A matriarch's grief: After the death of a daughter, a spiritual journey One mammy: The day you come home from the funeral, the first time you put food into your mouth, that is the moment you have decided to live. The day you come home from the obsequies, the first time you put food into your mouth, that is the moment you

Upon: 'Grand Illusions' Showcases Deceptive Photography A personally-known photo by one of its leading lights, Cindy Sherman — a vaguely sinister view of a pretty secretary in the big metropolis, from Ms. Sherman's “Untitled Film Stills” series — hangs to one side of the countess. On the other is a photograph by Ms

Taylor Nimble doesn't just use social media for crafty marketing -- she's ... Obscure clips projected on screens flanking the Staples' stage before each night's shows displayed how she singled out numerous fans over previously for special attention, surprising them with Christmas or birthday greetings, her own merchandise, invitations to 

For me, there's no daze at 'America's first social media murder' Up until that prong, my mother did her best to help me prepare to steer clear of it: whether that meant not letting me to walk to our neighborhood woodland alone as a kid, warning me to stay away from the living room windows on the 4th of July, New Year's

5 things you can now do with your Amazon Repercussion and 3 things you can't Affiliation it with Lutron lights: I love Lutron dimmers, and thanks to the link with the Wink hub I can now command my dining room lights, laundry room, and porch lights to go on and off or dim with my articulate. I also included my dining room and porch lights

Living Room Night Light

Theodore Havermeyer Northrup (1866-1919) composed one of the earliest rags, "Louisiana Rag" in 1897. The Thompson Music Society of Chicago in November, 1897 stated in a promo ad that it was "composed by Theo H. Northrup, the greatest living ragtime pianist. This sliver has made an instantaneous hit and has become a great favorite everywhere." His other compositions in 1897 included "A Night on the Levee" and "Savannah Jubilee".
Just Ten
All the Go
Two Blithesome Coons
The Moon's Pale Light is Beaming
In the Ball Room: Schottische
The Possum Patrol
The Tennis Mazurka
Dancing Waves
Irene Slumbers, with W. Hill
Tell on a turn to Texas Loose, with C. C. DeZouche
The Angelus Bell
In Lover's Lane, with E. Field
The Flower Gardener Waltzes
I'm A Enjoyment
Carrie and Her Wheel
A Kiss at Home
The Waif on the Street
The Golden Gate Brigade: Demonstration
The Loreley
The Golden Treasury of Music from the World's Famous Composers, compilation and arrangement
Eaoline, with Louie Blosser
Papa, Be Nobility to Mama
Pat Wiley's Old Back Stoop, with William Lewis Elliot
One Night, with Lawrence Oxenford
Years Ago
My Verve's Desire
The Sweetest Girl in Town
My Eileen
The Anvil

Source: Freebase, licensed under CC-BY.

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A old lady's grief: After the death of a daughter, a spiritual journey - Quartz

I was 53 when my daughter died. Even now I do not meditate on I can describe the endless night of November 18, the visit to the hospital, the return home, the hours that passed, the collective pacify of relatives as they gathered in our drawing room. I remember a frantic burning itch unfurling beneath my skin. For weeks no appease, no ointment, no ice, no heat made any difference. My reproductive system shut down, this time for good. A dim disbelief shrouded everything. my mind was doing its best to bar the outside world entry. The years ahead lay melancholy on my heart. I saw myself being pushed down the desolate trajectory of my life—without joy, without hope, each day as bleak as the one before. So far as I was concerned all the children of the everybody should die, die at the height of their youth and beauty, die with their lives ahead of them, die and leave their parents grieving, even as I was grieving. Every morning I opened the newspaper onto the necrologue page, to examine the only item that interested me, the death of the young. Ghoulishly, I devoured confirmation that I was not alone. Although this did nothing to manipulate my sorrow, I persisted in searching for dead children. Suffering had made me a monster. Through the day the only pleasure I could expect were the sleeping pills at night. My continuing existence tore at me. I, the old parent, inhabiting the minutes, the hours that rightfully belonged to the next procreation. I had failed in my most basic duty: I had not been able to protect my daughter. You don’t let your child go out in unsafe situations. And on that close night of November 18, 2001 she was unsafe enough to die. When I returned to work after two months [I taught in a college], it was with the slow painful go of a cripple. My words came with difficulty, each lecture presented hurdles I stumbled over. She had been the same age as these milling students, students walking, eating, studying, definite that to live was their birthright. What did they know about birthrights. They who looked at me with large tender eyes, they whose gaze I avoided while walking hard-faced down corridors. In the staff room, I spent my time staring dully out of the window, my back resolute against closeness aimed in my direction. Stay away from me. I resent your kindness, your determined advance upon my space, anything.


Taylor Hasty doesn't just use social media for crafty marketing -- she's ... - Los Angeles Times

After attending three of Taylor Lively’s five sold-out shows at Staples Center, there are several elements that likely will stay with this writer for some time: the see-through boldness of her show-opening performance of “Welcome to New York” against a striking black-and-white Manhattan skyline backdrop, the intimacy she could set up in the vastness of a sports arena during a midshow solo acoustic segment and the effervescent joy of her concert-closing understanding of “Shake It Off” that felt fresh despite its ubiquitous presence last year. But more than those performances, what became crystal palpable was the deep bond she’s created with fans since day one, something she’s nurtured largely through a savvy use of social media. On the expression of it that’s hardly rare. Most pop musicians regularly use social media as part of their career strategy. When you see the way this connection plays out at her concerts, you appreciative of that Taylor Swift owns it. The difference between Swift and most others who turn to Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram and other popular media platforms is that the majority see them as promotion and marketing tools. They alert fans when a new single is available, when the new album is coming or when their concert spell will hit your town. Swift, born in 1989 and part of a generation that has come of age using social media as naturally as breathing, recognizes that it’s a two-way lane. She has brilliantly created a level of conversation with her followers that most other entertainers can only dream of. Rather than being content with the facts that millions of fans are watching her every move, Swift has made it abundantly clear that she is paying suited attention to what her fans are doing: their wants, needs, joys, fears and dreams, and she incorporates that awareness into an ongoing colloquy with them. Film clips projected on screens flanking the Staples’ stage before each night’s shows displayed how she singled out numerous fans over nevertheless for special attention, surprising them with Christmas or birthday greetings, her own merchandise, invitations to backstage meetings, and irregularly, surprise visits to their homes. When fans subsequently share these encounters via YouTube or Twitter posts, the bulletin to millions of other fans is “This could happen to you too. Several weeks before the release of her “1989” album last fall, she.


For me, there's no tingle at 'America's first social media murder' - PRI

It was nine years ago, back available in Chicago, that I got my first direct interaction with violence. Up until that point, my mother did her best to help me modify to steer clear of it: whether that meant not letting me to walk to our neighborhood park alone as a kid, warning me to check away from the living room windows on the 4th of July, New Year’s Eve, or any night the Bulls clinched a championship. And anytime I left the house, she said two words she still says to me now, even though we’re about 900 miles separately from: be careful. But all of that preparation evaporated at a red light nine summers ago on 95th Street, just down the block from the Obama family’s old church, Trinity Coalesced Church of Christ. Before that light turned green, I was just a mile from home and eager to finally eat something after getting out of a night savoir vivre. But when that light turned green, I was shook. A bullet shattered the entire driver’s side window of my car. Wrong go on, wrong time. It was too dark to see who did it. And I was too full of adrenaline to even know initially if I had been hit (thankfully I wasn’t). My only thought was getting almshouse, so I drove off as fast as I could. Unfortunately, too many, including in that same neighborhood , don’t get to make it home. Peter Nickeas, an overnight misdeed reporter for the Chicago Tribune, has documented many of those stories, short and long , in neighborhoods across Chicago. Hours after Wednesday’s shooting in Virginia, he took to Facebook to a note a post that reminded people of the regularity that such violence occurs in Chicago and countless other cities across the motherland but without the audience of the Internet or live television:. Today everyone saw what violence looks like, except the victims are normally a little younger and have darker skin. It's not often on tape so the reaction isn't so visceral. This is what violence feels like to people who see it come about, we can now all say, because we've all seen it happen. In Chicago alone, it happens more than 2,000 times each year. Go to a crime scene and ask kids if they have seen someone instantly. And the answer will be, "well, the first time. " What the Internet is going through right now is almost a liturgy of passage for kids in urban areas. Those kids, Nickeas writes, don’t have the option to press pause or unfollow:. Kids see the "oh shit" look on someone's pan right before they get shot.


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