Pa School Quotes

THERE IS A GAS LEAK IN THE BASEMENT OF THE SCHOOL. THERE IS NO NEED TO PANIC. IT IS JUST A GAS LEAK WHICH MAY LEAD TO AN EXPLOSION AT ANY MOMENT. PLEASE ALL GO TO THE OVAL, AS PER THE FIRE DRILLS. -Charlie on the P.A.

There were a lot of falsehoods in this world, and it seemed a large percentage of them were posted in hallways, and announced ont he school's PA system.

Popular disregard, even disdain, for demonstrable truth is the most dangerous thing that can happen to a democracy.

Also,' McCoy continued, 'this is the yearly reminder that our beloved scoreboard's birthday, the anniversary of its donation to the school, is coming up in just a few short weeks. So everyone get ready, prepare your offerings, and be ready to celebrate this great occasion!' The PA system went quiet. I stared at the ceiling. Did he just say 'offerings?' For a scoreboard?

She could not think what it would be to teach school twelve miles away from home, along among strangers. The less she thought of it the better, for she must go, and she must meet whatever happened as it came. "Now Mary can have everting she needs, and she can come home this next summer," she said. "Oh, Pa, do you think I - I can teach school?" "I do, Laura," said Pa. "I am sure of it.

I was twenty now, and had given up all hope of being a singer or ever getting out of Aston. PA system or no PA system, it wasn’t going to happen. I’d convinced myself that there was no point in even trying, because I was just going to fail, like I had at school, at work, and at everything else I’d ever tried. ‘You ain’t no good as a singer,’ I told myself. ‘You can’t even play an instrument, so what hope d’you have?’

There is a long history, in the U.S. and elsewhere, of removing children as a means of political control. If this strikes a nerve with you—as I hope it does—please learn more about the many instances, both past and ongoing, in which children have been taken from their families: the separations of enslaved families, government boarding schools for Indigenous children (such as that in Carlisle, PA), the inequities built into the foster care system, the separations of migrant families still occurring at the U.S.’s southern border, and beyond. Much more attention needs to be brought to this subject, but Laura Briggs’s Taking Children: A History

Jina langu ni Enock Maregesi na ningependa kukwambia kisa kidogo kuhusiana na bibi yangu, Martha Maregesi. Mwanamke huyu alikuwa mke mwenye upendo usiokuwa na masharti yoyote. Alikuwa mama na bibi aliyefundisha familia yake umuhimu wa kujitolea na umuhimu wa uvumilivu. Ijapokuwa hakupendelea sana kujizungumzia mwenyewe, ningependa kukusimulia kisa kidogo kuhusiana na hadithi ya maisha ya mwanamke huyu wa ajabu katika maisha yangu. Bibi yangu alizaliwa katika Kitongoji cha Butimba, Kijiji cha Kome, Kata ya Bwasi, Tarafa ya Nyanja (Majita), Wilaya ya Musoma Vijijini, Mkoa wa Mara, katika familia ya watoto kumi, mwaka 1930. Alisoma katika Shule ya Msingi ya Kome ambako alipata elimu ya awali na msingi na pia elimu ya kiroho kwani shule yao ilikuwa ya madhehebu ya Kisabato. Aliolewa na Bwana Maregesi Musyangi Sabi mwaka 1946, na kufanikiwa kupata watoto watatu; wa kiume wakiwa wawili na wa kike mmoja. Matatizo hasa ya bibi yalianza mwaka 2005, alipougua kiharusi akiwa nyumbani kwake huko Musoma. Hata hivyo alitibiwa hapo Musoma na Dar es Salaam akapona na kuwa mwenye afya ya kawaida. Lakini tarehe 19/10/2014 alipatwa tena na kiharusi na kulazwa tena katika Hospitali ya Mkoa ya Musoma, ila akajisikia nafuu na kuruhusiwa kurudi nyumbani – lakini kwa maagizo ya daktari ya kuendelea na dawa akiwa nje ya hospitali. Tarehe 29/10/2014 alirudi tena Hospitali ya Mkoa ya Musoma kwa tiba zaidi, lakini tarehe 4/11/2014 saa 7:55 usiku akafariki dunia; akiwa amezungukwa na familia yake. Dunia ina watu wachache sana wenye matumaini na misimamo ya kutegemea mazuri, na wachache zaidi ambao wako tayari kugawa matumaini na misimamo hiyo kwa watu wengine. Nitajisikia furaha siku zote kwamba miongoni mwa watu hao wachache, hata bibi yangu alikuwemo. Msalaba uliwekwa wakfu na Mwenyezi Mungu baada ya mwili wa Yesu Kristo kuning’inizwa juu yake. Kwa kuwa bibi yangu ametanguliwa na msalaba, msalaba utamwongoza mahali pa kwenda.

When they finally broke into the lagoon, where the ratty shack with rusted-out screens hunkered under the oaks, Maria clutched her youngest child, Jodie, fighting tears. Pa assured her, “Don’t ya worry none. I’ll get this fixed up in no time.” But Jake never improved the shack or finished high school. Soon after they arrived, he took up drinking and poker at the Swamp Guinea, trying to leave that foxhole in a shot glass.

So even though she couldn’t remember the date of her birth, one evening when the moon rose swollen and golden from the lagoon, Kya said to herself, “I reckon I’m seven.” Pa never mentioned it; certainly there was no cake. He didn’t say anything about her going to school either, and she, not knowing much about it, was too afraid to bring it up. Surely Ma would come back for her birthday, so the morning after the harvest moon she put on the calico dress and stared down the lane. Kya willed Ma to be walking toward the shack, still in her alligator shoes and long skirt. When no one came, she got the pot of grits and walked through the woods to the seashore. Hands to her mouth, she held her head back and called, “Kee-ow, kee-ow, kee-ow.” Specks of silver appeared in the sky from up and down the beach, from over the surf. “Here they come. I can’t count as high as that many gulls are,” she said. Crying and screeching, the birds swirled and dived, hovered near her face, and landed as she tossed grits to them. Finally, they quieted and stood about preening, and she sat on the sand, her legs folded to the side. One large gull settled onto the sand near Kya. “It’s my birthday,” she told the bird.

I think one of the reasons my family survived its difficult times and is so close today is because we are always laughing at one another’s faults and mistakes, and despite whatever injustices are done, we have a good time doing it. We aren’t afraid to poke fun at one another and no one ever takes it personal for long. My brothers and I are highly competitive and world-class trash-talkers, and if you ever walk in while we are playing cards or dominoes--just like our games with Granny and Pa--you probably would think someone is fixing to die. Our neighbor, who was about my parents’ age, came over to our house once looking for my mom. She found my brothers and me playing the card game hearts. She offered to be the fourth. But about midway through the second hand, we looked up and she had tears streaming down her face. She threw her cards in the middle of the table, declared she didn’t want to play anymore, and left the house. We were a bit miffed about it and didn’t realize until later that our trash talking had led to her emotional exit. Another time, I brought a girl from high school down to my parents’ house for supper and cards because she told me she was quite the spades player. Halfway through the game, she was crying hysterically. Her sister later stood nose to nose with me and gave me quite the tongue-lashing. I came to realize that our banter was a bit extreme to people outside of our family. Maybe that is one of the reasons I married a woman who couldn’t care less about winning or losing any game.

„Zie zoo, nu zie ik ze niet meer. Jij weet niet wat handel is, Koekebakker, anders zou je der niet om lachen. Om te beginnen ga je tot je achtiende jaar op school. Heb jij ooit geweten hoeveel schapen er in Australië zijn en hoe diep ’t Suezkanaal is? Nou juist, daar heb je het. Ik heb dat geweten. Weet jij wat polarisatie is? Ik ook niet, maar ik heb ’t geweten. De raarste dingen heb ik moeten leeren. Vertaal in ’t Fransch: [80]„onder benefice van inventaris.” Ga der maar tegen aan staan. Je hebt er geen begrip van, Koekebakker. Dat duurt zoo jaren. Dan doet je ouwe heer je op een kantoor. Dan merk je, dat je al die dingen geleerd hebt om met een kwast papier nat te maken. Overigens is ’t ’t ouwe gedonderjaag, ’s morgens om negen uur present en urenlang stil zitten. Ik vond dat ik op die manier niet opschoot. Ik kwam altijd te laat, ik probeerde wel op tijd te komen, maar ’t wou niet meer, ik had ’t zooveel jaren gedaan. En taai. Ze zeiden dat ik alles verkeerd deed, daar zullen ze wel gelijk aan gehad hebben. Ik wilde wel, maar ik kon niet, ik ben geen kerel om te werken. Ze zeiden, dat ik de anderen van hun werk hield. Ook daarin zullen ze wel gelijk gehad hebben. Als ik klaagde, dat ik ’t niks lollig vond en vroeg of ik daarvoor nu op school al die wonderlijke dingen had geleerd, dan zei de oue boekhouder: „Ja jongetje, het leven is geen roman.” Bakken vertellen, dat kon ik en dat vonden ze leuk ook, maar ze waren er niet tevreden mee. De ouwe boekhouder wist al heel gauw niet wat hij met me doen moest. Als de baas er niet was maakte ik dierengeluiden, zong komieke liedjes, die ze nog nooit hadden gehoord. De zoon van den baas was een ingebeelde kwajongen; af en toe kwam i op kantoor om centen te halen. Hij sprak vreeselijk gemaakt en keek met een allerellendigst, door niets gemotiveerd vertoon van superioriteit naar de bedienden van zijn pa. De lui lachten zich een beroerte als ik dien jongeheer nadeed. Ik heb daar ook nog een schrijfmachine bedorven en een boek weggemaakt. Toen hebben ze me aan een toestel gezet, dat ze de „guillotine” noemden. Daar moest ik monsters mee knippen. Dagen lang heb ik daaraan gestaan: alle monsters werden scheef. De lui hadden ’t wel in de gaten, ze hadden niets [81]anders verwacht. Ze hadden me daar alleen maar aan gezet om erger te voorkomen. Die monsters werden weggegooid; die gingen nooit naar de klanten. Toch had ik in die dagen nog gelegenheid om een brief verkeerd in te sluiten. Natuurlijk was ’t erg; de man die den brief kreeg mocht niet weten, dat de baas zaken deed met den man waaraan i geschreven was. De boekhouder was totaal van streek. Toen begreep ik, dat ik maar liever heen moest gaan. Ik kreeg een poot van den baas. Ik was zelf ook blij dat ik wegging en heb hem hartelijk de hand geschud. Ik heb gezegd, dat ’t me speet, maar dat ik er niets aan doen kon en ik geloof, dat ’k ’t meende. Zie je, Koekebakker, dat is handel. Ik ben daarna nog drie weken volontair geweest op een effectenkantoortje, krantjes nakijken met een boek om te zien of de stukken van de klanten waren uitgeloot. Je ergste vijand zal er voor bewaard blijven. Ze moesten me wegdoen. Ik moest daar ook copieeren. Er was geen denken aan, dat ze uit ’t copieboek konden wijs worden. Ik zag wel in dat ’t zoo niet ging, ik kon er mijn hoofd niet bij houden.

Oh, there'll be school, just a different kind," Elliott commented. "You'll be going to the school of 'Your Life Without Electricity.' There will be classes in 'How to Hunt, Grow, and Preserve Food if You Don't Want to Starve', 'How to Fix Your Own Leaky Roof', and 'How to Patch Holes in Your Clothes Because Nobody Is Making Them Anymore

You don’t have to stay in town,” Liv said. “You could sleep in Gran’s and Granddad’s room until they get back.” “No, I couldn’t do that.” Shane shook his head violently. “Wouldn’t be respectful.” “There’s a bunkhouse near the barn,” Sophie pointed through the window. “You could move in there.” “That’s an excellent idea.” Jess beamed. “At least for this week while you’re not in school.” “I don’t like to put my troubles on you.” Shane shook his head again. “Never know what Pa’s likely to do.” “We’ll share our troubles,” Jess said gently. “The girls’ grandfather called, and he thinks we should bring the horses up to the ranch. I agree, especially after the girls told me about the foal being attacked by a coyote yesterday.” “I hear you,” Shane said. “I guess I’d better round ’em up and bring ’em in.” Jess nodded. “Take Cactus Jack or Cisco for now. When you bring in the herd, choose another horse to ride till Navajo is better.” “You can take Cactus Jack,” Liv volunteered. “Then Sophie can go with you.” Sometimes Sophie felt as if Liv really did understand her, after all. Liv loved riding Cactus Jack in the desert, and she was giving her a chance to be alone with Shane.

They came all that distance just to see a baby?” she whispered. “For heaven’s sake, they’re not a war party. Nothing’s going on. Just because Polly’s folks were Tories and Gideon lived at that school in Canada doesn’t make them dangerous.” “What if he’s a British agent, Eph?” “Don’t be ridiculous, Livy. That’s a harebrained, womanish idea.” “Why?” she said angrily. “It’s your pa said there were plenty of them making trouble out here. He said those British in Upper Canada keep telling the western tribes the king will come to their aid if they war with the Americans.” “Gideon lives right in the middle of Americans. What would he have to gain by starting a war in his own backyard?” “I don’t know, Eph. All I know is what Uncle John said. Upper Canada wants Indian territory sitting between it and America. A strip below Lake Ontario and Lake Erie. If Gideon helps them, maybe the British will give him land as a reward. Rising Hawk’s probably in on it, too. He’s always traveling over to Canada to the nations at Grand River. Couldn’t he be carrying messages to the British garrisons there?” “Rising Hawk’s not a sneak, Livy. Besides, he could never keep big secrets. He’d turn them into stories and blab to everyone.

Say, I’d like to speak with your pa this afternoon, if he’s a minute to spare.” “You know where to look.” “Why don’t I stop by around three.” This plan, so casually made that it hardly qualified as an appointment, could not have been more ironclad had it been typed into an executive diary by a secretarial school graduate fluent in stenography

I remember driving there in the afternoon, and I remember getting there and loading the gear in. I don’t remember the sound check. We had one, I think, but we had no idea what to do because we’d never done one before. No one had the foggiest. Not knowing what to do made it exciting, though. Like, now, everybody’s got a stage manager and a sound guy, lights, and so on. The bands know all about sound checks and levels, equipment and all that. Now they even have music schools to teach you that kind of stuff. Back then you knew fuck-all. You didn’t have anyone professional, just your mates, who, like you, were clueless; you had a disco PA and a sleepy barmaid. It’s something I find quite sad about groups today, funnily enough, the careerism of it all. I saw this program once, a “battle of the bands” sort of thing. It had Alex James from Blur on it and Lauren Laverne and some twat from a record company, and they’d sit there saying what they thought of the band: “Your bass player’s shit and your image needs work; lose the harmonica player.” All the bands just stood there and took it, going, “Cheers, man, we’ll go off and do that.” I couldn’t believe it. I joined a band to tell everyone to fuck off, and if somebody said to me, “Your image is shit,” I’d have gone, “Fuck off, knob head!” And if someone had said, “Your music’s shit,” I would have nutted them. That to me is what’s lacking in groups. They’ve missed out that growing-up stage of being bloody-minded and fucking clueless. You have to have ultimate self-belief. You have to believe right from the word go that you’re great and that the rest of the world has to catch up with you. Of us lot, Ian was the best at that. He believed in Joy Division completely. If any of us got downhearted it was always him who would cheer us up and get us going again. He’d put you back on track.

Noong nagsimula ang paggawa ng Skyway Stage 3, ako ay freshman sa law school. Halos araw-araw ay dumaraan ako sa ginagawang kalsada na kapag kompleto na ay mababawasan ang oras ng biyahe mula NLEX papuntang SLEX, mula sa dating 2.5 na oras, magiging 30 minuto na lang. Nagtatrabaho pa ako noon para sa United Nations at ang opisina namin ay nasa RCBC Plaza sa Ayala Avenue. Maraming beses kong hiniling na matapos agad ang paggawa. Ang pangakong mas maikling biyahe mula Makati papuntang QC ay magbibigay sa akin ng dagdag na oras para mag-aral, kumain, o matulog. Hindi ko batid na magiging parte ako ng proyektong iyon pagkalipas ng dalawang taon.” - Night Owl: Edisyong Filipino (p. 116, Mga Kritikal na Repormang Right-of-Way sa Pagkompleto ng Skyway Stage 3)

Let’s talk turkey,” said Arthur over the PA system at school. “The best part in the Thanksgiving play is still open. If you’re interested, please come to the office at once.” No one came to the office. In fact, the principal left the office, laughing. Arthur put posters in the cafeteria. He placed ads in the school paper. Nothing worked. Arthur had other problems, too. Muffy complained about everything. “I should be narrator; my parents are paying for the cast party!” she whined. Francine would not take off her movie-star glasses. “They’re good luck,” she explained, but she was having a hard time seeing what she was doing. Buster couldn’t remember his lines. “In 1620,” he recited, “we sailed to America on the cauliflower.

There were plenty of other, far less outdated ways to deliver urgent messages to the classrooms at spy school, but the principal didn’t know how to use any of them. In fact, he wasn’t very good at using the PA system, either. There were a few seconds of fumbling noises, followed by the principal muttering, “I can never remember which switch works this stupid thing. This darn system’s a bigger pain in my rear than my hemorrhoids.” Then he asked, “Hello? Hello? Is this thing on? Can you hear me?

How to Write Letters: A Manual of Correspondence Showing the Correct Structure, Composition, Punctuation, Formalities, and Uses of the Various Kinds of Letters, Notes and Cards by J. Willis Westlake, A.M., Professor of English Literature, State Normal School, Millersville, PA 1883

Back east, schools began to recruit actively, often offering inducements to promising athletes. In the fall of 1889, former Yale captain Bill “Pa” Corbin telegraphed Camp, who was serving as Yale’s football advisor. The subject was a prospect named Highland Stickney, who, it seems, was in search of a handout. “Stickney wrote,” Corbin reported, “Have received good offers from Harvard and Princeton to play football. What will you give[?]” Apparently, not enough. Stickney landed in Cambridge.

The musicians downed their instruments and the gang formed up for a full-frontal assault on the beer table. Ellie pulled Alfie to one side. ‘You really don’t have anything to worry about, you know,’ she said. ‘You’ve got it.’ ‘You’re very kind to say so,’ he said. ‘Always been a bit of a duffer, you know. Since I was a child. Ma and Pa despaired. Couldn’t wait to send me away to school.’ ‘I’m sure you were never as bad as you think. You survived the war, after all. You were on the front line?’ ‘First Lieutenant, First Battalion, Essex Regiment. Gallipoli, Egypt, then France. Wasn’t so bad as all that, really. Surrounded by good chaps. Camaraderie and all that.’ ‘I guess,’ said Ellie. ‘But something like three out of every twenty junior officers didn’t make it. More than that, some say. But you did.’ ‘Well, when you put it like that . . .’ ‘If you can survive four years of war, you can survive four minutes of dancing.’ ‘Dash it all, m’dear, you’re right. I bally well can. Were you like this in your what-do-you-call-it . . . aid station? You’d have built the boys right back up. I bet you broke a few hearts, what?’ ‘I couldn’t say. I’d already given my own heart to another.’ ‘Yonder

Part: 1 July This one more of how where I remember these days. Photos online, and cam videos all that are my memories- of me to others. Part: 2 August Compare… them then and now- naked slut girl or 1940s modesty. I remember having the old photo album spread out on the bedroom floor. Oh! Wow! Look at this one… do you like how she was remembered better than me? (Photo) Part: 3 It's- September More of the same- I have become a cam-whore!!! Nothing more… Part: 4 OCTOBER …And yah- a, ah- pics that would make you blush, and hard, you boys would love to see me, now, wouldn’t you? Part: 5 NOVEMBER Making cummie videos is my life. Part: 6 DECEMBER Coming 7 hours out of the day is taking time away from other things. Part: 7 WAKING UP …After fraping till- I passed out all hot gross and sweaty, I did not remember falling asleep- with mom and dad- sis and the world seeing me as my door to my trashed bedroom- all jammed open- and’s- and’s- AND’S- did not care at this point. (SAY IT WITH exhausted SLURRING.) JANUARY yet how- ga-gives- a ________. Ef… E- un- mm- ah- in-n… Whatever… I am making 50 G’s in a night… so that makes it okay. (A photo of me lying in bed with all this money!) Part: 8 TIME PASSES Craziness… look at my life here… all board… ‘I am home,’ I mumbled, confused- not even more. ‘What did I do?’ I felt my face wrinkle. It was so unfair. My behavior… here is wow… After that first week… of doing this… How do I look… which neither of us ever mentioned what we do? I hadn't missed a day of school or work. My grades were perfect. Yet this show is all going to shit- no? This is what I did here… showing everything that makes me a girl! Now I am passing down- to her- yah me- is it wrong? I must live with it. #- A cam video and all these photos of her online now are worth 1,000 words! #-0-okay then what does this one says then? My little sis- and she is frapping harder than I do- in this- damn, she is my Minnie me! She started younger than me even- yet that is all girls, her age. Here is one with her dressed wow seem weird to see her with something on anymore- (Swipe- and the phone in your hand would make a click sound…) Oh, this one- She loves these beautiful white lace kid’s girls’ shorts- so girlie- girly- from Wal-Mart, yet she was banned from wearing them in school without anything under them, yet I look around and all other girls do it. Yet, on Facebook- and Instagram 1, you get one persona and on Google images a whole other- just like Snapchat you have her as your girlfriend for the night yet have- yet she is your striptease only- and the other Instagram- that grammar should never- ever see- yet this is how to get popular- and stay popular. Besides then there is the community of internet nudists- on MFC. And the profile- she now has too, a legacy to be remembered by, no? Yet, when you have no education to speak of and working for some d*ck head is just out of the question, over they think you’re not worthy of their time- were you're not making anything, and at this point in Pa she too young to work, yet is old enough to have unprotected sex… Um- and then I wonder- yet she needs the money- for school coming up because your mommy and daddy don’t have it, and all for fun, boys, and a girl's night of fun- and partying- and being crazy. Money is everything… and why girls do what they must do…

Yo, I’m Kobe. Kobe Bryant. I’m from PA—went to Lower Merion High School, dominated everything.” (Pause.) “I just want y’all to know, nobody’s gonna punk me. I’m not gonna let anyone in the NBA punk me. So be warned.” Awwwwkward. “It was like ‘Yo, Kobe, relax,’ ” recalled David Booth, who landed a camp invite off of a strong summer league showing. “He was trying to establish himself, which I understand. But it didn’t play very well.” “Not the best way to start things,” said Blount. “But you have to remember, he was a child.

after the first year. But he has decided he doesn’t want to go to school anymore. We don’t know why, but he’s done. Back home in Zundert, he spends his time as he used to when he was a boy. He reads, he walks on the moors, in the fields. He’s content. But he can’t stay home forever. Ma and Pa want Vincent to go out into the world, get a job. It is time for him to support himself, and maybe soon, help the family. Dorus and Anna and Dorus’s brother Vincent, Uncle Cent, will

Rođak Michael bio je prvi pokrovitelj škole, povučeni čovjek koji je pisao gospođi Harris o svemu što bi prema njegovu mišljenju moglo pomoći bogatim nasljednicama koje pohađaju njenu školu. Madeline je osobito sumnjala da je rođak Michael vodio tako povučen život kao što je tvrdio. No to vjerojatno nikada neće otkriti jer nitko nije znao njegov pravi identitet, pa čak ni gospođa Harris.

Meditation on the “seal,” that is, the “immobilization” of all dependent things, is for the purpose of liberation from the cycle of existence. The notion of “empti- ness” (Tibetan: stong pa nid) is central to Vajrayana Buddhism (as indeed it is to many schools of Buddhist thought) and is derived from Nagarjuna’s teaching that the essential nature of all dharmas (phenomenal existents) is sunyata, void or empty. As Tibetan scholar Herbert V. Guenther translates the term, sunyata or stong pa nid means “no-thing-ness,” all existents being inherently insubstantial.⁴⁵ The sense of “seal” (mudra) in Gyatso’s commentary is clearly the sense of being sealed in to this state of inherent “no-thing-ness.

arrived at the school expecting to be greeted by the head, or perhaps his PA or maybe a deputy, but on signing in I was presented with two learners, aged 12 and 15. They explained that they would be conducting the tour and proceeded to lead the best tour of a school I have ever had.

There was literally flawless obedience when they were living under my roof-at least when I was home. If I told them to go to bed, they jumped up and went to bed. If I told them to rake the leaves, they raked the leaves. If I told them to clean the fish, they cleaned the fish. People would come over to visit us and were amazed at how obedient our sons were. Their teachers always told us our boys were among the most well-behaved students in school. I believe it’s because my boys were always aware of the consequences of not doing what they were told to do. They always respected me, and they respected their mother because I didn’t want them taking advantage of the woman who put them on Earth. I also didn’t allow my sons to fight with each other. They could argue and disagree all they wanted-and Jase and Willie managed to do it regularly. I didn’t have a problem with them raising their voices at each other to make a point. I wanted to encourage them to argue and make a case for their beliefs. But if it came to blows and there was meat popping, they were getting three licks each. I didn’t care who threw the first punch. If it ever came to physical blows, I’d step in and everybody involved got three licks. Another thing I didn’t allow was tearing up good hunting and fishing equipment. I wanted them to respect someone else’s property and to be thankful for what we had, even if it wasn’t much. If one of my boys borrowed one of my guns or fishing poles and tore it up while they were using it, they received three licks. I always wanted my boys to have access to my guns to hunt, just like I had access to Pa’s guns when I was growing up. When I was young, I knew if I broke a gun, we probably weren’t going to eat that night because we were so dependent on wild game for food. But since my boys knew there was going to be a meal on the table every night, they weren’t always as respectful of my equipment. When Alan was about fourteen, he and a few of his buddies borrowed all of my Browning shotguns to go bird-hunting. They were hunting on a muddy track and because they were careless and immature, mud got into a few of the shotgun barrels. They were very fortunate the guns still fired and didn’t blow up in their faces! When Alan returned home, he was so scared to tell me what happened to my Browning shotguns-my Holy Grails-that he enlisted Kay’s help to break the news. I’m sure Alan thought I was going to beat him on the spot, but I simply told him to go outside. I was afraid to whip him right then because I was so angry. After cooling off, I pulled Alan and his buddies together and gave them a stern lecture about gun safety and respecting other people’s property. I also told Alan-after I gave him three licks-that he was on probation from using my guns for a long time.

By the way, I like letters. Letter writing has been an important pasttime for the church. I can’t promise I’ll write you back, but I will read your letter, and I’ll do my best to reply. Right now, I’m running about six months behind on writing. And I prefer old-school snail mail: Shane Claiborne, PO Box 12798, Philadelphia, PA 19134.

,,, Miss Marva Hendrix clapped her hands together and said, “That’s a marvelous subject for social studies. Right on!” Vonetta and Fern had to say it too. “Right on!” And Big Ma scolded them for talking ghetto at the dinner table, half blessed as it was. ... Big Ma said to Pa, “Do you hear that, son? Are your ears and eyes open? Teaching foolishness in school, and bringing it home to this half-blessed table.

... Miss Marva Hendrix clapped her hands together and said, “That’s a marvelous subject for social studies. Right on!” Vonetta and Fern had to say it too. “Right on!” And Big Ma scolded them for talking ghetto at the dinner table, half blessed as it was. ... Big Ma said to Pa, “Do you hear that, son? Are your ears and eyes open? Teaching foolishness in school, and bringing it home to this half-blessed table.

In one life she was a travel vlogger who had 1,750,000 YouTube subscribers and almost as many people following her on Instagram, and her most popular video was one where she fell off a gondola in Venice. She also had one about Rome called 'A Roma Therapy'. In one life she was a single parent to a baby that literally wouldn't sleep. In one life she ran the showbiz column in a tabloid newspaper and did stories about Ryan Bailey's relationships. In one life she was the picture editor at the National Geographic. In one life she was a successful eco-architect who lived a carbon-neutral existence in a self-designed bungalow that harvested rain-water and ran on solar power. In one life she was an aid worker in Bostwana. In one life a cat-sitter. In one life a volunteer in a homeless shelter. In one life she was sleeping on her only friend's sofa. In one life she taught music in Montreal. In one life she spent all day arguing with people she didn't know on Twitter and ended a fair proportion of her tweets by saying 'Do better' while secretly realising she was telling herself to do that. In one life she had no social media accounts. In one life she'd never drunk alcohol. In one life she was a chess champion and currently visiting Ukraine for a tournament. In one life she was married to a minor Royal and hated every minute. In one life her Facebook and Instagram only contained quotes from Rumi and Lao Tzu. In one life she was on to her third husband and already bored. In one life she was a vegan power-lifter. In one life she was travelling around South Corsican coast, and they talked quantum mechanics and got drunk together at a beachside bar until Hugo slipped away, out of that life, and mid-sentence, so Nora was left talking to a blank Hugo who was trying to remember her name. In some lives Nora attracted a lot of attention. In some lives she attracted none. In some lives she was rich. In some lives she was poor. In some lives she was healthy. In some lives she couldn't climb the stairs without getting out of breath. In some lives she was in a relationship, in others she was solo, in many she was somewhere in between. In some lives she was a mother, but in most she wasn't. She had been a rock star, an Olympics, a music teacher, a primary school teacher, a professor, a CEO, a PA, a chef, a glaciologist, a climatologist, an acrobat, a tree-planter, an audit manager, a hair-dresser, a professional dog walker, an office clerk, a software developer, a receptionist, a hotel cleaner, a politician, a lawyer, a shoplifter, the head of an ocean protection charity, a shop worker (again), a waitress, a first-line supervisor, a glass-blower and a thousand other things. She'd had horrendous commutes in cars, on buses, in trains, on ferries, on bike, on foot. She'd had emails and emails and emails. She'd had a fifty-three-year-old boss with halitosis touch her leg under a table and text her a photo of his penis. She'd had colleagues who lied about her, and colleagues who loved her, and (mainly) colleagues who were entirely indifferent. In many lives she chose not to work and in some she didn't choose not to work but still couldn't find any. In some lives she smashed through the glass ceiling and in some she just polished it. She had been excessively over- and under-qualified. She had slept brilliantly and terribly. In some lives she was on anti-depressants and in others she didn't even take ibuprofen for a headache. In some lives she was a physically healthy hypochondriac and in some a seriously ill hypochondriac and in most she wasn't a hypochondriac at all. There was a life where she had chronic fatigue, a life where she had cancer, a life where she'd suffered a herniated disc and broken her ribs in a car accident.