#sproat

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Intrude not where you’re not desired, Nor stay till every one is tired. Writhe not your limbs in every shape Of awkward gesture, like an ape, Nor twirl your hands, nor hit your toes – Nor hum a tune – nor pick your nose – Nor keep in motion as you sit, Nor on the floor or carpet spit, But in the first with prudent care. Nor lean upon another’s chair. If you must cough, or sneeze, be still In doing it, if possible. If you must yawn, just turn aside, And with your hand the motion hide. And when you blow your nose, be brief, And neatly use your handkerchief. All whispering, giggling, squinting shun, Don��t turn your back on any one. Nor bite your nails, nor lolling stand, Nor in your pockets keep your hand. Do not allow yourself to look In letters, papers, or a book, Till you have leave. If one is reading, Don’t overlook him; ’tis ill breeding. Don’t wear a frown upon your face; Let cheerfulness your aspect grace. To your superiors always strive, In walking, your right hand to give. A proper distance keep in mind, Crowd not too near, nor lag behind. To equals let your conduct be Marked with sweet affability.

- In Company by Nancy Sproat, The School of Good Manners (1822)

Amongst my late grandmother’s diaries and papers was found this poem written in a little pamphlet as something presumably handed down her maternal line. The reprinted copy in her possession was from 1888.

The entire pamphlet was written entirely in verse and is titled The School of Good Manners. It is dated 1822. The author was Nancy Sproat; the cover claims she also wrote the “Good Girls’s Soliloquy, Poetic Tales, Little Ditties for Little Children, and other such children themed guff.

I have no clue who Nancy Sproat was other than she was from Boston and was a well regarded writer for children from 6 years upwards. She thought it best to teach manners to children through witty ditties. She seemed to have a poem or a ditty for everything a child could induldge in from how to eat pudding to the dangers of having too much fun.

However dated her prose may be, her wisdom is timeless. It’s actually a very good guide on how manners really do maketh woman.

[uglydragons]

Realized I’ve never sent in this absolute looker of a gal. Her name is Sproat and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to submit her with or without the accent so I just combined them into one image.

[whatithinkaboutdarkshadows]

Episode 644: Well that was a waste of time

There is some reason to believe that writer Ron Sproat was disaffected from the rest of the production staff at this time. Today’s script is so unbelievably bad that it is tempting to think he wrote it as an act of protest. Children Amy and David have gone looking for the ghost of Quentin Collins and are now trapped in a room in the long deserted west wing of the great house of Collinwood.…

[scrapblring]

Sproat Lake: The Winter edition.

IG: @_chloekphotography_

[foresmeforever]

[northern-thalassophile]

[murnswhyte]

Sproat Lake Petroglyphs

[mod-a-day]

Nobuo Uematsu, Noah Sproat "Let Me Know The Truth" ("Castle de Moogle" IT Arrangement) Final Fantasy III (1990) Square Co, Ltd.

[mindblowingscience]

Hundreds of millions of years ago, an earthquake sent a series of massive waves across the ancient sea that covered part of Western Canada and the northern United States. That is the conclusion of a new paper by two University of Saskatchewan (USask) researchers, who have found the strongest-ever evidence of a tsunami in a shallow inland sea. The research by Dr. Brian Pratt (Ph.D.) and Dr. Colin Sproat (Ph.D.) of USask's College of Arts and Science is published in Sedimentary Geology.

Continue Reading.

[notwiselybuttoowell]

Disaster capitalism has taken many forms in different contexts. In New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina in 2005, there was an immediate move to replace public schools with charter schools, and to bulldoze public housing projects to make way for gentrifying townhouses. In Puerto Rico after Hurricane Maria in 2017, the public schools were once again under siege, and there was a push to privatize the electricity grid before the storm had made landfall. In Thailand and Sri Lanka after the 2004 tsunami, valuable beachfront land, previously stewarded by small-scale fishers and farmers, was seized by real estate developers while their rightful occupants were stuck in evacuation camps.

It’s always a little different, which is why some Native Hawaiians have taken to calling their unique version by a slightly different term: plantation disaster capitalism. It’s a name that speaks to contemporary forms of neocolonialism and climate profiteering, like the real estate agents who have been cold-calling Lahaina residents who have lost everything to the fire and prodding them to sell their ancestral lands rather than wait for compensation. But it also places these moves inside the long and ongoing history of settler colonial resource theft and trickery, making clear that while disaster capitalism might have some modern disguises, it’s a very old tactic. A tactic that Native Hawaiians have a great deal of experience resisting.

[bytedykes]

more picrew ocs incoming for u

Li is a brown-skinned man with shoulder-length wavy brown hair. He has thin, squarish eyebrows, narrow black eyes, a slender nose, and medium thick lips. There’s a small scar on his cheek, and his jaw is covered in stubble. He has a small red lotus painted between his eyebrows. He wears small gold earrings, a white veil across the bottom of his face, a blue shirt, brown leather armor, and a black cape.

Harami is a light-skinned Aasimar with long, wavy brown hair, gold eyes, and a scarred set of claw marks on her left cheek. The first picrew is of him in their mortal form, which is distinctly elfish. She has long pointed ears, black pupils, small silver earrings, and a tie in his hair near the shoulders. They wear a green shirt underneath a layer of armor and a brown trenchcoat. The second picrew is her in his angelic form, which is significantly wilder looking. Their hair has broken out of the tie and the trenchcoat is gone. White wings have sproated from her back and temples, with a row of smaller feathers under each eye. His pupils glow white as they lick the blood dripping out of her nose.

will be back with more ocs probably this was a lot of describing

[ID: Headshot sketches of each of the above described characters; Li is drawn looking to the side smiling, and Harami is drawn once in her mortal form, once in his angelic form. /end ID]

so i actually drew these ocs ages ago and then forgot to post them but its been so long that i've lost the images LOL so i went and drew them again. i like harami's design a lot its fun!

[misfitwashere]

Not PBY

Martin Mars ‘Experiences’ Offered

The owner of the last two flying Martin Mars flying boats is offering a last opportunity for enthusiasts to take the controls of the massive aircraft. Coulson Air Tankers is taking reservations for two Mars “experiences” in the former Navy transports before they go to museums. Neither involve getting airborne. The Water Taxi level gets customers a walkaround and 40 minutes of blasting around Sproat Lake at the company’s home base in Port Alberni, British Columbia. The Pilot Recurrency level puts participants behind the controls of the planes for low- and high-speed taxiing on the lake after a half day of ground school and a walkaround. The accompanying video, shot during the Hawaii Mars’s visit to AirVenture 2016, gives an idea of what to expect.

The two planes, the Hawaii Mars and the Philippines Mars, are being returned to flying condition and will be flown to separate museums later this year. Hawaii Mars is taking a short hop to the BC Aviation Museum at North Saanich, B.C., while Philippine Mars will head to the Pima Air and Space Museum in Tucson, Arizona. The planes were among four that were bought by timber companies in the 1950s and converted to waterbombers. They were retired from that role in 2011. Coulson is now focused on converting former Southwest Airlines Boeing 737s into air tankers.

[whatithinkaboutdarkshadows]

Episode 606: Hello, Barnabas

Vampire Angelique has bitten her onetime husband, old world gentleman Barnabas Collins, and brought him under her power. Barnabas asks if she plans to make him a vampire again, restoring the curse she placed on him when she was alive and they were married, 172 years before. Angelique is herself subordinate to suave warlock Nicholas Blair, and does not know what Nicholas’ plans are. All she can…

[adepticarus]

This year’s LTUE - Life, the Universe, & Everything Symposium was something special. I’ve attended at least 6 times over the years, maybe more. At first when I was a wee baby writer and my eyes were so wide the whole time as I took in a ton of information from all of the awesome guests.

Later, I attended as a guest myself a few times, and one of the first full playtests of Arium: Create and Arium: Discover took place in the LTUE game room. I then moved to Florida and hadn’t been (other than virtually for one session) since 2019.

This year with Arium long since published, nominated for The ENNIE Awards, and closing out sales of our initial print run, I worked with the incredible Dax Levine and immeasurable Ryan Bouché to bring Arium and Adept Icarus full circle back to LTUE in a huge way! I was invited to be a special guest for gaming and we hosted Arium 42 (commemorating the symposium’s 42nd anniversary!)

104 people were in attendance for 2 hours of Arium 42, and they built an unforgettable interconnected world on 4 moons and 2 planets for use in fiction, games, and more! What an amazing experience! Friends and family came from everywhere to help: Emily Earhart, Katie Young, Adam Clayton helped at our booth and the event! Remi Munn and Christopher Munn were a huge help. Mari Anne Murdock, Daniel Yocom, John Mabey, Erika Kuta Marler, Wade Edwards, Ravyn Evermore, Ethan Sproat, and so many more I know I’m forgetting helped make this a huge success.

Thank you all so much! I’m working with a small team to compile and publish the results of this mass world building session and Adept Icarus will release it under the Creative Commons CC-BY 4.0 license for anyone to use in their creative endeavors!

Special thanks again to Dax and Ryan who helped plan and execute this dream come true event! It wouldn’t have happened without you. I honestly don’t know how to thank you enough.

[chloekphotography]

Sproat Lake, Vancouver Island, Canada.

[quotesfrommyreading]

Sometime on Wednesday, it's likely that the tailor at 40 Broad, Mr. G, began to feel an odd sense of unease, accompanied by a slightly upset stomach. The initial symptoms themselves would be entirely indistinguishable from a mild case of food poisoning. But layered over those physical symptoms would be a deeper sense of foreboding. Imagine if every time you experienced a slight upset stomach you knew that there was an entirely reasonable chance you'd be dead in forty-eight hours. Remember, too, that the diet and sanitary conditions of the day – no refrigeration; impure water supplies; excessive consumption of beer, spirits, and coffee – created a breeding ground for digestive ailments, even when they didn't lead to cholera. Imagine living with that sword of Damocles hovering above your head – every stomach pain or watery stool a potential harbinger of imminent doom.

City dwellers had lived with fear before, and London, of course, had not forgotten its Great Plague and its Great Fire. But for Londoners, the specific menace of cholera was a product of the Industrial Age and its global shipping networks: no known case of cholera on British soil exists before 1831. Yet the disease itself was an ancient one. Sanskrit writings from around 500 B.C. describe a lethal illness that kills by draining water from its victims. Hippocrates prescribed white hellebore blooms as a treatment. But the disease remained largely within the confines of India and the Asian Subcontinent for at least two thousand years. Londoners first took notice of cholera when an outbreak among British soldiers stationed in Ganjam, India, sickened more than five hundred men in 1781. Two years later, word appeared in the British papers of a terrible outbreak that had killed 20,000 pilgrims at Haridwar. In 1817, the cholera “burst forth...with extraordinary malignity,” as the Times reported, tracking through Turkey and Persia all the way to Singapore and Japan, even spreading as far as the Americas until largely dissipating in 1820. England itself was spared, which led the pundits of the day to trot out an entire military parade of racist clichés about the superiority of the British way of life.

But this was merely cholera's shot across the bow. In 1829, the disease began to spread in earnest, sweeping through Asia, Russia, even the United States. In the summer of 1831, an outbreak tore through a handful of ships harbored in the river Medway, about thirty miles from London. Cases inland didn't appear until October of that year, in the northeast town of Sunderland, beginning with a William Sproat, the first Englishman to perish of cholera on his home soil. On February 8 of the following year, a Londoner named John James became the first to die in the city. By outbreak's end, in 1833, the dead in England and Wales would number above 20,000. After that first explosion, the disease flared up every few years, dispatching a few hundred souls to an early grave, and then going underground again. But the long-term trend was not an encouraging one. The epidemic of 1848-1849 would consume 50,000 lives in England and Wales.

All that history would have weighed like a nightmare on Mr. G, as his condition worsened on Thursday. He may have begun vomiting during the night and most likely experienced muscle spasms and sharp abdominal pains. At a certain point, he would have been overtaken by a crushing thirst. But the experience was largely dominated by one hideous process: vast quantities of water being evacuated from his bowels, strangely absent of smell and color, harboring only tiny white particles. Clinicials of the day dubbed this “rice-water stool.” Once you emitting rice-water stools, odds were you'd be dead in a matter of hours.

Mr. G would have been terribly aware of his fate, even as he battled the physical agony of the disease. One of cholera's distinctive curses is that its sufferers remain mentally alert until the very last stages of the disease, fully conscious both of the pain that the disease has brought them and the sudden, shocking contraction of their life expectancy. The Times had described this horrifying condition several years before in a long feature on the disease: “While the mechanism of life is suddenly arrested, the body emptied by a few rabid gushes of its serum, and reduced to a damp, dead...mass, the mind within remains untouched and clear, – shining strangely through the glazed eyes, with light unquenched and vivid, – a spirit, looking out in terror from a corpse.”

By Friday, Mr. G's pulse would have been barely detectable, and a rough mask of blue, leathery skin would have covered his face. His condition would have matched this description of William Sproat from 1831: “countenance quite shrunk, eyes sunk, lips dark blue, as well as the skin of the lower extremities; the nails...livid.”

Most of this is, to a certain extent, conjecture. But one thing we know for certain: at one p.m. on Friday, as baby Lewis suffered quietly in the room next door, Mr. G's heart stopped beating, barely twenty-four hours after showing the first symptoms of cholera. Within a few hours, another dozen Soho residents were dead.

 —   The Ghost Map: The Story of London's Most Terrifying Epidemic - and How it Changed Science, Cities and the Modern World (Steven Johnson)