Language. We all use it, or how else would we ever be able to communicate with people. Roughly 7,000 languages, including dialects are spoken around the world today. Each and every one of them make the world a diverse and beautiful place. Sadly, some of these languages are less widely spoken than others.

But her are the 12 most widely used languages:

English:

Language family: Germanic, a sub-family of Indo-European

Related to: German, Dutch, Frisian

Mandarin:

Language family: Sino-Tibetan

Related to: Cantonese, Tibetan, Burmese

Hindi:

Language family: Indo-Aryan, a sub-family of Indo-European

Related to: Bengali, Punjabi, Marathi, Kashmiri, Nepali

Spanish:

Language family: Romance, a sub-family of Indo-European

Related to: French, Italian, Portuguese, Romanian

French:

Language family: Romance

Related to: Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, Romanian

Arabic:

Language family: Semitic, a sub-family of Afro-Asiatic

Related to: Hebrew, Amharic, Aramaic

Bengal:

Language family: Indo-Aryan, a sub-family of Indo-European

Related to: Hindu, Punjabi, Marathi, Kashmiri, Nepali

Russian

Language family: East Slavic, a sub-family of Indo-European

Related to: Ukrainian, Belarusian

Portuguese:

Language family: Romance, a sub-branch of Indo-European

Related to: Spanish, French, Italian, Romanian

Indonesian:

Language family: Austronesian

Related to: Malay, Javanese, Sundranese, Madurese etc.

Urdu:

Language family: Indo-Aryan

Related to: Hindi, Bengali, Marathi, Kashmiri, Nepali

German:

Language family: West Germanic, a sub-family of Indo-European

Related to: English, Frisian, Dutch

Surprisingly, Italian did not make this list, although it is related to Spanish, French, and Portuguese.

Regarding the English language, not only is Shakespeare widely considered as one of the greatest dramatists of all time, but over his lifespan he added an incredible amount of about 1,700 words to the English language by changing nouns into verbs, verbs into nouns, connecting some words with each other and adding prefixes or suffixes to others.

Regarding Mandarin. The language has over 50,000 characters, making it the hardest language in the world to master.

The Bengali alphabet is particularly interesting. Every consonant has a vowel sound built in, which is quite unusual for Westerners.

You probably know that Portuguese is the official language of Brazil, but it also has the sole official status in: Angola, Mozambique, Guinea-Bissau, East Timor, Equatorial Guinea, Macau, Cape Verde, and São Tomé and Príncipe.

The first modern novel and the second most translated book after the Bible was written in Spanish. Which novel? It’s Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes.

Then there is one you will probably not be aware of—Busuu, named after a language, spoken by only eight people. What makes Busuu more interesting, it is also the name of an App that is used as a learning tool to master different languages.

There is a vast amount of online resources where you can learn at least the basics of almost any language other than your own. If interested, start using Google.

And there is one other language that is universal around the globe. The language of love.

Johnny Appleseed Day

Love Note Day

National Shamu The Whale Day

National Pancake Day

Now this is an interesting mix. Okay, let me go to it.

Love Note Day

Love Note Day is a day to tell someone you love them, by writing a message of love in the form of a note. Though the traditional way of doing this is in handwritten form, E-cards are another way of sending out a love message on this particular day.

This day can be at its most effective when the recipient of the message isn’t aware that Love Note Day even exists! Consequently, the message will come as a pleasant surprise.

For couples that plan exchanging Love Notes, then doing so in unpredictable ways can make the whole day a fun experience. Leaving a note in a fridge, or on the inside of the bathroom door are just two examples.

Love Note Day can be for any family members or for longtime friends, too. It’s the perfect day to make someone feel appreciated through just a few heartfelt words.

“True love stories never have endings.”—Richard Bach

National Shamu The Whale Day

On September 26th, National Shamu the Whale Day honors a famous whale, while also raising awareness about orcas.

Shamu is the name used in several of the SeaWorld orca whale shows. It is the stage name given to the “star” of those shows, beginning with the original Shamu in the late 1960s. Shamu died in 1971. However, SeaWorld trademarked the name Shamu. They gave the name to different orcas throughout the years when performing in Shamu shows in several SeaWorld parks.

Wild Orca (killer whales) Facts:

These warm-blooded mammals live in oceans all over the world. However, they’re mostly found in the colder waters of the Arctic and Antarctic. Female orcas can live up to 90 years, while male orcas live only up to about 60 years. These powerful predators are the largest member of the dolphin family.

Like dolphins, whales live in social groups and make sounds to communicate. They travel in pods. Both the sounds they make and their distinctive markings help them to identify each other. They also imitate others and seem to deliberately teach skills to their kin.

Orca pods consist of up to 40 members and together they make a powerful hunting party. Orcas eat a wide variety of fish, birds, and ocean-dwelling mammals. On average, an orca eats 500 pounds per day.

Johnny Appleseed Day

He was born John Chapman on September 26, 1774, in Leominster, Massachusetts, to Nathaniel and Elizabeth Simons Chapman. Nobody knows much about his early life other than his mother died when he was two. His father packed up Johnny and his sister (an infant brother had died the previous year) and moved to Springfield, Massachusetts. His father served as a Minuteman and fought at Bunker Hill. In Fort Wayne, Indiana, in Johnny Appleseed Park, a grave marks the spot where the legendary sower of apple seeds rests.

Then in 1797, Chapman shows up in northwestern Pennsylvania propagating his apple seeds and working his way steadily into the frontier of West Virginia, Ohio, and Indiana. Eventually, he travels as far west as Illinois and Iowa and as far north as Michigan and Wisconsin.

In his wake, Appleseed left orchards and the teachings of Emanuel Swedenborg. Swedenborg was a Swedish spiritual leader whose books Appleseed would buy with whatever payment he might receive for his endeavors. In turn, the traveling nurseryman would give the books away as he traveled and planted.

Mostly, though, he planted his seeds and seedlings for free along with his wisdom. His broad-brimmed pasteboard hat kept the sun from his eyes wherever he went. Often shoeless, he traveled mostly by foot and sometimes by horseback or canoe. His appearance was nearly as noteworthy as his accomplishments, but so was his kindness. If Johnny Appleseed came calling, people made a place at the table.

Many stories tell how the man would travel many miles to nurse an ailing orchard when word would reach him of its poor condition. While bringing the trees back to health (his chief endeavor), the orchard man dispersed his wisdom, care, and kindness.

So, that mom’s apple pie you love so much? Give a shout out to Johnny.

More Strange Holidays Coming!

August 1809

Mother and Father,

I know it has been some time since I have written but my life has been in an uneasy place since I parted company with the exploration of new lands. I have been distant when around others and, frankly, I haven’t liked who I have become. I haven’t even tried to write my dear sisters to know where they are in their life. The last I remember; I left Diana with the Browns and know not if she is still there. Nor do I know the whereabouts of Roselyn and Flower. I haven’t been a very good son or a strong brother.

Recently, events of my life have taken a bit of a turn. I ran across a man named Albert Gallatin, a surveyor. He hired me on and taught me the fine basics of how to draw maps, as well as map out distances. We do this for roads, harbors, canals, and even rivers. Albert speaks of how the country is constantly changing and that we must keep a vigilant eye on the progress of the Americas.

This has been a far better experience for me and since the day I left the expedition and that wretched Indian mound, I feel as if I have regained purpose. I am finally doing something I feel is useful. Planning, mapping out a course for easier, safer travel.

We did have an encounter with bandits who tried to waylay us, but we beat them back. After the smoke from all the muskets, we lost one man, but they lost a good ten before they ran off.

The weather here in the everglades, in a place called Florida, is damp and yet hot at the same time. We all have to be careful because we could catch dysentery as the water we tread through has a foul odor, so we make certain our steps are cautious so we do not fall into the murky darkness.

Albert says this job will last another year, maybe two, before he reports back to the Land Office in Washington to report all our findings. Thus far, we have mapped Tennessee, North and South Carolina, Georgia, and now Florida.

What I will do when this ends, I cannot say. I may return home for a short while if nothing else but to catch up on things and see how much Shackleford has grown.

And I want to say that I hope you accept my apology for sounding bitter in my past letters. I never meant to inflict you both with the pain I was feeling, but—I had no one else to turn to, no one else that might possibly understand the anguish, suffering and yes, fear, that coursed through me. Now, all of that is behind me, and behind me it shall stay.

I must get this to the mail carrier as we are being called back to work. Until next time then.

Your Loving Son,

Chadwick

Shackleford – Late October

Hope laid down the letter she had read many times to herself. Tears filled her eyes, for she did not know an easy way to tell her children that Randolph had passed on. Hard work, age, and his heart had fought against each other.

Chadwick, now a grown man, and her daughters, for all she knew, since the last letters received from them, may well be married off. Hope prayed that one day she would get to see her new adopted grandson, Owen Kincade. She did somewhat smile at the odd middle name but as Diana said in her letter, Owen’s life would be filled with possibilities of becoming someone important one day.

Of the three girls, Rosie, her darling little Rosie, was the one she most worried about. Stranded in a foreign country and she with no means to send her money to return home.

What was she doing? How was she doing? She did mention in her very last brief letter that she was making her way back to America but wasn’t sure when that would be.

And Flower. Since the time the Indians nearly killed her and Rosie, and she almost lost her leg because of it, now she lived in a town working as a seamstress, an honorable enough profession; still, she had terrible nightmares.

One thing Hope wished she could do was thank that Hamilton man for saving their lives, but word came back shortly after he did: he was in some kind of duel and died. In many ways she owed him a debt of gratitude she could never repay.

And now, with Randolph gone, it was just herself and a dear friend Miss Martin that ran the store and it took all she had to keep her strength from weakening. Once sixteen, now nearing forty-six, what once seemed a good life was now becoming nothing less than the survival of each day.

Just how to tell the children. How.

February 1810

Diana was able to find a sleeping room in New York for a dollar a week and even found a job working for a small newspaper. Her job was to proofread all materials to be printed for the next day’s edition. The pay was four dollars a week. This wasn’t the dream she had but it kept both her and Owen sheltered and food in their bellies. Until something better came along, this would do nicely enough.

A Mrs. Abigail Sumpter watched over Owen while she worked, and Diana wanted to pay her something, but Abigail would have nothing of it.

“Child, the pay is watching him live. It has been many long years since I raised my own. This is like God giving me a second chance.”

Owen had grown his little self rapidly, though not yet a year old, but he would make the cutest noises that made Diana forget her troubles.

Six weeks after beginning work, a man walked into the newspaper office. Everyone was gone but her.

“May I help you, sir?”

“Yes. I would like this printed in the next edition of the Star.” He handed her a paper with his handwriting, which she noticed was rather neat.

“We can do that for you, Mr.—”

“Vanderbilt. Cornelius Vanderbilt.”

Reading the ad in more detail, she looked back up at this tall, gangly man.

“It says you are hiring able-bodied men to build the future. What exactly does that mean?”

“Transportation, young lady. A new way in which to travel. I see steam engines taking us across the Great Divide in faster time than can be done by coach or horse.”

“You have big dreams, Mr. Vanderbilt.”

“I assure you this dream shall happen. I need to hire men to build the engines. Build steel tracks. Surveyors to map out the regions to the west. This country is growing, and we must grow with it. Now, what is the cost to run this for a month?”

Just then, a woman walked into the newspaper room and exclaimed, “Diana!”

It was Roselyn.

Written By: Danceinsilence

it’s a constant process of falling in the deep,

resurfacing, re-calibrating,

and telling myself everything will be okay

- Fiona Robinson

The following day.

I lean my back against the front entrance of the hospital building in a slightly distracted state. Arms crossed tightly against the late Autumn chill as my mind repeatedly attempts to analyze the last 48 hours, coming with only one disturbing conclusion. The more I tried to put some distance between me, and him, the closer somehow I ended up falling into his bright, alluring sphere. Like trying to defy the damn gravity or the laws of physics. An equally useless action. I think bitterly, then sigh, rubbing my face over and over again until I feel the judging stares prick my skin, stirring my blood. I look up at the people that pass me on the way in and shift, annoyed. What, you never saw straight-on crazy before? I feel like shouting into the cold air but then exhale slowly and unfold my arms. What’s the point, anyway, Eleonore? We’re all some levels of crazy here, no exceptions.

The only difference here was that she didn’t have a problem admitting it. And instead of moving from it, she preferred to cover herself in it like in a thick winter coat that soon she would need not to freeze in this hell hole that flamed her skin not with fires but with frost. Tiny ice shreds that never left her, and had nothing to do with the weather, that liked to kiss her bones with sticky tenderness, whispering softly of the things that were coming her way.

A little dramatic today, aren’t we now, love?

The words ring out in my head, and I flex my shoulders, trying to calm it all down. No need to bring even more negativity into the world. There was too much of it as it is. Still a bit triggered, I turn around towards the entry. Hesitating for a moment as visions of last night color my mind with swelling, chaotic feelings that vibrate through my muscles like the wrong kind of medicine. I felt so exposed and bare yesterday, so not used to someone seeing under my layers, exposing the bruises under the haggard and scarred tissue. It wasn’t meant for anyone to see. For anyone to touch. It was just hers, and there were so few things that she could say that about these days.

I shake my head and march into the building, heading for the third floor without looking back or stopping to see anything or anyone. Choosing the stairs and running up as fast as possible, and not letting myself think until I reach my destination. After a short moment, I navigate to the right corridor. And despite the blazing irrational state that I’m currently in, something still manages to attract my attention. Slowly, my eyes follow a guy with a deep frown and a displeased expression coming out of Morgan’s room. I lift my eyebrows, surprised. He fixes his glasses slightly and writes something down in a thick, leather-bound notebook. I watch him get distracted in his notes and check something on the calendar while I silently head to her room. For a moment, he catches my stare, and I hold it, not in any way intimidated, more curious what the guy was all about.

My eyes gradually take him in, the short but thick brown hair with the beginning of grays streaks showing on the sides, then the rather tall frame and the slim silhouette. He seems to be in his early forties from the look of it. Wearing dark blue jeans, a swede jacket in the shade of coffee. All questioningly pared with a vest underneath that was so multi-patterned that it made it nearly impossible to declare what color it was. Not that it mattered. Maybe he was going both for the professional and laid-back option, trying to be more approachable. Who knew.

My stare drifts back to his, and I nod politely. He does the same and gets back to his little scribbles. Mmm, there was something about him that rubbed me the wrong way. My eyes narrow a bit for a while, but then I leave it at rest; life was too short to waste on such things. I walk into the room and, for some reason, notice a similar frown on Morgan’s face. She groans, annoyed, crumpling pieces of paper laying on her bed with frustration, and then throws it down to the floor, coughing slightly. I try for the sudden worry not to slip into my bloodstream the way it wants to.

Hey, hey, calm down there. Whatever it is, it’s definitely not worth that kind of energy loss.

I come over and pick up the paper from the ground, smooth it out a bit and glance at it, but don’t really focus on it much.

What’s this?

It’s called “dealing with trauma” according to my parents.

I gaze at her questioningly and then put the documents on her nightstand. She glares at me and huffs under her breath.

Therapy.

Pardon?

Therapy. An upgrade of a guidance counselor and a lesser evil from a shrink option. I mean, what would my dad’s friends and associates think if his daughter went to a shrink, right? Can you imagine the horror and shame?

She shakes her head and sighs, not really waiting for a reply.

My mom solves problems. I’m the problem. And there is the solution; a high-notch overpaid therapist wannabe.

She points to the man still standing in the hallway and making some phone calls now. I gaze at him for a moment and then back at her. She just shrugs.

Well, that’s her opinion anyway. As if a better mood and a fake smile on my face could help the diseases go away.

I open my mouth to say something, but she stops me.

No, don’t. At least you can spare me the “positive attitude can solve all issues” crap.

I lift my hands in the air and shrug, not really bothered.

Hey, I’m just an innocent passerby here. Don’t blame me for the way, in which the world is constructed.

She groans but then nods.

Yeah, sorry. I know it’s not your fault.

My eyebrows shoot up, probably giving me a very comical expression.

Excuse me? Could you please repeat that? Because I don’t think I will have a chance to hear it again. But slowly, and focus on the pronunciation, I want to enjoy each mouthwatering, honey dripping syllable coming out of your mouth.

The pillow flies my way at an impressive speed, but I manage it catch it in the last moment before it gets too familiar with my face, though, stagger a bit in the process.

Whoa, easy. Hospital property here, and I don’t plan on being charged by it. Mmm, well then. You ever considered playing professional football? Because we could definitely use you on the national playoffs.

She shakes her head but manages to produce a real smile for me.

You’re ridiculous.

Yet, you still tolerate me somehow.

For, now.

Of course.

I smile back at her but then touch my forehead, feeling my head spin a bit, legs going slightly weaker in the knees. I throw her a quick glance to see if she caught it, but thankfully she’s already occupied, making sure the stuff she got was torn into neat, smaller, and smaller pieces of white paper snow.

Feeling in a confetti mood?

I ask, amused but then try not to notice how my voice quivers a bit, putting hands in the pockets of my jeans as they start to tremble. This really was a sickness, no matter how much I went out of my way to pretend otherwise. And it was heading for the kill.

Yeah, something like that. Maybe I will make a snow globe and give it to my therapist as an early Christmas gift.

She says in a dark tone, and I smile again, despite feeling my fragile state increase with each moment.

That’s my girl. I’m proud of you. Uhm... hey, Morgan?

She looks at me from her entertaining activity and lifts an eyebrow.

I think I will go look for the nurse man, so he doesn’t send a search party after me consisting of the Baskerville hounds and his noble attitude. And then come back here. Okay?

She nods.

Do as you please. Just remember you’re behind on the product line.

She points to a plastic box filled with colorful paper and the things I already made for her, and the ones we have made together. There are roses there, tulips, and flowers made from multiple layers, resembling big balls of perfectly shaped petals. I must say, there weren’t many times when I could actually use the word perfect in any sentence that related to me personally but here, it was cutting it close. I focus even more on the box and smile at the sight of a few origami birds. I didn’t possess many positive memories from childhood, so this one I held specifically tight to my chest, remembering the time spent with my mom. I look back at her and nod.

It shall be done.

I smile faintly and walk out into the hallway, feeling my throat tighten as I try to swallow, beads of sweat appearing on my forehead. Why was my health declining so fast lately? Was my body giving up and shutting down completely, running its final course? I try to swallow again. Perhaps, I didn’t really have answers to those questions but knew that the pain and different symptoms came in waves. At times drowning me mercilessly and at others letting me simply drift on the surface. Carried with the current and giving me the allowance of a few temporary sun rays and the kindest form of warmth. I shake my head, annoyed a bit. Don’t let yourself get melodramatic again, Eleonore. Nobody really likes the sad sappy types too much. Slowly, I head forward and try to push away any dark thoughts that were pressing themselves onto me, a familiar buzz under the skull waking up and welcoming the voices. I hear them and feel the venom start to spread into my bloodstream, but don’t allow them to turn into words. Instead, shut my eyes closed for a moment, humming to myself soft melodies and drowning out the world around me.

If there is a lot of noise in the room and you blur out the actual conversations, focusing only on the sound itself... then you are left in a space full of bees. And as much as it sounds crazy, it actually not only works but can even have a soothing effect as well.

I shift forward with difficulty but somehow am able to harness a bit of the chaos that kept on attacking my mind. Detach yourself, love. It’s the only way to quiet them down. I feel the sweat drip down the lower of my back, and my jaw clenches tighter. They say you can get used to the pain, but they are wrong, very wrong. Because when it grows, it becomes a whole new Hellgate to cross under your freshly bleeding feet. I think with barely any remains of a clear mind just before my knees buckle under me, hands hitting the floor in a weak attempt to break the fall. I curse and groan through my teeth, my body rolling into a tight ball constructed of wires and iron strings. Not here, not now. Please. Not here where everyone could see. The thoughts scream at me as I have less and less energy to think straight or even try to get up to save myself from public view. Though I still try. But the sweaty hands slip against the smooth linoleum, my forehead bumping against the floor. Shit, shit, shit. Come one, get up. You can do this. You have to. The hall was still empty.

Come on.

Excuse me, miss? What’s wrong, are you feeling nauseous? Let me help you.

Or apparently not. I groan again and look up as an unfamiliar voice asks, my eyes watching someone get closer with every step. Their silhouette, seeming to move towards me in almost slow motion, my perception of reality altered and distorted somehow. Time and sounds, blending and changing their pace as they pleased. As if trying to breathe underwater and stumbling through an unrehearsed nightmare. I squint my eyes and moan in frustration, not being able to usher any coherent words. It’s the guy that I saw before. The therapist. This is not good.

I’m... f-fine.

I mumble, silently feeling like a winner for even finding scraps of my voice through all the mayhem that was controlling my neuron system and clawing its way deeper and deeper under and shredding me from the inside out. I make myself focus slightly more and somehow manage to move up to some kind of a sitting position, balancing myself on the hands and breathing with effort. But it’s clearing just a bit. I’m able to make out more of my surroundings, but I’m also all too aware that it’s not over, just a pre-show, and it will get worse before it can get better. It comes and goes in waves. It always does.

_____

Charlie

Something in him shifts as he’s talking to Raffael, his patient, the one with an arm in a cast and some broken ribs to match. Thankfully, he was feeling better with each day, though a full recovery would still take at least a few more months. He smiles at him, but his mind is distracted, a strange itch forming under the muscles, his body tensing. What was that sensation, that feeling? He couldn’t really explain it or the source of it, but he knew something was wrong. Helplessly, he looks to the sides and into the hallway but doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

Mmm, Raffael?

The 17-year-old looks up at him, stopping in the middle of a little story he wanted to share with him, as he was rather bored in his room. Not really having that many opportunities to talk to anyone as there weren’t that many people visiting him on a daily basis. He lifts his eyebrows.

You will have to tell me the rest later; I just remembered I forgot about something important that needs my immediate attention. So sorry.

The boy looks at him a bit surprised as he knows this isn’t usual behavior for Charlie but then just nods, understanding.

Sure, you’re the one at work here, man. I’m just on an inventorially vacation here. And I think this place is way overrated, I wouldn’t recommend it to friends. Two stars at most, and that’s if I get my jellos more regularly. Otherwise, this place is going down any day now.

He says in a light tone and grins. Charlie smiles as well but then swiftly turns around, trying not to break into a run as he gets out of the room, more tension building up in his muscles. It seems to penetrate the bones. What the hell? He wasn’t even sure what brought the state he was in right now or what direction to head. No logical explanation in sight. Yet he doesn’t ignore or disregard it, something inside pushing him forward with force. He passes the hallway and turns in the opposite direction that the reception was. Making a few turns on his way. Soon enough, he walks past the room of that girl that Nora likes to hang out with and catches his breath. His entire form, freezing for just one second, both his heart rate and the world around him, seeming to stop at exactly the same moment. He hears her pained groan and instantly breaks out of the stillness.

He moves up to her and blocks Dr. Sorenstine’s view. Bending and holding her wrist as if checking the pulse, good energy spreading through her veins gradually, like a warm compress on sore muscles. Her mind appears to relax a bit, and she gazes up at him. She looks pale, and there is sweat covering her skin. She seems to be drained, but a shy smile appears on her tired face as the body still trembles a little. Charlie smiles back as relief takes over, soothing his tensed frame. Gently, he helps her shift and stand up slowly, giving her a reassuring stare. Then he straightens his back and turns around to the doctor, his whole attitude changing and growing professional, reserved; something in him taking the shape of a stone.

She should be fine now.

From what I just experienced, she did not seem fine.

The man speaks coldly, his dark eyes inspecting his facial expression and body language. Damn psychologists, always watching you like a specimen in the worst possible moment. The doctors for the mind. Though he wasn’t that phased by it, his reactions were composed and calculated. They had to be; too much was at stake.

She’s handling a difficult illness, making her body more weak and unstable. Plus, on top of it, a post-traumatic syndrome that as you, doctor, of course, know can be very overwhelming.

And grief, that leaves a mark.

His head snaps back to her as she continues in a hushed tone, not looking directly at neither of them.

My doctor says it’s a long process. The physical issues are not helping either, it’s a constant struggle to stay afloat. But I’m trying. I think that counts for something.

He gazes at her, surprised. Not sure if she is speaking the truth or just making stuff up like he was. He stares closely at her face but can’t really read it. Nora’s eyes meet his, holding the stare and not looking away, her expression seeming calm and confident. She must be pretending; he would sense something otherwise. He breathes out just as the doctor decides to slip into the awkward silence.

I am sorry for your loss...

Eleonore.

He gives her a quick nod.

Yes, Eleonore. Are you sure that you feel better? Maybe Mr. Evans should take you to the emergency room or at least examine you more thoroughly?

There is a slightly patronizing tone in the therapist’s words. But he decides to play dumb and ignore it.

That might be a good option, doctor. Come on, Nora. I will help you get there. You need to be checked; you know what happens when you don’t take your medication on time.

They walk away while James Sorenstine watches them, not in any way convinced by explanations that he just heard. What was this entire show about? He saw the symptoms and how her body reacted, all the vitals being out of order. And then just calming down almost as soon as that over helpful staff guy was near her. No one is that good. She should have not, get better so quickly. He looks as Evans walks her off, fingers still wrapped around the young woman’s wrists as he does anything in his power to block her out of view. Something was off here, and his mind would stay alert until he would find out some answers. But no rush. Shadows always catch up with us, one way or another. The doors to the elevator open, and they disappear in it. He definitely had to look more into this case. The whole situation felt rather surreal, something unexplainable still lingering in the air even after they leave. He couldn’t quite touch it yet, but it was just a matter of time before he would.

All he had to do was dig deep enough.

_____________________

*The Hound of the Baskervilles, one of the best known of the Sherlock Holmes novels, written by Arthur Conan Doyle in 1901.

_____

https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses ( the beginning )

Previous chapters :

40. https://theprose.com/post/427675/of-monsters-and-living-things

41. https://theprose.com/post/437586/those-deeply-rooted-ways

42. https://old.theprose.com/post/441074/between-the-corridors-of-fragile-things

National Apple Dumpling Day

National Monte Crisco Day

National POW/MIA Recognition Day

International Country Music Day

Citizenship Day

Constitution Day

I think this time I go for the serious ones.

Constitution Day

The Constitutional Congress of the United States of America held it’s final meeting on September 17, 1787. Do you have any idea why? That’s right! It was to sign the Constitution of the United States of America, a document for which they so painstakingly labored to create and perfect.

After the meeting there was still much to do. Individual states then had to meet and vote on it. The U.S. Constitution did not go into effect until two years later on March 4, 1789.

“Our constitution was made only for a moral and religious people.

It is in adequate to the government of any other.”—President John Adams

(Well, that quote just told me the constitution wasn’t made with me in mind) … 8=)

Citizenship Day

Today celebrates being a citizen of the United States of America, the greatest country the world has ever seen. Our great country (and it’s people which include you) is something every American should be proud of. America is filled with outstanding citizens, many of whom have played a direct or indirect role in making this country and what it stands for, a beacon of hope, promise and success

This special day is for all citizens, both native born, and those who chose to become Americans. It is a day to be proud to be an American. It is a day to appreciate being a citizen of this country and the rights and freedoms it brings. We suggest American citizens never take for granted the rights, freedoms, and privileges afforded us, as citizens of the United States of America.

Express your citizenship in some way. It’s the sum of all of the actions and deeds by famous and “ordinary” citizens, that makes this country so great. Regardless the times we now are in, I may want to visit our countries, but when it’s time, I will come back to the only place I call home.

On February 29, 1952, President Harry Truman signed a bill establishing Citizenship Day on September 17 of each year. The roots of this holiday go back to ‘I Am an American Day’, which was established in 1940 by Congress as the third Sunday in May.

This day was moved and renamed to Citizenship Day to coincide with the signing of the U.S. Constitution on September 17, 1787.

To me, “Drink responsibly” means don’t spill it!

National POW/MIA Recognition Day

Three years ago, I wrote a post about the POW’s/Mia’s. If you care to read it: https://theprose.com/post/211132/pow-s-mia-s

Each year since 1989, a presidential proclamation brings the nation together to remember and honor the members of the Armed Forces who remain missing in action or are prisoners of war. The day serves as a call to action, reminding the nation to rededicate our efforts. We’re responsible for bringing our patriots home and for caring for our military families awaiting word of their loved ones.

The POW/MIA Flag is flown this day over significant national landmarks and government buildings across the country. Not only do the Capitol, the White House, and the Korean and Vietnam Veterans Memorials fly the flag, but so do the offices of the secretaries of State, Defense and Veterans Affairs, and of the Selective Service System. Additionally, the POW/MIA Flay flies on the grounds or in the lobbies of every major military installation, post office, and all VA Medical Centers and national cemeteries.

Congress established National POW/MIA Recognition Day with the passage of Section 1082 of the 1998 Defense Authorization Act. This day is one of the six days that Federal Law requires government facilities to fly the POW/MIA Flag. The U.S, Secretary of Defense lists all places designated to fly the POW/MIA Flag.

Around the nation, events, and ceremonies recognize POWs, MIA, and their families. Loved ones and supporters gather for candlelight vigils, walks, and other events to show honor and support of their sacrifice. Join a service near you and show your support. Visit pow-miafamilies.org for more information.

Recognize the men and women who are POW and MIA. Remember them and bring them home.

Semper Fi.

POW/MIA - Del “Abe” Jones

So many fates are left unknown

And so many rumors that abound

So many families ask the question

“When will, the answers be found?”

So many years have come and gone

Sometimes, hope is hard to keep

There’s some who feel there’s none

And in some, it’s buried deep.

The pain, is in not knowing

How, to put loved ones’ to rest

When there is no way to prove

They have passed, the final test.

But, no matter what the answers

We can’t let this cause alone

Until, each and every one of them

Is found, and brought back home.

More Strange Holidays Coming!

This limited series, evry Thursday, ending the last week in December, will bring to you events about people, places, and of how things came to be as we know it today.

We could dub this a “Hmm…” moment.

So, kick back and learn stuff you might be able to use if you ever appear on the game show Jeopardy.

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It’s A Numbers Game

Let us start with John D. Sweeny. Mr. Sweeney was the son of a wealthy factory owner, and had grown up in a 15-room Westchester County home staffed with servants. In an effort to learn the family business, Mr. Sweeney was working as a shipping clerk for his father. In 1936, he became the first person to get the first Social Security number issued.

John Sweeney died of a heart attack in 1974 at the age of 61 without ever receiving any benefits from the social security program; however, his widow was able to receive benefits based on his work until her death in 1982.

Social Security numbers were grouped by the first three digits of the number (called the area number) and assigned geographically starting in the northeast and moving across the country to the northwest. But if you look closely at the distribution pattern you will see an apparent anomaly. The lowest area numbers are assigned to New Hampshire, rather than to Maine, even though Maine in the most northeasterly of the states.

This was apparently done so that SSN 001-01-0001 could be given to New Hampshire's favorite son, Social Security Board Chairman John G. Winant (Winant was the former three-time Governor of New Hampshire). Chairman Winant declined to have the SSN registered to him. Then it was offered to the Federal Bureau of Old Age Benefits' Regional Representative of the Boston Region, John Campbell, who likewise declined. It was finally decided not to offer this SSN as a token of esteem but instead to issue it to the first applicant from New Hampshire.

That person was Grace Dorothy Owen Muzzey of Concord, New Hampshire (April 16,1902- December 1,1975), who applied for her number on November 24, 1936, and was issued the first card typed in Concord, which, because of the area number scheme, also happened to be the card with the lowest possible number.

The above photo is Grace taken some time in 1936.

Collect Rocks Day

American Legion Day

Mayflower Day

National Play Doh Day

National Cinnamon Raisin Bread Day

No muss. No fuss. I’m on it.

National Play Doh Day

Play-Doh is a popular child's toy around the world. So in 2015, Hasbro Toys, the creator of this special day, wisely changed the title to World Play-Doh Day.

Both World Play-Doh Day and National Play-Doh Day celebrates a great childhood play toy. Play-Doh was invented in the mid-1950’s. It has entertained millions of children, allowing them to express their creativity, both at home and in the classroom.

The invention was simple. A school teacher wanted a safe modeling clay for her preschooler’s. She asked her brother-in-law Joseph McVicker, who worked at a chemical company, to come up with something. The result was simple—flour, water, and food coloring.

It's fun and easy to celebrate World Play-Doh Day and National Play-Doh Day. Simply pull out the Play-Doh and ......Play! There are other brands of play clay on the market. Having raised three children, this author has never seen a better brand than Play-Doh.

Play Doh was created in 1955 by Joseph McVicker of Kutol Chemicals in Cincinnati, Ohio. It hit the market in 1956, and has been a popular play toy ever since. It was created because McVicker's sister-in-law wanted a safe, clay-like product for her nursery school children to use. Noah and Joseph McVicker received U.S. Patent No. 3,167,440 for Play-Doh.

Hasbro Toys, the current makers of Play Doh, say it a little differently. From their website, they state: "The story of PLAY DOH modeling compound begins in 1956 when scientists at Rainbow Crafts, a Cincinnati soap and cleaning compound company, stumbled upon a new use for the unique dough-like cleaning product. The company realized this product’s potential as a child’s modeling compound; and thus, the original, reusable PLAY-DOH compound was born."

So I ask … which one do you believe?

"Sometimes the most brilliant and intelligent minds do not shine

in standardized tests because they do not have standardized minds."—Diane Ravitch

Collect Rocks Day

Today is a day to add to your rock collection. Ahh, to be a kid again, and have a rock collection. Well, we have good news for you. No one ever said you had to give up your rock collection when you became an adult. We hope you always keep and cherish your invaluable rock collection.

Kids collect rocks because it is a fun thing to do. They even trade rocks among other rock collectors. There are no books on what rocks to collect, or how much each rock is valued at. Rather, rocks are selected for a collection based upon a wide range of attributes. A lot of it is individual appeal. The rock could be big or small, a particular color or range of colors. smooth or rough, or display a unique characteristic. When it comes to rock collecting, beauty is indeed in the eyes of the beholder (or rock holder in this case).

(Truth here: I have one rock (small ones of course) from all 50 states, Canada, and Mexico. Years back I had bagged and tagged 15 rocks from several European countries but when I tried to bring them back to the states, airport authorities confiscated them from me.)

Ice Cream Flavor of the Day: Rocky Road

Baby Names for Today: Rock, Rocky, Stone, and if it’s a girl—Pebbles!

"Pessimism leads to weakness, optimism leads to power."—William James

Mayflower Day

Today celebrates the date the Mayflower sailed from Plymouth, England to America. On September 16, 1620, 102 men, women, and children set sail from Plymouth, England. Their destination was the New World, where they could have religious freedom, and continue using their native language, culture, and customs.

Every Mayflower Day, we commemorate these brave, early settlers. They were the very first immigrants, and helped to pave the way for millions more to follow, in search of freedom and the dreams and promises of a New World.

A few things about the Mayflower:

The Mayflower set sail from Plymouth England on September 16, 1620.

The Pilgrims were headed to the settlement in Virginia. They had an agreement to settle there.

The voyage took 66 days. They landed at Plymouth Rock on December 21, 1621.

102 passengers were on board. This included three pregnant women. One of these women gave birth just before landing. Peregrine White was born to William and Susanna White in November of 1620 aboard the Mayflower, while the vessel was docked off the coast of Cape Cod. Susanna was 7 months pregnant when she had boarded the ship bound for the new world.

On November 21, 1620, the passengers signed the Mayflower Compact, which set forth the rules of governance of the fledgling colony.

"Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself."—George Bernard Shaw

More Strange Holidays Coming!