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> Jenny the Pirate <
A Pistol With One Shot
Ecstatically shooting everything in sight using my beloved Nikon D3100 with AF-S DX Nikkor 18-55mm 1:3.5-5.6G VR kit lens and AF-S Nikkor 50mm f/1.8 G prime lens.
Also capturing outrageous beauty left and right with my Nikon D7000 blissfully married to my Nikkor 85mm f/1.4D AF prime glass. Don't be jeal.
And then there was the Nikon AF-S DX NIKKOR 18-200mm f:3.5-5.6G ED VR II zoom. We're done here.
Therefore seeing we have this ministry, as we have received mercy, we faint not;
But have renounced the hidden things of dishonesty, not walking in craftiness, nor handling the word of God deceitfully; but by manifestation of the truth commending ourselves to every man's conscience in the sight of God.
But if our gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost:
In whom the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not, lest the light of the glorious gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine unto them.
For we preach not ourselves, but Christ Jesus the Lord; and ourselves your servants for Jesus' sake.
For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.
But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.
We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair;
Persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed;
Always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body.
For we which live are alway delivered unto death for Jesus' sake, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our mortal flesh.
So then death worketh in us, but life in you.
We having the same spirit of faith, according as it is written, I BELIEVED, AND THEREFORE HAVE I SPOKEN; we also believe, and therefore speak;
Knowing that he which raised up the Lord Jesus shall raise up us also by Jesus, and shall present us with you.
For all things are for your sakes, that the abundant grace might through the thanksgiving of many redound to the glory of God.
For which cause we faint not; but though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day.
For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory;
While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.
II Corinthians 4
>>>>++<<<<
THE DREAMERS
In the dawn of the day of ages,
In the youth of a wondrous race,
'Twas the dreamer who saw the marvel,
'Twas the dreamer who saw God's face.
On the mountains and in the valleys,
By the banks of the crystal stream,
He wandered whose eyes grew heavy
With the grandeur of his dream.
The seer whose grave none knoweth,
The leader who rent the sea,
The lover of men who, smiling,
Walked safe on Galilee --
All dreamed their dreams and whispered
To the weary and worn and sad
Of a vision that passeth knowledge.
They said to the world: "Be glad!
"Be glad for the words we utter,
Be glad for the dreams we dream;
Be glad, for the shadows fleeing
Shall let God's sunlight beam."
But the dreams and the dreamers vanish,
The world with its cares grows old;
The night, with the stars that gem it,
Is passing fair, but cold.
What light in the heavens shining
Shall the eye of the dreamer see?
Was the glory of old a phantom,
The wraith of a mockery?
Oh, man, with your soul that crieth
In gloom for a guiding gleam,
To you are the voices speaking
Of those who dream their dream.
If their vision be false and fleeting,
If its glory delude their sight --
Ah, well, 'tis a dream shall brighten
The long, dark hours of night.
> Edward Sims Van Zile <
>>>>++<<<<
Freedom is a fragile thing and is never more than one generation away from extinction. It is not ours by inheritance; it must be fought for and defended constantly by each generation, for it comes only once to a people. Those who have known freedom and then lost it, have never known it again.
OK ... like a plateful of excellent spaghetti when you're famished, this is nothing short of incredible.
If you've been paying attention you already know that at our house, we're huge fans of the classical crossover or pop-opera (say it with me: "POPERA!") genre.
Think Andrea Bocelli, Josh Groban, Il Divo, The Canadian Tenors ... to name the most notable.
Collectively -- now -- they are known as Il Volo. That means The Flight in Italian. And I do believe that, musically at least, they are destined to soar.
They were put together by some savvy impresario or other in 2009, when all three performed in an Italian music competition.
A few weeks ago they debuted their eponymous first album. Here is my two-word review: Molto bella!
Very beautiful.
Pictured left to right are Gianluca Ginoble, age sixteen; Piero Barone, who will turn eighteen this coming Friday; and Ignazio Boschetto, age sixteen.
I know it's a fourteen-plus-minute YouTube. I don't expect you to sit and stare at their picture for that long.
But do yourself a favor and, when you get up to do something else, let this three-song video play.
Audrey and Andrew (children two and four of four) surprised TG by showing up at our house in Columbia unannounced (by me) and unexpected (by him) at about ten thirty on Friday night.
They both live in Knoxville. Making the four-hour trip after a long work week was a sacrifice.
But it was one they gladly made, for they love their father. They enjoyed spending Saturday with him and attending church with us this morning. I wish they hadn't had to leave right after lunch.
Erica will be home tonight, to spend a few days with her parrots. Stephanie saw her dad just last week.
TG is s a classically-trained, salt-of-the-earth kind of father. Throughout all the years of rearing our four kids, and in his relationship with them now as adults, I've never once known him to phone it in.
From the day Stephanie was born, as a dad TG has been present but not only present; he's been interested. But he's not only been interested; he's been involved. And not only has he been involved; he has actively worked on behalf of his children throughout their lives, often in ways distinctly unsung.
As every parent knows, the true labor of love undertaken for the sake of our children is rarely seen -- and sometimes not even guessed at -- by those it benefits most.
Like all of us, TG has a few faults. He functions at various times and with equal proclivity as the Sultan of Stubbornness and the Earl of Exasperation.
Despite these and other assorted peccadilloes displayed by their paternal parental unit, I believe I'm safe in saying our four children know the treasure they have in their dad.
As it should be.
For his Father's Day they pooled their resources to buy him an upgraded Weber grill ... bigger and nicer than the one he already had. He's already used it to cook out for us. Burgers!
We had an extra burger-loving guest this weekend: Rambo the Camp Dog.
Even though I know better -- and then some -- I continue to do business with Wal-Mart, a/k/a The World's Largest Retailer (TWLR).
Don't look at me like that! You've done the same and you know you have!
But even in light of my angst-filled relationship with TWLR -- of which there is a glut of empirical data -- this latest example constitutes a new low.
Allow me to elaborate.
Recently I had occasion to purchase an item that was somewhat more exotic than I usually buy. It doesn't matter what it was.
Suffice it to say, this is the kind of thing you shop for once every five to seven years. In my case, it was the first time I'd ever bought one.
At such junctures I tend to research as many online options as I have the wherewithal to endure. Knowledge is power! This time was no different.
Well, maybe it was a little different.
Buy And Buy We'll Meet In Person
Be that as it may, reconnaissance mission accomplished and sensing a pretty good deal (although against my lone sane bone), I ordered the item via TWLR's Web site.
They have a would-be cool option called "Site to Store" in which you order the thing and it gets dropped off at your nearest TWLR outlet and you go get it when you're there to shop for other stuff, and best of all you don't have to pay shipping.
This way, TWLR can carry lots of enticing items for which they may not see the wisdom of paying someone to deliver in quantities and stock on their shelves at any given location (but which nevertheless anyone in the entire world might want to buy), and sell the merchandise at their customary handy profit.
The need for expensive demographic studies and market research to reveal where people are most likely to purchase what, and when, and so forth, is *poof* eliminated.
In other words, more victims with less hassle.
In theory.
What you as the consumer do is, you order the thing (and pay for it) online, and then you cool your heels. What you are waiting for is an email and/or a text message (usually both) informing you that your item has arrived at the store you specified and it's time to claim it.
Retail redemption, as it were.
In Which I Giveth And I Taketh Away
Of course, between the time you click "submit" and your order begins processing, and the point where you finally are told to show up and get your stuff, there is the potential for many many many days to elapse.
In my case, once I ordered my item via TWLR's Site to Store method, I couldn't leave it alone. I asked someone if I'd done the right thing.
They said they doubted it, a similar but better item for a nearly identical price being available (that very day) at a store practically in the same parking lot as my local TWLR.
Long story short: I went to the neighboring store and bought the similar but better item, intending to return my TWLR Site to Store purchase as soon as they notified me it was ready for pickup.
A few weeks went by. I was in the throes of thoroughly enjoying my new purchase when the text came.
The item I rued buying and which I no longer needed or wanted was available for claiming at my nearby TWLR.
All I will say about the experience of attempting to claim the merchandise and process the return -- something that should have taken about thirty seconds, armed to the eyebrows as I was with printouts of all the paperwork they'd bestowed upon me via email -- is that after twenty solid minutes it was still a non-starter.
Purchase In Haste, Repent With A Seizure
Because see, you can go back to where Layaway used to be at your local TWLR and now it'll be labeled Site to Store … and there's even a handy screen to touch, ostensibly to summon an employee to assist you … but you'll stand there growing considerably older -- not to mention more frustrated -- waiting for said phantom employee to appear.
I left the store without ever raising a single soul from TWLR-induced employee coma to help me do what I'd come there to do.
Practically a week went by before I was in the mood to hazard a second attempt.
This time I went straight to one of those little managerial-type rolling carts that you can usually spot up near the front. It was manned by a quasi-official person wearing a blue vest and a scowl.
I told the employee in a few succinct sentences what had happened the last time I tried to claim my purchase from Site to Store. I said I wasn't going to walk back there and wait twenty minutes a second time for someone to feel like showing up to help me.
And I meant it.
But not to be outwitted by a mere cash-paying customer, the powers-that-be-not let me wait nearly as long at the front of the store for someone to accompany me to the back of the store in order to "help" me.
HELP ME! I wanted to scream to the skylit rafters of my local TWLR.
But I didn't.
Mangle Your Battle Stations
It eventually took the eyes, brains, hands, keys, training, intuition, willpower, courage, and time of two managers -- one mid-range and one full-bore, from what I could tell -- and one "associate" to mash the few simple buttons that would allow me, the customer, to simultaneously claim and return an item I'd never even seen.
For all I know it doesn't exist. The whole transaction was in the ether and on paper.
And in the midst of all that, I came to this conclusion: the reason you can't get anyone to help you in Site to Store is because nobody (or practically nobody) at TWLR knows the Site to Store procedures.
My suspicion was confirmed when I asked the mid-range manager whether she and her employees were actually trained in Site to Store protocol.
Her shoulders sagged and she rubbed her forehead like there was a migraine brewing behind her pretty brown eyes.
"No," she admitted. "We hate it."
Not Poetic And Not Justice
I pointed out (not in a mean way) that at least they'd never have to worry about me bothering them again.
If I thought my clever half-threat all-promise would prompt her to say she was sorry for what they'd put me through, I was wrong.
Finally, in handing me my sheaf of pages and a receipt -- you know, the paper trail -- memorializing the entire mysterious Site to Store process, the beleaguered mid-range manager made a move to staple the loose leaves.
But there was no stapler for her to use. Apparently TWLR does not provide such truck to the employees working behind its many cash registers.
She handed me the papers in a sloppy coming-apart bunch, half-apologizing for the lack of a staple.
Many of you have asked, both in comments and emails, why and how I ended up in New York City of all places the week following Mother's Day.
And I promise I'll tell you.
Eventually.
Still seeking clearance from higher-ups. Please be patient. Your virtue will be rewarded.
But that does not preclude my telling you funny and/or interesting stories about my relatively short visit.
For example.
On the morning of the last day I and my traveling companions spent in New York, we left our hotel -- Marriott Brooklyn Bridge, remember? -- at about nine o'clock.
We were going to Manhattan for the day. First stop Grand Central Station, where we were to have breakfast. There are all sorts of neat places to have breakfast at GCS but I highly recommend Junior's.
Anyway our escape route took us across the street, through a small park named Columbus, then underground to the subway.
The sidewalk in front of the MBB is a trifle bustly at all times of day, but especially in the morning.
I can't remember if I told you this or not but as our little group walked hither and yon in The Big Apple, I was always dead last.
No, I do not dawdle and I will thank you not to snicker.
It's just that, while of completely normal height and relatively nimble for my age, I'm not exactly long-legged.
And I like to walk! I even like to walk quickly, and often do, for excercise.
But I dislike trotting through the mean streets while all prettied up. I'd rather stroll, with frequent stops, plus dreamy stares for effect.
Think Holly Golightly minus the tiara and yard-long cigarette holder. Or any cigarette holder, or any cigarette.
Minus the cruller too, come to think.
But on the day in question I was unquestionably clad in black!
So as I sashayed out the door of the MBB and turned left, following my group, bringing up the rear as it were, I heard a whir.
Turned out there was a lady coming up behind me quite rapidly compared to my pace, dragging a medium-sized suitcase on wheels.
Hence the whir.
Which whir very suddenly stopped as the lady stopped -- also very suddenly -- about a second and a half after she passed me on the left.
For some reason I looked down at her feet when she stopped. I think it was because she herself was looking down at her feet.
And why was she looking down at her feet? Because there, on the sidewalk, lay her skirt in a puddle around said pedal extremities.
Yes! You read that correctly. The poor lady had lost her skirt mid-stride on the sidewalk in front of the Marriott Brooklyn Bridge.
Now, you'll be happy to know the lady was wearing a trench coat all buttoned and belted against the matutinal cool. Her unfortunate and very public wardrobe malfunction did not leave her standing there in the altogether.
But there was still the problem of her skirt being on the ground at her feet in the middle of a New York City borough.
Instinctively I got between her and the street. I could shield at least one side of her from view!
She very good-naturedly reached for her fallen waistband and began pulling and tugging to get her lower-half garment back in place.
Relatively.
I wanted to be an encouragement since I do believe that is my calling and my ministry.
At any rate it beats working.
You must've lost a lot of weight recently, girl, I observed in a conspiratorial tone punctuated by my trademark deafening grin.
The lady got the biggest kick out of that! She threw her head back and laughed uproariously, flashing all of her teeth to the sky over Brooklyn.
Oh girl, I must've lost some weight! She cheerfully agreed.
Now you need to keep a few safety pins on hand if you plan to wear your bigger clothes, I suggested.
She repeat-concurred, grabbing my arm while we laughed and carried on together right on the sidewalk. She promised she had some pins and would make good use of them.
Well I sure hope they're in that suitcase, I said, resulting in a whole new fit of giggles.
Before we parted I felt moved to tell her, misery-loves-company fashion, about the time not so long ago when I was shopping at Dollar General. I was wearing a knee-length skirt and it was a bit tight.
I hear those snickers and I will not warn you again. You've done the same and you know you have!
But anyway, as I shopped at DG that day I was constantly under the impression that I had to tug on my skirt.
My mama used to slap my hands when I was little for tugging on my clothes, but she wasn't there so I tugged and pulled.
When I got to the cash register and was paying my money, I felt something funny around my knees. I looked down and saw most of my black half-slip hanging out from under my skirt, its lacy hem nearly brushing the tops of my shoes.
Clinging around my knees was the elastic of the slip's waistband.
When I told a friend about this incident later, she told me she would've walked right out of that slip like it wasn't even hers.
But that solution never occurred to me. For one thing I'm not rich and I can't be so cavalier about leaving my lingerie in the floors of retail establishments.
I reached down and took off my slip and balled it up and shoved it into my purse.
Then I left and I stayed away from that DG for a good month or so.
Anyway, a short while later on the day the lady's skirt fell, at the Grand Central Junior's I enjoyed a full repast of eggs with hashbrowns and sausage and wheat toast slathered with butter and marmalade, washed down with coffee plus cream with two refills.
Is it any wonder my clothes are tight?
Before leaving I stared dreamily at thirty-five-dollar cheesecakes in the Junior's bakery case.
And of course I took lots of pictures which you by now know because you've been looking at them as you've read this post.
I leave you with a sage observation you've no doubt heard before, i.e.: Nothing's real until it's personal.
Why do I point that out? Because right after I got home I began noticing this commercial wherein the poor well-intentioned flash-mobster is not on AT&T's 4G network and therefore is not aware that the urban happening has been moved to 12:30 ...
... and it dawned on me:
That's GRAND CENTRAL STATION! I WAS THERE AND I TOOK PICTURES OF THAT CLOCK AND THE STAIRCASE AND THOSE LIGHTS AND THE FLAG AND ... AND EVERYTHING!
It looks exactly like that.
Relatively.
Truth be known, iconic Grand Central Station is possessed of a grandeur I hope you someday have an opportunity to see with your own eyes, if you haven't already.
But please keep your clothes on! Or at the very least, be armed with safety pins and the 4G network.
Copyright, copy, and photographs, 2007-2025: Jennifer Weber. All rights imaginable one-hundred percent reserved.
WHAT THIS MEANS: IT IS ILLEGAL TO COPY ORIGINAL CONTENT AND/OR PHOTOGRAPHS FROM THIS WEB SITE WITHOUT MY EXPRESS PERMISSION.
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Tuesday, June 21, 2011 at 03:44PM 
