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Kamis, 27 Desember 2018

Desember 27, 2018 Posted by danitaadenshellwheelock No comments Posted in

Free Download The Hidden Lamp: Stories from Twenty-Five Centuries of Awakened Women

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The Hidden Lamp: Stories from Twenty-Five Centuries of Awakened Women

The Hidden Lamp: Stories from Twenty-Five Centuries of Awakened Women


The Hidden Lamp: Stories from Twenty-Five Centuries of Awakened Women


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The Hidden Lamp: Stories from Twenty-Five Centuries of Awakened Women

Review

"An amazing collection. This book gives the wonderful feel of the sincerity, the great range, and the nobility of the spiritual work that women are doing and have been doing, unacknowledged, for a very long time. An essential and delightful book." (John Tarrant, author of Bring Me The Rhinoceros And Other Zen Koans That Will Save Your Life)"Record of the Hidden Lamp is a gift to all Dharma students, men and women. In this magnificent and fresh compilation, we learn about the feminine and its central place in Buddhist teachings and practice." (Pilar Jennings, author of Mixing Minds)"A treasure. Earthy, challenging, often irreverent, always inspiring the reader to dig deep for the truth that leads to awakening. Not only for women, this collection presents the rich feminine perspective for all sincere dharma practitioners." (James Baraz, cofounding teacher Spirit Rock Meditation Center, author of Awakening Joy: 10 Steps to Real Happiness)"How beautiful and strong, the voices of these wise women, made intimate and modern in this ancient Zen form." (Jack Kornfield)"This is an invaluable resource for practitioners and seekers everywhere. These are treasures unearthed." (Sharon Salzberg, author of Lovingkindness and Real Happiness)"You will return to this collection again and again for a dose of its abundant insight, encouragement, steadfastness, warmth, and wit." (Colleen Morton Busch, author of Fire Monks)"Teachings leap off these pages - a wake-up call for the 21st century." (China Galland, author of Love Cemetery)"An important contribution to Buddhist literature that provides a more complete understanding of Buddhism and Buddhist history." (Steve Hagen, author of Why the World Doesn't Seem to Make Sense)

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About the Author

Florence Caplow is a Soto Zen priest in the Suzuki Roshi lineage. She has been practicing Vipassana and Zen for twenty-five years, and is a dharma teacher, field botanist, essayist, and editor. She is an itinerant monk, generally found somewhere west of the Rockies. She recently coedited and contributed to an anthology of nature writing, Wildbranch, and her essays can be read in Tricycle, Inquiring Mind, and on her blog: Slipping Glimpser,  Zen Wanderings and Wonderings.Reigetsu Susan Moon has been practicing in the Soto Zen tradition for 35 years, and is a lay teacher with the Everyday Zen Sangha. Her previous books include the cult classic The Life and Letters of Tofu Roshi and This is Getting Old: Zen Thoughts on Aging. For many years she edited Turning Wheel, the journal of the Buddhist Peace Fellowship. She teaches writing workshops, is a serious student of photography, and an enthusiastic grandmother. She lives in Berkeley, CA.Zoketsu Norman Fischer is the author of Taking Our Places, Training in Compassion, and Opening to You, among others. He lives in Muir Beach, CA.

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Product details

Paperback: 440 pages

Publisher: Wisdom Publications; First Edition edition (November 5, 2013)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0861716590

ISBN-13: 978-0861716593

Product Dimensions:

6 x 1 x 9 inches

Shipping Weight: 1.9 pounds (View shipping rates and policies)

Average Customer Review:

4.7 out of 5 stars

63 customer reviews

Amazon Best Sellers Rank:

#269,314 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

I absolutely cherished this book. It is a wonderful bedside book. Each chapter is a short Buddhist story or teaching from the past 2,500 years involving a woman, then a contemporary female practitioner interprets the story, and finally a few questions are asked of the reader to help the lesson sink in. Although a few chapters around the middle felt a little weak, the overall quality is incredibly high. I found myself googling nearly every chapter’s author to see what else she’d done. If you have any interest in feminism and Buddhism, this one is great. P.S. Skip the audio version, which does a horrendous job of letting the reader absorb the stories. Grade: A

The Hidden Lamp is a fresh breeze through stale forrests. It's an incredibly wonderful collection of , of what? Essays? Dharma talks? Hints? Pointers? It's a great collection of mostly contemporary zen teachers and writers on zen who happen to be female. This is not a point to be lost in the shuffle. As a 'disclaimer', I need to say that I know and have worked personally with at least 2 of the writers in this collection, so it was their contributions that I read first. Unique voices that I have always found personally helpful in my own exploration of the Dharma and my own life. I didn't stop there.This is not just an important collection because it is a collection of and by women in the Dharma. It's important because of the value of their perspectives. Reading these stories, allowing them to enter one's life as if hearing them in the Dharma Hall, the power of koans and Dharma take on a life of their own, intermingling with each of our lives, enriching them, broadening them, awakening that which does not change and bringing it to the foreground. It is by far THE best collection of zen stories I've seen compiled in some time.Many of the stories comment on stories I've never heard before. It's fresh.Perhaps one of the most important contributions America and the West has made to buddhism in general is the recognition that women are not just nameless tea ladies of the past, but vibrant, awakened, specific women of our time, of all time. I am grateful to Zenshin Caplow for taking on this project and for producing such a beautiful collection and I highly recommend it for your study.

Christianity is not the only patriarchal religious tradition. Some Buddhists are attempting to recover the gifts of the wise women of their tradition. This book is a collection of 100 ancient and modern stories with comments from as many Buddhist women. I enjoyed reading one a day for 100 days, letting the wisdom sink in. An example is Joan Sutherland’s reflection on an ancient story which raises the question, “what is helping?” The young woman in the story sees her father fall. She runs to him and throws herself down as well. Sutherland notes that the woman’s action in the story obliterates the idea that there is a helper and a helped. She says that compassion helps liberate the intimacy inherent in any situation. “Usually the most intimate response to another’s difficulty begins with the willingness not to flee. Fleeing can take the form of abandoning the situation, and it can also mean escaping into ‘helping,’ into a whole constellation of ideas about what ought to happen. Intimacy is being willing to stay and accompany and listen, to be vulnerable and surprised and flexible. It’s a willingness to fall with someone else and see what becomes possible when we do.”

The motivation for me to purchase this book came after attending a meditation and Soto Zen Dharma talk. While I appreciate the format of the book, where commentary or reflection is given by a single female Buddhist practitioner following an ancient koan, I would've preferred it debated. Like a poem, there is no single "correct" viewpoint. I am in agreement with Jean La Valley''s approach to practicing koans: "These stories are not about gaining anything. They are about illumination. They are not about rearranging the furniture in the room; they are about turning the light on in the room so you can see what's there." The lighter the room, the better to see.

This collection is a wonderful addition to zen practice, whether you are in the rinzai or soto tradition. As a soto practitioner for 15 years, I found the use of these koans/stories by women ancestors very accessible and they help me delve deeper into my practice. The stories, the commentaries, and the questions at the end of each koan/story helps me understand myself in new ways. The variety of teachings and even the organization of the book is wonderful. I enjoy reading about each zen teacher who wrote a commentary at the end of the book. I was SO inspired, that I started a women's dharma study group in my sangha and the group is quite enthusiastic! Nine bows to this book! (a companion book to this could be Zen Women by Grace Schireson, who helps understand the history of women in zen)

This book gives stories and koans featuring women -- if you know the classical koans, some of these will be familiar. What won't be familiar is the wonderful way the contemporary Buddhist women comment on them. They open them up, hold them up to the light, talk about what they mean in our lives, right now. It is beautifully written. My study group read it this fall, and it was the first time we all wanted to stay with the book past our usual eight meetings. I keep it on my bedside table and open it up often, diving for pearls and finding them every time.

The book is koans featuring women followed by an interpretation by a woman Buddhist practitioner. Each koan and interpretation take no more than 5 minutes to read. However understanding/digesting this takes time. This not a read through book. I used it as part of my daily meditation practice. At times I found some of the interpretation a stretch and torturous. But these were based on greater knowledge of historic Buddhist texts. If you wish to explore Buddhist writings specific to women and/or want something thought provoking as part of your daily practice, I would suggest this book.

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Sabtu, 22 Desember 2018

Desember 22, 2018 Posted by danitaadenshellwheelock No comments Posted in

Free Ebook Jackie Morris Wildlife Notebook Set

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Jackie Morris Wildlife Notebook Set

Jackie Morris Wildlife Notebook Set


Jackie Morris Wildlife Notebook Set


Free Ebook Jackie Morris Wildlife Notebook Set

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About the Author

JACKIE MORRIS lives in Pembrokeshire, Wales, with children, dogs and cats. A best-selling author of more than 30 books for children, she was shortlisted for the Greenaway Award in 2016: the UK's biggest picture book prize. Among her many books for Frances Lincoln are The Ice Bear, The Snow Leopard, Tell me a Dragon, and How the Whale Became by Ted Hughes.

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Product details

Age Range: 5 and up

Grade Level: Kindergarten - 2

Paperback: 48 pages

Publisher: Frances Lincoln; Ntb edition (September 2, 2014)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0711235724

ISBN-13: 978-0711235724

Product Dimensions:

6 x 0.5 x 8.2 inches

Shipping Weight: 8.5 ounces

Average Customer Review:

5.0 out of 5 stars

4 customer reviews

Amazon Best Sellers Rank:

#2,522,728 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

The art on the covers are three different magnificent pieces. The pages are each lightly ruled, front and back, on nice weight smooth matte paper with a small identical monochrome art print at the top center of each page.

These are lovely notebooks and not just the beautiful cover illustration. They have a stitched binding with a heavyweight cover and the paper itself is a nice weight and my fountain pen does not bleed through. The pages are lined but the lines are narrow, which i prefer, and each page is headed by a small image of the same animal that's on the cover. I'm a big fan of Jackie Morris's work and it's a treat to see it each time I pick one up.

Gorgeous illustrations.

These are gorgeous, and will make beautiful Christmas gifts.

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Selasa, 11 Desember 2018

Desember 11, 2018 Posted by danitaadenshellwheelock No comments Posted in

Ebook The Disappearance (Hardy Boys Adventures), by Franklin W. Dixon

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The Disappearance (Hardy Boys Adventures), by Franklin W. Dixon

The Disappearance (Hardy Boys Adventures), by Franklin W. Dixon


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The Disappearance (Hardy Boys Adventures), by Franklin W. Dixon

About the Author

Franklin W. Dixon is the author of the ever-popular Hardy Boys books.

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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

The Disappearance 1 GEEKING OUT JOE YOU GUYS,” MY BROTHER’S GIRLFRIEND, Jones, suddenly gasped, staring at her phone with her mouth hanging wide open. “Oh. My. Gosh. Did you know—” “That the whole cast of Mercury Man will be there, signing autographs?” Frank finished, then pulled off the Garden State Parkway, following the exit for Atlantic City. “Yeah, but unfortunately, it’s a ticketed event. We would have had to get our tickets, like, six months ago. And we didn’t even know each other then!” Jones beamed at him from the passenger seat (“Girlfriends automatically get shotgun,” Frank had told me with some regret as he’d kicked me out of the seat when we picked up Jones) but shook her head, her straight black hair, cut just below her chin, barely moving. “I can’t believe we’ve only known each other for a month. Like, was there ever a time we weren’t together? But no . . . I was going to tell you that Breakwater Comics is going to have a booth.” She pressed a button to put her phone to sleep and placed it in her lap. “Tiny little comics store in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, but they have this amazing website. The owner is almost more like a curator than a straight seller—he finds some amazing stuff.” She let out a satisfied sigh, settling back in the seat and looking straight ahead. “I’m going to check out his booth, like, first thing.” “After we go by the Hellion booth to get our free comic,” Frank said with a smile. “Remember? They’re only printing it for this convention.” “Oh my gosh,” Jones replied. “I can’t believe I almost forgot. There’s just so much to get excited about!” In the backseat, I cleared my throat. “Like lunch!” I put in. “Remember, you guys said we could check out the boardwalk. I want to get some saltwater taffy.” That might sound a little childish. But saltwater taffy, especially consumed on a boardwalk, just minutes after it was pulled, is freakin’ amazing. That’s a fact. Jones turned back to me with a slightly surprised look, like she’d forgotten I was there. “Oh, of course, Joe,” she said. “The Comic-Con is in Boardwalk Hall, which is right there. But maybe after we do all the time-sensitive things at the convention.” What am I doing? I wondered. I waited until she turned around before frowning out at the flat sandy land that bordered the Atlantic City Expressway. How had I, Joe Hardy, Relatively Cool Guy, ended up spending the first Saturday of my spring break driving to a comic book convention in Atlantic City with my older brother and his girlfriend? Surely there were cooler things I could be doing, like—well, anything. It’s not that I don’t like comics, or, more specifically, comic book movies. I went to see Wonder Woman and Black Panther like everyone else, and I will admit, they were totally awesome. But unlike Frank, I don’t have whole boxes of comic books hidden under my bed, and I can’t spend hours debating with you which Doctor Who was the best or whether the campy Batman television series from the 1960s should be considered “canon” or not. Know who can, though? Jones. Jones isn’t bad. I mean, she’s pretty cool. She’s really friendly and never seems to have a problem with my hanging out with them, even if I sigh loudly and roll my eyes every time they start to act mushy. She’s also supersmart. She’s probably smarter than Frank. Jones is homeschooled, which means she helps set her own curriculum and decides what she wants to study. So she has a wealth of knowledge about random, obscure topics, and she can spend hours telling you interesting facts about octopi (that’s more than one octopus, FYI) or the history of Barbados or who assassinated James Garfield (it was this weird guy named Charles Guiteau—look him up). Yeah, Jones is pretty cool. The thing is—ever since Frank met her at a book signing last month, he and Jones have been inseparable. I wake up on a Saturday morning, and whereas Frank and I used to laze around on the couch watching Netflix until noon, now Jones is there, and she’s brought over some obscure DVD of a Danish movie about a shark person. And she and Frank are, like, making clever little quips to each other about this extremely depressing Danish movie about a shark person, and I’m like, “Hey, wanna watch Stranger Things again?” and Frank is like, “Maybe some other time, Joe,” and then Jones offers me popcorn and I just want to punch something. Or also, like, yell, Don’t you have a home?! which I know is unfair and not the nicest way to treat a cool person like Jones. See, it’s not usually like this. Usually I’m the person bringing girls around, or bagging on plans with Frank to hang out with a girl I like. Which maybe means I should be more understanding, but also means that I’m just not used to having to share Frank with a girl. And—honestly—I kind of miss the guy. Usually, it’s the Frank and Joe show, all the time, everywhere, with the two of us teaming up to solve mysteries and eat lunch together and make clever in-jokes about Stranger Things on a Saturday morning. So it’s not bad that Frank has found someone he really likes in Jones—I get that. It’s just . . . different. But it’s cool. I’ll get used to it. I want to get used to it. Which was why, when Frank came home a couple of weeks ago all jazzed that Jones had told him about this Comic-Con (not the huge Comic-Con, but a small, local one) that was happening in Atlantic City, which was within driving distance from our house, I asked if I could tag along. Frank, bless him, was like, “Yeah, Joe, that would be awesome!” He seemed genuinely excited, maybe because I have a tendency to fall asleep when he tries to tell me cool stories from his comic books. And I will admit—I was kind of supposed to be studying for the SAT, which I was going to take for the second time a week from today. According to my parents, this spring break would be an “excellent opportunity to really drill down and study hard.” To drive this point home, my mom went to the library and borrowed approximately 3,684 SAT prep books for me to study. Who even knew you could take out that many books? Anyway, I don’t love studying. Who does, when it’s a beautiful spring day and the sun is shining? So here I was. In a car. Headed to Comic-Con with my brother and his girlfriend. Who were making moony eyes at each other. “Frank, watch the road!” I yelled. Frank turned back to the highway just in time to notice a Volkswagen swinging into the lane ahead of him. “Whoa! Where’d he come from? Anyway, Jones, did Harper text you?” “Who’s Harper?” I asked Jones. “Friend of yours from the Last Names as First Names Club?” She snorted and shook her head. “Very funny, Joe. No, she’s a girl I know from the InkWorld online community.” She lifted up her phone again and began scrolling through it. “Oh, yeah. She texted about half an hour ago, I forgot I had my phone on silent. She says she can meet us on the boardwalk when we get there—near Sandee’s Frozen Banana Shack. It’s right across from the hall where the convention is.” I pulled out my phone and Google Mapped it. “Ooh, it’s also right across from the Fiorelli Saltwater Taffy shop,” I said. “Perfect!” cried Jones, turning around to me with a bright white smile. “See,” Frank said, pulling off the Atlantic City Expressway, “I can just tell this is going to be an amazing day. There’s something for everybody!” • • • “Oh. My. Gosh! I can’t believe it!” Jones, Frank, and I were wandering through the con-related crowd, around the off-season snack shops and souvenir stands—some open, others closed—when Jones suddenly cried out and took off. I couldn’t say anything, because my mouth was filled with saltwater taffy. Peanut butter, by the way, is by far the best flavor. But Frank looked at me and nodded in the direction Jones disappeared in, like, Shall we follow her? I nodded back, like sure. We passed through a big group of middle school girls, who were all comparing their superhero costumes—most popular component: tinfoil—and emerged to find Jones hugging an older girl. The girl was in her midtwenties, maybe, with a big smile and long, wavy auburn hair tied back with a black-and-white scarf. She was wearing a T-shirt that said I AM WONDER WOMAN, THANKS FOR NOTICING. She was cute, I couldn’t help but observe. Jones let the girl go, and the girl—Harper, I was guessing—looked around the boardwalk with a furrowed brow like she was searching for someone. Then she quickly turned back to Jones, all smiles. Hmm, I thought. Wonder who else she could be looking for? “It’s so amazing to meet you in person,” she told Jones. “I feel like I know you already! You always make the best comments, and we’ve had all these long private conversations.” Jones grinned. “You’re like my online sister,” she said. “Which is way better than a real-life sister, because I don’t have to share a bedroom.” Harper laughed, shaking her head. “That’s so funny,” she said, “because my boyfriend, Matt, always jokes about how he’s sharing me with you and all my online buddies.” Boyfriend. Well, there it was. Even if I could somehow convince Harper to fall for a teenager, she was taken. Bummer. After introducing Frank and me to Harper, Jones gestured to the entrance to the convention hall, teeming with other comic fans, some in costume, some not. “Shall we go?” she asked. “The earlier we get in, the more free stuff there’ll be for the taking!” Harper nodded. “Let’s go,” she said. Frank grabbed Jones’s hand and squeezed it, beaming like Stan Lee himself just called up and asked him out to dinner. “I can’t wait,” he said. “You guys, this is the best day.” And just like that, a little of my crankiness evaporated. Even a cool guy like me couldn’t argue with something that made my bro this happy. • • • The convention was more fun than I thought it would be. Especially since I didn’t know anyone there and could geek out with my geeking-out crew. We walked through a whole interactive exhibit one company had put up to promote their new movie, Mercury Man, and even though we hadn’t gotten tickets to the panel discussion, Frank managed to snap up a signed copy of the poster at one dealer’s booth. “I’m going to hang it over my bed,” he announced, his big smile making him look a lot like his twelve-year-old self. Then we checked out the sellers’ floor, which was huge enough to spend a week in. We strolled lazily along the aisles, splitting up to check out things that interested us and then catching up with one another. Harper was way into indie comics, so she disappeared for a while into this booth that was filled with indies from all over the country. And Jones was a huge TornadoGirl fan, so she spent a long time talking to a woman who had a booth dedicated to that character. This woman even made her own collages inspired by the series, which Jones thought were really cool. And me? Well, I found a lot more exciting stuff than I expected to. I got lost for a while in this graphic novel booth, poring over books based on characters I’d never heard of before. It was crazy how deep they got, how dark some of them were. I ended up buying three to check out later. “Having fun?” Harper asked me with a grin when I caught up to her outside the graphic novel booth. “I am,” I admitted. “Kind of more than I expected to.” She nodded. “Yeah, I remember my first convention. I thought I’d find maybe a couple things I was into, but the whole thing was just amazing. It was like this portal into a world I’d never known existed, but where I wanted to disappear.” I wouldn’t go that far, I almost said, but clutching my bag of graphic novels, I had to admit I didn’t know. Maybe I would get way into the comics-geek lifestyle. Maybe next year, it’d be me in a tinfoil costume! But probably not. As we walked down the aisle to catch up with Jones and Frank, who were talking to what looked like a droid, Harper glanced to the side and suddenly flinched. She stopped and turned back, staring at whatever had spooked her and looking for a second like she was going to duck down another aisle. But then her expression smoothed out, and she stood up to her full height again, striding casually back over to me like nothing happened. “Um, you okay?” I asked, looking pointedly from her to the direction where whatever spooked her was. She shook her head and let out a little chuckle, which sounded (to my trained detective ear) a little fake. “Oh, I’m fine,” she said. “It’s going to sound stupid. I’m crazy afraid of mice, and I thought I saw something scurrying along the floor.” Except you were looking at something person-height off the ground, I thought, not at the floor. I almost said something, but then I wondered if I was the one being weird. Solving mysteries all the time can make you turn everything into a mystery. Maybe Harper was scared of something, or someone. Or maybe she just thought she saw an ex-boyfriend and didn’t want to talk about it. Really, that was the more likely option. “There’s Frank and Jones,” I said, nodding at a booth just ahead of us. “Should we catch up?” “Sure,” said Harper, and began hurrying toward them. I sped up too, but then Harper paused to look at some vintage Batman stuff the vendor next to the droid-guy was selling. I kept going, because Frank had turned around and was waving me over. “Can you believe this?” he asked, gesturing to the shiny silver robot, which looked like it was watching Frank with a polite expression. “Is this your friend?” the robot asked in an electronic voice. There was a musical beeping sound. “Based on the similarities in your facial features, I predict that he is your brother.” Frank laughed. “Oh my gosh, yes!” He looked at Jones, who was standing just on the other side of the robot, watching the whole scene, giggling with delight. “This is Joe.” “Joe . . . Hardy,” the robot said, turning its flashlight eyes on me. They dimmed, then slowly lit back up, like it was taking me in. “Approximately . . . sixteen years old?” Now I was weirded out. “Frank, did you tell it that?” Frank shook his head. “No. Well, I told him our names. But he figures everything else out himself, because he’s been programmed with top-of-the-line facial recognition software.” I glanced at the robot, which was still facing me, its eyes fully lit now. Then I moved away, frowning at Frank. “It kinda creeps me out.” Frank laughed. “Why?” he asked. “He’s just a harmless robot.” “How do you know that?” I asked. “Maybe its job is to collect data and sell it to marketing companies or something.” Jones raised her eyebrows. “That’s a very valid concern, Joe, but I don’t think we have anything to fear from FriendBot here. Sometimes people just use technology for fun!” Then she frowned, looking behind me. “Where’s Harper?” “She was—” I moved even farther from the robot, gesturing to the booth where Harper had paused to look at the Batman stuff. “Huh. That’s weird. She stopped right there. . . .” I scanned the other booths nearby but still couldn’t find her. In fact, now I didn’t see her on the aisle at all. Frank said good-bye to FriendBot, and then we all moved away from the booth into the aisle. “Maybe she had to use the restroom or something?” “I guess . . . ,” Jones began, but she was cut off by a youngish guy with a blue-dyed buzz cut wearing a military jacket, who suddenly materialized in front of us. “Excuse me,” he said, “but did I see you earlier with a girl about so high”—he indicated about five foot nine—“with long reddish hair and pink lipstick?” Frank expression’s turned suspicious, but if Jones had any concerns about this guy, she didn’t show it. “Yeah, I think that’s my friend Harper,” she said. “Have you seen her? We seem to have lost her.” The guy smiled, shaking his head. “I was going to ask you the same thing. See, I was hoping to introduce myself. Well, we’ve been talking online for a long time but I’ve never met her in person. We both post on this online comics forum called—” “InkWorld?” Jones asked, excitedly reaching out to touch the guy’s arm. “Omigosh, who are you? My username is JonestheAvenger!” “Oh, wow!” The guy’s eyes lit with recognition. “We comment on each other’s posts all the time! I’m ComiczVon. I mean, Von. Von is my real-life name.” Jones laughed. “And my real-life name is Jones. This is my boyfriend, Frank, and his brother, Joe.” Von looked at each of us, nodding. Jones sighed. “I wish I could introduce you to Harper,” she said, “but we seem to have lost her.” “Yeah, what a bummer,” Von agreed, looking down at his shoes. “I really . . . I would have liked to meet her. Anyway, can I give you my card to give to her? I’m a comic-book dealer, and I live right nearby. Maybe we could meet up before she leaves.” “That would be fun,” Jones said enthusiastically, taking the guy’s card. “Have you had a good convention?” “Really good,” Von said. “Yeah, it was great to meet you. I have to run now, I have to meet up with a vendor, but maybe I’ll see you again?” He gestured to the card. “Sounds good,” Jones replied. “Enjoy the rest of the con!” The guy darted off down the aisle, and Frank, Jones, and I all looked at one another, like What do we do now? “I guess we could just keep looking at booths for a while,” Frank suggested. “Harper might turn up again. And if not, at least we’ll get to see more.” Jones and I agreed, and the three of us continued our slow-and-casual walk up and down the aisles, pausing to look at things, separating and meeting up again. But something was nagging at me, keeping me from getting really interested in anything I saw. What happened to Harper? I couldn’t help but think of the fear on her face when she saw whatever it was she saw earlier, the thing she claimed was a mouse. After another half hour or so, there was an announcement over the loudspeaker. The convention was closing in fifteen minutes. It would open again tomorrow at ten, but we’d only bought tickets for today. Frank groaned, but Jones shrugged. “We should probably be heading back anyway,” she said, but her eyes were darting all over the convention floor—still looking for Harper, I figured. “We’ve seen about everything there was to see. This was fun!” But her voice was missing some of the enthusiasm she’d had that morning. I had the feeling we were all wondering what happened to Harper. Even if she’d just wandered off and gotten involved in something else—wasn’t she even going to say good-bye? We slowly made our way to the exit, pausing to use the restrooms and watch the trailer for a new science fiction series debuting next fall. We walked out the door onto the nearly dark boardwalk, which was gusty and cold, despite it supposedly being spring. March in the Northeast is the worst. “Does anybody remember where—?” Frank began, but before he could finish, a purple-coated auburn-haired figure dove out from behind a lemonade stand and tackled us. “You guys!” Harper cried. “I am so, so sorry I lost you. I had to take a call from my boyfriend, Matt—he’s a worrier. So I went outside for some privacy, but when I came back, you guys were gone. I couldn’t find you.” That seemed a little weird, because the three of us had stayed in the same aisle for a while, waiting for her. I suddenly remembered the way Harper had looked around the boardwalk when we’d first met her—skittish, almost, like she was afraid someone might see her. I thought of Von, and the card he’d given Jones. Had Harper ducked out to avoid him, maybe? Was someone after her? But before I could think on that too much, Jones pulled the card out of her pocket and pushed it at Harper. “Omigod, you will not believe who I just met—ComiczVon from InkWorld! He was totally nice, and he just missed you—he really wanted to say hi. So he gave me this card.” Harper reached out and took it, looking down at the information with a thoughtful expression that I couldn’t quite read. Was it scared? Or just curious? “Maybe we could meet up with him for dinner!” Jones went on, clearly excited. “I’m starving, actually. I heard there’s a good Mexican place one town over. We could give Von a call, tell him to meet us there?” Now Harper’s face changed. For just a second, she seemed to pale. But at just that moment, the lights on the boardwalk came on, casting blue light on everything. Had she really turned pale, or was it just the changing light? “You know,” she said, her expression turning back to its usual friendly self, “I’m actually kind of beat. Is that awful, to be this antisocial? But I would like to keep hanging out with you guys—and maybe get something to eat.” She slipped the card into her pocket. “I can send Von a note tomorrow. Maybe we could meet up before I leave.” Jones nodded. “Sure, no problem! We could all get Mexican, just the four of us?” “I have an even better idea.” Harper’s eyes sparkled in the bluish light. “I rented a place for the night—just a UrMotel apartment a couple towns over. It’s actually pretty great, it’s on the beach, and it has a TV and stuff.” She smiled. “What if we just go there and order a pizza? We can relax, hang out, and chill for a while.” “That sounds great,” I said, maybe a little too quickly. But honestly, she had me at “pizza.” My stomach let out an enthusiastic growl. Jones chuckled. “Well, Joe is in,” she said, smiling at Frank. “What do you think?” “Sounds good to me,” he said. “We’ll need to get on the road in a couple hours, but it sounds like the perfect end to a perfect day.” And surprisingly, I totally agreed with my brother.

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Product details

Age Range: 8 - 12 years

Grade Level: 3 - 7

Series: Hardy Boys Adventures (Book 18)

Paperback: 160 pages

Publisher: Aladdin (February 19, 2019)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1534414886

ISBN-13: 978-1534414884

Product Dimensions:

5.1 x 0.5 x 7.6 inches

Shipping Weight: 4 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)

Average Customer Review:

4.5 out of 5 stars

2 customer reviews

Amazon Best Sellers Rank:

#523,053 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

They story line was good, but there were several grammatical errors that needed to be corrected Dixon should' be used them grammatical check on his computer.

I ordered this book for my 13 year old grandson and he loved it. It arrived promptly and on good shape.

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Senin, 10 Desember 2018

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PDF Download The Golden Bull: A Mesopotamian Adventure, by Marjorie Cowley

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The Golden Bull: A Mesopotamian Adventure, by Marjorie Cowley

The Golden Bull: A Mesopotamian Adventure, by Marjorie Cowley


The Golden Bull: A Mesopotamian Adventure, by Marjorie Cowley


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The Golden Bull: A Mesopotamian Adventure, by Marjorie Cowley

About the Author

Marjorie Cowley was trained at the Fowler Museum of Cultural History at the University of California, Los Angeles, and taught prehistoric history to students from first grade through high school. In this capacity she was designated a professional expert by the Los Angeles Unified School District. She has written two previous novels with settings in ancient history, DAR THE SPEAR-THROWER and ANOOKA'S ANSWER. She lives in Santa Monica, California.

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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

1. Changes               The drought had lasted for months. Jomar dug for edible roots in the dry, sandy soil, but found only three small, misshapen carrots that once he would have given to the pigs. He glanced up at the squawking blackbirds as they flew high above him. When he was younger, it had been his job to wave his arms and yell at the birds to scare them off before they ate the precious barley seeds. Now they no longer swooped down to pick at the brown and brittle grain.             Jomar stopped digging when he heard the bellowing of a cow. He had promised his father to help with the birthing of her calf.             As he ran across the scorched fields toward the cowshed, the rocky soil cut into his frayed leather sandals. The entire region was so barren that it was hard for Jomar to recall that all the farms in the area had once produced abundant grain, melons and grapes, plums and pears, cabbage and carrots. Gazelle and other wild animals had once been plentiful, attracted to the crops and to the water in the irrigation canals that cut through the countryside. Now the canals were empty, and the farm looked as if nothing had ever grown in the sunbaked land that stretched around him.             Jomar heard his younger sister, Zefa, singing as he passed the goat hutch. As she sang she strummed on a small wooden lyre, a stringed instrument he’d made for her when she was a little girl.             Veering from the path to the cowshed, Jomar darted into the hutch. Zefa sat on an overturned bucket, so intent on her song that she didn’t look up at him. Squinting into the shadows, he saw that Zefa’s eyes glistened like pieces of glassy black obsidian as she began a song to Nanna, the mighty moongod:             “Moon-glowing Nanna,             all-knowing Nanna,             Look down from the heavens             and pity us—”             Jomar broke in. “Pity! What pity? Why make up a song to the moongod when he lets his people go hungry?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “And don’t let Father hear this sad song—he’s worried enough as it is.” He turned to leave the hutch.             “Wait,” Zefa said. “I’m in here so he won’t hear me, but you should listen. This will be the last time you’ll hear my music.”             He stared at her and realized why her eyes glistened— they were filled with tears. “What do you mean? Why are you crying?”             Zefa gave her news haltingly. “I heard Father talking to Mother last night. They thought I was asleep. Tomorrow he’s sending you away . . . to the city . . . to live in Ur.”             Jomar’s breath went out of him. “I don’t believe this! You’re sure?”             “There’s not enough food for us all,” Zefa said. “Haven’t you noticed they’re growing weaker?”             “Yes, I’ve noticed,” Jomar said, but he knew he had been pushing this knowledge away. Too full of hurt and anger to talk further, and aching to escape from his sister’s sad eyes, Jomar abruptly left the hutch. His mouth was dry; he could feel his heart pounding. Where would he live in the city? What would he do there? Farming was all he knew and all he wanted to know.             Trying to calm himself, Jomar looked out across the flat fields and saw the massive mud-brick temple of Ur looming in the distance like a mountain. Nanna, the powerful moongod of Ur, lived in the temple. Jomar had grown up feeling protected by him, but now he felt abandoned by Nanna. And by his father.             Again he heard the bellowing of the cow. Again he’d forgotten his promise to help with the birth of her calf. He started running, but dread as well as hunger made his stomach tighten with cramps. Because of the drought two boys his age who lived in surrounding farms had been sold into slavery in exchange for food. Would my father do that to me? It was unthinkable, but he could think of nothing else as he raced toward the cowshed.   2. Hard Times               Jomar burst into the shed and found his father, Durabi, kneeling over a newborn calf struggling to free itself from its birth pouch.             “The birthing was hard . . . the little one’s so weak,” his father said. “It must be released from its pouch so it can nurse.” Durabi handed Jomar his knife, sat back on his heels, and stared at his son with dull eyes.             Jomar took the knife and cut open the pouch that imprisoned the calf. He brought the newborn to its feet, stroking the small, slippery creature that had somehow survived its difficult delivery. Then Jomar lifted the calf to its mother, but it was so wobbly that he had to put his arms around its body to keep it from falling. The cow turned to lick her offspring as it nursed.             Jomar saw his father watching him, his face creased with care. Was his father worried about the calf ? Their last cow, so thin that her ribs could be counted? Or was he worried about him?             Jomar raised his chin and blurted out his concern. “Zefa said you’re sending me away to the city. This can’t be true!”             His father winced, but the silence in the hot shed was broken only by the noise of the newborn calf’s weak suckling.             “Father, speak to me!” Jomar persisted. “I’m needed here.”             “The farm grows nothing,” Durabi said bitterly. “Our barley is gone, and the only wheat left is emmer.” He picked up some of the hard, reddish grain on the floor and let it slip through his fingers. “We planted this to feed our animals. Now it feeds us.”             “Yes, I know, but—”             Durabi continued as if he hadn’t heard. “Our pigs and sheep are gone . . . taken by the temple, traded for barley, or slaughtered to keep us alive.” He pointed to Jomar’s worn sandals and shook his head. “Without hide I can’t even make you a new pair.”             “Father, listen! I know nothing but farming. What will I do in the city?”             “I haven’t told you this because I prayed that the snows would melt . . . .” He faltered, then gathered his strength. “The last time I was in Ur—to give my last two pigs to the temple—I stopped at a bazaar to eat my midday meal. There I met a man named Sidah, a goldsmith who works for the temple. We talked. I told him I feared I would have to send you to the city to survive because of desperate conditions on the farm. He told me his only child, a son about your age, had recently died. Sidah and I made an agreement . . .” Again he stopped speaking, and looked away. “You will be his new apprentice.”             “I have no interest in being a goldsmith’s apprentice!” Jomar’s throat closed up and his words came out in a whisper. “Will I be his slave?”             “He’ll take you into his house and teach you his skills, but I didn’t sell you to him,” Durabi said. “How could I do this to you? Or to your sister?”             Jomar stared at his father. “Zefa?”             “She must go with you,” Durabi said. “She grows too thin, and her hair has lost its luster.”             “This isn’t fair! How can I learn new skills and look after her at the same time?”             “You can’t,” Durabi answered. “She must have her own work.”             “And what would that be?” Jomar asked in a challenging tone he had never used with his father before.             Durabi bit off his words. “I made no arrangements for her because I had no thought of sending her away. You’re fourteen—soon you’ll be a man. Zefa will be your responsibility.”             Jomar felt his stomach hollow out. “I beg you, Father, let us both stay. The snows will melt, the river will run full again, and the canals and reservoirs will fill with water. Then you’ll need me to help with the replanting. Mother will need Zefa to help with her chores.”             Durabi shook his head sadly, the anger drained out of him. “I can’t wait any longer—I must act before you and Zefa weaken. The arrangement I’ve made for you with the goldsmith is good. Early tomorrow morning I’ll take you to the broad, well-traveled road that leads to the city. You must stay on it until you get to the great gate of Ur.”             “You’re not taking us all the way?” Jomar asked, embarrassed by the catch in his voice.             “That was my first thought, but your mother’s too weak for me to leave her for that long a time,” Durabi said. “She’s been giving you and Zefa most of her food, pretending that she’s eaten earlier or will eat later.”             Jomar’s anger lifted as he listened to his father’s words and saw his sorrowful expression. “When did you make your decision to send Zefa to the city?“ he asked softly.             “Only yesterday afternoon, when I found our last two goats dead of starvation in the far field,” Durabi said. “They were nothing but bones, their hair matted and coarse. I thought of Zefa’s hair . . . how it used to shine. . . .” He let the words fade away.             The calf stopped nursing and made small, plaintive noises. There was no more milk. The cow bent her scrawny neck to lick her newborn again. Jomar felt his future was as shaky as the calf’s. He was certain of only one thing: he would not be here to find out if this small, struggling creature lived or died.

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Product details

Paperback: 216 pages

Publisher: Charlesbridge; Reprint edition (February 1, 2012)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1580891829

ISBN-13: 978-1580891820

Product Dimensions:

5.4 x 0.6 x 8.2 inches

Shipping Weight: 4.8 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)

Average Customer Review:

4.1 out of 5 stars

17 customer reviews

Amazon Best Sellers Rank:

#399,810 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

Purchased for 11 year old, this is part of his required reading for 6th grade. Like most young folks his age, he spends a good amount of time on his I Pad...we were not sure that this would hold his interest. Surprisingly, he has been interested in the book and he has almost completed the book. Good choice.

Great book for teens but adults enjoy also. Bought for grandchild but I ended up reading it and learning a lot. Much ancient history in very readable form. Who knew where Mesopotamia was ?

There are so few kids novels about Mesopotamia and this one is really well done. We read this aloud along with our unit study on Mesopotamia and it was fantastic!

Still reading but really enjoying it

Summer reading list for my upcoming 6th grader. She loved it!

6th grade students LOVED this book!

My 11 year old son had this book for his school's summer reading assignment. He loved it!

Fantastic book that worked well with our curriculum for history.

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