Welcome to 'OZ' - The 'Other' Side of the Rainbow!! Posting is at 10AM, Noon and 2PM CST daily. Up to 12 days of posts on the main page. The archives have more. You can forward posts by clicking on the envelope at the bottom of the post. Enjoy your stay! *** If you need to contact me, or have a copyright issue, please use the "Contact The Wizard" form on the left side of 'OZ'. Original source and author is cited and credited in each post where possible. ***
Frank Bonner has died peacefully after having 'complications' with Lewy body dementia, which is similar to Alzheimer's disease.
Frank Bonner, who played Herb Tarlek on the sitcom “WKRP in Cincinnati,” has died. He was 79.
Bonner passed away “peacefully” Wednesday.
Can you imagine someone coming into your home grabbing your baby and never bringing them back home to you!!!
The artist is Kent Monkman, Cree Nation.
The Good, the Bad and the Innocent: The Tragic Reality Behind Residential Schools, an Albert Etzerza Story.
Remember the '3' steps:
S-T-R
Sometimes symptoms of a stroke are difficult to identify. Unfortunately, the lack of awareness spells disaster. The stroke victim may suffer severe brain damage when people nearby fail to recognize the symptoms of a stroke.
Now doctors say a bystander can recognize a stroke by asking three simple questions:
S - Ask them to SMILE
T - Ask them to TALK and SPEAK A SIMPLE SENTENCE (Coherently) like "Chicken Soup"
R - Ask them to RAISE BOTH ARMS
If he or she has trouble with ANY ONE of these tasks, call emergency number immediately and describe the symptoms to the dispatcher.
**New Sign of a Stroke -------- Stick out Your Tongue
Another 'sign' of a stroke is this: Ask the person to 'stick' out his tongue. If the tongue is 'crooked', if it goes to one side or the other that is also an indication of a stroke.
A cardiologist says if everyone who reads this post sends it to 10 people; you can bet that at least one life will be saved. Or simply post it to facebook by clicking on the facebook icon.
I have done my part. Will you?
Many people out there don't even recognize it, but to the queer community, it represents a great importance. There is also Stonewall. The bear near the bottom of my blog is a called 'Stoney', after the Stonewall Inn Riots in New York. My best friend brought it back from San Francisco for me. (I took a picture of it).
 |
| 44 years ago - Memorial Day weekend, May 25, 1977, Star Wars was released #StarWars - Left to Right: Han Solo, Darth Vader, Chewbacca, Princess Leia, Luke Skywalker, R2-D2 |
 |
| Image from https://www.good.is/articles/disney-pixar-women-same-face |
 |
| Closest picture of Saturn, from inside its rings, by the Cassini Spacecraft a few weeks ago.. |
Me: "I want an apocalyptic dystopia!"
Mom: "We have apocalyptic dystopia at home."
The apocalyptic dystopia at home:
Two miniature horses have become neighbourhood celebrities in the Ottawa municipality of Munster ON Canada, as community members wait for their walk each day to say hello and give them a pet.
Neighbourhood walks have become a popular activity to combat COVID-19 boredom, but Debra Carey-Knox has kicked them up a notch, and it’s become a hotly anticipated event in her Ontario community.
 |
| Ned Beatty |
TMZ, citing “a family member” and later his manager, reported that Mr. Beatty died in his sleep Sunday, surrounded by relatives at his home.
The celebrity news site said the death was due to natural causes and not related to the COVID-19 pandemic.
by Kate Chopin
Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death.
It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband's friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed." He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.
She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister's arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.
There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.
There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.
She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.
She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.
There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air.
Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will - as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been.
When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under her breath: "free, free, free!" The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body.
She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial.
She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.
There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination.
And yet she had loved him - sometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in face of this possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being!
"Free! Body and soul free!" she kept whispering.
Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhole, imploring for admission. "Louise, open the door! I beg, open the door - you will make yourself ill. What are you doing Louise? For heaven's sake open the door."
"Go away. I am not making myself ill." No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window.
Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long.
She arose at length and opened the door to her sister's importunities. There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom.
Some one was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife.
But Richards was too late.
When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease - of joy that kills.
