Quick Getaway Quotes

You can learn more, and more quickly, from other people’s missteps than from their successes. If

OTHER RELAXATION TECHNIQUES There are many other stress management techniques that can help you to “bring yourself down” quickly when you are highly stressed. You can use them before a situation where anticipation raises tensions that do not automatically subside after a few minutes. You also can use them during an interaction or when a surprise threatens to escalate your stress out of control. Or use them after an encounter has raised your stress level, if it is not subsiding naturally. Mental Imagery You experimented with mental imagery in the previous chapter on goal-setting. The use of mental imagery also can be an effective tool for anxiety control. Think of it as a new application of skills you already have: memory and imagination. When I asked you earlier to recall how many windows there are in your bedroom, you used imagery to retrieve the information. Mentally, you went into the room, looked from wall to wall, and counted. That process is mental imagery. From a relaxation perspective, your nervous system cannot distinguish between reality and imagery. Material passed from the body to the senses, whether real or imagined, is processed the same way. Therefore, imagery can play an important role in inducing internal self-regulation and relaxation. If there is a particular image—such as the warm, sandy beach of the previous exercise, a cool forest clearing covered with a blanket of pine needles, or even a clear blue sky—that represents relaxation to you, it would be valuable for you to be able to tune in to it whenever stress threatens to interfere with your life. Be sure to conjure up the reactions of all five senses: Imagine the look, sound, smell, taste, and feel of your surroundings. Mental gateways are a valuable part of the relaxation exercise we just went through. And it is important to be aware that your nervous system—which is what overreacts in a stressful situation—cannot distinguish between reality and imagination. Here’s how to use mental imagery to create a mental getaway: (a) Choose a favorite place, a pleasant, relaxing setting that you have enjoyed in the past or one you would enjoy visiting in the future. (b) Close your eyes and think about the scene. Use your senses of hearing, smell, sight, taste, and touch to develop the scene. Put yourself there. If your mind wanders a bit, that’s okay. You’ll drift back to the scene after a short while.

Strategies for Welcoming Children Here are some ideas to consider for welcoming children in services: •   Encourage parents to prepare a “shul bag” to bring to the service. In it should be some reading or picture books, a quiet toy, a favorite stuffed animal, a snack and a drink (to be eaten in the hallway), extra diapers, fresh wipes, a pretend tallit, and a kippah. •   Create a children’s area in the rear of the shul by taking out a few pews and establishing a play space for babies and toddlers while parents and grandparents participate in the service. Proximity to the door allows for a quick getaway. •   Offer children a basket of appropriate Shabbat toys to play with at the entrance of the sanctuary. •   Keep a cart of Jewish children’s books for parents to share with children during the service. •   Encourage parents to take the children to babysitting and youth services, clearly sending a message that the main service is geared for adults. The babysitting is first rate, offered in a clean, well-stocked nursery. •   Take a strategy from the megachurches and establish a family room, sometimes called a crying room, in the congregation: a closed-off space constructed of glass where families can make noise, but still hear the service. At Saddleback, young children are most definitely not encouraged in the main sanctuary. But families can use the four family rooms in the building that receive live televised broadcasts of the service or sit just outside the glass walls of the sanctuary where speakers allow the adults to hear the service.

Nicole did what she'd been taught since she was little and her parents had moved into an all-white neighborhood: She smiled and made herself as friendly and non threatening as possible. Its what she did when she met the parents of her friends. There was always that split second- something almost felt rather than seen- when the parents' faces would register a tiny shock, a palpable discomfort with Nicole's 'otherness.' And Nicole would smile wide and say how nice it was to come over. She would call the parents Mr. or Mrs., never by their first names. Their suspicion would ebb away, replaced by an unspoken but nonetheless palpable pride in her 'good breeding,' for which they should take no credit but did anyway. Nicole could never quite relax in these homes. She'd spend the evening perched on the edge of the couch, ready to make a quick getaway.

She was trying--for Carolyn, for herself, for her darling Mr. Darcy, she was trying to live this, and Martin’s presence had the effect of shining a light on how shallow it all was, besides reminding her of every guy who had tossed her aside. She was having a grand time and his judgment was souring the punch. She turned her shoulder to him and addressed Mr. Nobley. “Thank you, sir. Thus far the highlight of my stay has been making love to you.” Mr. Nobley bowed in acknowledgment. The conversation completely quieted. Jane thought she detected Martin sort of slump his shoulders. “Well, good night, all,” Jane said, and made a quick getaway to her room… …where she lay on her bed, stared at her canopy, and wished that encounter didn’t stick to her still, that she could just scrape it off her shoe. What would Martin have said if she’d let him speak? No, never mind, these things never end well. Wait, there had been something good, coiling on the edge of her memory…ah yes, Mr. Nobley had been about to kiss her. She closed her eyes and held to that moment as she would to the tatters of a really great dream in the waking gray of dawn.

said. A shiver of excitement wiggled through her. This was almost like sleuthing! They parked their bikes a few houses down from Annie’s. Then Nancy grabbed the love note and the granola bar from her bike basket. Nancy wished they had a fancy box of candy, the kind where each piece sat in a little pleated paper cup. But Bree kept insisting, “It’s the thought that counts.” Lickety-split they dashed down to Annie’s house. As they reached the porch, a dog inside started yapping like mad. They left the note and granola bar right by the front door. Then they made a quick getaway.

The ocean breeze blew her flimsy gown against her body. Hip bones jutted out on either side of her concave stomach. I’d once seen a picture of sacred cows on the Ganges. Starving. “What’s with the outfit?” I asked. “No time to change,” she said. “Had to make a quick getaway.” She kicked the pumps off, pulled the dress over her head. There she stood in a lacy bra and butt-floss thong. Some yacht dads gazed our way. “Evie!” stage-whispered Jack to me. “She’s naked!” “Listen, kid,” said Alycia. “What was your name again?” “Jack?” said Jack. “Right, right. Well, Jack, I can show you naked if you want. But this isn’t it. See this piece of fabric? They call it underwear.” “But I can see your regina.” “Jack, it’s your lucky day.” She turned from us, splashed through the shallows, and dove. Graceful as a dolphin. The yacht dads rubbernecked. She front-crawled out past the breakers. “Why is my day lucky?” asked Jack. I tousled his hair.

You’re used to city noise and the sounds that come from being in such a crowded place covering up what you don’t want people to hear. In the great wide open, there isn’t anything to hide behind and all sound carries. You get used to saying what you mean out here and you learn real quick that words are permanent. You can try and take them back but they always linger.” “I’ll

John Brooks.’ Immediately, I thought of the odds. First of just surviving in such a place, next of surviving and then becoming a cop. ‘Vertical ghettos, each one of them. Me and John used to say it was the only time when you had to take the elevator up when you were going to hell.’ I just nodded. This was out of my realm completely. ‘And that’s only if the elevators were working,’ he added. I realized that I never considered that Brooks might be a black man. There was no photo in the computer printouts and no reason to mention race in the stories. I had just assumed he was white and it was an assumption I would have to analyze later. At the moment, I was trying to figure out what Washington was trying to tell me by taking me here. Washington pulled into a lot next to one of the buildings. There were a couple of dumpsters coated with decades of graffiti slogans. There was a rusted basketball backboard but the rim was long gone. He put the car in park but left it running. I didn’t know if that was to keep the heat flowing or to allow us a quick getaway if needed. I saw a small group of teenagers in long coats, their faces as dark as the sky, scurry from the building closest to us, then cross a frozen courtyard and hustle into one of the other buildings. ‘At this point you’re wondering what the hell you’re doing here,’ Washington said then. ‘That’s okay, I understand. A white boy like you.’ Again I said nothing. I was letting him run out his line. ‘See that one, third on the right. That was our building. I was on fourteen with my grand-auntie and John lived with his mother on twelve, one below us. They didn’t have no thirteen, already enough bad luck ’round here. Neither of us had fathers. At least ones that showed up.’ I thought he wanted me to say something but I didn’t know what. I had no earthly idea what kind of struggle the two friends must have had to make it out of the tombstone of a building he had pointed at. I remained mute. ‘We were friends for life. Hell, he ended up marrying my first girlfriend, Edna. Then on the department, after we both made homicide and trained with senior detectives for a few years, we asked to be partnered. And damn, it got approved. Story about us in the

To that end, NLP has distilled the entire state management process into two core elements, both of which are under a person’s conscious control. The first of these two elements is: What you choose to focus on. In essence, at any particular moment, you have the ability to choose the precise direction of your focus; and based on that choice, you’ll fall into a state that’s congruent with what you’ve chosen to focus on. For example, if you spend the next few minutes focusing on everything that’s great in your life—a recent business success, being in a loving relationship, the health of your children, a recent goal you achieved, a family getaway—then you’ll quickly pop into a positive,

She cursed the part of herself that assumed everyone was sinister in some way-especially when she forgot that she, too, didn't always make a good first impression. Everyone who met her probably thought she was standoffish, maybe stuck-up, because while her mind assessed people at a million miles a minute, she wasn't quick to be friendly, open, warm.

Another fun fact about that getaway. They had you wait for your evening massage in a romantically lit hot tub room. One evening another gentleman joined me in the warm waters. It was none other than singer-scribe James Taylor. Obviously I didn't want to bother him but I'm such a fan. So, as I was called away for my massage, I quickly said, "Not meaning to disturb you but I have to say that the mere sound of your voice gives me goosebumps. And as long as I'm doling out compliments, that's a really nice penis you got there.

A quick getaway,’ she said, shucking

I managed to find a small spot to squeeze my bike's handlebars in between a few other fast-looking machines. As I set my helmet and shoes in position for a quick getaway, one of my new neighbors stepped up. He introduced himself and asked me how I thought I would do in the race. Not a standard question, I thought. I told him I just wanted to finish and end the race with a smile. He was not impressed.

Isn’t Gresham on the route to get to Colton and the Association’s farm is just down the road from there?” Lt. Vincent rubbed his hand over his face. “Yes, figured you would think of that. But it’s not enough.” “Not for a warrant, but it’s an indicator.” They stared at each other. “My captain just assigned two three-man detective teams to the murder.” “You must have more. What about descriptions of the men? Didn’t the people in the bank give you anything on them?” “Not much. One army sergeant said that four of them were young, moved quickly. The fifth one seemed older, a little heavier, maybe overweight. Only one man spoke, the old guy. The rest of them just waved guns and pointed to put the tellers and the customers down on the floor. “Oh, the first robbery was just before opening. They grabbed an employee who had just unlocked the front door, pushed her inside, all five rushed in and they locked the door behind them. So no customers to deal with. “The second robbery was just before closing time. Again they locked the front door then put everyone on the floor. Two of the men vaulted over the counter so quickly that the workers didn’t have time to press the alarm buttons. So there was no rush to finish the job.” “With military precision?” Matt asked. “Sounds like it. They left both banks by rear doors that are always locked so nobody saw them make their getaway except one guy in the alley who was painting the rear of his store. He was the one who got the plate on the Lincoln.” “You knew the dead guard?” “Yes. He had retired from the PD before I came, but that was my bank and I always talked to him when I went in there. A nice guy. Good cop. Damned sorry that he’s gone.” “What about this lady cop?” “She’s off at four. I’ll ask her if she can have a cup of coffee with us here about four fifteen. Her name is Tracy Landower. She’s barely big enough to be a cop. She stretches to make five-four, and must weigh about a hundred and ten. She’s strong as an anvil tester. Strong hands and arms, good shoulders and legs like a Marine drill sergeant. She runs marathons for fun.” “I won’t try to out run her.” “Good. She has short dark hair, a cute little pixie face, and eyes that can stare you right into the pavement.” “Sounds like a good cop. I’m anxious to meet her.”   CHAPTER FOUR   Anthony J. Carlton was an only child of parents who were comfortably fixed for money and lived in a modest sized town near Portland called Hillsboro. His father was a lawyer who had several clients on retainer, who took on some of the toughest defense cases in the county, and some in Portland. He was a no nonsense type of dad who had little time for his son who had a good school and a car of his own when he turned sixteen.

Their story was nothing like a romantic movie despite the epic crowd scene. Theirs was a tale of clumsy beginnings, quick getaways, and right when she thought a scary ending was inevitable, he’d managed to swoop in and let her save him. They were all the genres rolled into one.

QUICK MENTAL RECAP: KIDNAPPED BY Mafia gang ruled by insane, chain-smoking reject from the sixties—female; discover husband has alias name and FBI badge that he’s been able to keep hidden from me for seventeen years (reminder to self: get a clue!); follow half-baked scheme provided by Brad Pitt look-alike to make a quick getaway through guest bathroom; wind up playing bad game of Twister in bathtub with Elvis Presley wannabe; witness the whacking of FBI husband; hear Elvis Presley wannabe proclaim, regarding husband’s whacker: “That’s No Toes” and follow up with obvious comment, “Dis ain’t good.” Would Al Pacino be caught dead in this movie? Definitely not.

At one point, we went to Arizona for a quick getaway, and he was mobbed by well-wishers there. This for me felt like a true and odd measure of his fame: Even white people were recognizing him now.

I booked hotel rooms in the city, I lit candles, I planned surprise weekend getaways, I bought porn! My Google search history is probably still full of all the porn I bought, and tomorrow I might get hit by a bus and people will see my Google porn history and it won’t be pretty!” I sob. “For three years I tried everything I could to get my husband to have sex with me, and nothing worked. Now I’m going to die, sexless and alone, with student/teacher pornography stuck in my cookies!” Ariel quickly drops down next to me, grabs the Clone-a-Willy from my hand and chucks it across the room. “You are NOT going to die sexless and alone with anything stuck in your cookie, aside from another much larger, much more enjoyable frickle,” Ariel reassures me. “He really didn’t have a very satisfying frickle. God, I miss sex,” I say with a sigh. “His frickle was fucked, and he wouldn’t know how to use it if he had a road map and a tour guide.” “See? It’s fun saying frickle!” Belle exclaims.

Clark’s real estate agent turned out to be one of those loud, garrulous people who, as they drive, insist on making eye contact with the passengers in the back seat. ‘You want to see Scott Cook’s house?’ she hollered over her shoulder to a terrified Mr and Mrs Jim Barksdale. Scott Cook was the chairman of Intuit, the financial software company. ‘Is it for sale?’ asked Barksdale. ‘No,’ said the woman. ‘Then I don’t want to see it,’ said Barksdale. Clark’s realtor ignored him and squealed through this enormous bronze gate and into Scott Cook’s driveway. Out of the house shot Mrs Scott Cook to investigate this intrusion. Clark’s realtor had panicked, backed up and tried to make a quick getaway but ended up rolling back into Mrs Cook’s newly planted garden. There she became stuck in the mud. Wheels spun, plants flew. Mrs Cook was livid. She looked at Barksdale as if he were some kind of criminal. They had to call a fire truck and a tow truck to extract him, his wife, and Clark’s realtor from the garden. The episode lasted an hour.