His Dad Beat His Mom. He Tried To Stop Him. But He Was Only 5. So He's Speaking Out Now. -
Patrick Stewart’s incredibly personal and powerful story about growing up with an abusive father.
An incredibly evocative, eloquent and moving story. Most definitely worth watching if you have a sturdy heart and a free fifteen minutes.
its going well! hows it going for you?
It’s coming along— trying to figure out how to move cross country (again) and where to move to. Just ate some pancakes, and am filled with pancakey goodness and the idea that everything will work itself out.
for those not in the know, night witches were russian lady bombers who bombed the shit out of german lines in WW2. Thing is though, they had the oldest, noisiest, crappest planes in the entire world. The engines used to conk out halfway through their missions, so they had to climb out on the wings mid flight to restart the props. the planes were also so noisy that to stop germans from hearing them combing and starting up their anti aircraft guns, they’d climb up to a certain height, coast down to german positions, drop their bombs, restart their engines in midair, and get the fuck out of dodge.
their leader flew over 200 missions and was never captured.
how the fuck is this not taught in every single history class ever
girl pilots (◕‿◕✿)
girl pilots killing nazis ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* \(◕ヮ◕✿)/ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
(Source: sovietico, via sjaejones)
Adulting: Central adulting theme: Harden the fuck up -
Sometimes, you will think to yourself, “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck! I have so, so much to do, and neither the will nor the energy to do any of it.” At this moment, there are two options:
• Go get back in bed, thus letting others and yourself down, or;
• Harden the fuck up.
As far as I’m concerned,…
DE-STRUCTURE A large crane on Tuesday tore down a roller coaster in Seaside Heights, N.J., that had been in the ocean for six months since superstorm Sandy. (Photo: Mark Wilson / Getty Images via The Wall Street Journal)
Oh. Oh well.
I so badly want to make this my picture on LinkedIn with the caption “if this is how pumped I get for lettuce, think about how enthusiastic I must be about marketing”
Gotta love Joe.
Fun times! Go USA!
we’d probably already have hoverboards if we didn’t spend so much time arguing over whether women are people and if they should be allowed to do science
After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.
Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?
The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.
She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,
Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.
She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.
Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.
Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.
She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.
And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.
And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,
With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.
They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.
Not everything is lost. — Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be. (via awelltraveledwoman)
(Source: oliviacirce, via craneyourneck)