Marsha > Recent Status Updates

Campbell says twelve hundred abused women are killed every year int he United States.
That figure does not count children. It does not count the abusers who kill themselves after killing their partners. It does not count same-sex relationships where one or the other partner might not be "out." It does not count other family members who are often killed alongside the primary victim.

'I wish you a good night's rest.'
She dropped suddenly on one knee and pressed his hand to her lips and held it there a moment.
'Merci, Monseigneur. Bonne nuit!" she said huskily. then she rose again and ran up the stairs to her chamber.
Her maid was there, agog with excitement. Léonie shut the door carefully, brushed past the girl and flung herself on to the bed and cried as though her heart would break.

Léonie came forward in her best manner, and swept a curtsy.
'Is it possible?' he said, and bent over her fingers.
'You are dazzled, in fact?' His Grace came to stand beside his ward.
'Completely! I would not have believed it could be! You are to be congratulated, Alastair.'
'Why, so I think,' said the Duke.
Leonie made a quaint little bow.
'Sometimes, m'sieur, I am still Léon.'
'Ay, that is Léon,' Hugh smiled.

WHEN DAVENANT MET HIS GRACE AT BREAKFAST NEXT morning he found that the Duke was in excellent spirits. He was more than usually urbane and whenever his eye alighted on Léon he smiled, as if at some pleasant thought.
'Was the levée well attended?' asked Hugh, attacking a red sirloin. Unlike the Duke, who never ate more than a roll for breakfast, he made a hearty meal of eggs, bacon and cold meats, washed down by ale.

Hostility toward out-groups. Social isolation magnifies rural White fears of the "other." Isolated and homogeneous rural communities are infertile laboratories for understanding, much less accepting, people who are different. Forty-two percent of rural Americans live in the community in which they grew up, a rate higher than for either suburban or urban residents.

She choked up as she described going to meetings that were pleasant enough "until you talk to the woman who is asking you for help and doesn't know what to do, who's in a horrible situation and saw that there's a political meet-and-greet and decided to come and seek help because her son had just committed suicide. And now she's standing in front of me, and I have her name and phone number, for what?"

When ND governor Doug Burgum, a billionaire, launched his presidential campaign with a video proclaiming his small-town values," Paul wrote a column suggesting that the things one learns growing up in a city-=dealing with many different kinds of people, handling change--might be even more valuable to the presidency. Burgum made the column the focus of a fundraiser email, which was titled "They Hate Rural America."

There are the national statistics that never seem to improve. On September 21, 2015, the American Association of Universities released a report of the largest survey on sexual assault on college and university campuses ever conducted. There were more than 150,000 respondents and the report told us what we already know: 1 in 4 undergraduate women will experience some kind of sexual violence during her college years.

In Rory's head, the new solution was instantaneous--the transition, this last transition of its kind, a clear line of demarcation between dependence and freedom. Instead, he was now faced with weeks, possibly months, of teaching before he'd know if it even worked. It made him tired just thinking about it.
So for the rest of the weekend, Rory tried to teach Daye the basics of weaving.

It was a long, warm day. The sun was just starting to slant downward and the fortress was still filled with a day's worth of drowsy, wood-scented heat. Daye was sprawled on the floor, lost in thoughts or dozing--Rory couldn't tell from this angle. A gloaming wind ruffled the surface of the pond. It swept through the open window, licking a path of goose bumps across Rory's forearms.

Rosemarie,
I'm sorry I couldn't be the sister you deserve. I never meant to cause trouble, and I regret that I've hurt you. Milly will always be a part of me, and we both love you very much. Tell Arthur how you feel about him. Milly would want you both to be happy,
Love,
Milly and Jennza

Tears swim in my eyes as I fold each letter twice, then slip them in separate envelopes.

She offers to help me prepare for the Celebraze, but I assure her I can dress on my own. with a stubborn purse of her lips, she refuses to leave me and helps me button my tunic when my back buttons are out of reach.
Even with Lorelei's help, I'm last to dress and wrap my hair in a traditional white scarf. White symbolizes youth and at the end of the ceremony, we burn our scarves as a gesture of leaving our childhood.

Dear Eric,
I hardly know how to begin this letter. I should be reticent, but I find I am eager to share my secret with you. I have better stories to tell you than any we invented for each other as buccaneers. I am a kind of buccaneer myself now, in flesh and blood. You are the only person outside of my most intimate circle whom I could imagine telling about it.
I am doing what we used to say we'd do together."

"You're beautiful and clever," she went on, "and you made friends here so easily. You seem to understand men too, more than any other girl here. You will...help me, won't you? Please?"
"Of course I will help you, Hannah." I made myself smile. "I learned how women catch men before I learned to walk."
I felt her exhale, her ribs moving under the counterpane, her breath against my skin. "Thank you, Adèle."

Vasya's heart sprang into her throat and seemed to hang there, hammering. The rusalka had borne Alyosha to earth. Vasya saw his sword go flying; she saw him freeze, entranced, looking up at the naked woman. She saw her fingers go round his throat.
The Bear laughed. "Stay where you are, all of you. Or this one dies."
"Remember," Vasya called to the rusalka, desperately, across the clearing. "I threw flowers for you."

With the rain and thew damp, Father Konstantin took to making his brushes and grinding his stone in the winter kitchen. It was considerably warmer and somewhat drier than his room, though much noisier, with dogs and children and the feeblest of their goats underfoot. Vasya regretted the change. He never once spoke to her, though he commended Irina and instructed Anna Ivanovna often enough.

"Father, I should like to go to this monastery."
"Sashka, you cannot cast a stone without hitting a church in this city," said Pyotr. "Why waste three days' riding on another?"
Sasha's lip curled. "In Moscow, priests are in love with their standing. They eat fat meat and preach poverty to the miserable."
This was true. But Pyotr lacked an abstract sense of justice. He shrugged. "Your holy man might be the same."

Slowly, somehow unable to resist, I move closer. Listening. Waiting. In the living room, my parents are still debating organizational strategies, but over their arguing I can hear that rattling sound coming again from under the crack int he door. The air is cold here, even colder than in Bootsie's crypt--even colder than it was in my new bedroom--and I can sense something on the other side.

There were people all round them. It was so damp that steam seemed to be rising from the ground and Anna's nostrils were filled with the smell of rubber from the mackintoshes which nearly all the English were wearing. At the end of the platform there was a slight holdup, but nobody pushed or jostled as was usual in France and Germany--everyone just waited their turn.

Soon they were sitting down to a real Christmas dinner. As well as the chicken there were roast potatoes and carrots, and apple flan with cream to follow. Mama was becoming quite a good cook. She had even made gingerbread hearts because they belonged to a proper German Christmas. There was something wrong with them and they had gone soggy instead of being hard and crisp, but they tasted quite nice just the same.

At breakfast there was no postcard from Mama and Papa.
"Why do you think it hasn't come?" she asked Max.
"Postal delay," said Max indistinctly through a mouthful of bread. "'Bye!" and he rushed to catch his train.
"I daresay it'll come this afternoon," said Herr Zwirn.
But she worried about it all day at school and sat chewing her pencil instead of writing a description of the sunrise in the mountains.

But as much as I'd come to adore him, I hated that the act gave me so much time to think. And always my mind went to dark places. What the hell was I doing with someone so young? And how in God's name had I ended up here, on my knees in a five-star hotel, sucking some guy in a boy band's d**k? And dear Lord, please don't ever let my daughter do this. the things you never see coming.

"I assume there are others."
"What?"
"Other women..." She had said it offhandedly, but boy, did it land.
I had not assumed so. I assumed there were several before. I assumed there would be several after. But I had not allowed myself to imagine that there were others concurrently. and the realization that I had not even considered it made me suddenly ill. When? How? Where was it happening?

She was about to call out when she heard Nighthand speak and the intensity of his voice stopped her. "I don't know what to do, Ratwin. I think I will go mad. These last months, I come back for a single night and then I leave. Every time, I see her and my stomach turns to molten iron."
"Is that a problem?"
"My face goes a terrible purplish-red around her."
"That's what humanses calls blushing, Nighthand."

To have a child with somebody, it was scary. Diego is a good guy. He's wonderful. When I met him, he was a crazy kid. I think he had just turned 21. He's a year younger than me. He had two jobs at the time. He was working at Walmart and he was working at that restaurant. And we weren't making enough.
At the clinic, they were really gentle. I recall them not being snooty or ugly because, you know, we are in Texas.

One of the most important findings from the Turnaway Study has to do with the long-term health effects of abortion versus birth. Very few studies compare the longer-term health consequences of either of these outcomes for women experiencing an unwanted pregnancy. My colleague Dr. Lauren Ralph analyzed the data on the longer-term health outcomes.

"Some creatures that bite need to go unnoticed. Leeches and mosquitos evolved to secrete an anesthetic once they've attached to their host, which allows them to feed. A species could easily evolve to produce something even more powerful than a simple numbing agent."
I glance back at my friends. "We've probably got some eggs in us."
"You do," announces an unexpected voice from the doorway on our right.

I remain motionless, staring out at a sea of classmates on the opposite cliffside.
"It's not so bad once you start running," Isaiah says from behind. "One you reach the edge, the hard part is over."
His words are kind but in a practical sense it does absolutely nothing. I'm displaying textbook freezing behavior and Isaiah has no more control over my basolateral amygdala than I do.

I regarded the straw in the cart. We should have to carry it all, armload by armload, up three flights of stairs through the mill. At least the mill was empty; we could work in relative secrecy, without the eyes of Shearing gossip watching us. Finally, after dozens of trips up and down that left my legs rubbery, and another half hour of sweeping up the straw we'd dropped along the way, the garret room was full.

"Rayla, look," Ezran said. "He can't fly yet, but he should be safe in my bag."
"There's nothing in there, Ezran," Rayla said.
"What?" Ezran looked down. The bag was empty. Zym was on the other side of the room!
"Hey, Zym! How'd you do that?" Ezran asked. He looked in the bag again. This time, Bait poked his head out. "Bait! You're not helping."
Rayla laughed.
Then allum came in, holding something in his hand.