttered some words under her breath and then rudely walked away.

Where is Trine now?

I had never been left unattended in a restaurant on the island before and I was surprised how unsettling and undignified the feeling was. We were hungry and despite our best efforts, our eyes wandered into hunter mode and occasionally were wont to settle on the table with the food. When we stared too long, the other customers looked resentful and they also turned away. From time to time, I even felt these sons of Socrates even giggled amongst themselves, until eventually an old man with an upturned moustache threw his hands in the air and said, "Ti na kanoume!". (What can we do!)

After about twenty more minutes we became impatient, and felt obliged to take it upon ourselves to sit with the others at the table and order a bottle of wine. The old woman came back, moving with those sort of shuffling steps that would instantly deny her promotion anywhere else. For a long time, she stood in silence, studying us with those kind of unswerving eyes that can look deep inside your soul, but she still made no effort to provide us with a meal.

"Retsina!" I declared, getting rather annoyed with the lack of service and striking the wooden table in defiance. An instant hush descended on the gathering and many mouths opened in anticipation of what was going to happen next.

"And Magaritsa!" I continued.

I glanced at Trine, all the time wondering why the old woman was so unwilling to serve us. The hush in the courtyard reigned supreme until a small man in a neatly pressed white shirt got up from his chair and spoke to the old woman. He talked gently, all the time retaining eye contact with her, as if he was eager to see her response. The old woman slowly smiled, cackled something aloud about foreigners and then went back inside to the kitchen. She returned a few moments later with a bottle of retsina and a large platter of food. A young girl appeared with a large jug of water and glasses and placed them on the table. There was something likeable about the old gentleman and I thanked him for his help. I also smiled at the other customers, hoping they would forgive my previous rudeness towards the old woman. The old man was eager to know if we came from Australia and the other guests wished us Kali orexi, the Greek words for 'enjoy your meal'.

The young girl brought us more food and our feasting continued until there wasn't an empty plate left on the table. She then went upstairs and returned with a small candle, which she lit and placed on our table. I watched its flickering flame and noticed how its golden glow fell upon the edges of Trine's face, its light raised our spirits, giving us a hormonal thirst for more retsina. I'm sure the fact that we were in love, enchanted with the turn of events and had all the time in the world also played a role. We inquired of the old gentleman during a gap in his conversation if he would get the owner to fetch us another bottle. The old woman reappeared, small beads of sweat gathering on her forehead and she put another bottle of retsina on the table. As the night progressed, she increasingly had the look of a tired barman who was anxious to please but was exhausted by the experience of carrying wine to tourists.

Soon it was past midnight and time for us to make our way back to our hostel in the village of Thera. A thousand stars glinted in the night sky as I reached for my credit card and went over to the half-open kitchen door to pay for our meal. In the glimmer of the moon the old woman took my credit card and studied it under its light. She examined it for a long while, her eyes wide open and I could see from her response that she was unsure of what to do next. I waited quietly, as she went back along the courtyard and gave it to the guests at the table. In the dusky light, they passed it around from person to person, before it eventually ended up with a younger man whom I had not noticed before. A sudden smile split his face in two and he started laughing heartily, before he turned to me and said.

"Mister Treacy, theese is not a restaurant, you have being eating and drinking with my family in our private house"

The Way to God

Our only hope for eternity is in Christ, who is "the way, the truth, and the life" (Jo. 14:6). So it is our most important business in life to listen to and then to follow God's secret message. It is our business to strive to learn God's secret language (Ma. 4:1-20; Lu. 8:9-15), and to study to find it, to follow it and become stable, mature, and true workmen for Christ (II Tim. 2:15). It is the way to God that is life's greatest adventure.

God's secret language is indeed spiritual, not literal, as many today claim. It is only with spiritual discernment and worship (I Cor. 2:14; Jo. 4:22-24) that the doorway to the heavenly kingdom is opened up to us. To concentrate on earthly kingdom is but an indulgence in Satan's cheap imitation of the heavenly kingdom. This is indeed of antichrist, and it lays waste to us. John told us all about that subject in I Jo. 4:1-6, 5:1, 5 and II Jo. 7-10. According to these Scripture passages antichrist, or a false prophet, is "he who is not of God" (I Jo. 4:6). It is also any who claim that Jesus Christ has not come in the flesh (II Jo. 7). This is the scriptural antichrist, which is far removed from any manmade idea.

Certain men today would want us believe that the unbelieving Jews in Israel will one day make a covenant with antichrist who is someone from the Gentile world. Yet they never bother to address the most obvious fact of all, namely, that the unbelieving Jews themselves are antichrist by the very nature of their unbelief. So you have antichrist making a covenant with antichrist. How silly! For the Jews in Israel reject Christ still, and strive to take East Jerusalem from the Palestinians so that they can have the entire temple mount to place their new temple there (already built off-site), and then begin sacrificing their newly bred heifer cows. This is the mind of antichrist, as it seeks to undo the cross of Christ (see Phil. 3:18). And this is what modern evangelical Christians believe in supporting and aligning themselves with, namely, the enemies of the cross (Acts 13:10; Jas 4:4). Even though they claim Christ, their works entirely support those whose primary goal is a reinstatement of the temple and the animal sacrifices.

In just this way do modern Christians support Satan and his antichrist activities based on their unproven theories that so radically depart from the real Gospel. Though they have no concept of what they are actually doing, supporting, and financing with U. S. taxpayer dollars, what they are effectively doing is cutting themselves off from any vibrant contact with God. They realize nothing of that special higher awareness that accompanies the true Gospel and those Christians who follow it. This is a very serious deficiency in them. For they miss out on the many blessings that accompany this consciousness of the presence of God in one's life. They shove it aside as irrelevant, but in so doing they trade off God's richest way of blessing to serve a perverted gospel instead of the real Gospel of Christ (Gal. 1:7-8). Along with these many and matchless blessings they miss out on true service to Christ. For they cannot serve both Christ and antichrist, not light and darkness together (see II Cor. 6:14-15). They pay a very heavy price throughout all of time and eternity, because they refuse to listen to the truth. Nowhere throughout the entirety of sacred Scripture are any of God's people told to support anything like this for any reason. Only those who are not of God believe in taking such liberties and indulging in such unrighteousness (see Ro. 1:18, 2:8; II Th. 2:10-12). They have no idea that they are missing this higher place where the Christian needs to be. Perhaps they think that they would rather remain here in the place of spiritual darkness than to acknowledge their spiritual shortfall and repent.

So they miss out on experiencing that spiritual advancement into this higher spiritual place where God becomes consciously present. In that place of higher awareness and victory his glory shines through into the darkness of our natural being. It abides there with us every moment of every day. We begin to recognize that God has indeed come to us, and is now very much with us, and we with Him. This is the wondrous miracle of the true Christian faith in one's life. It deeply enriches, bestowing upon us his glorious "tidings of comfort and joy", even in the midst of a dark and sinful world.

If you really do want God with you, Christian, then take time out to listen and learn of the true Gospel of Christ that you have been missing.

Different Kinds of Jewelery Beads

Beads are also used importantly in making new jewelery accessories. The designers believe that beads can really serve to enliven the day of everyone. However, instead of incorporating beads into little accessories, they can be used to enliven the whole house. Beads can be introduced in the little things around the house.

There are certain other requirements though before you can proceed with the task. These are a fishing line most preferably weighs 10 lbs, wooden curtain rod, and eye hooks. You should also learn to exercise patience over the activity.

The first thing that you can do is to make a bead curtain. Since you will put the curtains in the doorway, obtain its length and width measures. Carefully install the curtain. Put in the screws of the rod in order to install them. Proper placing of the rod will be nice to look at. Next, you should screw in the fishing line. Put them in the eye hooks. Then, here comes the real work where you will sew the beads into the curtain. This is where patience would be needed. After your creation, you can have your doorway decorated with a very pretty beaded curtain. Since practice makes perfect, the more beaded curtains you will make, the better it will be for your fingers to make more complicated and beautiful designs.

You can also incorporate beads into the mats at your house. Since mats can be found almost anywhere, you should make them all the more beautiful. This will surely be able to impress the guests who can see your beaded work. First, form a square frame. Then, using the fishing line, incorporate the beads into the square form for the mats. The most appropriate beads to use would be clay beads.

There are so many things you can do with beads in order to make your surroundings livelier.

PhotoStory1

Breezes from this home, just steps off the Atlantic Ocean. 5 32nd Avenue is perhaps one of the best uses of space delivered by a very open flow and wonderful architecture. This home has bead-board in almost every corner, in the Family Room ceiling, above the multiple decks on the front/rear, in the hallways, stairways and common areas. A reverse floorplan, it features most of the bedrooms/guest quarters on the first floor, with a massive family and dining room on the second. The kitchen is ultra-modern, straight from the likes of The Robb Report. It features a Fisher and Paykel double convection oven, bosch ultra-class dishwasher, Wolf gas range, massive granite slabs on the counters and center Island, a deep undermount stainless-steel vessel sink and highlighted with a glazed-glass Old-Style pantry with incredible storage. The family area features incredible surround sound, highly custom lighting fixtures (including ship-style accent lights), luxury ceiling fans, built-in office nook desks, multiple entertainment centers and a children's den. Each bedroom is a modern (tastefully colored) beach theme professionally designed by a master decorator. This beach home does not have vibrant, neon or abrasive colors; it is very warm and rich, but feels very much like a vacation or beach residence. The three-stop elevator features all the safety features and functionality one could need. Bathrooms feature modern over-sized showers, granite counters, upgraded fixtures/faucets and ...

Footprints in the Sand {4}

My eyes slowly fluttered open once I heard the seagull squawking outside. As my vision cleared up, I saw Julian right beside me, staring back. I gasped a bit and pulled my head back. "Julian!" I hissed quietly, "You scared me." "Sorry." He giggled, his small nose quickly scrunching in disgust. "Ew, you have morning breath!" He pinched the bridge of his nose and giggled again, climbing down the bed and running to the bathroom. I laughed and stared up at the ceiling, my eye lids started shutting lower and lower but before they were completely shut, the smell of sizzling bacon and chocolate chip pancakes intoxicated my nostrils. The sound of small, bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors sounded louder and louder and Julian's ear-to-ear wide smile. "Mom's making a big breakfast!" He announced joyfully, running over to me, grabbing my hand and dragging me out of bed. "C'mon!" He sprinted down the stairs, grabbed his plate and fork, jabbing pieces of the pancakes into the fork and to his guiding it to his mouth. "Mmmm" He moaned delightfully and grabbed the syrup, drenching the pancakes. "Julian, don't drown the pancakes so much!" I snatched the bottle out of his grasp and placed it on the granite counter. He didn't seem to mind though since the pancakes were already covered under a thick glaze. We ate our breakfasts quietly as I scanned through the newspaper's pages. Soon, I heard the clicks of my mom's heels against the stairs. "I'm glad you guys liked your breakfast ...

The Commonalities Between Rituals of Food Consumption

Very recently the author was privileged to have been invited to attend many different types of religious places of worship to attend the regular services, including the following: a Baptist church, a Muslim mosque, a Buddhist funeral, a Catholic mass, and a Sikh gurdwara. Of the above listed, one would expect to observe similarities among a Protestant, Islamic, and Catholic worship service as much as one would a Buddhist and Sikh service. The most interesting and unexpected commonalities were found between the Catholic and Sikh services.

With Catholicism being considered an Abrahamic religion, and Sikhism arising from the Dharmic religions, it was a pleasant surprise to witness and participate in similar activities in both worship services. Concern will only be given to a short discussion of differences, a consideration of the shared features in food consumption, and the main theological and philosophical ideas in reference to the food items.

The Catholic mass is a celebration of the Christian sacrament of the Eucharist, also commonly known as communion or the Lord's Supper. The service consisted of sitting in European style chairs placed in rows much like pews facing the pulpit. A liturgical reading and "speak-back" is performed, individual and group concerns are presented in prayer, and then one partakes in communion to conclude the service. Having been a shorter week-day mass, components of the regular service were missing. This is in comparison to the longer, monthly Sikh service.

The Sikh gurdwara is a darsan service. Gurdwara literally means "the doorway to the guru," with guru meaning "that which brings you from dark to light." Darsan is a devotional service in which one not only perceives the divine, but is in the presence of the divine as well. The common phrase is "to see, and be seen." The service consisted of being seated on the floor in a cross-legged position around the front-side of the pulpit. Liturgical readings and "speak-backs" were performed in song fashion. After this, concerns were brought forth by the group and discussed, and then a meal was provided which had been cooked during the service.

The style of seating was cultural and inconsequential, although one could argue that the cross-legged seating was a yogic asana, and thus relevant to the psychological atmosphere of the service. The lack of music in the mass service was for convenience in relation to the daily nature of the service, as the author was told the weekly mass was much more elaborate. The music in the gurdwara was very rhythmic, keeping a steady tempo and regular duration in percussion note hits. The melodies were carried out by the voices of those in attendance and by several common Indian instruments. This very repetitious musical movement and liturgical reading was much akin to a mantra, a vocal or mental phrase used as an object of concentration during meditation. The author began to notice many of the similarities in the two services after a comparison was made between the Catholic rosaries and prayers and the Vedic mala beads and mantras.

The main feature to be discussed is the commonalities between the two rituals of food consumption. The Eucharist is a symbolic replication of the last supper between Jesus and his disciples. He commanded them to eat the bread and drink the wine they shared as if it were metaphorically Jesus' body and blood. In the Catholic service, the priest and his helpers dispersed bread and wine to those in attendance who were "in communion." At this point, in Catholic belief, a miracle of transubstantiation occurs in which the bread and wine literally become the body and blood of Jesus, if only spiritually. One is then literally in the presence of Jesus, who is the physical embodiment of God.

In the Gurdwara, one is having darsan with the Guru. In this case, Guru is different from the concept of guru as teacher. One is in the presence of and is being seen by the transcendental Guru, or God. The earthly guru is considered an avatar of God, or a physical embodiment of God. Food is offered to the Guru and is also considered to be having darsan. At the end of this service, this food has been handled by the divine, and what remains has been imbued with a form of spiritual blessing. Those in attendance eat this food, and have literally been in the presence of the Guru.

From a historical viewpoint, the similarities could have arisen from a spreading of the earlier Vedic ideas of an avatar to the Greeks and Romans as a demigod and on to influence the Judeo-Christian theology. The Greek philosophy of the Logos made its way into the Gospel of John in the Bible and was translated as "The Word," of which Jesus was an incarnation. From a psychological point of view, the commonalities could have arisen individually from a fundamental wish for a mediator, so as not to have to approach the divine oneself. The doctrine of original sin tells us we are not worthy. The Vedic philosophy of Dualism tells us we are not whole and are separated from the divine by our own ignorance. Abraham Maslow called this the "Jonah Syndrome," or the fear of one's own greatness.

Regardless of the author's conjecture of the origin of the similarities between the consumption of food between the Catholic Mass and the Sikh Gurdwara, they curiously exist.

1000Kg of Seed beads

** NO SOUND ** Our last order of 450Kg flew out the door so fast that we ran out before this order arrived. This is 40 colours, 25Kg each = 1000Kg. There are also a couple of experimental products we purchased in a couple of boxes. Let's hope that this time we can order and get delivery BEFORE this lot runs out. Better pictures of each bead can be found in our UK eBay shop "The Store in Devon" Thank you for looking.

Jonas Brothers One in a actor (ep 38)

~~38~~ ☺ *AT THE MALL WITH THE GIRLS* Gabrielle-What a bout this Ashley?? (holding up a blue drees) Ashley-Ew no way! Melisa-Shes trying to help... Ashley-I know i know! But...ughh! this is hard! Gabrielle-I cant fit into any of these dresses! UGH! Ashley-OOHHH! LOOK! (she grabbed a long strapless black dress with beads all over) I LOVE THIS! ITS SO PRETTY! Gabrielle-I donno Ash...Its a little revealing... Melisa-At least its not short! Get it! Gabrielle-Its just really low cut! But whatever! Melisa-Get it! Its georgeous!! Now i gotta find one! Hmmm? Gabrielle-What about this one? (long blue halter dress) Melisa-I love it! (grabbed it from Gab) GOOD CHOICE! Ashley-Now we gotta find you one momma! Gabrielle-Ugh, this is tough! Random Guy- Oh! I zee you iz a new muzza! Gabrielle-Huh?? Sorry i didn't quite... Mr.Random- Babeh? Gabrielle-Oh yes! Mr.Random-Chez thizz out! (he pulled out a tan loose looking long dress) Gabrielle-OO! Perfect! mabye this will fit over my big tummy! haha! (THEY BOUGHT THE DRESSES AND WENT TO GABRIELLE'S HOUSE TO TRY THEM ON) Gabrielle-(with hers on) Oh i like it!!! Ashley-Oh you look pretty! But pregnant really pregnant! Mleisa-Well she's due in 2 months! Gabrielle-I'm so scared!! EEP! (she sat down on the couch) Ashley-Don't be! It's all cool! Melisa-Lets get out of these dresses now! (later on they were all watching The Notebook) Gabrielle-*crying* no! Ashley-*crying! Why!? Melisa-(sticking her hand in the popcorn) *crying* NOO!!! Kevin ...

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Fort Worth Gem and Mineral appearance 2009 allotment 1 of 2

This is just a quick walk through to give you an idea of the size of our show. There's way too much to stop and show it all, so you'll just have to come down and see it for yourself. "Jumping for geodes" The Fort Worth Gem and Mineral Club presents the 58th annual Gem, Mineral, Fossil, Bead & Jewelry show. Saturday 9 to 6 Sunday 10 to 5 Amon G. Carter exhibit building, Will Rogers memorial center, Fort Worth, Texas Fun and educational for the whole family. Parking FREE! 2 day admission: $5.00 Seniors: $4.00 Children of 12 years and under: FREE Come on down, there really is something for everyone. There's even a gun and knife show next door if your other half doesn't want to visit our show. We have a childrens area, silent auction, even a Massive cathedral amethyst as a raffle prize. If it has anything to do with Gems and minerals, it will be there. This is inexpensive fun for the weekend. We're right in the middle of redesigning our website, but for now you can at least get some contact information here: www.fortworthgemandmineralclub.org clip 1 of 2

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I Believe In Angels And Fairies And Mermaids

Have you ever seen a real fairy? Or a giant, or a dwarf, or a troll, or a mermaid, or an angel? No? Then that means they do not exist, right?

If you have never been to Africa, would you be able to identify a giant African elephant, or a giraffe, or a male lion with a huge mane, or a black mamba? Or if you have never been to Europe, would you be able to identify the Eiffel Tower, Windsor Castle, the leaning tower of Pisa? If you have never been to Egypt, would you recognize the pyramids or the sphinx?

Of course, you say. There are photographs of them on the internet, or you know people that have been to those places and returned to show the photographs and tell the story. Books have been written about them, and therefore they must be real.

But the same rule does not apply to fairies or trolls or mermaids or angels, right? We all know that these things do not really exist. And we all know that people are giants or dwarfs because of their genetic disposition or because of particular glands that malfunction. That means if some people can see angels and trolls and fairies but we cannot see them, there is something wrong with those people. If other people can describe giraffes and the Eiffel Tower just from a picture where we cannot, because we have never seen them, then that is OK. Does that make sense?

Let's look at this from a different angle. We know that our thoughts create images, and these images then materialize. Am I saying that we just imagine things like angels or fairies? In a way yes, but bear with me. We first imagine everything on this earth, from the chair that you sit on to the PC or laptop that you are reading this on to the food that you eat and the clothes that you wear. None of these things just appear from thin air. They are all first just an image, or a figment of our imagination, and then the image materializes. Of course we contribute to this materialization, because we use tools to make things. But where did the tools come from? Exactly. Somebody first imagines them, and then made them.

But if we can imagine things and then make them, where do we get the images from? From our minds? Yes and no.

There is a world that is identical to ours in another dimension. We become aware of that world by means of our imagination. That is why imagination is a doorway to a different dimension. That world is where all our ideas and inspirations come from. The same world contains the ideas of geniuses and murderers. We choose what we take from that world, and we imagine all of these things (i.e. we create images of them) and then the images materialize.

So do mermaids really exist? How about dwarves? And can the story of David and Goliath be based on a real giant? Why is it that all fairies and angels have wings? Is it at all possible that people have actually seen these things, as real as you see your breakfast spoon?

Have you seen that lovely red mushroom with the white spots that appears in the drawings that go with fairy tales? Have you ever seen such a mushroom for real? The scientific name of that mushroom is Amanita Muscaria. They are also known as magic mushroom because of their hallucinogenic-type effects ' the same effects are induced by LSD. They grow in the northern hemisphere, and have been used for many years by shamans to induce an altered state of consciousness. Because you have never seen them for real, does not mean that they do not exist.

Some people believe in angels because they are mentioned in the Bible, but they do not believe that the angels actually exist for real. They laugh and wonder about the sanity of the people that can see and talk to angels, but it is OK for them to believe that there are churches with round tops in Moscow, even though they have never seen them.

Many children believe that they can see fairies, and it is much more than a belief ' for them it is real. For their parents it is just a child's active imagination, and they regard it as part of their parental duties to get the child to acknowledge that pictures of fairies are just that ' pictures of some fancy figment of someone's imagination.

Because we deny our own truths with small things like the existence of fairies, we also deny larger truths such as inspirations, ideas and flashes of our own futures that come from the same sources. We deny ourselves a richness of life that is there for us to enjoy at all times, if we are willing to stretch the boundaries of our truths.

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Shiny Object Art

So, is this art, or is it symptomatic of some mental disorder, or both? Beth Feeback's installation of plastic bottles and beads blows in the wind. If you're her next door neighbor, or belong to an area bird family, this creation probably blows in other ways as well. Enjoy. And remember to reuse and recycle. ANYTHING can become a shiny object! Even you and me!

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My Personal Darkness: [Jelena] Prologue

Hey guys, this is a collab with marizstranger :) The first episode is written by me :D Hope you like it :) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I scraped off the black nailpolish which was painted on my thumb with my finger, trying to distract myself. My heart was pounding violently against my chest as i swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat. My breathing was uneven and tears would coat my brown eyes everytime i thought of the possibilities. I slumped down deeper into the plastic chair, placed in the white room which was labelled 'WAITING AREA'. The hospital made me sick because in my case, it was always a bad news. I was 16, a junior who was trapped in this hell hole and didn't have a way out except to run away. I gulped down some saliva and dusted the scrapes of the nailpaint off my nails before wiping my wet cheeks. Sweat beads started forming on my forehead as i felt unconditionally hot with the big Samsung airconditioner switched on. My hands began to tremble and my heartbeat accelerated as i saw the receptionist approch me with a white file and a pen gripped between her fingers. She came to a halt in front of me as i stood up. "Miss..." She scanned through her file, searching for my name. "Gomez" I finished her. "Ah! Miss Selena Gomez! Special appointment" She looked up at me with those pools of blue and smiled warmly. "Dr. Melton will be in room no. 216 in a few" She said with a typical British accent. I nodded before she left. A spasm of nervousness washed over me as i ...

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Sudoku Help - Solving Sudoku Puzzles is Not Such a Maze When You Know the Correct Formulas

To some it may just be a numbers game while to others it is one of the best forms of escapism and relaxation, allowing the mind to focus some time in a certain area and has been known to raise awareness as well as in some cases actually increase perception. Sudoku is enjoyed by thousands of people for a lot of different reasons, but whatever the reason the importance to conclude each puzzle remains paramount. Sudoku help can come in many different shapes and sizes...

Solving puzzles is an age old past-time and in recent years some of the puzzles created have warranted the equivalent of a degree in order to resolve them. Some Sudoku puzzles fall into this category and require certain solving techniques in order to open up the doorway to their completion.

As with any form of enjoyment that has a worthwhile feeling at the end, solving these Sudoku brainteasers can be craved in a similar way as an addiction and yet achieving that outcome can sometimes seem more and more elusive.

Finding genuine, reliable help for this outcome can often be a puzzle or task in itself. Even though Sudoku is pretty much on the lips of almost everyone there has not been many major publications written or otherwise on the extensive variations that are presently available as well as formulas in order to help resolve them.

Sudoku help formulas can be based pretty much on a similar basis as clues for crosswords or using a dictionary to gain an idea in solving the crossword clue. The difference for Sudoku puzzles is that you would only want to know what formula to apply to a particular variation in order to know what direction to take so as to be able to solve them.

Like a game of chess solving Sudoku requires skill, patience, persistence, and planning in order to put all the right pieces in place for a satisfactory conclusion.

The good thing about this is as the puzzles become increasingly more difficult this type of aid comes into its own realm and brightens up the whole experience once again.

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The Horrifying Tale of Mrs Trollope - Chapter 1

Just past midnight and in a God-forsaken middle of nowhere, Jack Gallagher's fist was poised to knock on a most formidable looking door. In desperation, Clara made a last ditch effort to change her husband's mind.

"You probably have no idea what tonight is, do you?"

Jack lowered his hand and turned to her, waiting to be enlightened.

"It's the Night of Dread. When Friday the thirteenth and a full moon join forces."

"I'll tell you babe," he said, chuckling, "you're a fountain. There's only one problem-I'm not superstitious."

"I'm not either, usually. But something's telling me this is a really bad idea."

"A premonition of doom? Is that what you're saying you've got?"

"Kind of, I guess."

"Listen-all we want to do is use their phone. Avis'll come out to replace that thing they rented us and we'll be out of here. One phone call. What could possibly happen?"

Clara gave it up. Jack was determined to get back on the road and describing for him the half-dozen or so graphic scenarios which sprang instantly to mind would have served no constructive purpose. And so, hampered by no further arguments, Jack's fist connected with the door. The distant sound that started up concurrent with his knocking did, however, seem to lend a bit of credence to Clara's premonition.

"What the-?" he said. "There hasn't been a wolf in this area in over a hundred years."

"Yeah? Maybe you'd like to inform those wolves of that fact. Because someone sure as hell forgot to."

Instead of meeting Clara's sarcasm with a rejoinder as would normally have been done, Jack pulled her close. Approaching footsteps from within, crescendoing howls, the ominous creak... creak... creak of an old and unused door was a most unsettling cacophony of sounds. Then, and most unsettling of all, appeared a pair of eyes most likely borrowed from the devil.

"Good heavens, children," the ancient woman said, in a voice so soft and silken. "You gave me such a scare. Who could it be, I asked myself, knocking on my door at such an hour? Who ever could it be?"

She smiled, and a coldness descended chilling every fiber of their being.

"We're sorry to bother you at such a late hour," Jack said, doing his best to shake off a feeling he hadn't had since last he'd been in dire straits upon the battlefield, "but we saw your upstairs light on. Our car broke down, and since this area isn't cell phone friendly, we were hoping we could use your phone to call for help. It won't take more than a minute. I promise."

"Alas," the old woman said, "you'll find my home empty of telephones; modern conveniences, you see, are luxuries for which I have no need. But regardless, I insist you come inside to rest your weary bones. And while you relax in the parlor,"-said the spider to the fly,-"I'll fix a bit of nourishment to better send you children on your way."

"Thanks anyway," Jack said, "but we're in kind of a hurry."

"Then I wish you a safe and uneventful journey home. However, should you find you've changed your minds,"-and how that hideous smile grew,-"I'll be up late."

"You win," Jack said, immediately upon hearing the bolt slide shut. And grabbing his wife by the hand, away they went. Or so was their intent. But barely had they crossed half the courtyard's width when Clara noticed something: it stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Oh God-listen."

Puzzled, Jack looked at her.

"The wolves," she said. "They've stopped howling."

The sudden realization of impending doom begins with a clammy, crawling kind of sensation, originating in the pit of the stomach. It spreads, stopping not until every inch of the victim's body is consumed, leaving him, not unlike a thousand year old redwood, rooted to the spot. Unless you're Jack Gallagher, who'd faced death so many times he'd lost count. So fluid was Jack's movement that the two wolves blocking their path barely noticed that one course of their prospective dinner had pulled a hunting knife from his boot.

"When they spring," he said, in a quiet, confidence-instilling voice, as he placed himself between the wolves and his wife, "take off for that tree on the right."

"Oh God, Jack-"

"I can handle them. But I need to know you've got your legs. Okay? Babe?"

The tree Jack made reference to was ten, maybe fifteen yards off. More than enough of a running start to easily make it to the lowest branches. Clara said a quick prayer of thanks to her father. For providing her, since a small child, with a cabin getaway surrounded by trees ripe for climbing. The place, in fact, from which she and Jack were just returning home.

"My legs are okay," she managed, "as long as I know you're not going to make a meal out of yourself."

"Believe me," Jack returned, "that's not a part of the plan."

Wolves; or dogs trained to rip a human being to shreds; it was all the same to Jack. It was a maneuver he'd performed in real life more than once and had rehearsed a thousand times. When they sprang, the one closest would have its throat slit before it even felt the blade. Its body, still sailing through the air, would block its friend from an immediate attack of its own. Jack's next move would then be decided by the one remaining. Another direct attack and it would end up, its fate the same as its partner's. If, however, the animal decided that Clara might make a tastier morsel, its demise was equally assured. The knife would, in a twinkling, be transformed into a missile: one which delivered its payload with deadly accuracy.

With nerves spring-loaded, waiting for the wolves to pull the trigger, a single clap resounded through the courtyard. In astonished disbelief, Jack and Clara watched the wolves-with fangs withdrawn and softened threats-back reluctantly away.

"Forgive me, children," the old woman said, peeking through the doorway. "I forget, sometimes, what a nuisance my pets can be. How terrible a fright it must have been for you. Perhaps you'd best come in a while... to calm your frazzled nerves."

"Yeah," Jack said. "Perhaps we'd best."

With the attractive young couple safe and sound inside her house, the old woman pocketed the enormous key she'd used to lock the door. On her countenance, as she turned 'round, was written nothing but the utmost concern for the all-but-traumatized girl whose head was buried in her husband's shoulder.

"The poor child." Oh how heartfelt were these words of lamentation. "Quickly now and straightaway to the guest room with the both of you-two flights up, just to the right of the stairs. In the meantime, I will prepare a pot of tea; a special blend of herbs and spices I never fail to keep on hand; it works wonders with the calming of the nerves."

"Thank you," Jack said. "You're very kind." And with Clara cradled in his arms he took the stairs two at a time.

Freshly laundered linens; a tidily made up bed; a room scrubbed clean as if expecting royalty. But a sobering reminder that their surroundings weren't quite what they appeared met their ears: baying wolves just below their window; bats' wings all-a-flutter deep within the walls; the pitter patter of vermin feet, scurrying hither and yon, underneath the floorboards.

"I trust you won't begrudge me an 'I told you so,'" Clara said, as Jack, using one of the gleaming white pillow cases, wiped the beads of perspiration from her forehead.

"I swear to God, I'll never doubt another thing you say."

"Quite the noble oath, but I'm afraid it comes a bit too late."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means we're not leaving this place alive."

"Listen," Jack said, "why don't we try to keep the melodrama to a minimum? I'll give it to you that our hostess is the queen of the lunatic fringe. But I'm reasonably certain I can handle anything she cares to dish out."

Clara took Jack's hand; she kissed it; she held it to her cheek. Her husband's ability to protect her was such that, if danger lurked, there wasn't even a second choice as to whom she wanted by her side. But something was telling her that not even Jack stood a chance against the kind of evil which permeated every floorboard, joist, and fixture of this house.

"Doesn't it bother you," she said, "how immaculately made up this room is? I mean judging from what little I

saw of the rest of the house, that woman is no neat-freak. And yet, this room-you could eat off the floors. Just like she was expecting overnight guests."

"What are you saying?-That she knew we were going to be dropping in?-And that this Night of Dread of yours has come to pass?"

"I'm curious," Clara said. "What has to happen in order for things to be dreadful enough for you?"

"Look, I'll give it to you that this whole thing is pretty out there. But you'll have to forgive me if I draw the line at crossing over into the supernatural."

"I can hardly wait for that stoic skepticism of yours to meet up with its rude awakening."

Before Jack had a chance to disabuse his wife of any such sarcastic notion, there came the sound, and soberingly so, of footsteps treading lightly on an old and creaking staircase.

"Oh God!" Clara grabbed Jack's hand and wrang it dry of blood. "What does she want now? Why can't she leave us alone?"

"And neglect her duties as a concerned hostess? Not likely. Especially since she's gone to the trouble of preparing a cup of tea for you-a special blend she keeps on hand for settling the nerves."

"No thanks. Just tell her I've gone out for the evening and that you're not expecting me back. Ever." Whereupon she turned over and buried her head under the pillow.

From the guest room, a clear view of that portion of the balcony leading to the staircase was to be had. The surreal setting of her approach set Jack to musing about just how strange this adventure was becoming. In stark contrast to the twinkling light-cast about by a half-dozen wall-hanging candelabra-the figure of a woman cloaked as if in eternal mourning shone like a black pearl in a golden treasure chest. As ancient as she may have been, her movements still were graceful as a prima ballerina's. And as if leading a chilled winter's breeze by the hand, she drifted into the room. Upon the night stand, next to the bed, she set down the sterling silver serving tray. And pouring from a stunning antique teapot, she filled the matching cup.

"For the dear child, in order that the hobgoblins be banished from her thoughts."

"I'll make sure she has some." Jack took the offered cup but was careful that their fingers shouldn't touch in doing so. "You have my gratitude."

"Stuff and nonsense," she said, with elegantly flourishing gestures. "It's the very least that I could do. But I see your lovely companion is not yet fit to receive company, and so, with your permission, I'll bid you both good-night."

At the doorway she stopped and turned. And while Jack unwaveringly returned her evil gaze, she said, "Take care, child, to bolt the door when I have gone. There are things that bear watching... in the night."

Then, with a smile and a curtsey, she withdrew, closing the door behind her.

Jack did as instructed, though he'd have done so regardless, and when the bolt had been slid shut, and he had turned around, Clara was sitting up in bed, her back against the headboard.

"At dawn," he said, "we're history."

And though Clara nodded, she'd believe it when she saw it.

Jack threw open the window; the close stench of death-one with which he was far too familiar-was stifling. He leaned out to find a cleansing breath of air and watched as the wind, with its eerie moan, stacked layers of darkening clouds against the moon. He listened to the wolves' howls, so remindful of childhood friends, calling from beneath his window to come on out and play. And he whistled under his breath at the rocky surface below, separated from where he stood by a distance of a thousand feet or more.

"That's not good news," he muttered.

"What's wrong?" Clara said. "Aside from the obvious, I mean."

"The house is built on a cliff."

"So?"

"So-it rules this window out as a means of escape."

"Escape? I thought you said there was nothing to worry about."

"I didn't say there was nothing to worry about. All I did was rule out the supernatural."

"Jack?" She held out her hand; he wrapped his own around it and sitting down, placed his body close to hers.

"That woman? There's something about her."

"Yeah, no kidding."

"No, I don't mean that. I mean there's really something about her."

Holding her hand to his lips, Jack waited to hear.

"It's the strangest thing. But... I feel, somehow, like I know her."

To this Jack made no reply, except to look at her a little cock-eyed.

"Did I ever tell you," she went on, "about the stories Dad used to tell us-me and Giselle-about the walking dead?"

"Happily I've been spared any knowledge of Jonathan's morbid side; until now."

"Oh please. You know as well as I do that Dad's the least morbid person in the world. It was more like he was just telling real, true-to-life stories. That's all. About him and Uncle Edward-"

"Who?"

"Uncle Edward-Dad's little brother-how they belonged to an ultra-secret society dedicated to hunting down the walking dead and ramming stakes through their miserable blackened hearts."

"I don't know-it sounds pretty morbid to me."

"I guess you had to have been there. God I loved those stories, and I loved watching Dad tell them. Somehow, in the telling, it was as if a terrific weight were being lifted from his shoulders. Giselle and I used to talk for hours pretending they were true. We'd work Mom in as a cast member and throw in a conjecture or two about how she might have met a ghastly end. My wondrous mother-Dad's so mysterious about her-and about how she died. Sometimes I think I'll never find out what really happened."

"I guess that explains why I've barely heard you mention two words together about her."

"Yeah, well, I don't know a whole lot, 'cause I was just an itty bitty baby when she died. I'll tell you what I do know if you want. But not right now. Somehow I don't think it would do much for my mood."

Jack nodded; whenever she was ready.

"It must have been tough on Jonathan, raising two little girls with no mother around."

"God, was it ever. It still tears my heart out thinking about when we were kids. The night terrors; the long periods spent steeped in despair; and even though he hardly ever mentions her name, I can tell he's never gotten over Mom's death. He deals with it a lot better now than he did back then; or maybe it's just that he's gotten better at hiding his feelings. Sometimes I wonder."

"Back to those stories," Jack said. "It's kind of a stretch for me to imagine Jonathan as a vampire hunter. And I don't mean that as any kind of insult. It's just that he's such an easy-going, gentle kind of a guy."

"Yeah? You think so? Then let me clue you in on a couple of things hidden beneath that mild-mannered exterior. Dad's amazingly strong, and more startling than his strength is how quick he is. When we were growing up in the Bronx, I used to watch him playing basketball with the black kids in the neighborhood; he made them look like they were standing still. Then there are times-not so much anymore-when he gets a look on his face like he could, with his bare hands, tear out a lion's heart. It would be scary if you didn't know what a softy he is underneath."

"Actually, now that I think about it, I don't doubt it for a second. There's a kind of quiet competence about your father; a sleeping giant sort of thing-you know what I mean? And as long as we're on the subject, just where was it these adventures were supposed to have taken place? Not, perhaps, in that most mysterious of places-the city of your birth?"

Clara faltered. Her evasiveness on this particular subject was something she'd never really understood herself. All Jack had ever been able to get out of her were vague references to some small province buried deep in Romania.

"Given our present circumstances, I guess I should come clean." And pulling his head close, she whispered, "Transylvania."

"Not seriously?"

Sheepishly, Clara nodded.

"And this Night of Dread business? That's something Jonathan picked up back there?"

"Yep. And so much more you wouldn't believe."

"Which he, I assume, passed on to you. Making you an expert on the subject?"

"Put me on a game show. I'd clean up."

"I'm on the verge of being astonished. How long have we known each other?-And you've managed to keep this ghoulish nature of yours completely to yourself?"

"I don't have a ghoulish nature. I just liked Dad's stories, that's all. And you would too; or at least you would have when you were a kid."

"Maybe, but I wouldn't bet on it. I'll admit to having watched a vampire movie or two, but my suspension of disbelief has its limits. Not to mention that I can't stand horror in any form-movies; books; war. Ironic, I guess, since I voluntarily spent so much time immersed in the worst of it. I'll tell you what, though-if that old lady downstairs ever signed a movie contract, I'd be the first in line to see the show."

A flicker of a smile crossed Clara's lips. "Can't you just see it? Those Hollywood harvesters of mediocrity lined up to be admitted into her chambers-perennial bloodsuckers that they are-on the other side of the sucking for a change."

"And this from the girl who doesn't have a ghoulish bone in her body."

"So I missed a bone or two in my earlier declaration. I am, in my defense, only human. Though we may strive for his noble intrepidness, there will always be but one Jack Gallagher."

Jack just rolled his eyes. One of Clara's great joys in life was teasing him about his untarnished code of ethics and the cavalier manner in which he treated danger no matter how great it might be. He was who he was, and that was the end of it: a former military special services operative trained to within an inch of his life to handle anything-anything-which threatened to stand in his way. And tease him though she might, and sometimes mercilessly, she wouldn't have traded his competence away for the world.

"What I do find a little disconcerting," Jack said, picking up from where he'd left off a while back, "is that you're beginning to sound like you actually believe in this stuff. I know you don't, really; but it sure sounds like it."

"Dad's influence; kind of contagious, I guess. But that has nothing to do with this feeling I have. I swear to God, there's something familiar about her. But I can't quite put my finger on what it is."

Jack made no reply, but kissed her heavy eyelids while with a fading voice she said, "I don't know why, but I'm feeling strangely tired. I'm scared to death to close my eyes, but I don't think I have any choice."

"Go ahead. And you've got nothing to worry about, okay? Because there's no way I'm closing mine tonight."

"Okay. Bright and early, right?"

"Bright and early with the dawn."

Tenderly he kissed her lips and whispered in her ear a comforting "good night." But not until she'd fallen fast asleep did he let go of her hand.

On the battlefield, several successive all-night vigils were a commonplace occurrence. And with the night before's solid eight hours under his belt, tonight's would be a piece of cake. The chair by the writing desk was placed so as to give him a clear view of the bed, the window, the door. And making himself comfortable, Jack wondered what the concern was. What possible problem could a little old lady present to a battle-hardened soldier? Damn Clara's premonition-it permeated the air; it clouded his thoughts. Once, twice, three times he shook his head to clear it of the thickening cobwebs. But that was it and nothing more, for just like that he'd drifted off to sleep.

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Dow Episode 06: Gun & Straw Applicators

1-800-872-5625 www.wind-lock.com simplify the application of foam and the increased yield of foam dispensing guns Dow Pro Series (Pro 13, Pro 14, Pro 15). These weapons provide the control structure applied in the application of adhesive or when filling, sealing and insulating gaps, cracks and windows. Become a fan on Facebook www.facebook.com on Twitter twitter.com follow thanks for watching!

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