(picture from Amazon website – Amazon link for book here)

The structure of the book is in four sections, covering the bedroom, the bathroom, the living room and the kitchen. Each section is of from ten to a dozen short chapters covering different activities that went on in these rooms. For example, the section on the bedroom has chapters on the bed itself, on sickness (since before hospitals most sick were confined to their beds), on sex and on nightclothes. The section on the living room has chapters on seating, heat and light, receiving visitors, cleaning and vacuuming, etc. The emphasis is very much on people and their activities and how those shaped the domestic environment.

The first main thread of the story is one of increasing privacy and specialisation. We learn how the early medieval great hall was a multipurpose communal room used for eating, sleeping and for public appearances. Part way through the middle ages the lord and lady of a manorial hall gained a private bedchamber, or solar, but everyone else still slept in the great hall (including most guests). And well into the post-medieval era washing was still done in the bedchamber or in the main room, before separate bathrooms came to be seen as essential. The second main thread is that people in the past had much less expectation of privacy, living much more of their life surrounded by people other than just their spouse. Even after the invention of the bedroom there was often just one in all but the fanciest houses and it would be shared with children (often sleeping in the same bed as their parents) or with a trusted servant sleeping on a separate pallet (with the upper and politically active class this might be as much for personal security as anything else).

Lucy Worsley peppers the book with extracts from diaries and letters of the time as well as anecdotes for the more recent eras, and this gives the book life. It is far from a dull read. She is able to give the reader an insight into the mindset of different social classes in long gone eras, both how they liked to portray themselves and how they actually were.

Because of her position as a curator of the Historic Royal Palaces, Lucy Worsley is most clearly at home discussing the domestic arrangements of the upper classes, but she has obviously done her research thoroughly on the middle classes too. It is on the topic of the working classes that the book’s coverage is a bit patchy. She makes the argument that fashions in domestic arrangements trickled down, in as much as space and money allowed, so lower classes would adopt simplified versions of the domestic fashions of their betters, and this is true but there is a level below which it simply couldn’t happen. The urban poor in Victorian back-to-back terraces are mentioned, but rural farm labourers in tied cottages or groups of unmarried male labourers in communal bothies simply don’t get a mention.

There are a good many gems of information in this book, some rather amusing, some simply fascinating. We learn that the name of the meal course dessert comes from the fashion, at one time, of the sweet course of a banquet being served in a different room whilst the tables in the main hall were cleared (or ‘deserted’) to make ready for the post-dinner entertainment.

The history of the main domestic fittings and fixtures is covered too, and in a way that remains people-centred. We learn of central open hearths giving way to fireplaces in each room and of cooking over an open fire giving way to the range, oven and stove. Everything from wallpaper to the refrigerator and the toilet have their own sections, all interesting and entertaining.

The author’s light but informative style, spiced with touches of cynicism and titillation, make this an easy book to read cover to cover, but it is organised such that after reading it one can easily find a relevant section again, so it is a book one would want to keep too. The breadth of the book inevitably leads to one wishing certain topics were covered in more depth, but there is a comprehensive bibliography at the end to point you to further reading.

A superb introduction to the history of domestic household arrangements. Five stars.

As I woke up on the 6Th of November,which marked my 19Th year birthday. I heard the dawn chorus which sooth ens my mind. I quickly recollect that day was my birthday. As I switch on the bulb in our sitting room. Something struck my mind. It was a quiet voice which creep into my heart, What I heard was this” Failure is never an option” I was flabbergasted, I wondered if someone next to me whisper that sound into my ears, I turned around to find no one. I stood for many minutes still confused. But I took up courage, claimed that voice. I said aloud to myself “FAILURE IS NEVER AN OPTION”

My father ran out of his room,to see what had went wrong. He eyes was still foggy. He find me up immediately I finished pronouncing those words to my self. He said “Ikey,(my native name) what’s the matter” and I replied”Nothing”. He went back to his bed to complete his slumber.I  smiled to myself, I had this strong conviction in my self that failure was truly never an option.

I was glad and happy on the 6Th of November. I projected myself five to ten years from now and saw what God had in place for me. I recalled what my first mentor told me “You are born to turn things around for your family”. I gave God all the glory. At exactly 7:00am, my siblings fell out from the room one after the other What I saw in my mind’s eye, were different boys and girls entirely. I saw world star footballer, I saw a graduate of Mass Communication, I saw a Big time caterer like the McDonald I saw different gifts and abilities. I yelled inside of me. Wow! God you have blessed this family of mine.

Cyprian, thinking about is life.

I took a seat in the sitting room to think. I began to ask myself questions I have never asked myself for donkey’s years. How will these talents come to pass. I read about the parables of talents in the book of Matthew of how the master of three servants entrusted talents in the hands of his servants, to one he gave five,the other two and to the last one. But the bible went ahead and said”all according to their abilities” As we already know, the one wiTh five traded wiTh it and regained another five, the one wiTh two increase to four, while the one with the least amount of talent despise his own, never bother to do anything wiTh it  and went ahead to bury it. The story continues like that. I said to my self it is left to me to assist my siblings to multiply what the have now!

I saw my full responsibility as the first born of my family. I saw all what I have never done as the eldest and resolve to start executing my responsibility as the first born child. On the 6th of November-my 19th year birthday was a remarkable one for me even if I did not throw a party. I discovered something bigger, greater than that, I saw a vision, I saw the future and I vowed to make it come true. For me and my family-failure is never an option!

Thanks to you all,

To dream of a house refers to various aspects of the Self, and the rooms in a house relate to facets of the personality. 

Kitchen

A kitchen signifies your need for warmth, spiritual nourishment and healing.  It may also be symbolic of the nurturing mother or the way that you are caring for your loved ones. Alternatively the kitchen represents a transformation (creating), or perhaps the dream could be telling you that ‘if you can’t stand the heat, then you need to get out of the kitchen’.

Living Room

A living room represents the image that you portray to others and the way in which you live your life. It is representative of your basic beliefs about yourself and who you are. This room is the boundary between your personal self and your public self, and objects that do not belong in the living room in your dream, portray the various aspects of your life that do not feel belong in the public eye.

Room

A room represents a particular aspect of yourself or a particular relationship. To dream that you find or discover a new room suggests you are developing new strengths and taking on new roles. You may be growing emotionally. Consider what you find in the discovered room as it may indicate repressed memories, fears, or rejected emotions. 

Stairs

A flight of stairs has different meanings for both walking up and walking down. Walking up a flight of stairs indicates that you are achieving a higher level of understanding; making progress into your spiritual, emotional or material journey. To dream that you are walking down a flight of stairs represents your repressed thoughts. It also refers to the setbacks that you are experiencing in your life.

Toilet

A toilet symbolizes a release of emotions, or getting rid of something in your life that is useless. To see a clogged toilet in a dream signifies that you are holding in and keeping your feelings to yourself. Your emotions have been pent up too long. To see an overflowing toilet in your dream denotes your desires to fully express your emotions.     

Window

A window signifies bright hopes, vast possibilities and insight. To dream that you are looking out a window signifies your outlook on life, your consciousness and your point of view. It also refers to your intuition and awareness. If you are looking in the window, then it indicates that you are doing some soul searching and looking within yourself.

© Copyright J M Lennox. All Rights Reserved.

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Dream – House and Rooms Part 1

Dream – House and Rooms Part 2

The bathroom tile, aside from filthy, was a sickening shade of teal. Resting on the toilet was a moldy, damp towel that looked remarkably familiar, and resting acrobatically on the towel, his roommates bronze ass and hairless body, as smooth as ivory, reflecting in the mirror.

“Is… is that my razor!?” shrieked Steve over the hissing torrent of the sink.

“Oh, well, you know how your ass gets tied up with tiny balls of shit? Well I got sick of it and thought to myself, ‘It’s my ass, right?’ and just decided to shave it all off. I even did the base of my dick, see? Check it out, it looks a couple inches longer. Just imagine a tiny little hand grabbing my dick.”

His roommate looked very pleased with himself.

“But… is that my razor?!”

“What?” he turned off the sink. “Oh, yeah, don’t worry,” he chuckled “I’ll clean it when I’m done. I always do!”

The phone rang.

“Booty!” he screamed. “That’s for me that’s for me!” He briskly ran a towel across the grungy steel, tossing it to Steve as he skipped in to a jog.

Alone, Steve stood over the sink, a jungle of hair staring back at him, peeking through the blades of the filthy razor. He swallowed hard, and began to scrub the steel.

Steve locked the door behind him, as he pursed his lips with a deep breath, and proceeded to lift the toilets seats. The bowl expelled a moist, acrid odor, slowly arising from two lingering loafs left to marinate in the brimming porcelain cauldron.

Steve struggled with the tenacious turds, unclogging and plunging out his frustrations, until whirlpool after whirlpool finally ate up the ass candy.

* * *

“AIIIYYEEEE!”

Pangs of pain stung Steve’s ears, unintentionally stiffening his muscles.

What the hell was that?

“Hoo.. hoo.. hoo…augghhh!”

The cries of anguish turned to whimpering whispers as he crept out in to the hall, and listened hard, stifling every muscle contraction along the way before finding his ear pressed upon his hollow oak door.

Steve’s imagination raced, but proved too sluggish to prepare his eyes for the sight beyond the bedroom door. His roommate, kneeling backwards on the black leather chair, wailed as he spread his cheeks in to the whirring blades of a fan; his ass was propped up, receiving a cool gust of wind.

“What the FUCK is going on!?”

“Ahhh…! It feels like a swarm of ants is crawling up my ass!”

His roommate turned to survey the baboon-like level of irritation in his ass only to have condensed blasts of a shit/sweat combo attack his nostrils.

“This is fucked! You could’ve at least used your own room!”

“What are you, retarded!? Stop dicking around and get me some ice before I start shitting blood!”

Down the hall and through the graveyard; Steve pulled the empty ice tray from the freezer, smirking as he leisurely filled each individual square.

As usual, we both have to suffer from this clown’s lack of foresight. If only I could put my brain in that body. If only…

Fuck, what am I thinking? The last time I got my dick wet was in the shower…

Shit. We can’t stop now. We’re too damn close to our place in the record books; a few more feet and he’s a fucking stud. I tell him when to eat, when to work out, when to fuck, and we’re gravy.

“Hurry up and make yourself useful! I’m dyin’ here!”

We won’t get the money shots with sagging pecs and razor burn, but if I stick it out, he’ll be slamming Taylor Rain in the ass before we know it. 18 feet, nine inches…

“How am I supposed to beat my shit when it feels like I just shat razor blades?!”

I had to see it for myself. His ass, tanned with that brown goo, funneled in to a deep cherry gelatin red. The veins in his head throbbed as he scraped crumpled toilet tissue up and down the crack with his fingertips and tossed the sheet on to a mountain of discarded paper.

From a small vial, he shook an oblong blue in to his hand and swallowed.

“Just give me a few hours, I’ll be good to go, and for fucks sake, get me an ice cube!”

Steve shook the half empty bottle before opening it.

This jiz jockey is taking Viagra?!

“How long have you been taking these?”

“Been popping them like candy the past few months. Not really sure how else I’m supposed to be staying rock for three hours straight…”

He palmed his junk and started to pound his half-erect meat with full-fledged enthusiasm.

“Holy shit!” cried Steve, as he scurried across the room.

He kneeled over the dampened carpet, firmly placing his camcorder by his side as he traced his finger over barely legible sharpie marks in the graveyard that was once the living room.

Strips of duct tape strewn parallel across the floor entombed the milky chromosome, forming a runway dense with organic waste.

When shooting for optimum trajectory, every muscle in the body tenses before propelling hot spunk with shotgun force.

At maximum velocity, specimen took flight like winged ambition, whereas others meekly dribbled in to the shag carpet, mere inches from the jack-off mark.

“15 feet nine inches. Not bad, not bad!” Steve mumbled as he pulled a resting notepad from his breast pocket. He produced a pencil from behind his ear and began to write frantically.

Exhausted, Steve’s roommate slumped bronzed and bare-assed on to their couch, which was, at one point, a vibrant chalky white. The cushions and his spray on posterior were still compromising on a new shade of amber, between gold and monkey shit brown.

A harsh clamor steadily fell to a light thud, signaling to Steve, who leapt to his feet, that the laundry was in its final throes.

“Was the washer was on this whole time?

“Uh huh, I started a cycle this morning after I made breakfast.”

“I didn’t even notice it was on till the sound stopped.”

“Yeah well, you have a lot of laundry for someone who’s always walking around naked.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Stevie. So you gonna get on that or what?”

He stood tall over Steve’s limp posture.

“It was a rhetorical question. How many pairs of boxers do you need anyway!?” Steve huffed, moving bundle upon bundle of underwear in to the adjacent dryer.

His words, however, fell upon deaf ears, as he raised his busy eyes to a retreating bronzed posterior. He shook his head, then readjusted his sight towards the task at hand, juggling a motley mixture of moist, machine-washed fabrics.

“Oh yeah.” His roommate’s voice echoed from down the hall. “You’re gonna have to download some new girls. Same shit just doesn’t get me off anymore.”

Steve opened the laundry bin; a rank stench, pungent enough to cut with a blade, burst free from the pile of fabric within.

For fucks sake, how long has this been sitting here?

The odor filled the room, pervading his nostrils. The soiled taste of febreeze lingered on his tongue.

I wash his clothes, cook his meals, and LIVE in this wall to wall pudding cup! For what!?

“You hear me, Steve!?”

“I hear you.”

* * *

18 feet, nine inches, 18 feet, nine inches. This had become the mantra to utter whenever his face began to frame his temperance.

Steve took out his notebook, and with an educated glance, beat his feet in the direction of his bedroom, which consisted of a sheet-less yellowing mattress and a nook for living. He approached his door, preemptively jiggling the stubborn knob.

The knob, defeated with a click, swung open the door with a creak, as his sock entered the room with a squish.

He felt his stomach churn.

Mechanically, he closed his eyes and stepped backward, all the while removing the gooey sock from his left foot. He slowly took a deep breath and opened his eyes, hoping the unappeasable reality had miraculously vanished.

Instead, he found the floor glistening like sun-drenched stones.

That sick fuck just can’t stay away from my computer.

The viscous sap was strewn across the room, and seemed to pour from the walls of the massive beehive.

Steve stepped cautiously, navigating the masturbatory maze as if the floor were splintered in to pools of lava. The population grew denser as he approached his leather office chair.

He was greeted with bronzed armrests and a skid mark across the leather upholstery. Grinding his teeth with the tumult of a cement mixer, Steve prematurely tore a towel from the dryer and sat upon the wet cloth. Disgruntled, he flipped open his laptop, finding no solace in the day to day wretch he subjected himself to.

But the destination…

We’re making history here. Do I have a choice but to press on? Every goddamn frat boy with a camera thinks he’s a fucking filmmaker now, Bang Bus, Bus Bang, Trolley Whore, whatever. I stick it out; we’ll float right to the top, just like cream, baby. No gay shit to get our foot in the door, and no grimy gangbangs.

The gangbang scrapes the bottom rung of the industry. No perks, no bonuses; you’re lucky to get fifty bucks per scene. We know better than to dive in balls deep with all the other fat and ugly one pump chumps looking to slip some poor girl a bone. Once we bang out our place in the record books, we’ve got automatic status.

Yeah, I guess that dream is still worth a few more sacrifices.

In his minds lens, Steve saw a bronzed Adonis in three-point lighting, fucking four milkmaids in a space suit. Soon, the erotic space plague would devour their inhibition matrixes, forcing them to seek pleasure with little regard for their bodies.

No holes barred? You bet!

“Want to get laid tonight? Find sexy singles in your area on-”

With a mouse click, the bare-chested muse who lulled him in to consciousness was silenced.

Once again, the cycle continued, compiling another 24 hours of smut. Tonight on Masturbation Theatre was Stocking Sluts Four.

A low but audible rumble coursed through Steve’s intestines. His feet propelled his empty stomach through the graveyard and in to the kitchen.

He flipped on the off-white switch, made so by filthy hands, and opened the refrigerator door. The shelves brimmed with assorted ointments and laxatives; it either went on you, or it made things come out of you.

His impatient hand, as if tasting, scanned the frosty icebox for sustenance.

Nothing.

With an automatic jerk of his wrist, the fridge was closed and the pantry opened, exposing a lone box of powdered gelatin. The brown, splintered wood peeled around the hollow cabinet, as his stomach curled around its own emptiness.

He looked intently at the sugary snack; just add water.

Never again, he thought, as he recalled his last “Swiss” gelatin mold, compliments of his roommate.

Mere hours after setting it in the icebox, Steve had returned to find the Kitchen resembling a murder scene; congealed red gelatin everywhere. He had opened the refrigerator to find his confection sloppily penetrated from multiple angles, and dense with globular clusters of spunk.

The memory was insistent with a seeming purpose.

Steve arched over the sink emptying his mouth of a pasty and thick yellow bile that had risen to the back of his neck.

18 feet, nine inches, he thought to himself, as he reached for a bottle resting on the counter. He took a gulp of wine for his stomachs sake, in an attempt to wash away the turgid memory. With a shudder, the thought was a ghost.

1.   You sure have put on a lot of weight recently.  In fact, I think you’ll need two seats to sit at the dinner table.

2.   I’ve been texting your best friend.  She wants to go on a date with me.  Is it alright with you?

3.   I’m dropping out of college.  I want to marry you and let you support me in the style that I am customed to  living.

4.   Would you mind mending my socks, sewing a button on my shirt, doing my laundry, and polishing my shoes?  After all, you’re good at  doing those things. 

5.   How would you like to take me out to dinner?  I’m a little short this week.  You can afford to spend fifty bucks.

6.   Where did you buy your perfume?  Geez, you smell like my garbage disposal.

7.   My buddies are coming over to play poker.  Do you mind making some sandwiches, putting out some snacks, and waiting on them hand and foot?

8.   I haven’t taken a shower in days.  I want to be completely natural.  Why are you starting to move away from me?

9.   I just bought this beautiful lamp.  It’s in the shape of a baseball bat.  Let’s put it in your living room.  It will be a real hit with your guests.  I picked it up at a flea market.  It needs a little polishing though.  Go ahead and clean it off.

10. I love you.  You are everything that I’ve ever wanted in my life.  Well, enough of that crap.  What’s for dinner?

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Recycling Furniture is necessity in keeping the world greener

Necessities New and Used Furniture which located at Hamburg Pa. is one of many furniture stores that are trying to do there part in recycling and to go green. This particular furniture stored open in 2001 selling primarily used furniture as well as antiques.

A lot of it is a form of recycling. It is a way to keep the world green. We feel we are helping the planet. We are giving quality furniture a second chance. What we do at this store is clear out houses therefore we carry more than just furniture. We also carry dishes, glassware, stools and more. Our main focus is furniture.

Our goal is to make the world a better place to live through used furniture, because we are not filling landfills with furniture. What makes their business unique is the few businesses do recycling. Most retail product is brand new off the conveyor belt. Our product is gently used, clean and safe.

They are located on Fourth Street in Hamburg, Pa. They have 7,000 square feet holds row after row of furniture for every room: bed room sets, kitchen sets, living room, and dining room. There website is the following: www.secondhandrules.com

If you don’t spend a lot of time in your kitchen, for instance because you’re doing some time in some state prison on a regular basis, decorating your kitchen can be a tough job. So don’t do it. Especially when you, like me, never liked cooking and have a very busy professional life. In the last two years I prepared maybe twice a meal in this kitchen.

If you hate it when your kitchen appliances seem to have the highest IQ in your household,  don’t buy that stuff. Keep it simple. My advice is: ”Don’t loose your time fixing your kitchen, just fix you a microwave.”

Relax when you can

Because of my busy professional life, I have been seated perhaps ten times in the living room, the last few years. But if I’m at home, I enjoy twice as hard. I like cocooning and even a succesful business guy sometimes has to relax. Believe me, you will be a much more pleasant (wo)man, if you could only relax from time to time.

A real guesthouse

With a few simple strategies, you will be a warm host, even to bad houseguests, and without losing control. Your friends may be delightful, but they also may be unfamiliar with the ways of civilized society. They can bring an ill-mannered female friend with them, or a poorly trained associé. First of all, make sure your guests feel comfortable with you. Show them you have nothing to hide, maybe put your real name on a piece of paper if you are using a false name (or just write “welcome!” on that piece of paper). And above all, keep your hands in sight (and upon the table, when eating).

Make an effort to give your guests the stuff you’d be willing to use. Remember, a fine line is like the icing on the cake and who would say “no” if you offered him or her a first quality shot? 

This was some advice, nice and free, from Hard Boiled Harry.

You gotta problem? He’ll solve it! 

Want to end a small but annoying complaint? Want to increase your income, this month? Want to make some real pro contacts that can be very useful, some day?

Just contact Hard Boiled Harry!