Family Bonding Moments Quotes

A moment later, Helen had returned; she was walking slowly now, and carefully, her hand on the back of a thin boy with a mop of wavy brown hair. He couldn’t have been older than twelve, and Clary recognized him immediately. Helen, her hand firmly clamped around the wrist of a younger boy whose hands were covered with blue wax. He must have been playing with the tapers in the huge candelabras that decorated the sides of the nave. He looked about twelve, with an impish grin and the same wavy, bitter-chocolate hair as his sister. Jules, Helen had called him. Her little brother. The impish grin was gone now. He looked tired and dirty and frightened. Skinny wrists stuck out of the cuffs of a white mourning jacket whose sleeves were too long for him. In his arms he was carrying a little boy, probably not more than two years old, with the same wavy brown hair that he had; it seemed to be a family trait. The rest of his family wore the same borrowed mourning clothes: following Julian was a brunette girl about ten, her hand firmly clasped in the hold of a boy the same age: the boy had a sheet of tangled black hair that nearly obscured his face. Fraternal twins, Clary guessed. After them came a girl who might have been eight or nine, her face round and very pale between brown braids. The misery on their faces cut at Clary’s heart. She thought of her power with runes, wishing that she could create one that would soften the blow of loss. Mourning runes existed, but only to honor the dead, in the same way that love runes existed, like wedding rings, to symbolize the bond of love. You couldn’t make someone love you with a rune, and you couldn’t assuage grief with it, either. So much magic, Clary thought, and nothing to mend a broken heart. “Julian Blackthorn,” said Jia Penhallow, and her voice was gentle. “Step forward, please.” Julian swallowed and handed the little boy he was holding over to his sister. He stepped forward, his eyes darting around the room. He was clearly scouring the crowd for someone. His shoulders had just begun to slump when another figure darted out onto the stage. A girl, also about twelve, with a tangle of blond hair that hung down around her shoulders: she wore jeans and a t-shirt that didn’t quite fit, and her head was down, as if she couldn’t bear so many people looking at her. It was clear that she didn’t want to be there — on the stage or perhaps even in Idris — but the moment he saw her, Julian seemed to relax. The terrified look vanished from his expression as she moved to stand next to him, her face ducked down and away from the crowd. “Julian,” said Jia, in the same gentle voice, “would you do something for us? Would you take up the Mortal Sword?

There are so many moments in our life which we cannot describe with mere words. There are not enough adjectives to justify the emotions behind such moments. Those moments are your life- they define who you truly are

Laughter is a glue too many underestimate. You can build a bond through happy moments that will see you through the sad ones.

The souls that bonded together, seize the moment to enjoy each other's company.

The narcissist is a master of manipulation. To maintain the illusion of power over you, they employ the use of third parties to gaslight you, manipulate you, and to bully you. They try to groom your friends, family, children, spouse, or intimate partner from the moment they meet them. Initially, the narcissist is testing them. To see how strong your other relationship bonds are in effort to triangulate them.

There’s something profoundly intense and intoxicating about friendship found en route. It’s the bond that arises from being thrust into uncomfortable circumstances, and the vulnerability of trusting others to navigate those situations. It’s the exhilaration of meeting someone when we are our most alive selves, breathing new air, high on life-altering moments. It’s the discovery of the commonality of the world’s people and the attendant rejection of prejudices. It’s the humbling experience of being suspicious of a stranger who then extends a great kindness. It’s the astonishment of learning from those we set out to teach. It’s the intimacy of sharing small spaces, the recognition of a kindred spirit across the globe. It’s the travel relationship, and it can only call itself family.

It is not the dead rather the ones who lives through war have seen the dreadful end of the war, you might have been victorious, unwounded but deep within you, you carry the mark of the war, you carry the memories of war, the time you have spend with your comrades, the times when you had to dug in to foxholes to avoid shelling, the times when you hate to see your comrade down on the ground, feeling of despair, atrocities of the war, missing families, home. They live through hell and often the most wounded, they live with the guilt, despair, of being in the war, they may be happy but deep down they are a different person. Not everyone is a hero. You live with the moments, time when you were unsuccessful, when your actions would have helped your comrades, when your actions get your comrades killed, you live with regret, joyous in the victory can never help you forget the time you have spent. You are victorious for the people you have lost, the decisions you have made, the courage you have shown but being victorious in the war has a price to pay, irrevocable. You can't take a memory back from a person, even if you lose your memory your imagination haunts you as deep down your sub conscious mind you know who you are, who you were. Close you eyes and you can very well see your past, you cant change your past, time you have spent, you live through all and hence you are a hero not for the glorious war for the times you have faced. Decoration with medals is not going to give your life back. the more you know, more experiences doesn't make it easy rather make its worse. Arms and ammunition kills you once and free you from the misery but the experiences of war kills you everyday, makes you cherish the times everyday through the life. You may forgot that you cant walk anymore, you may forget you cant use your right hand, you may forgot the scars on your face but you can never forgot war. Life without war is never easy and only the ones how survived through it can understand. Soldiers are taught to fight but the actual combat starts after war which you are not even trained for. You rely on your weapon, leaders, comrades, god, luck in the war but here you rely on your self to beat the horrors,they have seen hell, heaven, they have felt the mixed emotions of hope, despair, courage, victory, defeat, scared.

Together we're strong and beautiful. If only for fleeting moments of love, everything else is worth putting up with.

You might not believe in our rebellion. But I saw Tactus change before his future was robbed from him. I’ve seen Ragnar forget his bonds and reach for what he wants in this world. I’ve seen Sevro become a man. I’ve seen myself change. I truly do believe we choose who we want to be in this life. It isn’t preordained. You taught me loyalty, more than Mustang, more than Roque. And because of that, I believe in you, Victra. As much as I’ve ever believed in anyone.” I hold out my hand. “Be my family and I will never forsake you. I will never lie to you. I will be your brother as long as you live.” Startled by the emotion in my voice, the cold woman stares up at me. Those defenses she erected forgotten now. In another life we might have been a pair. Might have had that fire I feel for Mustang, for Eo. But not in this life. Victra does not soften. Does not crumble to tears. There’s still rage inside her. Still raw hate and so much betrayal and frustration and loss coiled around her icy heart. But in this moment, she is free of it all. In this moment, she reaches solemnly up to grasp my hand. And I feel the hope flicker in me. “Welcome to the Sons of Ares.

Perspective - Use It or Lose It. If you turned to this page, you're forgetting that what is going on around you is not reality. Think about that. Remember where you came from, where you're going, and why you created the mess you got yourself into in the first place. You are led through your lifetime by the inner learning creature, the playful spiritual being that is your real self. Don't turn away from possible futures before you're certain you don't have anything to learn from them. Learning is finding out what you already know. Doing is demonstrating that you know it. Teaching is reminding others that they know just as well as you. You are all learners, doers, and teachers. Your only obligation in any lifetime is to be true to yourself. Being true to anyone else or anything else is not only impossible, but the mark of a false messiah. Your conscience is the measure of the honesty of your selfishness. Listen to it carefully. The simplest questions are the most profound. Where were you born? Where is your home? Where are you going? What are you doing? Think about these once in awhile, and watch your answers change. Your friends will know you better in the first minute you meet than your acquaintances will know you in a thousand years. The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof. There is no such thing as a problem without a gift for you in its hands. You seek problems because you need their gifts. Imagine the universe beautiful and just and perfect. Then be sure of one thing: The Is has imagined it quite a bit better than you have. The original sin is to limit the Is. Don't. A cloud does not know why it moves in just such a direction and at such a speed, it feels an impulsion....this is the place to go now. But the sky knows the reason and the patterns behind all clouds, and you will know, too, when you lift yourself high enough to see beyond horizons. You are never given a wish without being given the power to make it true. You may have to work for it, however. Argue for your limitations, and sure enough, they're yours. If you will practice being fictional for a while, you will understand that fictional characters are sometimes more real than people with bodies and heartbeats. The world is your exercise-book, the pages on which you do your sums. It is not reality, although you can express reality there if you wish. You are also free to write nonsense, or lies, or to tear the pages. Every person, all the events of your life, are there because you have drawn them there. What you choose to do with them is up to you. In order to live free and happily, you must sacrifice boredom. It is not always an easy sacrifice. The best way to avoid responsibility is to say, "I've got responsibilities." The truth you speak has no past and no future. It is, and that's all it needs to be. Here is a test to find whether your mission on earth is finished: If you're alive, it isn't. Don't be dismayed at good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends. The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly. You're going to die a horrible death, remember. It's all good training, and you'll enjoy it more if you keep the facts in mind. Take your dying with some seriousness, however. Laughing on the way to your execution it not generally understood by less advanced lifeforms, and they'll call you crazy. Everything above may be wrong!

Higher purpose: I am here to serve. I am here to inspire. I am here to love. I am here to live my truth. Communion: I will appreciate someone who doesn’t know that I feel that way. I will overlook the tension and be friendly to someone who has ignored me. I will express at least one feeling that has made me feel guilty or embarrassed. Awareness: I will spend ten minutes observing instead of speaking. I will sit quietly by myself just to sense how my body feels. If someone irritates me, I will ask myself what I really feel beneath the anger—and I won’t stop paying attention until the anger is gone. Acceptance: I will spend five minutes thinking about the best qualities of someone I really dislike. I will read about a group that I consider totally intolerant and try to see the world as they do. I will look in the mirror and describe myself exactly as if I were the perfect mother or father I wish I had had (beginning with the sentence “How beautiful you are in my eyes”). Creativity: I will imagine five things I could do that my family would never expect—and then I will do at least one of them. I will outline a novel based on my life (every incident will be true, but no one would ever guess that I am the hero). I will invent something in my mind that the world desperately needs. Being: I will spend half an hour in a peaceful place doing nothing except feeling what it is like to exist. I will lie outstretched on the grass and feel the earth languidly revolving under me. I will take in three breaths and let them out as gently as possible. Efficiency: I will let at least two things out of my control and see what happens. I will gaze at a rose and reflect on whether I could make it open faster or more beautifully than it already does—then I will ask if my life has blossomed this efficiently. I will lie in a quiet place by the ocean, or with a tape of the sea, and breathe in its rhythms. Bonding: When I catch myself looking away from someone, I will remember to look into the person’s eyes. I will bestow a loving gaze on someone I have taken for granted. I will express sympathy to someone who needs it, preferably a stranger. Giving: I will buy lunch and give it to someone in need on the street (or I will go to a café and eat lunch with the person). I will compliment someone for a quality that I know the individual values in him- or herself. I will give my children as much of my undivided time today as they want. Immortality: I will read a scripture about the soul and the promise of life after death. I will write down five things I want my life to be remembered for. I will sit and silently experience the gap between breathing in and breathing out, feeling the eternal in the present moment.

Draco!” — “What?” The blonde asked, irritation clear in his voice, even if he didn't turn around to face Harry. — “Tomorrow before lunch, Nev and I will be at the library; we’ll be researching on how to beat a dragon into a pulp,“ he explained, admittedly exaggerating a little, “so we shouldn't bore you completely.“ — “What are you even saying, Potter?“ Draco asked, while Neville looked at him as if the blonde Slytherin had beaten him to the punch on asking the same question. — “You could come over and not like us there, if you want.“ Draco seemingly stopped breathing for a moment. — “Why the hell not?“ He asked nobody in specific, before storming out of the clearing and back towards Hogsmeade. — “You know what, I'm not even going to ask what happened." Neville commented, five minutes later when he had managed to find his voice. "This is beyond the realm of possible things.

Stop marrying men and taking their names as a matter of course. It isn't 'choice' when it's mostly going one way. Before you argue that 'it's just your father's name anyway', stop for a moment. It's your name. You were born with it, just as men were born with theirs. The difference is that our patriarchal society still treats women as if our names are on loan from one man until we find another to claim us and gift us with our new and true identity, while men get to own their names from the start and claim their destinies for themselves. I'm not saying you're wrong for doing it, I'm just saying think a bit more deeply about the fact that women are expected to do it all. And if you say it's because you wanted to have the same last name as your children, just ask yourself why women for the most part do all of the work of growing and birthing children only to turn around and give naming rights to men who did barely anything at all.

Father reaches out to touch my scarf. “Your mother’s scarf,” he says softly. “She loved this so very much, you know. I remember her creative streak, how she refused to use the strong dye colours that we usually use for silk design. Instead, she preferred a shade of white, which would not sell as successfully in trade. She loved this scarf, the way it sat humbly around her neck and gave her senses of comfort and peace as she held you tight. You would often beg to wear it, Aisha.” I stroke the scarf subconsciously. A memory flashes in my mind of my mother’s shaking hands as she shaped spun silk into this beautiful scarf. My gentle mother, who coughed violently and shook, plagued she was with an illness that had deteriorated her immensely. I spent every moment I could with her, my heart knowing that each might be my last. “Beautiful Aisha, wear this scarf with your love,” said my mother one morning as she tied it around my neck. I stared at her, my lips wobbling as tears rolled down my cheeks. “I’ll wear it, always loving you, Mother,” I replied. My mother nodded, her eyes also filling with tears as she realised that I understood how little time we had left together.

As soon as the nurse handed our newborn to me, I felt an overwhelming connection to him, a bond I cannot describe, but one that other mothers understand. I thought he was the most incredible thing I had ever seen. In a moment I will never forget, I took Reed in my arms for the first time, and he turned his head all the way around to face me and looked straight into my eyes. I could hardly believe this baby, only a few minutes old, who had never seen a face before, found mine. I still wonder how he knew to look into my eyes, and after all these years, that powerful communication between mother and newborn still amazes me.

No, when the stresses are too great for the tired metal, when the ground mechanic who checks the de-icing equipment is crossed in love and skimps his job, way back in London, Idlewild, Gander, Montreal; when those or many things happen, then the little warm room with propellers in front falls straight down out of the sky into the sea or on to the land, heavier than air, fallible, vain. And the forty little heavier-than-air people, fallible within the plane's fallibility, vain within its larger vanity, fall down with it and make little holes in the land or little splashes in the sea. Which is anyway their destiny, so why worry? You are linked to the ground mechanic's careless fingers in Nassau just as you are linked to the weak head of the little man in the family saloon who mistakes the red light for the green and meets you head-on, for the first and last time, as you are motoring quietly home from some private sin. There's nothing to do about it. You start to die the moment you are born. The whole of life is cutting through the pack with death. So take it easy. Light a cigarette and be grateful you are still alive as you suck the smoke deep into your lungs. Your stars have already let you come quite a long way since you left your mother's womb and whimpered at the cold air of the world. Perhaps they'll even let you go to Jamaica tonight. Can't you hear those cheerful voices in the control tower that have said quietly all day long, 'Come in BOAC. Come in Panam. Come in KLM'? Can't you hear them calling you down too: 'Come in Transcarib. Come in Transcarib'? Don't lose faith in your stars. Remember that hot stitch of time when you faced death from the Robber's gun last night. You're still alive, aren't you? There, we're out of it already. It was just to remind you that being quick with a gun doesn't mean you're really tough. Just don't forget it. This happy landing at Palisadoes Airport comes to you courtesy of your stars. Better thank them.

inspire. I am here to love. I am here to live my truth. Communion: I will appreciate someone who doesn’t know that I feel that way. I will overlook the tension and be friendly to someone who has ignored me. I will express at least one feeling that has made me feel guilty or embarrassed. Awareness: I will spend ten minutes observing instead of speaking. I will sit quietly by myself just to sense how my body feels. If someone irritates me, I will ask myself what I really feel beneath the anger—and I won’t stop paying attention until the anger is gone. Acceptance: I will spend five minutes thinking about the best qualities of someone I really dislike. I will read about a group that I consider totally intolerant and try to see the world as they do. I will look in the mirror and describe myself exactly as if I were the perfect mother or father I wish I had had (beginning with the sentence “How beautiful you are in my eyes”). Creativity: I will imagine five things I could do that my family would never expect—and then I will do at least one of them. I will outline a novel based on my life (every incident will be true, but no one would ever guess that I am the hero). I will invent something in my mind that the world desperately needs. Being: I will spend half an hour in a peaceful place doing nothing except feeling what it is like to exist. I will lie outstretched on the grass and feel the earth languidly revolving under me. I will take in three breaths and let them out as gently as possible. Efficiency: I will let at least two things out of my control and see what happens. I will gaze at a rose and reflect on whether I could make it open faster or more beautifully than it already does—then I will ask if my life has blossomed this efficiently. I will lie in a quiet place by the ocean, or with a tape of the sea, and breathe in its rhythms. Bonding: When I catch myself looking away from someone, I will remember to look into the person’s eyes. I will bestow a loving gaze on someone I have taken for granted. I will express sympathy to someone who needs it, preferably a stranger. Giving: I will buy lunch and give it to someone in need on the street (or I will go to a café and eat lunch with the person). I will compliment someone for a quality that I know the individual values in him- or herself. I will give my children as much of my undivided time today as they want. Immortality: I will read a scripture about the soul and the promise of life after death. I will write down five things I want my life to be remembered for. I will sit and silently experience the gap between breathing in and breathing out, feeling the eternal in the present moment.

You are linked to the ground mechanic’s careless fingers in Nassau just as you are linked to the weak head of the little man in the family saloon who mistakes the red light for the green and meets you head-on, for the first and last time, as you are motoring quietly home from some private sin. There’s nothing to do about it. You start to die the moment you are born. The whole of life is cutting through the pack with death. So take it easy. Light a cigarette and be grateful you are still alive as you suck the smoke deep into your lungs. Your stars have already let you come quite a long way since you left your mother’s womb and whimpered at the cold air of the world.

On the Republican side, the emotional bonds of family launched a major social organization led by nietos, the Association for the Recovery of Historical Memory. Late in 2000 Emilio Silva and Santiago Macías began a personal search for the unmarked graves of their Republican ancestors. [...] Descendants of executed Republicans told a journalist that “without the body, the pain never ceases.” “Never,” she reported, “have they spoken of vengeance, of revenge, or of anything that resembles that. In an exhumation, they never raise their eyes from the ground. They are not thinking of reopening wounds, but of closing, for once, their own.” This journalist, Natalia Junquera, also quoted a distinguished professor of psychiatry who said, “The hatred dies, it is extinguished, but the necessity of putting a name to the dead, of honoring them, no. There always comes a moment in which one has to put an end to this interminable trauma.” [63]

To speak of a communication failure implies a breakdown of some sort. Yet this does not accurately portray what occurs. In truth, communication difficulties arise not from breakdown but from the characteristics of the system itself. Despite promising beginnings in our intimate relationships, we tend over time to evolve a system of communication that suppresses rather than reveals information. Life is complicated, and confirming or disconfirming the well-being of a relationship takes effort. Once we are comfortably coupled, the intense, energy-consuming monitoring of courtship days is replaced by a simpler, more efficient method. Unable to witness our partners’ every activity or verify every nuance of meaning, we evolve a communication system based on trust. We gradually cease our attentive probing, relying instead on familiar cues and signals to stand as testament to the strength of the bond: the words “I love you,” holidays with the family, good sex, special times with shared friends, the routine exchange, “How was your day?” We take these signals as representative of the relationship and turn our monitoring energies elsewhere. ... Not only do the initiator’s negative signals tend to become incorporated into the existing routine, but, paradoxically, the initiator actively contributes to the impression that life goes on as usual. Even as they express their unhappiness, initiators work at emphasizing and maintaining the routine aspects of life with the other person, simultaneously giving signals that all is well. Unwilling to leave the relationship yet, they need to privately explore and evaluate the situation. The initiator thus contrives an appearance of participation,7 creating a protective cover that allows them to “return” if their alternative resources do not work out. Our ability to do this—to perform a role we are no longer enthusiastically committed to—is one of our acquired talents. In all our encounters, we present ourselves to others in much the same way as actors do, tailoring our performance to the role we are assigned in a particular setting.8 Thus, communication is always distorted. We only give up fragments of what really occurs within us during that specific moment of communication.9 Such fragments are always selected and arranged so that there is seldom a faithful presentation of our inner reality. It is transformed, reduced, redirected, recomposed.10 Once we get the role perfected, we are able to play it whether we are in the mood to go on stage or not, simply by reproducing the signals. What is true of all our encounters is, of course, true of intimate relationships. The nature of the intimate bond is especially hard to confirm or disconfirm.11 The signals produced by each partner, while acting out the partner role, tend to be interpreted by the other as the relationship.12 Because the costs of constantly checking out what the other person is feeling and doing are high, each partner is in a position to be duped and misled by the other.13 Thus, the initiator is able to keep up appearances that all is well by falsifying, tailoring, and manipulating signals to that effect. The normal routine can be used to attest to the presence of something that is not there. For example, initiators can continue the habit of saying, “I love you,” though the passion is gone. They can say, “I love you” and cover the fact that they feel disappointment or anger, or that they feel nothing at all. Or, they can say, “I love you” and mean, “I like you,” or, “We have been through a lot together,” or even “Today was a good day.

I wanted to go home, to Velaris, but I had to stay, to make sure things were set in motion, that you were all right. So I waited as long as I could, then I sent a tug through the bond. Then you came to find me. 'I almost told you then, but... You were so sad. And tired. And for once, you looked at me like... like I was worth something. So I promised myself that the next time I saw you, I'd free you of the bargain. Because I was selfish, and knew that if I let go right then, he'd lock you up and I'd never get to see you again. When I went to leave you... I think transforming you into Fae made the bond lock into place permanently. I'd known it existed, but it hit me then- hit me so strong that I panicked. I knew if I stayed a second longer, I'd damn the consequences and take you with me. And you'd hate me forever. 'I landed at the Night Court, right as Mor was waiting for me, and I was so frantic, so... unhinged, that I told her everything. I hadn't seen her in fifty years, and my first words to her were, "She's my mate." And for three months... for three months I tried to convince myself that you were better off without me. I tried to convince myself that everything I'd done had made you hate me. But I felt you through the bond, through your open mental shields. I felt your pain, and sadness, and loneliness. I felt you struggling to escape the darkness of Amarantha the same way I was. I heard you were going to marry him, and I told myself you were happy. I should you let you be happy, even if it killed me. Even if you were my mate, you'd earned that happiness. 'The day of your wedding, I'd planned to get rip-roaring drunk with Cassian, who had no idea why, but... But then I felt you again, I felt your panic, and despair, and heard you beg someone- anyone- to save you. I lost it. I winnowed to the wedding, and barely remembered who I was supposed to be, the part I was supposed to play. All I could see was you, in your stupid wedding dress- so thin. So, so thin, and pale. And I wanted to kill him for it, but I had to get you out. Had to call in that bargain, just once, to get you away, to see if you were all right.' Rhys looked at me, eyes desolate. 'It killed me, Feyre, to send you back. To see you waste away, month by month. It killed me to know he was sharing your bed. Not just because you were my mate, but because I...' He glanced down, then up at me again. 'I knew... I knew I was in love with you that moment I picked up the knife to kill Amarantha.' 'When you finally came here... I decided I wouldn't tell you. Any of it. I wouldn't let you out of the bargain, because your hatred was better than facing the two alternatives: that you felt nothing for me, or that you... you might feel something similar, and if I let myself love you, you would be taken from me. The way my family was- the way my friends were. So I didn't tell you. I watched as you faded away. Until that day... that day he locked you up. 'I would have killed him if he'd been there. But I broke some very, very fundamental rules in taking you away. Amren said if I got you to admit that we were mates, it would keep any trouble from our door, but... I couldn't force the bond on you. I couldn't try to seduce you into accepting the bond, either. Even if it gave Tamlin license to wage war on me. You had been through so much already. I didn't want you to think that everything I did was to win you, just to keep my lands safe. But I couldn't... I couldn't stop being around you, and loving you, and wanting you. I still can't stay away.' He leaned back, loosing a long breath.

The bonds of family can be wonderful but there is a time to know when to stand apart." She held out a hand to Rycca on the nearby bench. "Besides, we are your family now, all of us, and we know your worth." Deeply touched, Rycca had to blink several times before she could respond. She knew both women spoke pure truth and loved them for it.After a lifetime of emotional solitude unbroken but for Thurlow, it was still difficult for her to comprehend that she was no longer alone. Yet was she beginning to understand it. Softly,she said, "I worry over Dragon. He refuses to talk of my father or of what will happen now that we are here, but I fear he is planning to take matters into his own hands." Cymbra and Krysta exchanged a glance. Quietly,Cymbra said, "Your instinct is not wrong. Dragon simmers with rage at the harm attempted to you. In Landsende I caught a mere glimpse of it,and it was like peering into one of those mountains that belch fire." Despite the heat of the sauna, Rycca shivered. "He came close to losing his life once because of me.I cannot bear for it to happen again." There was silence for a moment,broken only by the crackling of the fire and the hiss of steam.Finally, Cymbra said, "We are each of us married to an extraordinary man. There is something about them...even now I don't really know how to explain it." She looked at Krysta. "Have you told Rycca about Thorgold and Raven?" Krysta shook her head. "There was no time before." She turned on her side on the bench,facing the other two. "Thorgold and Raven are my...friends. They are somewhat unusual." Cymbra laughed at that,prompting a chiding look from Krysta,who went on to say, "I'm not sure how but I think somehow I called them to me when I was a child and needed them very much." "Krysta has the gift of calling," Cymbra said, "as I do of feeling and you do of truthsaying. Doesn't it strike you as odd that three very unusual women, all bearing special gifts, ccame to be married to three extraordinary men who are united by a common purpose,to bring peace to their peoples?" "I had not really thought about it," said Rycca, who also had not known of Krysta's gift and was looking at her with some surprise. All three of them? That was odd. "I believe," said Cymbra, who clearly had been thinking about it, "that there is a reason for it beyond mere coincidence. I think we are meant to be at their sides, to help them as best we can, the better to transform peace from dream to reality." "It is a good thought," Krysta said. Rycca nodded. Very quietly, she said, "Blessed are the peacemakers." Cymbra grinned. "And poor things, we appear to be their blessings. So worry not for Dragon, Rycca. He will prevail. We will all see to it." They laughed then,the trio of them, ancient and feminine laughter hidden in a chamber held in the palm of the earth. The steam rose around them, half obscuringm half revealing them. In time,when the heat had become too intense,they rose, wrapped themselves in billowing cloths,and ran through the gathering darkness to the river, where they frolicked in cool water and laughed again beneath the stars. The torches had been lit by the time they returned to the stronghold high on the hill. They dressed and hastened to the hall,where they greeted their husbands, who stood as one when they entered,silent and watchful men before beauty and strength, and took their seats at table. Wine was poured, food brought,music played. They lingered over the evening,taking it into night. The moon was high when they found the sweet,languid sanctuary of their beds. Day came too swiftly.

Rollo cleared his throat. “If you will excuse me, Princess Gwendafyn, Her Majesty Queen Luciee has some questions for you.” “I’ll translate for her,” Benjimir said in Elvish. “No,” Queen Luciee said in Calnoric, her voice encased in ice. “….don’t trust you…change words.” “Rollo, did the queen just imply Benjimir might not tell her the truth?” Gwendafyn murmured. “Um…yes,” the translator said. A muscle in Gwendafyn’s eyebrow jumped in irritation. “I see.” It’s a shame Queen Luciee was not bonded to Aunt Lorius. I’m certain they would get along splendidly. No, she is worse than my aunt. At least Aunt Lorius believes in what she presses upon me. Queen Luciee enjoys crushing the spirit of others. Gwendafyn had not missed the way the queen had shot down Princess Claire… “….Unnecessary, Luciee,” King Petyrr said. “Benjimir and Gwendafyn married….love each other,” he said. Queen Luciee narrowed her eyes. “I’ve thought…suspicious…an elf could love Benjimir.” Benjimir stiffened next to her, the expression on his face unreadable. In that moment, Gwendafyn wished she could wipe the smug look off the queen’s face. She knows Benjimir loves Yvrea—she must have been informed of it when he was sent into exile. How could she say such a hurtful thing to him when she is his mother? Anger rolled off Gwendafyn in waves. It was only years of experience in shoving her rage down that kept her from glaring. Instead, she fixed an unconcerned smile on her lips. Rollo cleared his throat. “Queen Luciee wishes to ask if it is true you sing a ballad to Prince Benjimir after lunch every day.” Benjimir squeezed her hand, but Gwendafyn ignored it and made a show of widening her eyes and fluttering them. I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I’m not going to let her try and make Benjimir look like an idiot. “Of course,” she said in Calnoric. When she glanced from Queen Luciee to King Petyrr she saw their look of confusion. Bother the grunts of Calnoric! They are so hard to achieve. I must be mangling this. “Rollo, could you tell them I said of course?” Rollo nodded. “Yes, Princess Gwendafyn.” He addressed the royal family across the table in flawless Calnoric. “In fact,” Gwendafyn continued in Elvish. “It is one of the most enjoyable parts of my day. We laugh—and once he even cried over a tragic ballad, though he will deny it—and enjoy each other’s company. I love spending time with Ben.” Benjimir twitched at the as-of-yet-unused nickname, but he managed to stare adoringly at her. Yvrea placed a hand over her heart. “How touching! I know you do not normally like to sing for others, sister. It is a testament to your love for Benji,” Yvrea said. “Yes,

Society makes a peculiar offer to its citizenry: we have a job, if you want it. Here it is. You must stand between the predators and the innocents of the world and hold the line with your blood. Pay is modest—and rendered grudgingly. You will labor across hours, long and ungodly, that will test the limits of exhaustion and tedium. Family will suffer your absence. You will miss many meaningful moments. You will find yourself shipped to places far away, forbidding, forgotten or assigned to patrol streets savaged by violence, poverty, madness. Your presence will not be welcomed. You will see tragedy, hopelessness and evil at depths that will rend your soul. You will be expected somehow, some way, to keep yourself whole as you drown in these so that you may confront them again the next day. You will be called filthy names. In the course of your duties, you will be attacked, targeted, challenged. Some will try to kill you. They may succeed. The antipathy of the press and the animosity of the public will flank you without end until your final tour of duty. Your every action, every decision, every remark will be the subject of unremitting—and unforgiving—scrutiny. Politicians will exploit you—for good and ill—and sacrifice you to expediency once the exploitation is done. Your mistakes, though honest, will never be forgiven—ever. You will save many but the one you lose will haunt you until your dying day. You will form bonds of brotherhood with your comrades, wordless in their abiding depth, forged in the rough bravery that circumstance compels. You will bury many of those brothers. You will begin each day knowing that you may never see another. This is the job that society offers its citizenry. Do you want it? For most, the answer is an obvious one: no. But for a few, the answer is just as obvious: yes. This is for the few who answer yes.

Not many people understood her. She loved visiting temples. She loved children and flowers, simple things and actually everything reminded her of God's Love. She found Kindness more beautiful than anything of this world. She breathed in Faith and trusted God no matter what. She was free as a bird and travelled far and wide only to know in her heart that one day she will find what Her Soul's been searching for since eternity in God's Timing. She was often looked at as pretty and intelligent, and she loved the compliments but when someone called her Godloving that stole her heart. She loved dreams and knew that all she ever wants is a Man who could walk beside her, hand in hand, living dreams and following passions in a journey of Love's adventure. She didn't just want to be a wife, she wanted to be a partner in dreams, a co-sharer of aspirations, a travel mate through the happiness and difficulties of Life. She wasn't looking for a smooth sail, she knew every bond has trying moments, just that she wanted someone who would stand by her every step of the way, just like she would have his back every single time. She wasn't looking for a hero, she was looking for an equal, a soul-counterpart sailing through life with Love, Respect and Passion. She wasn't looking for a ring, she was waiting for a Heart that was already written in the stars as hers forever. And she knew no matter what, someday someone will come who will bend his knees before God and ask Him to make her all of his, not just for a temporary timespan but for lifetimes that their souls needed to take human shape in. She knows someday she wouldn't visit temples alone, someone would stand right beside her and together they would pray for the family that would create in the blessings of Him who has already got it all planned. - and the right person would understand her because God understands Souls and Love.

If I as Pekwa Nicholas Mohlala take my family, my brothers and sisters, myself, and our children, combined, we have all the resources, knowledge, skills, and capacity to run a successful, profitable, and sustainable small business. If I take my extended family both maternal and partenal, my aunts and uncles and my cousins, myself, and our children, combined, we have all the resources, knowledge, skills, and capacity to run a successful, profitable, and sustainable medium business. If I take Ba Ga Mohlala family in general, including aunts, uncles, and grandchildren, combined, we have all the resources, knowledge, skills, and capacity to run a successful, profitable, and sustainable Big Business business. If I take Banareng clan including aunts, uncles, and grandchildren, combined, we have all the resources, knowledge, skills, and capacity to run a successful, profitable, and sustainable multinational business. YET, we are not able to do that because of lack of unity, and the lack of unity is caused by selfishness and lack of trust. At the moment what we have is majority of successful independent individuals running their individual successful, profitable and sustainable small businesses and successful individuals pursuing their own fulfilling careers. If ever we want to succeed as families and one united clan, we need to start by addressing the issue of trust, and selfishness. Other than that, anything that we try to do to unite the family will fail. And to succeed in addressing the issue of trust, and selfishness, we must first start by acknowledging that we are related. We must start by living and helping oneanother as relatives, we must first start by creating platforms that will overtime make us to reestablish our genetic bond, and also to build platforms where we can do that. So, let us grab the opportunity to use existing platforms and build new ones, to participate, contribute positively, and add our brothers and sisters, our cousins, and other extended family members to those platforms as a way towards building unity, unity of purpose, purpose of reclaiming our glory and building a legacy. Unity of empowering ourself and our communities. Unity of building a successful and sustainable socioeconomic livelihood for ourselves and our communities. We will keep on preaching this gospel of being self sustainable as Ba Ga Mohlala and Banareng in general, until people start to stop and take notice, until people start listening and acting, we will keep on preaching this gospel of being self sustainable as Ba Ga Mohlala and Banareng in general, until people take it upon themselves and start organizing themselves around the issue of social and economic development as a family and as a clan, until people realize the importance of self sufficiency as a family and as a clan. In times of election, the media always keep on talking about the election machinery of the ruling parties in refence to branches of the ruling parties which are the power base of those ruling parties. Luckily as Ba Gs Mohlala, we also have Ba Ga Mohlala branches across the country as basic units in addition to family, and extended family units. So, let us use those structures as basic units and building blocks to build up Ba Ga Mohlala and Banareng to become successful forces which will play a role in socioeconomic sphere locally, regionally, provinvially, nationally, and internationally. To build Ba Ga Mohlala and Banareng to be a force to reckon with locally, provinvially, nationally, and internationally. The platforms are there, it is all up to us, the ball is in our court as a collective Ba Ga Mohlala and Banareng. It must become a norn and a duty to serve the family and the clan, it must become a honour to selflessly serve the family and the clan without expecting anything in return. ALUTA !!!!!!!! "Struggle of selfsuffiency must continue

Hey, Rita.” She watched Jake return to his hardware goodies. “Hey, Meridith. Sorry to call at dinnertime, but this is important.” “What is it?” Jake looked up at her tone. “I ran into Dee Whittier in town awhile ago.” “Who?” “She owns a sporting shop and is on the chamber of commerce with me. She’s also Max and Ben’s soccer coach.” “Okay . . .” “Well, she called and told me she saw the kids’ uncle in town this afternoon.” “What?” Meridith caught Jake’s eye, then flickered a look toward Noelle. “She recognized him because he goes to the boys’ games sometimes and, well, according to her he’s a total stud, and she’s single, so . . . you haven’t heard from him yet?” “No.” “I thought you’d want to know.” “Yes, I—thanks, Rita. Forewarned is forearmed, right?” A scream pierced the line. “Brandon, leave your sister alone!” Rita yelled. “Listen, I gotta run.” “Thanks for calling,” Meridith said absently. “What’s wrong?” Jake asked. He would be coming soon. Surely it wouldn’t take long for him to discover his sister had passed away. She felt a moment’s pity at the thought, then remembered he’d gone over three months without checking in. “You okay?” Jake asked again. Noelle entered the room and grabbed a stack of napkins from the island drawer. “Noelle, your uncle hasn’t called or e-mailed, has he?” Noelle’s hand froze, a stack of napkins clutched in her fist. Her lips parted. Her eyes darted to Jake, then back to Meridith. “Why?” “Rita said someone named Dee saw him in town today.” Noelle closed the drawer slowly. “Oh. Uh . . . no.” Meridith turned to the soup. Thick broth bubbles popped and spewed. She turned down the heat again and stirred. “Well, I guess he’s back. You’ll be seeing him soon.” She tried to inject enthusiasm in her voice, tried to be happy for the children. A piece of familiarity, a renewed bond, a living reminder of their mother. It would be good for them. And yet. What if he wanted them once he found out what had happened to Eva and T. J.? What if he fought her for them and won? Her stomach bottomed out. She loved the children now. They were her siblings. Her family. She remembered coming to the island with every intention of handing them over like unwanted baggage. What she’d once wanted most was now a potential reality. Only now she didn’t want it at all. Dinner

Like any craft and tradition, hunting too can be shared and passed down generations. From the dawn of man to our own age, the hunting party is a well-worn staple of masculinity. All hunting parties will have roles and rough hierarchy set into them. There is the man who organized the party, the experienced hunters who guide others, some who entertain and cook, and the new hunters that are not just gophers but the next generation to lead future trips. The hunting party creates inside jokes, stories that can only be known by those who attend, and fosters familial bonds. In our culture of chaos,a hunting trip allows for quiet moments that few get anywhere else with friends or family.

Numbers from Heaven" by Kurtis C. R. Palmer & Ramona Palmer is the first picture book in the Womb to BLOOM to Classroom series. It has vividly beautiful 3D illustrations that almost leap out of the book's pages, quickly capturing the interest of young ones. From the very first pages, they'd want to follow Zoey, the Zebra and P.B., the Panda Bear, learning and even enhancing the power of their imagination. This book opens to children a whole new world that's not only educational but also fun and worth their time. Parents and their kids can spend precious bonding moments while learning to count and even recognize some colors. The story itself takes the child to simple exercises in counting, allowing the young one to master the number being taught. Zoey's story also contains some mystery that kids can look forward to. As she discovers the treasure chest left by her Grandpa, who knows what wonders await her and her friend as they try to unlock the secret behind each key that they possess! Being the first book in a whole series that promises to teach various subjects, parents and children can definitely look forward to new adventures with Zoey and her friends. I was so happy when the book even presented a bonus animated reading of the story for those who subscribe to their Newsletter. I watched it right away and I couldn't wait to watch for more. I'm certain my nephews would enjoy both the book and the animation as they get to know Zoey and her set of friends. Two thumbs up and five stars for this educational and fun-filled book!

Reading to children at night, responding to their smiles with a smile, returning their vocalizations with one of your own, touching them, holding them - all of these further a child's brain development and future potential, even in the earliest months. Parents don't make mistakes because they don't care, but because they care so deeply. Attachment to a baby is a long-term process, not a single, magical moment. The opportunity for bonding at birth may be compared to falling in love - staying in love takes longer and demands more work. Families need families. Parents need to be parented. Grandparents, aunts, and uncles are back in fashion because they are necessary. Stresses on many families are out of proportion to anything two parents can handle

member of God’s family, one of his children. This supernatural joy, closely linked to the Cross, is the great secret of Christians.[637] A child of God never loses his peace, not even in the darkest of moments; consciousness of his divine filiation frees him from interior tension, and moves him to return contritely and confidently to his Father’s house if he has gone astray out of weakness. Divine filiation is also the foundation of Christian fraternity, which lies far above the human bond of solidarity.[

Lilian?” Kevin needed a moment to register that, indeed, Lilian was standing before him. “What are you doing here? I thought you were taking a bath with the others.” “I was going to,” Lilian admitted, “but then I realized that my mate and I haven’t been able to spend much time alone together because my family kept getting in the way, and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity for us to bond.” “Bond?” He studied the girl, and eventually realized that she wasn’t looking at his face. Feeling a sense of unease growing in the pit of his stomach, Kevin looked down. His face grew red. He let out a loud “eep!” and tried to cover himself with his hands. “Ufufufu,” Lilian chuckled. “You’re still too cute when you get embarrassed like that.” Kevin tried to glare at her, but the blush on his face lessened the effect. “It’s got nothing to do with being embarrassed and everything to do with common decency,” he insisted, lying through his teeth. “Most people don’t stand around in the nude while someone else is present, not even if they’re dating that person.” “Most people aren’t mated to a kitsune.” “Ugh…” She had him there. “Kevin” Lilian’s eyes were warm and so incredibly earnest that Kevin was unable to look away, “you are my mate; the person I love more than anyone else in this world.” Delicate hands reached up and cupped his face. “This isn’t some random person wanting to see you naked. This is me, your mate, who wants to become more intimate with you. If it helps, I promise not to touch anything below the belt.” Staring at the girl with an uncomprehending gaze, Kevin’s mind became a warzone, a battle the likes of which no one had ever seen before—mostly because it was all happening in his mind. *** The desolate wasteland spread out for miles, its borders traveling far beyond the distant horizon. Cracks traversed the ground like a myriad system of interconnecting spiderwebs. There was no flora or fauna in this wasteland. It was the perfect place… for war. Two forces stood on opposite ends of each other, armies of nearly equal might. Multi-segmented plates clicked together as figures moved and jostled each other. Horned helms adorned the many heads, their faceplates masking their identities. Hands gripped massive halberds with leaf-shaped blades that gleamed like a thousand suns. The army on the northern border wore white armor, while those in the southern quadrant wore red. A moment of silence swept through the clearing. A tumbleweed rolled across the ground. It was the unspoken signal for the battle to start, and the two forces rushed in toward the center, yelling out their battle cries. “For Lilian!!” “For chastity!!” Thunder struck the earth as these two titanic armies fought. Bodies were thrown into the air with impunity. Halberds clashed, the sound of metal on metal, steel ringing against steel, rang out in a symphony of chaos. Sparks flew and shouts accompanied the maelstrom of combat. It was, indeed, a battle worthy of being placed within the annals of history. A third party soon entered the fray. From one of the many cliffs surrounding the battlefield, an army appeared. Unlike the two forces duking it out down below, this army was bereft of nearly all their clothes. Wearing nothing but simple loincloths and bandoleers similar to Tarzan’s, the group of individuals looked identical. Messy blond hair framed bright blue eyes that glared down at the battlefield. With nary a thought, this force surged down the cliff, their own battle cry echoing across the land. “DEATH TO THE CHERRY!!” And so more chaos was unleashed upon the battlefield. ***

When there are no quiet moments, no time to reflect, everyone in the family loses out on the special bonds created by peace and stability.

The bonds joining man to the universe of course extended to the family, both to ancestors and to children not yet born. The belief in an inextinguishable vital principle ensured that nothing perished in an irreversible fashion, which explains Norse ethics: death was but one stage of a cycle, the return to the immanent or transcendent world and the return to the sacred. "Retirement to the kingdom of the dead," Regis Boyer notes judiciously, "is not actually timeless as much as it is irrelevant to the present time. It is capable of opening at any moment to create a path for returns."ts In this mental universe, which could be difficult to grasp by minds permeated by Roman and Christian culture, "the dead individual is not really dead. He has returned to one of the states of the cycle, but remains active in the form of landvaettr"—that is, tutelary spirit (genius loci). Revenants were no cause for surprise to the Germanic peoples; they fit perfectly within their mind-sets, their place has not been usurped, and we cannot dismiss these stories as "old wives' tales." The roots of the belief are too deep.

I truly loved the soldiers I served with, in ways that transcend familial or romantic love. Some of them still call me, and for the guys in my fire team I’ll be their ‘sarge’ for perpetuity. And even though some stayed active duty and outranked the E-5 stripes I proudly wore, they’ll always be Specialist Joe to me. The lightning rod of combat, the first rounds fired, it solidifies that moment, encapsulating it and preserving the bond. For us, time stopped and Bravo Fire Team will always be as it was. Even though we moved on, it remains.

It took this tragic moment in America's racial history to forge the bond that Robert Kennedy had been seeking. The recognition of shared victimhood played a part. His reference to a "member of my family" was the sole public mention he was ever to make regarding his own relationship to what he would call "the events of November 1963.

In that moment, I knew the truth about family. There wasn’t one cookie-cutter way to create love bonds. Families came in all shapes, forms, and sizes. Some were tied together by blood, and others by heartbeats. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter how you came together; it only mattered that you stayed together. That you looked out for one another and loved in an unconditional way.

These people are fully in exile. They have not received anything from modern India. This metal road has come to them to serve the interests of those very moneylenders from Bhalpura and Rajaura who will snatch their harvests to recover their loans, those patient customers who wait like vultures for the moment when starving parents will sell their children in the extremity of despair, and fall to feeding on carrion, the advance men of those labor contractors who will make the aboriginals their bond slaves with the seduction of 'ten rupees a day and a full stomach.' Modern India only gives them posters for family planning. The birth of children increases rather than decreases as a result of starvation, until the bodies of the man and the woman go on strike permanently.

[Aza Raskin] designed something that distinctly changed how the web works. It's called 'infinite scroll.' Older readers will remember that it used to be that the internet was divided into pages, and when you got to the bottom of one page, you had to decide to click a button to get to the next page. It was an active choice. It gave you a moment to pause and ask: Do I want to carry on looking at this? Aza designed the code that means you don't have to ask that question any more. ...It downloads a chunk of status updates for your to read through ...when you get to the bottom, it will automatically load another chunk for your to flick through. ...'At the outset, it looks like a really good invention,' he told me. He believed he was making life easier for everyone. He had been taught that increased speed and efficiency of access were always advances. his invention quickly spread all over the internet ...But then Aza watched as the people around him changed. They seemed to be unable to pull themselves away from their devices, flicking through and through and through, thanks in part to the code he had designed. He found himself infinitely scrolling through what he often realised afterwards was crap, and he wondered if he was making good use of his life. ...Aza sat down and did a calculation. At a conservative estimate, infinite scroll makes you spend 50 percent more of your time on sites like Twitter. (For many people, Aza believes, it's vastly more.) Sticking with this low-ball percentage, Aza wanted to know what it meant, in practice, if billions of people were spending 50 percent more time on a string of social media sites. When he was done, he stared at the sums. Every day, as a direct result of his invention, the combined total of 200,000 more total human lifetimes - every moment from birth to death - is now spent scrolling through a screen. These hours would otherwise have been spent on some other activity. When he described this to me, he sounded a little stunned. That time is 'just completely gone. It's like their entire life - poof. That time, which could have been used for solving climate change, for spending time with their family, for strengthening social bonds. For whatever is it that makes their life well-lived. It's just...' He trailed off.

This lovely tale of a family of sweet peas’ bedtime routine is beautifully written, skillfully told, and full of both humor and warmth. Young readers will love this story’s humorous conclusion and caregivers will love reading it to them for the lovely bonding moment that it provides.

The Federation can do everything in its power to destroy the bonds that tie family together, human decency, love. But it cannot break it. There is a level of power in this small, intimate moment that Constantine, with all his armies and his experiments, can never touch. Here, we are invincible.

To their right, a strange fog glowed eerily, streamed through the rain and wound through the trees. It moved forward at knee level coming straight toward them now. Shea felt her heart in her throat. She touched Jacques’ back for reassurance. He stopped, seemingly relaxed, his muscles coiled and ready, like a panther awaiting its moment. She could feel it in him, his readiness, so still and confident. As the fog grew closer, only several yards away now, the moisture began to stack itself higher and higher, the droplets connecting and forming the shape of a man. Shea wanted to scream with fear, but she stayed very still, afraid of distracting Jacques. Byron’s form shimmered for a moment. She could actually see the tree behind the mist, and then he was solid, standing with the curious elegance of the Carpathian male. He lifted his eyes from the ground to meet Jacques’ icy-black gaze. “We have been friends for centuries, Jacques. I cannot remember a time in my life that we did not run together. It is strange and sad to me that you can look at me and not know me.” Shea, behind Jacques, stirred uncomfortably. Byron’s sorrow appeared more than he could bear. She wanted to reach out to him, make an attempt to ease his obvious suffering. Do not! The command was sharp in her mind, clear and in a tone that brooked no argument. Jacques remained motionless, as if carved from stone. Byron’s words did not appear to move him in any way. Byron shrugged, his face twisted with pain. “When we thought you were dead, we searched for your body. Months, years even. You were never out of our thoughts. You were my family, Jacques, my friend. It was hard to learn to be completely solitary. Gregori and Mikhail and even Aidan survived the centuries because, as alone as they had to be, they had a bond, an anchor to keep them strong through the bleak centuries. You were mine. Once you were gone, my struggle became immense.

Familiars were no secret in this town, and most people bonded for life with theirs. They weren’t just pets—they were part of the family.  The special bond you developed went beyond just pets and owners.  I’d had that once before—with my first cat, Binx—a big fluffy gray thing. The moment they had placed him in my arms at six years old, it was like I knew. He understood me, down to my soul. We had a connection that couldn’t be replicated. He’d been my familiar, my lifelong companion, and the creature of my heart.

after years of continuously working in front of screens. Although he used his phone to capture precious moments with his children, stay connected with family, and engage with social media, he couldn't shake the feeling that screens had become an outsized part of his parenting. "One of the biggest mistakes I made during the pandemic was buying an iPad," he admitted. "It became a crutch when I didn't feel like being present or when one of my younger ones became difficult to handle. I kept using the screen as a pacifier, rather than introducing proper ways to deal with boredom and their high energy levels." Growing up, Jason had fond memories of playing catch with his dad, creating scrap albums, and watching photos develop in his father's darkroom studio. "It taught me patience, curiosity, and precision,” he recalled. "It helped me become very careful when writing code and trying to get it right the first time." Inspired by these cherished memories, Jason resolved to reintroduce more analog activities into his family's daily life. He purchased a film camera, set up a darkroom in their home, and acquired puzzles for his younger children. Over the next two years, Jason noticed a significant improvement in his connection with his children as they bonded over these analog pastimes. As his children prepared for high school, he felt ready

Today, I was reminded that family life is never perfect, it is almost a touch of confusion and chaos wrapped into these amazingly brilliant moments that make you feel loved from the tip of your toes right up to the last strand of hair on your head. Yet, that isn’t what defines a family. It’s the strength of the bonds that help us to find our centeredness even when the situation presents itself as having no center. In those cases, until you find your center, Peppermint Pull-Up cake is always recommended, as a type of a sugary meditation to seal the bonds between those you love, and to remind each other that the way back is always through the center of love. And it makes us realize the gift housed inside of the madness…when our bonds of family live up to the wisdom of an old African saying: “To get lost is to learn the way.” The way always points home…toward the direction of our family’s heart. That point that can break, heal, and break again just to lead us to where peace resides. The juncture called...family.

No child can avoid emotional pain while growing up, and likewise emotional toxicity seems to be a normal by-product of organizational life—people are fired, unfair policies come from headquarters, frustrated employees turn in anger on others. The causes are legion: abusive bosses or unpleasant coworkers, frustrating procedures, chaotic change. Reactions range from anguish and rage, to lost confidence or hopelessness. Perhaps luckily, we do not have to depend only on the boss. Colleagues, a work team, friends at work, and even the organization itself can create the sense of having a secure base. Everyone in a given workplace contributes to the emotional stew, the sum total of the moods that emerge as they interact through the workday. No matter what our designated role may be, how we do our work, interact, and make each other feel adds to the overall emotional tone. Whether it’s a supervisor or fellow worker who we can turn to when upset, their mere existence has a tonic benefit. For many working people, coworkers become something like a “family,” a group in which members feel a strong emotional attachment for one another. This makes them especially loyal to each other as a team. The stronger the emotional bonds among workers, the more motivated, productive, and satisfied with their work they are. Our sense of engagement and satisfaction at work results in large part from the hundreds and hundreds of daily interactions we have while there, whether with a supervisor, colleagues, or customers. The accumulation and frequency of positive versus negative moments largely determines our satisfaction and ability to perform; small exchanges—a compliment on work well done, a word of support after a setback—add up to how we feel on the job.28

Many animals flourish not in spite of the fact that they are "animals" but because they are "animals"—or even more precisely, perhaps, because they are felt to be members of our families and our communities, regardless of their species. And yet, at the very same moment, billions of animals in factory farms, many of whom are very near to or indeed exceed cats and dogs and other companion animals in the capacities we take to be relevant to standing (the ability to experience pain and suffering, anticipatory dread, emotional bonds and complex social interactions, and so on), have as horrible a life as one could imagine, also because they are "animals." Clearly, then, the question here is not simply of the "animal" as the abjected other of the "human" tout court, but rather something like a distinction between bios and zoe that obtains within the domain of domesticated animals itself.

All the boys are out there looking for a god to thank. We call her boy 'Big Mike' although he's six foot two, And he likes to be the boy behind the barbecue. It's a good time, and a big free-for-all... Or it was until the moment that the zombies came to call. So run for the river, run for the trees, Run faster than the next guy, honey, if you please. We came out to the lakeside for a holiday, Now it seems we're in the wrong in 'predator and prey'. We came out for the fish, we came out for the fun, But we're captives now in the zombie river run. Well, Dave was first to see them, took it for a joke; He was standing by the forest sucking down a Coke. When they grabbed and started chewing he was real surprised, And that's about the time we came to realize That the locals had decided to crash our soiree Despite their state of fairly well-advanced decay. It wasn't very social at all... But that's the crap that happens when the zombies come to call. We tried to hold them off, but they would not turn back, It was another stupid clip from 'When the Dead Attack'. Then Mike got real annoyed and started spitting flames, While Suzy summoned demons by their secret names. Bambi shed her skin and started to constrict, And that's when all those zombies knew that they'd been tricked. We aren't all that normal at all... I guess this is the last time that the zombies come to call. So run for the river, run for the trees, Run faster than the next guy, honey, if you please. We came out to the lakeside for a holiday, Now it seems we're in the wrong in 'predator and prey'. We came out for the fish, we came out for the fun, But we're captives now in the zombie river run. We're a simple little family, and we like our lake, And if you want to make us cranky, that's a big mistake, Because we bring the whole damn family out every year, And we only want our peace -- I hope I've made that clear. It's not hard to form a posse when you've got a brood, And I only hope this warning won't be misconstrued, Because if anybody bugs us at all... You'll be wishing things were clear as when the zombies came to call. Written on: 2006-07-26. “Zombie River Run” Copyright © 2006 Seanan McGuire

When we took steps to simplify our lifestyle, we not only evaluated belongings and screen times, we also evaluated friendships. We identified and focused on those that brought positivity, happiness, and strength to our life and allowed the others to fade away. This streamlining exercise made us appreciate the quality of the true friends we had. What was the point of spending precious time tending digital acquaintances to the detriment of our real-world ones? I realized that life was too short to fret about unsatisfying, meaningless online relationships. Reinforcing the bonds that we cherish and living in the moment with the people we love have since become family priorities. I no longer feel pressured to belong to social networks; those that I really care about know how to get in touch with me.

The world he loved was not just disappearing; it was already gone. The British Empire would shrink away from its borders. Williams had lost the Burmese members of his family, and the elephants were next. The effect of the separation would be momentous. The bond he had forged with the animals was something so large and deep he could frame it only in spiritual terms, saying they were his “religion.

Gathered close, our hearts aglow, In moments shared, our spirits flow. Through laughter, dance, and tears we pour, United in love, forevermore. Like seeds in soil, our roots entwine, A bond so strong, it's truly divine. Though miles may stretch, and time may fly, Our relationship endures, reaching high. At the reunion, joy's our guide, With memories cherished, side by side. For in each hug and smile we share, We find our family everywhere.