Sigo con sus dos recetas que nos preparó y enseñó con posterior degustación.

Recordad que hoy tenemos otro show-cooking, como cada lunes, por parte de Toni Palmer Amer.

Bacalao. Una bomba con “all i oli” de membrillo.

250g bacalao desalado

Agua mineral

70 ml. de aceite

3 ajos

1 chorro de crema de leche ( nata líquida)

Dorar los ajos dentro del aceite y dejar enfriar. Colar.

Sacar la piel al bacalao y cortarlo en juliana. Cubrirlo de agua fría y cocerlo a fuego lento hasta que el bacalao saque su propia agua o hasta que veamos que el agua empieza a enturbiarse, pero cuidado porque no debe llegar a hervir. Colar.

Emulsionar con turmix o mortero, como si fuera un ” all i oli ” el bacalao con el aceite aromatizado con el ajo.

Añadirle el chorro de crema y probar el punto de sal.

2000 g de membrillos, pelados , y cortados a cuartos y metidos en agua con limón. Darles un hervor de 15 minutos.

Colar y reservar el agua. Triturar los membrillos.

Hacer un puré de membrillo con la misma cantidad/peso de azúcar que de membrillo.

Ponerlo a fuego suave y removerlo sin parar hasta que tenga densidad que se empieza a notar cuando se agarra a la olla. Tarda unos 40 minutos.

Ahora viene el proceso más “complicado” que es extender la brandada y ponerle una bolita de puré de membrillo, intentar que la brandada no esté caliente ya que se rompe. Hacer una bola tipo croqueta y rebozarlo por galleta picada, kellog’s o lo que sea, yo lo probaré con panko , que puede quedar más vistoso, aunque la idea de kellog’s es muy original. El segundo de cocina nos avisó que los kellog’s pueden quemarse rápido por lo que el membrillo de dentro quedaría más duro si se le somete menos tiempo para freír.

2 membrillos

1 manzana

3 ajos ( sin el germen para que no repita )

Aceite oliva

Sal

Asaremos o herviremos los frutos. Pelarlos y sacarle las semillas, luego triturar con turmix o mortero junto con el resto de ingredientes.

Requesón, camagrocs y membrillo

I’ve decided to highlight various Grenadian genealogical information I’ve come across online.  The first of this “series” is the extensive information collected by Desmond Preudhomme of  Toronto on the following families (this is an abridged list as the full list is very long):

BANFIELD

BISHOP

BOURNE

CAMPBELL

DATE

DE FREITAS

DE GALE

DONALDSON

DUNCAN

FARMER

GIBBON

GILL

GOLTON/GOULTON

GOODING

GRANT

HUGHES

JAMES

JOAN

LOFTUS

LUSAN/LUSSAN

OTWAY

PREUDHOMME

MARSHALL

MIGNON

MINORS

PATERSON

PAYNE

PETERKIN

RENWICK

According to the page Desmond’s contact information is…

Desmond T W Preudhomme

78 Mayfield Ave

Toronto, Ontario M5S 1K8

416 760 7492

d_preudhomme@hotmail.com

I am sure he would appreciate being able to connect with more relatives and discover additional family information.

I’ve been torn for a long time… should I blog?  I have lots to talk about (if you’ve ever heard me talk, you’d know its true), and so, after dabbling with the idea of and options for a blog for a while, finally, here it is. 

No going back… which is, by the way, a theme I’m taking on for 2010.

The idea is for me to write here. Blog, blog, blog… and share it shamelessly.  Please, I ask you to share with me… I value connection, so please share your comments, thoughts, and contributions as this develops.

Onward!

Espinelves és una bonica població amagada entre els contraforts del Montseny més salvatge. Està propera al Coll de Ravell, que travessa la C-25, l’eix transversal en el seu camí entre Vic i Girona. Podeu arribar-hi per Vic, per Girona, o pujant per Sant Celoni, cap a Viladrau, o per Arbúcies des d’Hostalric. En tots els casos us trobareu dins de paratges verges, plens de boscos, rurals a més no poder, com l’arbreda de Can Masjoan, on podreu trobar 58 espècies diferents d’arbres, amb exemplars monumentals, com l’avet més alt del país, amb 43m. També son famoses les fagedes. I allà, en mig d’aquesta verdor, el poble d’Espinelves amuntegat damunt el seu turó, amb el campanar de la magnífica esglèsia romànica de Sant Vicenç donant-vos la benvinguda. Espinelves és un petit llogaret medieval. Un parell de carrers i prou, però darrerament s’ha situat en el mapa per la seva famosa fira de l’Avet. Aquesta trobada te lloc la segona setmana de desembre. Si trieu aquell moment per pujar amb la canalla us ho passareu molt bé visitant les parades d’avets, de verd nadalenc, de guarniments, d’oficis, de gastronomia… de tota mena. I també participant en totes les activitats que s’organitzen al mateix temps que la fira. Espectacles infantils, de teatre, músic, fira d’oficis, mercat tradicional. Ara bé, us prevenim: no aparcareu, i si ho feu serà a uns quants kilòmetres del poble. Tampoc podreu caminar, segons el dia escollit i l’hora. Milers i milers de persones es donen cita aquell dia a les quatre cases d’aquesta prtitoníssima vila. No us ho podeu imaginar. Si no arribeu ben aviat, al matí, coneixereu la bogeria. Ja esteu avisats. Si hi aneu qualsevol altre cap de setmana, que no siguin els primers de desembre, trobareu un poblet encisador, un xic mort, amb una natura maravellosa, el que dèiem a l’inici. Per dinar qualsevol restaurant és bo. De fet estan tots els que hi han units per una associació i practiquen una cuina catalana molt tradicional. Uns son més sofisticats, altres ofereixen menú tancat, i altres són més cassolans. Ens agrada especialment Can Joan. Petitó i acollidor. Però no menjareu en cap d’ells el dia de la fira si abans no heu reservat. Podeu dormir a Sant Hilari, al Vilar Rural, per exemple. On també podeu dinar si no trobeu plat a taula enlloc més.

Espinelves es una pequeña población escondida entre los contrafuertes del Montseny más salvaje. Está cercana al Coll de Ravell, que atraviesa la C-25, el eje transversal en su camino entre Vic y Girona. Puede llegar por Vic, por Girona, o subiendo por Sant Celoni, hacia Viladrau, o por Arbúcies desde Hostalric. En todos los casos os encontraréis dentro de parajes vírgenes, llenos de bosques, rurales a más no poder, como la arboleda de Can Masjoan, donde podréis encontrar 58 especies diferentes de árboles, con ejemplares monumentales, como el abeto más alto del país, con 43m. También son famosos los hayedos. Y allí, en medio de esta verdor, el pueblo de Espinelves encaramado sobre su colina, con el campanario de la magnífica iglesia románica de Sant Vicenç dandoles la bienvenida. Espinelves es una pequeña aldea medieval. Un par de calles y basta. Pero últimamente se ha situado en el mapa gracias a su famosa feria del Abeto. Este encuentro tiene lugar la segunda semana de diciembre. Si elige ese momento para subir con los niños os lo pasaréis muy bien visitando los puestos de abetos, de verde navideño, de adornos, de oficios, de gastronomía … de todo tipo. Y también participando en todas las actividades que se organizan al mismo tiempo que la feria. Espectáculos infantiles, de teatro, músico, feria de oficios, mercado tradicional. Ahora bien, les prevenimos: no van a aparcar, y si lo hacen será a unos cuantos kilómetros del pueblo. Tampoco puede caminar, según el día elegido y la hora. Miles y miles de personas se dan cita ese día entre las cuatro casas de esta pequeñísima villa. No os lo podéis imaginar. Si no llegais pronto, por la mañana, conoceréis la locura. Ya estáis avisados. Si vais cualquier otro fin de semana, que no sean los primeros de diciembre, encontrareis un pueblecito encantador, un poco muerto, con una naturaleza maravillosa, lo que decíamos al inicio. Para comer cualquier restaurante es bueno. De hecho están todos los que hay, unidos por una asociación, y practican una cocina catalana muy tradicional. Unos son más sofisticados, otros ofrecen un menú cerrado, y otros son más caseros. Nos gusta especialmente Can Joan. Pequeñito y acogedor. Pero no comereis en ninguno de ellos el día de la feria si antes no habeis reservado. Pueden dormir en Sant Hilari, en el Vilar Rural, por ejemplo. Donde también pueden comer si no encuentran plato en la mesa en ningún otro lugar.

El temps passa volant. Avui fa tres anys que em casava amb la Núria en un dels dies més preciosos i emocionants que recordo de tota la meva vida. Encara revisc molts dels detalls com si haguessin passat ahir mateix i espero poder-ho continuar fent durant anys i anys.

Avui la conclusió és única i molt clara: NÚRIA T’ESTIMO MOLT!!!!

mandala pouch with paste on

i’ve been working on more pouches to offer through my etsy web site, here.

they are carefully hand sewn (no machines!) with muslin fabric. the seams are double-folded and sewn to be extra sturdy (double threaded and triple-knotted).

i use ribbon for the drawstrings, and create them so that you can pull from both sides at once – way more fun than just having one ribbon!

these few pouches are only my second attempt so far, and so are priced very cheaply. the designs are slightly blurry – i tried to portray them as accurately as possible in the photos on etsy. they stained well, and are still an exciting way to carry around your smallest treasures.

swirls pouch

i know folks who use them to carry smoking accessories, dice, coins, handkerchiefs, and more. they’re also great if you attend or work at renaissance faires and need a ‘period’ or ‘non-modern’ way to carry small things on your person. these pouches would also be a great way to present a small gift (jewelry, special stones, or even a gift card).

please take a look at my etsy site and let me know what you think. i may at some point offer these types of items for sale directly through this site, but i’d like to find out what folks are interested in first.

thanks for your feedback!

Resumes paint the picture of the tasks you personally have achieved in your career. The length will depend on your experience level. Someone with less than 10 years of experience should try and keep it to one page while a seasoned person might need two. There are always exceptions especially if you are having numerous contracts within the ten years. I personally believe that any experience beyond ten years is most likely dated especially in the Information Technology world. My rule of thumb is to only put experiences beyond the ten years on the resume if it pertains to the position you are applying for to show the potential employer you have that experience.

Resumes are developed to give the potential employer the key highlights of your expertise not to write a book. Paint the picture of your career in a clear, concise and detailed format. Use the interview to elaborate and sell yourself more.

Joan

SCORE (finalllyyyy!). After a semi-slow third season, Mad Men’s season 3 finale delivered to the fullest!

I wasn’t the biggest fan of S3. Some of the storylines seemed to be going nowhere (the school teacher affair? Joan’s husband? Peggy and Duck? Who cares, really.). With a lot of non-sense in the middle of the season, it took away from what viewers really care about: Sterling Cooper, Don’s past, and the back-and-forth teetering of the Draper marriage. While getting lost, we saw less of fan-favorites like Peggy, Pete, and even Roger Sterling himself. And that’s never a good thing in a drama with a nearly perfect ensemble.

Now hey, I’m not drinkin’ the haterade! Season 3 had its memorable moments: the tractor incident, the tension between Don and Roger, the inclusion of the Kennedy assassination. (The penultimate episode was just as fantastic as the finale, in my opinion. Right down to its chillingly perfect final line of dialogue…”And who are you supposed to be?”).

But lets call a spade a spade: the finale was the saving grace of an otherwise subpar season.

Watching the new Sterling-Cooper-Draper-Price unravel was quite exciting, however, my favorite scenes were those between Peggy and Don. The build-up throughout the season was spot-on, and it was amazing to see Peggy finally stand up to Don and call him out for not appreciating her enough. “I don’t want to make a career out of being there so you can kick me when you fail,” she told him. When Draper later visited Peggy at her apartment, he responded with: “I’ve taken you for granted and I’ve been hard on you but only because I think I see you as an extension of myself…And you’re not.” And when he told her he would continue spending the rest of his life trying to hire her if she turned him down? God, that is the payoff that viewers die to see. Perfection.

And Joan. Joanie. The hottie red-headed bombshell. We knew she’d be back! When Roger needed a hand, we all knew who he’d call. And we all were giddy with delight.

Little by little, the puzzle pieces of the new Sterling Cooper Draper Price all fell into place setting up what seems to be a fantastic and drastically different fourth season. But while the work thang started to congeal, life at home for Don was falling apart. And fast: Betty wanted a divorce, Don had to move out, and they had to tell the kids the truth. The scene with the entire Draper family discussing their “new arrangements” was both heartbreaking and realistic, and surely had to have struck close to home for many.

The finale gave viewers what they were wishing and hoping for all season. The payoffs were huge, and the writing and acting were top notch. These men may be mad, but viewers certainly aren’t. What more could one ask for in a Grade A TV show?

September 9th, 2009

For anyone who’s been paying attention (hi Mum), I mentioned, in the last blog, that we were off to see Fleet Foxes on Monday night. With Chris prepping himself for a trip to Spain; Niall, Doug and myself (along with our Sicilian ray of sunshine, Marika) made our way to Dublin’s Vicar Street venue on Thomas Street.

The show was a sell out (in 41 minutes precisely, according to Doug “Stato” Farrell), so the 1,500 venue was buzzing nicely.

I like Vicar Street and had forgotten how much until I got there. Even feels intimate whether you’re standing or up in the gods, and the sound is always top notch. The bar’s cool for a purpose built venue and features a nice big homely fireplace and 10 foot brass teddy bear (I kid you not).

I must admit I’m not overly familiar with Fleet Foxes, but Doug (a big fan) and Niall had seen them previously (in the same venue, actually) and promised me it’d be a bit special.

In keeping with the quick sellout, there was a palpable sense of anticipation. When the band did appear, it became obvious I was in the minority as a blow in.

Fleet Foxes are impressive.

Fact.

Would they make me want to go out and form a band?

Probably not.

But my knucklehead tendencies are well documented.

So I’ll shut up and give praise where praise is due.

I personally hadn’t heard harmonies delivered like that, live, in….well, ever, actually. They had some killer tunes -including an amazing final encore, featuring their equally beardy support band, Blitzen Trapper.

Another highlight was a show stopping rendition of Neutral Milk Hotel’s “Two Headed Boy”.

This was actually a sweet surprise for us because, about this time last year, an augmented Reader’s Wives performed a tribute show to NMH’s album “In The Aeroplane Over The Sea”.

I’ve just realized that Neutral Milk Hotel is possibly the one band Reader’s Wives unanimously cherish.

Well, them and The Smiths.

And The Beatles.

And maybe, Radiohead.

And Reader’s Wives, obviously.

But I digress….

To be honest Two Headed Boy really made my night because, truth be told, for the first 15 minutes of the gig I was worried that all I would hear was amazing harmonies and maybe not much of a dynamic show.

As pointed out by friend of ours after the gig (who had more than a little insider knowledge), the live appeal of these hirsute unassuming Seattle-lings was aided greatly by the hilarious deadpan stylings of drummer Josh Tillman. Also he’s an amazing kit player to boot. We knew he’d been the most experienced and prolific of the group and presumed he was a senior member.

Googled him this morning.

He’s younger than me.

Bastard.

Laters,

Disko

X

Soundtrack : Take a wild guess…

Hi ha qui diu que a base d’experiència anem aprenent a fer-nos amb les persones i a saber donar la volta a situacions desfavorables. Hi ha qui diu també que és precisament la vivència d’aquestes situacions la que ens dóna l’experiència. Li podem fer cas al “hi ha qui” que sigui, però el que està clar és que, pel que em diu la meva experiència personal, un dels temes que poden ser més desagradables i tabús, com és el tema escatològic, moltes vegades s’acaba convertint en una font d’inspiració per grans converses humorístiques que acaben convertint-se en una mena de concurs de “a veure qui la diu més grossa”.

L’altre dia a la feina, per exemple. Es dóna el cas que el meu lloc de treball cau just al costat de la porta d’entrada als serveis, que en principi no són públics, però als quals tampoc se li nega l’entrada a cap persona de les que es pugui estar esperant. Hi ha gent que té la mala (i lletja) costum de no sortir cagats i orinats de casa i amb la visió del nostre WC semipúblic se’ls obre la possibilitat de representar-hi la coneguda pel·lícula “Liberad a Willy”. N’hi ha que han representat tantes parts en el nostre lavabo que sembla que el seu willy pudent estigui ja instal·lat a les nostres pituitàries.

En fi, el cas és que alguna persona sense identificar va entrar a fer les necessitats al lavabo i va fugir ràpidament, deixant totes les portes obertes i intoxicant a totes les persones que estàvem al local amb una insuportable fèrum. Ràpidament vam mirar d’airejar l’escenari del crim i vam “bombarderjar-lo” amb quantitats generoses d’ambientador, però allò continuava essent desagradable. El cas és que entre els assistents a la improvitzada fuga química va començar una mena de conversa surrealista sobre com evitar aquestes situacions, que va anar degenerant cap a comentaris cada vegada més escatològics que anaven causant la rialla general del grup de víctimes present.

Finalment vam acordar que la millor solució seria posar un epitafi a la porta que digués:

WC fuera de servicio porque alguien mató a la taza con su “depósito”
(y casi a los presentes)

EPD

El cas és que d’això ja en fa unes quantes setmanes i encara és motiu de conversa i de riures continus entre els supervivents de “l’atac nuclear”.

I que visqui el bon humor (digui el que digui el “hi ha qui”)!!!!

If there’s ‘another woman’ in Cheryl and Ashley Cole’s marriage, it isn’t Aimee Walton, the hairdresser, nor Brooke Healy, the glamour model – or any of the other women who’ve claimed a dalliance with the Chelsea defender.

The third female figure hovering over the couple – still packing Cheryl her lunches on her X Factor days, grilling Ashley about his bad behaviour, and now rumoured to become a permanent fixture on their £3.5 million Surrey estate – is Cheryl’s mum, Joan Callaghan.

Joan, 49, moved in with the Coles shortly after their wedding in 2006. Last year, as the couple struggled to survive Ashley’s alleged infidelities, Ashley insisted Joan return to her native Newcastle, saying he felt ‘smothered’ and needed space to work through his problems with his wife.

But Joan, who is single, continues to spend large slabs of time with the Coles, and it has been reported that a bungalow is going to be built for her in their grounds. According to insiders, mother and daughter couldn’t be happier. ‘Cheryl and Joan are like sisters,’ said one source, ‘and Cheryl can’t wait to have her around.’ A friend has said that Joan will ‘keep a watch’ on Ashley when Cheryl is away – and though he isn’t keen, he ‘hasn’t got much of a say in it’. Apparently, Ashley has been appeased by Cheryl agreeing to have a five-a-side pitch installed on their estate – but for how long?

Does Cheryl’s decision to move her mother on to her doorstep suggest that she can’t rely on Ashley as her first support? (Recently, when asked whether she ‘trusted’ Ashley, Cheryl replied, ‘I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t trust anybody in life except my mother and my dogs.’) Can a marriage survive the presence of a lioness mother-in-law, claws always at the ready to protect her child? Could this be the final curtain for a marriage that has never seemed altogether solid?

In one way, the Coles are bang on trend. Earlier this year, President Obama moved his mother-in-law, Marian Robinson, into the White House to look after his two daughters. Robbie Williams has become so attached to his girlfriend Ayda Field’s mother (they share a love of late-night poker) that he is preparing to move both mother and daughter into his £7 million Wiltshire home.

An increasing number of couples are sharing their living space with at least one parent – most commonly, a widowed or divorced mother. The effects of longer life expectancy, weakening pensions, expensive residential care and the recession means there are now 80,000 three-generation households in the UK – either living in one house or in one with a ‘granny flat’. The Skipton Building Society predicts the number will triple over the next 20 years.

Suzie Hayman, agony aunt and trustee of Parentline Plus, believes that, given the right dynamic, there are advantages to the arrangement. ‘All cultures at some point have viewed it as entirely normal,’ says Hayman. ‘It’s only our modern Western culture that has moved away from it.’ Indeed, Jemima Khan lived with the entire Khan clan when she married cricketer/politician Imran and moved to Pakistan. (Though, it must be added, she is now divorced and has expressed amazement that she stuck it out for five years.)

‘When you live with a parent – as opposed to being an isolated, nuclear unit – you always have company, you may always have help, you’re never the “only one” who is left to do something,’ says Hayman. ‘There’s babysitting available, a role model who has been there, done that and got the T-shirt. When it works, there’s someone who can gently, sensitively, tactfully take on a mentoring role.’

But it doesn’t always work – especially in a society such as ours. We conduct our relationships in private and value one-on-one time as the key ingredient. When partners are our ‘other halves’, it doesn’t leave room for anyone else. ‘In some countries, you grow up seeing yourself as part of a group, but in the West we think in terms of individuals and couples,’ says Hayman. ‘In some cultures, you marry a family – but we see the couple as the primary relationship that can be diluted by the presence or interference of others.’

So, having built a largely private relationship, the sudden presence of a live-in parent presents quite a challenge. Do you act like a daughter or a partner? Having separated these spheres for so long, it’s hard to be both simultaneously. ‘If you have a parent living in your house, mothering and infantilising you, saying, “Let me do this”, then you may find yourself acting the child,’ says Hayman. ‘It can prevent an adult relationship with your partner.’

Linda Blair, psychologist and author of Straight Talking, agrees. ‘If you live with a parent and a partner, you are expected to be an adult, a lover and a child at the same time,’ she says. ‘Parents don’t mean to, but they see you as younger. If they are in good health, you have someone there on whom you can depend and therefore you become dependent.’ (Perhaps relying on Mum to make you packed lunches when you’re a married multimillionaire with a team of minions is a case in point. In fact, Cheryl recently confessed to feeling ‘lost’ when her mother wasn’t around.)

To reduce the pressure on a marriage caused by a cohabiting parent, Blair believes it’s essential to make space as a couple – the ease of which may depend on the size and shape of your living arrangements. Joan Callaghan will have her own separate unit, but for those under one roof Blair suggests making a regular date outside the house where you can freely express your feelings on the arrangement. Hayman advises drawing up ground rules (on privacy, money matters, housework) and setting clear boundaries. ‘An important one is that the marriage itself is a no-go area for the parent,’ she says.

In the Cole household, though, this doesn’t seem to have happened. Joan is Cheryl’s chief ally and first line of support when her marriage gets tough. Last year, when the papers oozed with stories of Ashley’s ‘boozy sex romp’ with Aimee Walton, Ashley found himself locked in crisis talks with his mother-in-law because Cheryl was ‘too emotional’ to face him. (‘Only when Joan is certain he is able to make her beautiful daughter happy again will she give Cheryl the OK to take him back,’ a friend told the press.)

‘If Mum’s always there, living in, supporting her own, the partner will feel slighted, marginalised – and view her as a rival’

Hayman spies trouble ahead: ‘If you live with your mum and use her to fight your battles, you’re not learning how to have an adult relationship with your partner. Ask any counsellor – a three-sided relationship is really hard to manage. If Mum’s always there, living in, supporting her own, the partner will feel slighted, marginalised – and will view her as a rival.’

And as a ‘rival’, Joan is tough competition. More than just a mother figure, she has accompanied her daughter on the town (both dressed in equally revealing outfits) and the two are often described as ‘best friends’. Again, not a good sign.

‘You’re a “mother” or a “best friend”, but I don’t see how you can be both,’ argues Blair. ‘The goal of best friend is to be there for you. A mother’s goal is to support you, love you unconditionally – but ultimately make you independent. Separation is an essential part of growing up.’

Perhaps Cheryl’s rapid rise has compelled her to share – or ‘overshare’ – her life with her mother, right down to her home. There are many mums who’ve clung to the coat-tails of their celebrity offspring and reaped the benefits of their success – the ‘momager’ Dina Lohan, who has gained a TV show through her daughter Lindsay, is one example.

Cheryl Cole grew up in a famously deprived household, on a drug-riven, poverty-stricken council estate where she lived on ‘baked beans, eggs and bread. If we got a McDonald’s, that was a treat, a luxury, because it was costing my mother a fortune,’ she said. Joan was 21 and already had three children when she met Cheryl’s father, Gary, 17, a painter-decorator.

The couple had Cheryl and her younger brother – and later separated. (Though Gary has since had two children with another partner, Cheryl remains close to her father.) Cheryl’s older half-brother is an alcoholic glue-sniffer with a violent track record. Her half-sister has also been charged with brawling in public.

Joan has remained fiercely protective of all her children – and perhaps a mix of guilt and gratitude has made Cheryl determined that her mother won’t miss a moment of her luxurious new life.
 
‘It’s a natural impulse for parents and adult children,’ agrees Hayman. ‘Just as you hear a mother say, “I want my child to have what I never had”, an adult will say, “I want to repay my mother for all she has done for me”. But there’s a difference between repaying your mum and inviting her to live life for you and with you.’

So for celebrity mothers such as Joan, Hayman has this advice. ‘Let your child show her gratitude and love. Accept gifts, take joint holidays from time to time, be an occasional back-up. But live a separate existence.’
 
And for anyone else who is contemplating life with a live-in parent, about to tread the tricky line of being lover, partner and child? ‘Keep spheres separate, acknowledge the possible pitfalls and be honest about what is and isn’t working. And don’t run to Mother when your relationship has problems. Sort it out yourself.’

Source

Last night was incredible.  The amount of fun I had was retarded and it’s left me feeling light and motivated today.  However, the reason why I’m here writing now isn’t to discuss what I did last night or anything.  Naw, this here is a revelation unfolding.  You see, last night Erik, Joe, and I went to Evanston, IL on a random chance and after dinner when we went to the most ballin-ass coffeeshop I’ve ever entered, my dear friend Joan (and super stud Ben) joined up with us.

Now, Joan and I kinda lost each other for a while there.  I got caught up in my life, she got caught up in hers, and the only real means of communication we had was AIM- and it’s hard to get me going on AIM.  But then last night I discovered that the Purple line starts at the Library stop right by my house… goes to Belmont then shoooots all the way up to Howard without any stops in between.  What does this mean?  It takes MAYBE 30 minutes to reach Northwestern’s campus and see Joan.  And after last night’s reunion and how much fun I had with Joan from start to finish has already made me decide I’m dedicating more of my time to that girl.

One of the things that made me want to be more a part of her life was the obvious adoration she has for me.  When we got to her room I opened up a photo album she had and I was in probably half of the pictures.  And of the two photos she displays in a little case, one is of a big group, the other is her and I.  Ben was in 1 picture… I was in like, 6 or 7.  Seeing this really touched me and reminded me of how much Joan really does love me.  And after Joe and Erik told me how cute they thought she was, I got to say, “Yeah, I realllly am not attracted to her, she’s too much of a sister to me.”  You hear that?  Too much of a sister to me…

I really have nothing more to say.  Just wanted to mention that I’ve missed one of my best friends dearly and I’m glad we’re working on getting back on track with each other.  :)

Bé, després de més de 3 anys des de que vaig anar per primera vegada al metge per tal de mirar d’arreglar (almenys una mica) el desastre del meu genoll dret i després de més de 20 mesos des de que em van confirmar que entrava a la llista d’espera per operar-me, la setmana passada finalment em van trucar per donar-me hora per aquesta setmana per les proves del preopeatori. A veure, tècnicament i després de parlar amb la telefonista de torn de l’hospital, abans de 6 mesos m’haurien d’operar, ja que les proves tenen aquesta vigència. En principi però no estic “programat” pel mes de novembre, però si falla algú (potser i tenint en compte l’espera, algú que s’hagi mort abans que l’operin) podria ser que sí que m’operessin. En definitiva i perquè quedi clar, no sé sap quan m’operaran però sí que se sap que serà en els propers 6 mesos.

Dit tot això, ara ve la meva indignació, causada principalment per la demagogia de la classe política d’aquest país en el que m’ha tocat viure.. Resulta que s’omplen la boca dient que s’estan reduïnt les llistes d’espera i jo ja porto gairebé 21 mesos esperant que em toqui. No crec que tot aquest temps hagi beneficiat gns la “salut” del meu genoll.  Quan acabi tot el procés, quan ja tinc els terminis exactes de la meva expriència personal, pesno fer alguna queixa formal a les instàncies que calgui. Sé que no servirà per res, però almenys faré que en quedi cosntància.

En qualsevol cas, qualsevol dia dels propers sis mesos em podrien operar. Ja miraré de deixar escrites les últimes voluntats pel que pugui passar…

I wonder what would please her,
Charlotte, Julia or Louisa?
Ann and Mary, they’re too common;
Joan’s too formal for a woman;
Jane’s a prettier name beside;
But we had a Jane that died.
They would say, if ‘twas Rebecca,
That she was a little Quaker,
Edith’s pretty, but that looks
Better in old English books.
Ellen’s left off long ago:
Blanche is out of fashion now.

None that I have mentioned yet
Are so good as Margaret.
Emily is neat and fine.
What do you think of Caroline?
How I’m puzzled and perplexed
What to choose or think of next!
I am in a little fever
Lest the name that I shall give her
Should disgrace her or defame her.
I will leave Papa to name her.

(Charles Lamb, ‘Naming the Baby’, 1809)

What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962) is an American psychological horror film produced and directed by Robert Aldrich. The screenplay by Lukas Heller is based on the novel of the same name by Henry Farrell. In 2003, the character of Baby Jane Hudson was ranked #44 on the American Film Institute’s list of the 50 Best Villains of American Cinema.

Tagline:  Sister, sister, oh so fair, why is there blood all over your hair?

Trivia:

• The curious teenager who lives next door to the Hudson sisters is none other than Barbara Merrill, Bette Davis’s real-life daughter.
• The wig Bette Davis wears throughout the film had, unbeknownst to both leads, been worn by Joan Crawford in an earlier MGM movie. Because it had been re-groomed, Crawford didn’t recognize it.
• During production, Bette Davis had a Coca-Cola machine installed on the set to anger Joan Crawford, whose late husband had been CEO of rival Pepsi-Cola and who herself was on the board of directors of that company.
• During the kicking scene, Bette Davis kicked Joan Crawford in the head, and the resulting wound required stitches. In retaliation, Crawford put weights in her pockets so that when Davis had to drag Crawford’s near-lifeless body, she strained her back.
• While touring the talk show circuit to promote the movie, Bette Davis told one interviewer that when she and Joan Crawford were first suggested for the leads in this film, Warner Bros. studio head Jack L. Warner replied: “I wouldn’t give a plugged nickel for either one of those two old broads.” Recalling the story, Davis laughed at her own expense. The following day, she reportedly received a telegram from Crawford: “In future, please do not refer to me as an old broad!”
• The final scene at the beach was filmed in Malibu, California at the same spot where director Robert Aldrich filmed the final scene of Kiss Me Deadly (1955). When Blanche confesses the truth to “Baby Jane”, you can see in the background that same house that was “blown up” by a mysterious box containing radioactive material in “Kiss Me Deadly”.
• The producers originally wanted Peter Lawford to play Edwin Flagg. Bette Davis also originally objected to Victor Buono’s casting but eventually came around.
• Because she was then a member of the Pepsi-Cola board of directors, Joan Crawford managed to see that product placement shots of the soft drinks appeared in all of her later films. Although nearly imperceptible, Pepsi does show up in this one. During the last sequence, a guy runs up to the refreshment stand on the beach and tries to collect the deposit on some empty Pepsi bottles – a transaction that actually only happened in stores.
• Cracked head of Baby Jane doll featured prominently in ad campaign was a completely different doll than that used in movie – probably because movie was filmed and released so quickly that ad staff had to devise campaign while film was still in production.
• In addition to her trademark number “I’ve Written a Letter to Daddy”, the young Baby Jane apparently had other hit songs in her act. When Edwin prepares to play the piano for their rehearsal, we see Jane’s picture featured on old sheet music for songs entitled “Fly the Flag of Freedom”, “She’s Somebody’s Little Girl”, and “I Wouldn’t Trade My Daddy”.
• The scenes from Jane’s early films that show her to be a flop as an actress are scenes from Parachute Jumper (1933) and Ex-Lady (1933). When Bette Davis heard that the crew was looking for poor footage of her from that time, she (half-jokingly) suggested that any of her films from the period would do.
• Joan Crawford was an avid collector of Margaret and Walter Keane’s “sad eyes” paintings and befriended the couple and tried to incorporate their work into her films. In the film, during the interior scenes of the neighbor’s (Mrs. Bates) house, several Keene paintings can be seen displayed on the walls.
• Early in the film, actor Bert Freed playing a film director can be seen wearing a necktie that’s not tied in a knot, but is instead crossed over held on by a tie clasp. That was a trademark look of the movie’s director Robert Aldrich, and was placed there as an inside gag.
• A freeze-frame just as the car enters the driveway in the prologue reveals the secret of who was driving the car the night Blanche was paralyzed.
• Bette Davis had been nominated for Best Actress in her film What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962), which also starring Joan Crawford. If Bette had won, it would have set a record number of wins for an actress. According to the book “Bette & Joan – The Divine Feud” by Shaun Considine, the two had a life long mutual hatred, and a jealous Joan Crawford actively campaigned against Bette Davis for winning Best Actress, and even told Anne Bancroft that if Anne won and was unable to accept the Award, Joan would be happy to accept it on her behalf. According to the book – and this may or may not be 100% true, but it makes a good anecdote – on Oscar night, Bette Davis was standing in the wings of the theatre waiting to hear the name of the winner. When it was announced that Anne Bancroft had won Best Actress for The Miracle Worker (1962), Bette Davis felt an icy hand on her shoulder as Joan Crawford said “Excuse me, I have an Oscar to accept”.
• According to Bette Davis in her book This N’ That, this film was originally going to be shot in color. Bette opposed this, saying that it would just make a sad story look pretty.
• This film can be seen as a tragic continuation of the story of the film Gypsy (1962). The sibling rivalry of the blond child star Baby Jane (Baby June in Gypsy) and the brunette sister, who has a Hollywood career as an adult.
• In scenes where Jane imitates Blanche’s voice, the voice heard is actually Joan Crawford’s voice, and not Bette Davis’, as Bette could not master Joan’s voice properly.
• This film is considered by many as Joan Crawford’s last important picture. After this film, Joan was typecast in some lesser horror pictures until her last picture in 1970 and her last TV appearance in 1972.
• In 1962, this film was a smash hit, grossing nine million dollars initially. In 2009 dollars, this amount would adjust to approximately $64,279,370.86.
• In her book, “This N’ That”, Bette Davis said she had a lot of control over how her makeup should be done for the film. She imagined the older Jane as someone who would never wash her face, just put on another layer of makeup. When her daughter, B.D. first saw her in full “Jane” makeup, she said, “Oh, mother, this time you’ve gone too far”

Amazon Specials!

The doctor has phoned me, he wants me to go and get a blood test to see if I can be safely given this new jab to prevent some unknown disease. I hate blood tests, I dislike waiting for things and I don’t particularly enjoy meeting strangers (weirdo’s) which you inevitably do do in the blood test waiting room. To be honest I would rather the disease but me being me I agree to it. It’s Monday morning, I should be working. I should be telling people, who don’t care, about my weekend. I should be, reluctantly, listening to what they got up to on theirs. Instead I am here. Here being hell’s waiting room.

The Blood Centre operates a ticket based system. It is very advanced. You go in, no one greets you, you look around – what do I do? It’s at this point that I would have to break a huge rule of mine – not to voluntarily speak to a stranger – to find out what I need to do. I opt against doing this and I follow this old man with a stick. He seems to have been here before, he will know what to do. He gets a ticket. I get a ticket. Essentially the ticket based system is this; you get a ticket, you sit down, the misery begins, you look at the board until your number comes up and then you enter the blood room and the misery continues. It seems to be a system that is timeless; no amount of technology will replace this ticket system.

I am ticket 94. Immediately I think that this is not a good thing but maybe I will be in luck, maybe the number on the board will be 93 and I will stroll smugly in. How wrong I am. The number on the screen reads 16. I have no book, no paper, alone with my thoughts – and not many of these. I am sitting down when, like the inquisitive human that we all are, I see who is about. Who is weird? Who has what disease? I begin labelling these poor innocent people with diseases – he is anaemic, she high blood pressure, that old guy is so fat he must have some fat based disease. That man is dead. It is a fun game, one that I would like to think I am quite good at, alas we will never know.

I am sitting next to an old, really old, woman who looks like the hunchback of F Wing. Opposite me is an annoying 5 year old child with her Chav of a mum. On the other side of me is an ill looking man who is snoring, loudly, had he not been snoring I would think he was dead. This was it. The next 60 minutes of my life would be acted out with this supporting cast. We had all ages, all of them annoying, all of them deciding that today, Monday the 12th they wanted to make some new friends.

It started with Joan. ‘Hello love, I’m Joan. I have been here an hour now, bloody thing ain’t moved. They keep wheeling these sick people in from over there who seem to jump the queue’. Oh god, why Joan? Why speak to me? All I wanted was the blood test and get the hell out of there. Now I have to entertain Joan. She should be wheeled into the room, she should be in a chair – look at you Joan, you can’t sit up woman. Joan smells. I hate Joan.

‘Hi Joan, an hour wow. Poor thing. Hopefully it won’t be too much longer.’ What an absolute nothing comment from me. Calling Joan ‘thing’, even if she looks alien like I can’t call her thing again. Maybe Joan won’t retort. I haven’t asked her any questions. There is no need to reply Joan. ‘Won’t be too much longer? Your bloody naïve aren’t you lad? You got much planned for Christmas…if you have cancel it cos you will still be here.’ Chill out Joan, she does have a point – I am naïve because unlike you Joan I am fit and healthy. I am not up here every Monday for the social. I don’t know how this place works and I am proud of that fact. I am going to stand up, fully erect, just because you can’t. I may do some stretches, just to really rub it in Joan. I hate Joan. ‘Ah I am sorry, I don’t really know how this all works. I am a bit new here’. Pathetic.

This kid is getting a bit close for comfort. I don’t want to play with you. Problem I have though is that Joan wants to carry this conversation on. Do I take a bullet and play ‘Guess Who’ with this little scab or do I continue the misery with Joan. What a choice? Talk gout with a 90 year old or ask who’s wearing the glasses with a 6 year old. This is what my life has become. I know I am not going to get any change out of this girl’s mum (not Joan’s she died years ago). If I play with the girl then it is just me, the mum is reading The Mirror and clearly loving it. There will be no respite. You play ‘Guess Who’ now then you will be cancelling your Christmas plans. On the other hand, speak to Joan and you may just end up killing her.

Thirty Nine. ‘Does he have a moustache?’ I plumped for Guess Who. I still had 50 to go before my number. I am an excellent ‘Guess Who’ player. I have a proud undefeated record and this is because I ask prudent, sensible questions. I was not going to let my record slip. Not to Crystal – why would someone name their kid Crystal. As I was demolishing her – she only had 2 faces left, I had 14, another easy win – I just knew that I was in the presence of a future porn star. I mean Crystal, you name your kid that and you know she is not going into politics. Looking at the mum I was not sure if Crystal hadn’t been produced from the set of a Porn film. If airports scanned plastic then her mother would shut Terminal 4 down. Still Crystal was not a good Guess Who player, Joan had shut up and the numbers were going through quite nicely.

Sixty Six. Suddenly a policeman came bounding through the door with what can only be described as a hobo cuffed to him. There were so many seats Mr Policeman, don’t infect us with your presence. I see him walking towards us. I had just won another game – four nil up now and not looking in any danger. They sat right next to Joan. Just my luck. What a weird bunch we were. The bloke on my left was pretty much dead. Joan couldn’t stand. We had a bad Pamela Anderson opposite, we had her kid Crystal who was one of the worst Guess Who players I had ever seen, we had PC Rufus and Ray the hobo. If I didn’t have a disease before this began I certainly did now. I thought about bailing. I thought about moving, heading for the door. But they knew my number – we had exchanged these earlier – I couldn’t get up now. Joan would have me for dinner, Crystal would cry and PC Rufus was desperate for someone normal to talk to.

Seventy Eight. I stayed. ‘Does she have a tie?’ this was getting easy. Ray was an interesting character. He had been brought in for publicly weeing over passengers on the busy 8.46 to London. I admired Ray’s pluck. As I have previously blogged about I cannot perform in public due to chronically shy kidneys so for Ray to get up and spray his stuff over the sleeping passengers he had at least showed he had some real qualities, gusto for one. PC Rufus was on the train and got covered. The errant wee unfortunately hit PC Rufus’ mouth and so he had to get Ray to do a blood test to make sure he hadn’t been infected. Poor PC Rufus, tries to catch 40 winks before the big shift only to get wee’d on, in the mouth, by a hobo.

Ninety Three. It was time to prepare myself. Joan was still here – I don’t think she even had a ticket but I wasn’t going to help her out. Ray and PC Rufus were becoming increasingly close and Crystal had gone to get her blood test, armed with the knowledge that she had just lost 9-0 to me at ‘Guess Who’. It was an easy 9-0 too. I wanted to get up in Joan’s face, masquerade my ticket right in front of her. I wanted to go and shake Ray’s hand and point and laugh at PC Rufus. I wanted to pop Pammy’s inflatable breasts and see if she would fly around the room like a popped balloon. I wanted to take the old man’s pulse next to me to see if he was still alive. I didn’t do any of this though because…Ninety Four – I went to get the ticket out of my pocket to go and see the delightful nurse but, and to my dying day I will live with this pain forever, I could not find it. I had lost the ticket.

‘No ticket, you can’t come in Sir. You will need another ticket and wait your turn.’ I turned my head…Joan sat there, bent over with a huge grin on her face. She was so smug. I know she had something to do with this, I couldn’t prove it but one day, one day I will get her, one day I will get my revenge. For now I returned to the ever depleting gang, there I was back at square one. I had a ticket 146. I was sitting with Joan. ‘Told you we were going to be bloody hours’. Just shut up Joan, for once in your grim life would you just shut up. I hate you, and I will get you for this ‘yes looks like you were right’. I am so sad. I wish I could speak what I really feel, just once, if I did. If I said exactly what I felt, told Joan just what I thought of her then that could be enough to finish the old bag off.

Ninety Five.

Written by Daran Little, directed by Tony Prescott.

Tyrone is still complaining that Molly’s gone off him again, after he thought it was all sorted.  Kirk tells him it’s his own fault for not putting his foot down.  She does walk all over him.

Pam tells Molly that she doesn’t understand her or what she’s playing at.  Us neither!  Pam tells her it’s never easy being married, but it’s worth working towards and that Tyrone’s a good man.  Molly replies that so is Kevin.  Oh yeah, except for the cheating-on-his-wife-part.  Oh, but it’s different – you’re in love, this isn’t an affair, it’s special – you’re special.  Whatever!

Tyrone goes to his good mate Kev to complain about what’s going on with Molly.  He seriously thinks that Molly thinks he’s cheating on her with Minnie.  Kevin assures him that Molly does not think he’s cheating.  Tyrone tells Kevin that he just wants he and Molly to be happy forever.  Guilt much, Kevin?

Pam has tried her best with Molly but to no avail, so she’s moved onto Kev.  She goes to the garage to confront him about his and Molly’s affair.  She does her best to shame Kevin, and MAN does he look shamed!  For shame!  Pam tells him that Molly’s barely out of her wedding dress and Kevin’s got his oily hands all over her.  Oh, I’m so loving Auntie Pam right now.  Kevin protests that he loves Molly, but Auntie Pam tells him to save it – he’s not talking to some slip of a girl right now.  She knows guys like him – wrong side of 40, stuck in a rut, looking for a bit on the side to spice up their existence, full of “I love you,” taking advantage of young girls etc.  He hardly took advantage, but she doesn’t know that.  Pam gives him her final word, “stay away from Molly or I shall bring your whole world topelling down on your smug, selfish head.”  Does anyone think Auntie Pam’s got some anger against men?  Hehe.  Kevin did nothing else but stand there with his mouth gaping open in shock.

Kevin marches over to Dev’s and asks Molly how Pam knows.  She tells him how Pam caught them kissing, and how she felt relief telling Pam about their love.  Somehow I don’t think Kevin feels relieved.  Kevin’s have a good old fashioned freak-out over it, but Molly reminds him that people will find out sooner or later – since they’re in love.  Kevin walks away in a huff.

Kevin meets up with Molly later and accuses her of telling Auntie Pam about them on purpose because she wants it out in the open.  Molly says she wants a life with Kevin and thought he wanted the same thing.  Kevin insists that she go tell Tyrone right now that she’s leaving him.  Molly says she hates how seperate their lives are when they’re back on the street and wishes it was as it were when they were on holiday together.  Well, life’s not a holiday dear.  Kevin tells her it’s not a game, and people are going to get hurt so she needs to get real.

Michelle’s in her scant negligee painting her toe nails, when Ryan reminds her that Ben’s coming by soon.  She tells Ryan that Ben can get used to how she dresses around the house.  Oh, he will.  She also says she doesn’t want to hear any of Ben’s religious mumbo-jumbo.  Ryan tells her that Ben’s perfectly normal, but Michelle thinks that normal for a teenage boy should be getting drunk on lager and being in a race to lose his virginity.  Ryan sneers that he’s glad he’s got such a good role model.  Haha.  Ben arrives and definitely notices Michelle’s “attire.”  I’m guessing his own mother sleeps in flannels?  Haha.

Michelle’s frustrated that the builder isn’t there, and wants the boys out of the flat since she’ll be taking a bath and playing fleetwood mac and doesn’t want to hear video games.  Wow, should I be worried that Michelle and I have a LOT in common?  Haha.

Well, seems the new builder has arrived and is escalating the ladder outside the kabab shop whilst Michelle is singing her heart out to Fleetwood Mac’s “Go Your Own Way” in the tub.  Only the builder slips and falls and his ladder goes flying, but luckily he’s grabbed hold of the window of Michelle’s flat from the outside.  Is anyone out there thinking, “Bill wouldn’t have slipped?”  Yeah.  Michelle hears the noise, puts a towel on a runs to the window to find a good looking man just hanging from it.  What’s that song?  It’s Raining Men!  It’s as though he fell from heaven.  Michelle pulls him in before he falls, but in the process loses her towel.  Perfection.  Once again, who goes into a bath in full makeup?  Must be a Carla sitz.  Michelle is embarassed but the builder tells her not to cover up for his sake.  Wow, I must not also that I don’t think I’ve seen this kind of nudity (side-boob) in Corrie ever.  I bet Michelle’s glad that that’s not Bill after all stood in front of her!

Michelle gets a chance to put a robe on a builder-boy tells her that he could have broken a leg if she hadn’t come along, then calls Michelle his angel in a tower.  Builder-boy’s name is Jake, and he asks Michelle for some brandy to get rid of the shock.  Michelle seems unusually uncomfortable with this situation.  I doubt Rosie would be.  Jake continues to lay it on thick, reckoning that Michelle is the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.  Michelle tells him to get back to the roof, as her bath is getting cold.  Jake leaves, but not without asking Michelle if she’s single.  Michelle confirms that she is, then Jake does something bold – grabs her for a kiss.  Oh, he’s a smooth one.  Michelle pushes him away and tells him to get off.  Jake just smirks and tells her that if she wants him, she knows where to find him.  He’s a little shy, don’t you think?

Maria stops by the Kabin and tells Norris, and Joan, that she’s going on holiday to Cypress with baby Liam to see her parents.  Norris thinks taking a baby on a plane is a bad idea, because there’s always some child screaming his head off on a plane he’s been on and it’s extremely annoying.  After Maria leaves, Norris takes the opportunity to fill Joan in on the gossip of Maria’s life.  Norris tells Joan that they’re a very close-knit community there.  Haha, I love this kind of irony that Little injects in the episodes.  Norris is still having a very rough time of it with Joan, a.k.a. Speak No Evil.  He’s already begun writing up a “situation vacant” card to put in the window again when Rita calls to tell him how wonderful her holiday is.  He has a great time laughing and conversing with her over the phone, there’s some big shoes to fill in that shop assistant position.

Kirk’s over, and Tony tells him that he’s looking forward to getting closer to his future brother-in-law.  Kirk asks him what his policy is on hiring family members.  Oh Kirk!  Tony tells Kirk there’s nothing available at the moment.  When alone, Kirk tells Tony that Maria’s been smiling a lot more since Liam’s been born, and that it’s down to Tony, so he gives his thanks.  Tony tells Kirk that he loves Maria more than he’s ever loved anyone.

Later, Tony complains to Maria about having some indigestion or hunger pains.  He looks in pain.  Of course, he always seems to look in pain.

arta.balearweb.net/get/Antoni_Picazo_2_mpt.jpg

Mitjan setmana arriba el dimecres i, amb ell, el programa 432 d’El crepuscle encén estels · IB3 Ràdio, 21:00 ·,en el qual ens visita ANTONI PICAZO, coautor amb Jesús Garcia Marín de La Il·lustració a Mallorca. El periode il·lustrat tengué a les nostres illes una sèrie de figures notables: Bonaventura Serra, el cardenal Despuig, i la Societat Econòmica Mallorquina d’Amics del País; l’ambiciós pla de millores de Miquel Gaietà Soler a les Pitiüses; la Societat Maonesa de Cultura i Joan Ramis i Ramis. Tots ells formen part d’una època clau en la nostra història, a cavall entre l’Antic Règim i la modernitat que comportarà el s. XIX. Serà aquesta una confrontació a tota Europa, amb repercussions polítiques, econòmiques, socials i fins i tot filosòfiques, com podeu llegir a Ilustración y Romanticismo, un llibre de Gonçal Mayos, publicat per Herder, amb ..432 pàgines

…432, precisament, com Crepuscles comptam fins el dia d’avui.

· IB3 ràdio en directe · http://streaming01.ib3radio.com:8000/ib3radio.mp3

There is some really cool saints names If I time before the book goes back I will do some postings on individual ones

Genevieve, Elizabeth Ann, Raphaela, Genovea, Zdislava, Leonie, Marguerite, Ita, Roseline, Margaret, Eustochia, Agnes, Dwynwen, Verdiana, Eusebia, Bathildis, Hyacintha, Marcella, Brigid, Anna, Claudine, Maria, Agatha, Dorothy, Colette, Josephine, Apollonia, Scholastica, Jeanne, Catherine, Gertrude, Walburga, Paula, Anne, Katharine, Teresa, Felicity, Perpetua, Cunegunda, Frances, Fina, Matilda, Louise, Benedetta, Rafqa, Lucy, Gladys, Catalina, Crescentia, Julie, Mary, Gemma, Lydwina, Bernadette, Casilda, Fara, Zita, Gianna, Panacea, Wiborada, Maura, Rosa, Magdalene, Dymphna, Rita, Mariana, Ursula, Ubaldesca, Bona, Joan, Blandina, Clotilda, Melania, Florida, Germaine, Aleydis. (more to come)