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And I think you'll find that socially conservative organizations in fact produce saying queers are proportionally more violent, but grain of salt, they have their own agenda. You could also use salt, poured around the perimeter of your house and into areas that feel "icky". My sweetie likes to leave it sit for a week before clearing it up. At least you wouldn't have to clean water. Ringing a high pitched, clear or clapping your hands in darker corners helps out pooling, stagnant energy, or lurking impressions of the previous occupant.
Clap by starting near the floor and clap your way up towards the ceiling. While doing this I also like to bring a candle into those darker corners, and let the light fall on areas that are usually dark. It really makes a difference in how the place "feels".
The protestors expressed outrage to comments made by church leader Elder K. Packer saying homosexuality is an immoral condition that can and should be overcome. Packer, president of the church's Quorum of Twelve Apostles, made the comments during a semiannual conference.
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After I meanderingly suggested that I had heard her mother might have an artifact of interest, from the nineteenth century, of a kind of specific purpose, she laughed. I apologized for not being more direct.
Tom and I were young at the time, in our forties. Back in the seventies. Connie and Tom, from New York City, bought the house in after spending years renting around Nantucket. The house might date back to the early s: Can you believe it? Made from porcelain or carved ivory. I assumed that there might be other owners.
After all, during my search, plenty of people had claimed to know about them: I suppose hers could have been the one that started the rumor—but what about the porcelain and ivory types Tom heard about? But, then, could I? Was I underestimating the strength of rumor, how it scrambles chronology and facts?
What if the rumor was alive and well when the letters in the chimney were dated, in the s—could it have been gifted to the original owner as a kind of joke? That would account for the dearth of other examples. Standing by the chimney with Connie, I saw three possibilities. This artifact was a product of a joke, either of the far past or of the recent past. Or three, and least probable: But we thought it was just a lark. When we first found it, I wanted to get one of those glass-covered coffee tables that people put shells in.
Life went on here in Nantucket. Sex, desire, and loneliness, she meant, went on in nineteenth-century Nantucket. What happened in the bedroom two hundred years ago remains pretty much the same—because here we are, the products of all that coupling. To satisfy desire, a tool had been labored over and secreted away, and therefore freighted with uncomfortable importance.
Connie showed me the rest of the house. In her attic, mattresses lined the floor. Before she married him, her father and four brothers had died. I found a picture of her younger son, Grover Cleveland Coffin, which is the closest we can get to what Mattie might have looked like.
He has downturned eyes, which, at least in the sepia photograph, look pale enough to be blue or green. Timid and hemmed in. Mattie died at seventy-eight, in , from a stroke. She had chronic myocarditis, an inflamed heart. All of it was small enough fit on a damper ledge, and later inside a pink dress box. Often, in death, you exit in a rush, with your things scattered about, your life exposed, your desk drawers a mess. The valuables and debris of your life reach equal status at death.
Everything that was once yours. These items will be found, puzzled over, and either tossed out or kept in the back of a drawer to follow the next generation and maybe the one after that.
There will also be those items you always intended to throw out but which your death will have safeguarded. Connie invited me to stay for a fried-chicken dinner with her daughters, Pammie and Lizzie, and her granddaughters. Two bottles of red wine. Candles across the dinner table and stuck in the overhead candelabra. Connie was at the head of the table, smiling.
She seemed surprised by her own good fortune, all her descendants before her, the house full. After she went to bed, after her granddaughters had gone into town, after another wine bottle had been emptied and the candles spilled more wax, Pammie and Lizzie and I toasted the dildo. What were we toasting? The wondrous artifact that had sat in the dark for so long, suddenly brought to light? Who knows where it came from, but who cares?
What a quirky life, where dildos are stowed up chimneys! Whatever sadness and loss the house might have held was bleached away by our laughter and drinking. They asked if I wanted to join them to walk the dogs through town. Fog passed in sculptural shapes between the streetlamps. Most of the houses would be empty on this weeknight.
The skilled and wandering inhabitants whom Ishmael praised are long gone. And thus, have these naked Nantucketers, these sea hermits, issuing from their ant-hill in the sea, overrun and conquered the watery world like so many Alexanders…. The Nantucketer, he alone resides and rests on the sea; he alone, in Bible language, goes down to it in ships….
For years he knows not the land; so that when he comes to it at last, it smells like another world, more strangely than the moon would to an Earthsman. With the landless gull, that at sunset folds her wings and is rocked to sleep between billows; so at nightfall, the Nantucketer, out of sight of land, furls his sails, and lays him to his rest, while under his very pillow rush herds of walruses and whales.
The fact that these houses looked the same as they did two hundred years ago was what made their emptiness so present. Coffin was at sea most of his life, captaining whaling ships, schooners, and brigs. Mattie was his second wife; a decade after they married, he was appointed U.
It took two months to sail there. She lived on Saint Helena from to , when her husband was removed from his position after rumors had circulated back in the States that he was a Republican sympathizer though they had named their son Grover Cleveland Coffin to show dedication to the Democratic Party.
They moved into the house on Pine Street that Mattie and her siblings had bought as teenagers. She saved all the letters James had drafted to Washington—to Assistant Secretary of State Edwin Dehl and to Grover Cleveland—at first ingratiating, pledging his loyalty as a Democrat and begging to go back to Saint Helena, and then, when he realized he was not going back, becoming irate, annoyed, pedantic.
In these later letters, he lists all the furniture and domestic items that he and Mattie were unknowingly forced to leave behind on Saint Helena. When they returned to Nantucket for what he thought was a vacation, he was informed that his replacement had already set sail southward.
Then there are the listed wine glasses, the feather pillows, the tea kettle, the side table that she fell asleep beside every night.
In all, James listed household items in his inventories, which is both a great feat of memory and a testament to the preciousness of objects back then. How many objects in my house could I list? And would I pay for them to be shipped on a boat for two months? In his final years, James became keeper of the Nantucket almshouse, and then, in , died from blood poisoning after a chicken scratched him on the hand. Fog pushed on the dark, empty houses as we continued walking through the cobblestoned lanes.
I thought of Mattie Coffin, her husband gone, unable to discard his things and storing the dildo he may or may not have given her out of sight. Keeping a stash of her own past, of a younger life.
What would she say if she walked in the room to see me measuring the thing? Reducing it like that? I fell asleep that night in the borning room with the window open. The streets were silent. I listened for the ocean washing the shore, as it had done for the past sixteen thousand years, when a glacier bulldozed the seabed to make Nantucket. Later in my research of Nantucket women in the whaling days, I combed through lots of old letters. In the s, women in whaling ports sent letters from Atlantic to Pacific only as fast as the wind could push a boat, each page crowded with inky, barbed writing packed and months of desire.
Susan Gifford, in , wrote to her husband:. I felt very bad after you had gone. I did not know what to do with myself. I went up stairs and cried till my head ached and felt most sick.
Mother came up said I must not give way to my feeling so if I did I should be sick so I went down stairs but every thing seemed so lonesome and dreary that I felt as though I did not care whether I did any thing or not…. It is dark and cloudy out to night and I expect you feel rather lonesome. I judge by myself. You was all the World to me and now you are gone.
It seems as though I could fly to you and hug you to my breast…. I long to see you. She preserved the cake in too much alcohol, so that when he opened the package, it exploded. Only you know which brand works best for you.
A small all use moisturizer: This you can use in so many different ways. Derma Blend the ultra-corrective foundation stick is compact, creamy and easy to use. Cab ride, slice and a fight or paying some man child to carry you home.
No expectations come into play here. If you have lady parts, this can be a losing battle. Vibrating nipple clamps have more than one use, put them wherever! They are small enough to carry in a clutch and you only need one of the clamps most of the time.
If you want a pair of your own, contact my friend Kelly. She is a goddess for Athena's and can get you what you need, whenever you need it. Unhappiness lies when people are not honest with themselves. They think they want one thing but really they want another and are too scared to acknowledge it. No need to drink too much so that you have an excuse for why you did what you did.
Be honest with yourself. You are going out tonight with the purpose of either not going home or taking someone home with you. Alcohol can hinder your judgment and make you a target, which is not the goal of the evening. The goal is to get some, plain and simple. Time to fix yourself up. But wait, you look like crap.
Your hair is a mess and your face looks busted. Pull out of your purse these six items; all use moisturizer, concealer, eye lash curler, lip gloss, comb and hair accessories. Take the moisturizer and start dabbing the dry areas on your face.
Around the nose, under eye, chin and any red spots. While moisturizer is taking a moment to sink in. If you can, pull your hair back into a ponytail, do so. Use the moisturizer to tame any fly-aways and then twist your hair around and around so that the hair has a bit of curl to it and stays smooth once you release it.
Take your concealer and pat a little under your eyes, eye lids, under the arch of your brow and on any red spots. This will waken up your mascara from the night before, which will waken up your very tired face. You may also add the moisturizer to the tops of your lashes to add a bit more definition. Tap your favorite lip gloss on your cheeks for a rosy, you look so rested glow.
Then pat lip gloss on your lips to finish the look and now you look more complete and can make the journey of shame home. High-five yourself, hold your head up and take a stroll…better yet, have them pay for a cab ride. View the discussion thread.
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