a few little previews...
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Ever wonder where the phrase "shotgun!", as in riding with the driver, came from?
In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, a shotgun messenger was a private "express messenger" and guard, especially on a stagecoach but also on a train, in charge of overseeing and guarding a valuable private shipment, such as particularly the contents of a strongbox (on a stagecoach) or safe (on a train). The express messenger for stagecoaches typically rode in a seat on top of the coach, next to the driver. In the Old West of the 1880s, if a stagecoach had only a driver and no Wells Fargo messenger, this meant the coach carried no strongbox, and was thus a less interesting target for "road agents" (bandits).
Wells Fargo Co. express messengers typically carried a short (or sawed-off) 12- or 10-gauge double-barrelled shotgun, loaded with buckshot. This was a most effective weapon in use against pursuing riders. Such weapons were sometimes referred to as "messenger shotguns" or, more commonly, "coach guns" (a name still used today). To some extent these weapons also carried over to use by private guards in trains with strongboxes or safes, where they were again effective.
Like "gunslinger", the actual term "riding shotgun" first appeared in fiction about the Old West, dating back as far as the 1905 book The Sunset Trail, by Alfred Henry Lewis[1]. See also "calling shotgun" which dates from use in autos to about 1954, at a time it was being used in the popular TV series Gunsmoke.Happy Halloween!
my favorite part is that it says "tube sock full of nickels" - nataliedee is so funny :)this halloween i'm feeling a little sick. bummer...
however, this morning moriah, tracy, and i had pumpkin pancakes (woohoo!), followed by moriah and i going up the mountain and seeing gorgeous fall in all its glory. i really do miss it...
but i have felt very unmotivated to be festive. i think it's a result of me working a lot, but i didn't even buy a pumpkin this year. oh well...
Friday, October 29, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
I haven't felt inspired
to write about anything...
but maybe in the lull, you could join me in praying for one of my students. I'm really tight with him and his family, and they're going through some VERY rough times. Here's a funny picture of him. :) Such a dork... I'm not gonna post him name, but just pray for F and his family. I'm really begging God to show up for them right now.
but maybe in the lull, you could join me in praying for one of my students. I'm really tight with him and his family, and they're going through some VERY rough times. Here's a funny picture of him. :) Such a dork... I'm not gonna post him name, but just pray for F and his family. I'm really begging God to show up for them right now.
Monday, October 18, 2010
it's fall in the midwest
Nataliedee.com is an online comic from a woman who lives in Columbus, OH (where my sis lives). My sis has said it's been PERFECT there...highs in the low 70s - AHHHHHH. And while I'm super jealous, this weekend was gorgeous and we didn't have our swamp on! WOW!
So I had to post today's nataliedee comic, because Sue and I were discussing this is exactly how we feel these days about our clothes...
Sunday, October 17, 2010
keats
So, most of you know I am but a faithful romantic. I watched the movie "Bright Star" about the life of John Keats (don't watch it though...it's beyond heartrending...unless you are very comfortable weeping to excess).
But despite how broken and despairing his life was, his work is utterly beautiful. I wanted to post a few things, because I adore how he thinks about autumn, nature, and love. I don't think the state of love he is in and writes of is sustainable, but there is no denying its beauty.
here's a letter to his fiance -
My Sweet Girl,
I hope you did not blame me much for not obeying your request of a Letter on Saturday: we have had four in our small room playing at cards night and morning leaving me no undisturbed opportunity to write. Now Rice and Martin are gone I am at liberty. Brown to my sorrow confirms the account you give of your ill health. You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you: how I would die for one hour - for what is in the world? I say you cannot conceive; it is impossible you should look with such eyes upon me as I have upon you: it cannot be. Forgive me if I wander a little this evening, for I have been all day employed in a very abstract Poem and I am in deep love with you - two things which must excuse me. I have, believe me, not been an age in letting you take possession of me; the very first week I knew you I wrote myself your vassal; but burnt the Letter as the very next time I saw you I thought you manifested some dislike to me. If you should ever feel for Man at the first sight what I did for you, I am lost. Yet I should not quarrel with you, but hate myself if such a thing were to happen - only I should burst if the thing were not as fine as a Man as you are as a Woman. Perhaps I am too vehement, then fancy me on my knees, especially when I mention a part of your Letter which hurt me; you say speaking of Mr Severn "but you must be satisfied in knowing that I admired you much more than your friend." My dear love, I cannot believe there ever was or ever could be any thing to admire in me especially as far as sight goes - I cannot be admired, I am not a thing to be admired. You are, I love you; all I can bring you is a swooning admiration of your Beauty. I hold that place among Men which snub-nosed brunettes with meeting eyebrows do among women - they are trash to me - unless I should find one among them with a fire in her heart like the one that burns in mine. You absorb me in spite of myself - you alone: for I look not forward with any pleasure to what is called being settled in the world; I tremble at domestic cares - yet for you I would meet them, though if it would leave you the happier I would rather die than do so. I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your Loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute. I hate the world: it batters too much the wings of my self-will, and would I could take a sweet poison from your lips to send me out of it. From no others would I take it. I am indeed astonished to find myself so careless of all charms but yours - remembering as I do the time when even a bit of ribband was a matter of interest with me. What softer words can I find for you after this - what it is I will not read. Nor will I say more here, but in a postscript answer anything else you may have mentioned in your letter in so many words - for I am distracted with a thousand thoughts. I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
But despite how broken and despairing his life was, his work is utterly beautiful. I wanted to post a few things, because I adore how he thinks about autumn, nature, and love. I don't think the state of love he is in and writes of is sustainable, but there is no denying its beauty.
here's a letter to his fiance -
My Sweet Girl,
I hope you did not blame me much for not obeying your request of a Letter on Saturday: we have had four in our small room playing at cards night and morning leaving me no undisturbed opportunity to write. Now Rice and Martin are gone I am at liberty. Brown to my sorrow confirms the account you give of your ill health. You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you: how I would die for one hour - for what is in the world? I say you cannot conceive; it is impossible you should look with such eyes upon me as I have upon you: it cannot be. Forgive me if I wander a little this evening, for I have been all day employed in a very abstract Poem and I am in deep love with you - two things which must excuse me. I have, believe me, not been an age in letting you take possession of me; the very first week I knew you I wrote myself your vassal; but burnt the Letter as the very next time I saw you I thought you manifested some dislike to me. If you should ever feel for Man at the first sight what I did for you, I am lost. Yet I should not quarrel with you, but hate myself if such a thing were to happen - only I should burst if the thing were not as fine as a Man as you are as a Woman. Perhaps I am too vehement, then fancy me on my knees, especially when I mention a part of your Letter which hurt me; you say speaking of Mr Severn "but you must be satisfied in knowing that I admired you much more than your friend." My dear love, I cannot believe there ever was or ever could be any thing to admire in me especially as far as sight goes - I cannot be admired, I am not a thing to be admired. You are, I love you; all I can bring you is a swooning admiration of your Beauty. I hold that place among Men which snub-nosed brunettes with meeting eyebrows do among women - they are trash to me - unless I should find one among them with a fire in her heart like the one that burns in mine. You absorb me in spite of myself - you alone: for I look not forward with any pleasure to what is called being settled in the world; I tremble at domestic cares - yet for you I would meet them, though if it would leave you the happier I would rather die than do so. I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your Loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute. I hate the world: it batters too much the wings of my self-will, and would I could take a sweet poison from your lips to send me out of it. From no others would I take it. I am indeed astonished to find myself so careless of all charms but yours - remembering as I do the time when even a bit of ribband was a matter of interest with me. What softer words can I find for you after this - what it is I will not read. Nor will I say more here, but in a postscript answer anything else you may have mentioned in your letter in so many words - for I am distracted with a thousand thoughts. I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
Yours ever, fair Star,
John Keats
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Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Ever wonder where the phrase "shotgun!", as in riding with the driver, came from?
In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, a shotgun messenger was a private "express messenger" and guard, especially on a stagecoach but also on a train, in charge of overseeing and guarding a valuable private shipment, such as particularly the contents of a strongbox (on a stagecoach) or safe (on a train). The express messenger for stagecoaches typically rode in a seat on top of the coach, next to the driver. In the Old West of the 1880s, if a stagecoach had only a driver and no Wells Fargo messenger, this meant the coach carried no strongbox, and was thus a less interesting target for "road agents" (bandits).
Wells Fargo Co. express messengers typically carried a short (or sawed-off) 12- or 10-gauge double-barrelled shotgun, loaded with buckshot. This was a most effective weapon in use against pursuing riders. Such weapons were sometimes referred to as "messenger shotguns" or, more commonly, "coach guns" (a name still used today). To some extent these weapons also carried over to use by private guards in trains with strongboxes or safes, where they were again effective.
Like "gunslinger", the actual term "riding shotgun" first appeared in fiction about the Old West, dating back as far as the 1905 book The Sunset Trail, by Alfred Henry Lewis[1]. See also "calling shotgun" which dates from use in autos to about 1954, at a time it was being used in the popular TV series Gunsmoke.Happy Halloween!
my favorite part is that it says "tube sock full of nickels" - nataliedee is so funny :)this halloween i'm feeling a little sick. bummer...
however, this morning moriah, tracy, and i had pumpkin pancakes (woohoo!), followed by moriah and i going up the mountain and seeing gorgeous fall in all its glory. i really do miss it...
but i have felt very unmotivated to be festive. i think it's a result of me working a lot, but i didn't even buy a pumpkin this year. oh well...
Friday, October 29, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
I haven't felt inspired
to write about anything...
but maybe in the lull, you could join me in praying for one of my students. I'm really tight with him and his family, and they're going through some VERY rough times. Here's a funny picture of him. :) Such a dork... I'm not gonna post him name, but just pray for F and his family. I'm really begging God to show up for them right now.
but maybe in the lull, you could join me in praying for one of my students. I'm really tight with him and his family, and they're going through some VERY rough times. Here's a funny picture of him. :) Such a dork... I'm not gonna post him name, but just pray for F and his family. I'm really begging God to show up for them right now.
Monday, October 18, 2010
it's fall in the midwest
Nataliedee.com is an online comic from a woman who lives in Columbus, OH (where my sis lives). My sis has said it's been PERFECT there...highs in the low 70s - AHHHHHH. And while I'm super jealous, this weekend was gorgeous and we didn't have our swamp on! WOW!
So I had to post today's nataliedee comic, because Sue and I were discussing this is exactly how we feel these days about our clothes...
Sunday, October 17, 2010
keats
So, most of you know I am but a faithful romantic. I watched the movie "Bright Star" about the life of John Keats (don't watch it though...it's beyond heartrending...unless you are very comfortable weeping to excess).
But despite how broken and despairing his life was, his work is utterly beautiful. I wanted to post a few things, because I adore how he thinks about autumn, nature, and love. I don't think the state of love he is in and writes of is sustainable, but there is no denying its beauty.
here's a letter to his fiance -
My Sweet Girl,
I hope you did not blame me much for not obeying your request of a Letter on Saturday: we have had four in our small room playing at cards night and morning leaving me no undisturbed opportunity to write. Now Rice and Martin are gone I am at liberty. Brown to my sorrow confirms the account you give of your ill health. You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you: how I would die for one hour - for what is in the world? I say you cannot conceive; it is impossible you should look with such eyes upon me as I have upon you: it cannot be. Forgive me if I wander a little this evening, for I have been all day employed in a very abstract Poem and I am in deep love with you - two things which must excuse me. I have, believe me, not been an age in letting you take possession of me; the very first week I knew you I wrote myself your vassal; but burnt the Letter as the very next time I saw you I thought you manifested some dislike to me. If you should ever feel for Man at the first sight what I did for you, I am lost. Yet I should not quarrel with you, but hate myself if such a thing were to happen - only I should burst if the thing were not as fine as a Man as you are as a Woman. Perhaps I am too vehement, then fancy me on my knees, especially when I mention a part of your Letter which hurt me; you say speaking of Mr Severn "but you must be satisfied in knowing that I admired you much more than your friend." My dear love, I cannot believe there ever was or ever could be any thing to admire in me especially as far as sight goes - I cannot be admired, I am not a thing to be admired. You are, I love you; all I can bring you is a swooning admiration of your Beauty. I hold that place among Men which snub-nosed brunettes with meeting eyebrows do among women - they are trash to me - unless I should find one among them with a fire in her heart like the one that burns in mine. You absorb me in spite of myself - you alone: for I look not forward with any pleasure to what is called being settled in the world; I tremble at domestic cares - yet for you I would meet them, though if it would leave you the happier I would rather die than do so. I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your Loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute. I hate the world: it batters too much the wings of my self-will, and would I could take a sweet poison from your lips to send me out of it. From no others would I take it. I am indeed astonished to find myself so careless of all charms but yours - remembering as I do the time when even a bit of ribband was a matter of interest with me. What softer words can I find for you after this - what it is I will not read. Nor will I say more here, but in a postscript answer anything else you may have mentioned in your letter in so many words - for I am distracted with a thousand thoughts. I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
But despite how broken and despairing his life was, his work is utterly beautiful. I wanted to post a few things, because I adore how he thinks about autumn, nature, and love. I don't think the state of love he is in and writes of is sustainable, but there is no denying its beauty.
here's a letter to his fiance -
My Sweet Girl,
I hope you did not blame me much for not obeying your request of a Letter on Saturday: we have had four in our small room playing at cards night and morning leaving me no undisturbed opportunity to write. Now Rice and Martin are gone I am at liberty. Brown to my sorrow confirms the account you give of your ill health. You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you: how I would die for one hour - for what is in the world? I say you cannot conceive; it is impossible you should look with such eyes upon me as I have upon you: it cannot be. Forgive me if I wander a little this evening, for I have been all day employed in a very abstract Poem and I am in deep love with you - two things which must excuse me. I have, believe me, not been an age in letting you take possession of me; the very first week I knew you I wrote myself your vassal; but burnt the Letter as the very next time I saw you I thought you manifested some dislike to me. If you should ever feel for Man at the first sight what I did for you, I am lost. Yet I should not quarrel with you, but hate myself if such a thing were to happen - only I should burst if the thing were not as fine as a Man as you are as a Woman. Perhaps I am too vehement, then fancy me on my knees, especially when I mention a part of your Letter which hurt me; you say speaking of Mr Severn "but you must be satisfied in knowing that I admired you much more than your friend." My dear love, I cannot believe there ever was or ever could be any thing to admire in me especially as far as sight goes - I cannot be admired, I am not a thing to be admired. You are, I love you; all I can bring you is a swooning admiration of your Beauty. I hold that place among Men which snub-nosed brunettes with meeting eyebrows do among women - they are trash to me - unless I should find one among them with a fire in her heart like the one that burns in mine. You absorb me in spite of myself - you alone: for I look not forward with any pleasure to what is called being settled in the world; I tremble at domestic cares - yet for you I would meet them, though if it would leave you the happier I would rather die than do so. I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your Loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute. I hate the world: it batters too much the wings of my self-will, and would I could take a sweet poison from your lips to send me out of it. From no others would I take it. I am indeed astonished to find myself so careless of all charms but yours - remembering as I do the time when even a bit of ribband was a matter of interest with me. What softer words can I find for you after this - what it is I will not read. Nor will I say more here, but in a postscript answer anything else you may have mentioned in your letter in so many words - for I am distracted with a thousand thoughts. I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
Yours ever, fair Star,
John Keats
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