Saturday Special #4 – RICH RICH RICH: Richest of the World

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(N.B. This was supposed to be published last Saturday, but I’ve been ill… sorry.)

Welcome to the second instalment of the Saturday Special series on the rich, rich, rich. Last week my post focused  on rich Americans – this week THE WORLD!!

In looking at the world’s richest billionaires I couldn’t overlook the richest royal families (although they are  not included in most lists) – just because  they rule countries doesn’t mean they aren’t ridiculously rich! 

While I was at it I decided to include the richest countries and cities, as well as the most beautiful and expensive homes inhabited by the super-rich.










Saturday Special #2 – Coasters!!


In keeping with last week’s focus on theme parks, water slides and amusement parks, this post is all about the BIG THRILL!! Yup, I gathered up some fun footage of a wide variety of your favorite ride – dum dee dee dum  –  the ROLLERCOASTER!!

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Again, I suggest that you scroll down before deciding what to watch — you never know what surprise may await you at the end.












Change is Coming; Our Bodies, Our Choice!

Reblogged: Excellent insight. Do visit original sight for full blog…


Momentum is building within the chronic illness community and as the numbers reach epidemic proportions we are rapidly becoming the majority and becoming a formidable voting block as well.

As patients we are taking our health into our own hands and insisting upon the respect and dignity we deserve in forging our own path to wellness…and on our terms. As we become more and more educated the traditional medical hierarchy is increasingly proving to be outdated and non-applicable given the current state of affairs.

This is our life and our body that we live with 24/7. The doctor who treats or fails to treat can go home and turn his mind to other things, whereas whatever treatment decisions are made will follow us, the patients, when we return home. These decisions and the orders or lack thereof surrounding them often determine our level of relief or suffering. Our doctors, (while…

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REBLOG: Check out this wonderful short story ,Vieques,
by Devan Del Conte…. then check out the rest of the site!

Hawaii Pacific Review

by Devan Del Conte

The ferry chugged away from the coast of San Juan, and the captain’s voice came over the PA system: they would arrive in forty-five minutes. Leslie and Alec were on their way to the island of Vieques.

Alec scooted back on the slick plastic chair, trying to ease the ache in his lower back. He edged away from Leslie and shrugged his shoulder. The ferry smelled faintly of gas. The chairs were bolted in a series of long blue rows that reminded Alec of his middle school cafeteria. Leslie clutched his arm, moaning complaints about her nausea. This was the moment Alec knew for sure: he did not love her.

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It’s What We Do

REBLOG: I thoroughly enjoyed this post by Storyshucker and I highly recommend it to anyone who enjoys a lovely story with a kicker of a moral!


While out walking yesterday evening I smelled sunscreen as someone passed by. In an instant I was mentally back on the beach waiting for cousins to come down from the house so we could get in the water together. I was also reminded of something I once wrote about years of our family’s summer traditions:

It’s a rustic, waterfront cottage on the Chesapeake Bay in an isolated cluster of other old cottages a mile or so off the main road. It’s been added on to over the last fifty-plus years and is filled with second-hand furniture, hand-me-down linens, and old pots and pans. To do anything from use the kitchen stove to turning on the water pump requires knowledge of idiosyncrasies so specific that they’re passed down like family history. There’s sand on the floor, the smell of salt water in the air, and to me it’s perfect.

The actual owner…

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The Thing | A Short Story of Psychosis

decline A self portrait: myself in hospital after a breakdown, with The Thing above me.

When she was 15,
something began living
inside of her head.

It inhabited
her body, her soul, every inch
of her being. There was
a time when everything
she touched turned to gold.
Boys fell in love with her at
the turn of a screw. She was
clever, pretty, funny,
all the things a teen wants to be.

Until The Thing arrived and played
his magic games.

“Touch that postbox three
times or else your father
will die.”
“Yes, sir.”

Six years later,
she passed that same postbox.
She slapped it thrice, four times,
for good measure. The Thing hasn’t
been around for a while, but she knows
he is still lurking within.

“Can you tell us about the thing,
that lives inside your head?”
“All I know is that it’s a man,
it’s definitely a male authority

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Poems by Max Ehrmann

Max Ehrmann

Max Ehrmann (1872 – 1945 / Indianapolis, United States)


Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.


Whatever Else You Do

Whatever else you do or forbear,
impose upon yourself the task of happiness;
and now and then abandon yourself
to the joy of laughter.

And however much you condemn
the evil in the world, remember that the
world is not all evil; that somewhere
children are at play, as you yourself in the
old days; that women still find joy
in the stalwart hearts of men;

And that men, treading with restless feet
their many paths, may yet find refuge
from the storms of the world in the cheerful
house of love.


‘A Prayer’

Let me do my work each day; and if the darkened hours of despair overcome me, may I not forget the strength that comforted me in the desolation of other times.

May I still remember the bright hours that found me walking over the silent hills of my childhood, or dreaming on the margin of a quiet river, when a light glowed within me, and I promised my early God to have courage amid the tempests of the changing years.

Spare me from bitterness and from the sharp passions of unguarded moments. May I not forget that poverty and riches are of the spirit.

Though the world knows me not, may my thoughts and actions be such as shall keep me friendly with myself.

Lift up my eyes from the earth, and let me not forget the uses of the stars. Forbid that I should judge others lest I condemn myself.

Let me not follow the clamor of the world, but walk calmly in my path.

Give me a few friends who will love me for what I am; and keep ever burning before my vagrant steps the kindly light of hope.

And though age and infirmity overtake me, and I come not within sight of the castle of my dreams, teach me still to be thankful for life, and for time’s olden memories that are good and sweet; and may the evening’s twilight find me gentle still.

‘Dark Days’

What fool shall say, “My days are fair,
God’s in his world and all is well,”
When half mankind shrieks in despair
Worse than in Dante’s flaming hell!I cannot sing in happy mood
While hostile armies take their toll.
On these dark days I toil and brood
With starless midnight in my soul.And yet, O World, O Life, O God!
I find myself, jest as the fool,
Believing in thy chastening rod,
Believing still that love must rule.