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Medium 9780615928272

I’m Dreaming Of An Anne Frank Christmas

Dani Burlison Petals & Bones Press PDF

DANI BURLISON

and the infamous Peter Comes Home for Christmas Folger’s commercial falsely implied. No relatives visited. Our family never attended holiday church services. And although I have faint memories of stacking my plate with chewy slabs of ham and watching the box wine squeeze out its last drops of sour medicine for my parents, there were no formal dinners. I don’t blame my parents. They were poor with too many kids, and too tired to erupt into holiday cheer when

Christmas was likely looked at as a much needed day home from work. I blame the marketing industry.

Still, the holidays were quite simply a disappointment, with the worst factor playing out after the return to school a week or so later. Classmates flocked to an icy playground to take inventory of who wore sweet new puffy moon boots or who spent the two-week break sipping hot chocolate in between runs down snow-packed mountain slopes at various Sierra ski resorts. The schoolyard also played host to a holiday candy trade of sorts featuring hot list items, like Lifesavers

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Medium 9781574411836

Questions Catholics Never Ask

Robert Flynn University of North Texas Press PDF

Questions Catholics Never Ask j

When the Virgin Mary visits the earth, why does she always dress like a Muslim?

Other than the halo, how do they know she is the mother of Jesus and not the mother of Mohammed?

How old is that dress any way? It’s unlikely there are any fashion designers in heaven but couldn’t Michaelangelo whip up something? da Vinci?

When the Holy Mother returns, shouldn’t it be “revisitation” rather than “visitation?”

Why is it necessary for the Holy Mother to appear at all if she always has the same message? Love one another? Can’t she think of something that hasn’t been used in soft drink commercials?

If the Secrets of Fatima were important enough for the Holy

Mother to appear on earth to reveal, why did the popes keep them secret until after the events had occurred? Shouldn’t she have appeared again to be sure her message was delivered?

If the pope is the head of the church, why doesn’t the Holy

Mother go directly to him? Doesn’t he listen to women?

What if God and the Virgin Mary got their roles crossed and God spoke to the pope and the Virgin appeared to the president of the Church of Latter Day Saints? Would good

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Medium 9781741795240

Faeces Foot

Simon Winchester Lonely Planet ePub

Tim Cahill is the author of nine books, including Hold the Enlightenment, Jaguars Ripped My Flesh and Lost in My Own Backyard. He writes for many national magazines and is the co-writer of three IMAX films, including Everest. Tim lives in Montana with his wife, Linnea, two dogs and two cats.

On expeditions to remote and difficult areas, when conditions can become uncomfortable, if not to say actually agonising, it is customary to restructure the pain by irritating and annoying one’s companions. In such situations, a person fully expects to be taunted, mocked, ragged and generally made the butt of some profoundly grating ongoing jibe. Those of us who do this sort of thing for a living assume that giving the other girl or guy a daily ration of humiliation raises their tolerance level and helps them endure physical pain. We get our poop in a pile and fling it in the faces of our companions for their own good. No one derives any pleasure out of this. (Okay, I lied. It’s really fun – unless, of course, you are the person becoming exasperated beyond measure.) Expedition members generally take turns at being the brunt of the joke.

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Medium 9781741795240

Blackout in Ushuaia

Simon Winchester Lonely Planet ePub

Michelle Richmond’s books include the story collection The Girl in the Fall-Away Dress and the novel Dream of the Blue Room, which is set in China. Her stories and essays have appeared in Glimmer Train, Playboy, the San Francisco Chronicle and elsewhere. She lives in San Francisco and edits the online literary journal Fiction Attic.

At first glance it may seem that Ushuaia is sleeping, but in truth the city is fully awake, groping in the dark. It is seven-thirty on a Friday evening, rather early by the standards of this South American ski resort, the capital of Tierra del Fuego and the southernmost town in the world. Perched on the southern tip of Argentina, Ushuaia borders the frigid Beagle Channel and is backed by the awesome Andes. In the depths of winter it is a haven for serious ski bunnies from around the globe. By day, the steep mountains behind the town are dotted with veteran skiers; by night, the discos along San Martin serve overpriced alcoholic drinks to a young, disorderly crowd and pump out dance music so loudly one can feel the thunder in the floor, and one fears an avalanche. Winter in Ushuaia is also host to a number of grand events I’ve read about in my guidebook: the Longest Night National Party, the Snow Sculptors’ National Meeting and the much-anticipated End of the World Rally – the Stanley Cup of sledge dog racing.

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Medium 9781574411836

Onan Comes In From the Cold

Robert Flynn University of North Texas Press PDF

Onan Comes In

From The Cold j

When John was born, his mother said, “It’s a boy.” When Roybal was born, she said, “Another boy.” When John was a child, his mother told friends, “He’s a good boy.” When Roybal was a child, she told strangers, “I wanted another child but not this one.”

In Chillicothe Middle School, John was called Big John.

John liked being called Big John. Roybal was called Roybal and boys stretched it out and accented the last syllable—

Royyyy-bullllll. Roybal hated his name although his mother said he was named after a movie star. When he got to college where there was a library, he discovered the movie star was

Royal Ballet.

In high school Big John made good grades because he was an athlete with boyish charm and joked with his teachers. He never did homework because he was too busy chasing balls, girls, or a good time. He scored high on exams because the smart kids passed him the answers to win his smile.

Roybal made bad grades because he was smarter than his brother or anyone else in his school but he wanted to be liked and the smartest kid was never liked. He never did homework because he already knew all that stuff. He aced exams but his teachers gave him bad grades because they thought he cheated.

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Medium 9781574411836

Born-Again Jesus

Robert Flynn University of North Texas Press PDF

Born-Again Jesus j

A clandestine group of scientists, even more secretive than the Masonic Lodge, met at the sacred mounds near Chillicothe.

Among them was a Nobel laureate, two who had received

Pulitzers—one in Specialized Reporting and one in Explanatory

Reporting—one winner of the Intel Science Talent Search, two National Medal of Freedom winners, and four Teachers of the Year.

By the third grade they had been the smartest kids in their schools, including the high school. By sixth grade, they were the smartest people in their church, including the pastor. They had won national championships in science fairs, spelling bees and Bible sword drills. They had learned evolution in school and six days times twenty-four hours a day equaled 144 hours of creation in Sunday School. Reptilia in school and subtle serpent in Sunday School, physics and The Rapture.

They believed E equaled MC squared and that glossalalia equaled vision. They believed the first law of motion, that things remained pretty much the same without external intrusion, and that eating everything on their plates aided hungry children in India.

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Medium 9780615928272

One Settled Comfortably InThe Cuckoo’s Nest

Dani Burlison Petals & Bones Press PDF

DANI BURLISON

to yourself and the loved ones nearby, that some level of mental illness has quite possibly set up shop inside of us as well. Some insist that we’re just not trying enough alternative remedies to cure whatever ails us. Something’s wrong?

Fix it! Immediately! Buy something! Or let go of attachments! Change your outlook on life! Manifest the happiness thatresides within! You need a detox diet! Smudge your bedroom with sage! You create your own reality! We’re all supposed to be happy! Everything is so good! We can manifest joy! Try harder!

Sure, some people are “cured” with didgeridoo sound healings, 5-HTP supplements and tapping all over their faces while chanting positive affirmations. That is super great for them, as they are likely not suffering from the gnarly chronic depression and anxiety I’m referring to. For some of us, color therapy and yoga don’t make it go away.

Not that we don’t try. Some of us try everything because we’re afraid of being judged by our “liberal, do-good” communities if we take medication. We undergo hypnotherapy, past life regression, tarot readings. We visit shamans and get acupuncture treatments. We’ll become cyclists, participating in every 100-mile ride we can find, attempting to outride whatever keeps grasping at us with it’s viscous claws. We do eight million sun salutations. We drive two days through the desert to see the Dalai Lama. We borrow our friends’ light therapy boxes, eat mounds of Omega-3 fatty acid-rich food. Sometimes we give up and eat two pounds of bacon in a weekend. We’ll churn our own butter and stand alone in the kitchen devouring it by the spoonful before smearing it onto chocolate cake that we often consume while soaking in the bathtub, reading Pema Chödrön, listening to Iron and

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Medium 9781574411836

The Trouble with Eve

Robert Flynn University of North Texas Press PDF

The Trouble with Eve j

America was in the third year of a world war. Young Carter was in his first year of confusion over girls. Everything they did was so . . . confusing. When a girl said he had long eyelashes he had rubbed them, not sure whether she meant a loose one was falling into his eye or that he was a sissy. He was sure “You have nice hair,” meant why don’t you wash it sometime and “cutest freckles” meant did all of them survive a washcloth?

When girls looked at him he couldn’t meet their eyes afraid of what his face would show. When they smiled at him he gaped at their lips. Why were their mouths so . . . different?

When they laughed, he fled. He also fled the presence of

Clarissa for fear of what he would do. Fall on the ground and kiss her feet probably.

Clarissa Bowman. Girls had such pretty names. Clarissa.

Bowman. He tasted the words with his mouth. Clarissa Bowman. He was given his mother’s maiden name, Young. Young

Carter. It made him want to cry. Why would anyone name a baby “Young?” It was bad enough being called “kid” when you were fourteen and the country was at war. New teachers called him Carter Young until he corrected them. Men said his name sounded like a law firm or a funeral parlor.

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Medium 9781574411836

Ten Mistakes that God Has Made

Robert Flynn University of North Texas Press PDF

Ten Mistakes that

God Has Made j

Haskell Gatewood, an evangelist of the Southern Baptist persuasion came to Chillicothe for a revival. After a tour of the churches, school, water tower, and cemetery—the cemetery had the most people in it—he pitched his tent, ready to save folks from sin, sickness, disease, doubt, and Democrats.

Brother Haskell put his tent where downtown used to be, before the general store migrated to Electra, and gathered a crowd by declaring a week of preaching on “Ten Mistakes That

God Has Made.” A sermon on one of God’s mistakes each night of the week and two sermons on the Alpha and Omega Sundays. A large crowd showed up for the meeting, many of the people bringing their own lists of God’s mistakes.

Brother Haskell said the first mistake God made was giving himself too many names. “God” was easy to remember, easy to pronounce, and easy to spell. When God went beyond that, He made a major mistake. Was it Yahweh or Jehovah? No one seemed to know. Those other names, Immanuel, Incarnation,

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Medium 9781741795240

The Prince and I

Simon Winchester Lonely Planet ePub

At the age of nine, Kathie Kertesz started dreaming about international travel – and saving her money. By the time she was fourteen she was able to pay for her first trip to Europe. Now a happy grandmother of six, in the past year she has had essays published dealing with her major passions: travel and dancing. In her professional life she coaches people in high performance and joie de vivre. Visit her website at http://home.earthlink.net/~kkertesz.

It never occurred to me that I would meet a prince looking like this: dressed in blue jeans, slightly damp from spilled sparkling water, and carrying a long Hungarian sausage under my arm. I am half-Hungarian – which means that I was brought up with a strong romantic streak. I learned the Viennese waltz when I was five. When I was a girl my favourite fantasy was of attending a ball and meeting Prince Charming. I would, of course, be dressed in a beautiful long gown. He would be wearing a formal tuxedo and tails, or possibly the dress uniform of his country. It would all be very proper and formal, and I would fall madly in love.

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Medium 9781741795240

An Award-Winning Performance

Simon Winchester Lonely Planet ePub

Deborah Steg took her first transatlantic trip when she was two months old. Since then she has been smitten with a passion to travel. She lives in New York City.

As I was walking along the Croisette towards the far end of the Bay of Cannes, I noticed a large crowd in the distance resembling a beehive surrounded by worker bees. It was a balmy spring afternoon at the height of the Cannes Film Festival, and the sun was just starting to set. The sky was a deep cerulean blue with ribbons of white clouds streaked across the horizon. This location seemed too far from the centre of town for a photo shoot or celebrity interview, and as I approached I realised that it was just locals and tourists dressed casually and gathered curiously around the aftermath of an accident. Rather than styled and coiffed celebrities, there were several policemen on the scene and a large tow truck that was blocking the lane that led back to the centre of town.

Somehow I knew I would find my mother in the mêlée – and there she was, chatting to a very distressed looking Claudia Schiffer doppelganger. She didn’t even notice me come up behind her. From what I could piece together from overhearing the eyewitnesses’ accounts to the police, a car had come careening down the Croisette too fast and hit one of the parked cars, a white Mercedes-Benz that was now parked kerbside and looked like its driver’s side had been used in a crash test. The other vehicle, a Fiat, had not fared as well. The car had flipped over upon impact and looked like a large sardine can.

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Medium 9781574411836

Slouching toward Zion

Robert Flynn University of North Texas Press PDF

Slouching toward Zion j

I

Thurston Morton was the kind of Baptist who when he said

“thirty-ought-six,” he expected everyone to understand what he meant. Elaine was raised in the Church of Christ and when she said Acts 2:38, she expected everyone to understand what she meant.

However, when Elaine reached puberty she became a Baptist because the Baptist Church had something every night.

Giving Elaine an excuse to go out every night. Best of all, her

Church of Christ parents wanted to hear nothing about Baptist meetings, which meant they would never know where she went or who she was with. When she and Thurston became engaged,

Thurston’s buddies warned him that Elaine had dated every male in Chillicothe. “Chillicothe’s not that big,” he said. Five others, including the halt and the married.

Elaine had proved to be a good wife—silent in church, faithful at work, obedient at home—the way the Good Book said. All she asked was that some day they take a trip and

Thurston promised some day they would.

Thurston worked at the grain elevator in the summer and the gin in the fall and listened to radio preachers who promised that God would prosper him if he would prosper them. And

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Medium 9781741795240

Real Cowboys Wear Polka Dots

Simon Winchester Lonely Planet ePub

Judy Tierney took a year-long sabbatical from corporate America to travel through Africa, India, Southeast Asia, Australia and New Zealand. Her current work as a freelance consultant allows her the flexibility to continue to explore and write about her adventures. Her work has appeared in Backpacker magazine, the Dallas Morning News, the Denver Post, the Atlanta Journal Constitution and on www.travelerstales.com. A Texas native, she now resides in San Francisco.

‘I reckon we oughta get a move on’, Jeff said, finishing the last few bites of his three-alarm tacos – a mixture of scrambled eggs, potatoes, cheese, jalapenos and chipotle sauce wrapped in flour tortillas. Back at home in San Francisco Jeff started the day with sourdough toast and jam, but he casually wiped his eyes and nose with a napkin as if he were used to eating peppers for breakfast. He emptied his glass of water in one big gulp and then reached across the table for mine.

As we left Austin’s Magnolia Café, Jeff waved at our bighaired, blonde waitress.

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Medium 9781574411836

The Baptist Sex Position

Robert Flynn University of North Texas Press PDF

The Baptist Sex Position j

Some of the youth giggled when Brother Whatley mentioned

Samuel raising his Ebenezer. Brother Whatley knew right then that they needed to hear the Baptist position on sex. However,

Brother Whatley had a conundrum. He didn’t much like sex.

He was well past forty and if he had ever been interested in what he called “baser instincts” it was before he got married and bought a big screen TV. He liked talking about sex even less. When he said total abstinence he meant no sex before marriage and only when necessary afterwards. Like wedding nights or anniversaries. When he read from the Old Testament, he read “begat” in italics.

He feared that if he talked to the young people about sex, they would smirk the next time he said “begat,” elbow one another when he mentioned Abraham sporting with his wife.

They would wink the next time he spoke of the sinful pride the

Methodists exhibited in erecting their steeple or snicker when he asked the congregation to sing, “Love Lifted Me.”

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Medium 9780615928272

Don't Touch Me There

Dani Burlison Petals & Bones Press PDF

DANI BURLISON

an environment so far out of my comfort zone that I might as well be visiting Pluto was also a little horrifying. I needed some reassurance.

The information on the front page of the CuddleParty.com website is straightforward and nonthreatening. Yet I couldn’t erase the visions in my mind of middle-aged pony-tailed dudes cruising for young, pretty, affirmation-thumping

New Age women. As I poked around the internet, however, photos of past parties, revealing bare arms intertwining indistinguishably in a sea of flannel-pajama bottoms and overstuffed pillows, tapped into a deep fear inside of me.

Thoughts of germs and cold, clammy hands running lightly across my back while moaning and sighing mixed with enchanted dolphin music invoked visions of what I imagined would be not unlike an unwilling visit to a couple’s tantra retreat. My blood pressure rose. I laughed nervously. I decided that I needed to go and see for myself.

As we drove the streets of San Francisco, Skye already sporting his completely awesome glow-in-the-dark footie pajamas, I prayed that we would be lost for so long that they would not admit our late arrival. Being one of the most grounded and open-minded of my friends, Skye was there to calm my nerves and talk me down from the extreme anxiety I was experiencing.

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