Meet the Soldier - Official TF2 Wiki | Official Team Fortress Wiki
Meet Mikey Weinstein, who has become the leading whistleblower and Martin Rowson's 'Christian Soldiers' cartoon from New Humanist. I could not complain, but I wished for the return of our soldier. from the passionate anticipation with which he went to new countries or met new .. I had to open a letter which bore the Boulogne postmark and was addressed in the . Chris was looking at himself in a hand-mirror, which he threw on the floor as I entered. Backward course design is one method that can guide individual instructors as question, ie, a 32nd bus would be required to transport all of the soldiers. the door able to understand, regardless of what activities or texts we use? Other evidence that I will use to show the students meet the stated goals.
This section helps a teacher think about what assessments and activities will prove the students have met the desired goals and objectives instead of planning on assessments and activities and hoping at the end, the student has learned what was desired.
By planning the assessment activities before a teacher plans the content of the lecture, it makes it easier to know what content should be taught.
In this section, teachers should have students do self-assessments of their learning when appropriate. Some of the performance tasks I came up with were: Other evidence that I will use to show the students meet the stated goals are: Lastly, the student self-assessments that I created are to have the students answer questions on what they think pharmaceutical care is, what evidence-based medicine is, and where they would find evidence-based medicine.
Students will answer these questions at both the beginning of the rotation and again at the end to see if their answers have changed based on our discussions throughout the rotation. Once I determined what assessments I would be using for the rotation I then developed grading rubrics and directions for each activity to make sure that the activity truly did assess the goal I was trying to achieve.
The third step in this process is planning the learning experiences and instruction. What activities will equip students with the needed knowledge and skills? What will need to be taught and coached, and how should it best be taught, in light of the performance goals?
What materials and resources are best suited to accomplish these goals? Here is an example of how I used the acronym for my rotation: Go over rotation objectives and syllabus and explain to the student why they would be doing each of the required activities during the rotation tie the activities to the larger goals for the rotation. When the student is doing a specific activity such as a medication historyremind them why they are doing that activity and what they are expected to learn from that activity.
I will demonstrate a proper medication history prior to asking the student to complete one. Demonstrate how to complete a patient care plan using evidence-based medicine before having the students complete one. We will also complete a number of morning discussions on an array of internal medicine topics to ensure the student gains the required drug and disease state knowledge needed to complete the rotation tasks.
These two sections of the acronym go together and will be accomplished in numerous ways during the rotation. The last day of the rotation I will have the students pick one thing they learned on the rotation that they could use in their future career. The students also complete an initial multiple-choice examination the first day of the rotation.
I give this examination back and give the student's time to see what topics they need to work on during the rotation. The students then repeat this examination the last day of the rotation to see if they improved and to help them see what areas they still need to work on during future rotations. The whole rotation has a mixture of activities for all learning styles written assessments, discussions, written and oral examinations.
Students also have the opportunity to help tailor the rotation to what they want to learn as they complete their own goals for the rotation and they get to pick many of the morning discussion topics. The first week of the rotation is set-up for orientation and each new activity is introduced in general in the first day orientation but then is discussed in detail when it is time to complete that task.
Many of the large ambulatory care topics that come up on a daily basis during the rotation are discussed during the first week or so of the rotation to make sure the students have the needed knowledge to care for patients. As I played I wondered if things like this happened when Purcell wrote such music, empty of everything except laughter and simple greeds and satisfactions and at worst the wail of unrequited love.
Why had modern life brought forth these horrors, which made the old tragedies seem no more than nursery-shows? And the sky also is different. Behind Chris's head, as he halted at the open window, a search-light turned all ways in the night, like a sword brandished among the stars. You shall see as much of her as you like. I was amazed at Kitty's beautiful act and more amazed to find that it had made her face ugly. Her eyes snapped as they met mine.
Her silver shoe tapped the floor; she pinched her lips for some moments. Teddy Rex keeps a Gaiety girl, and Mrs. Rex has to grin and bear it. It means that Chris is a man like other men. But I did think that bad women were pretty. I suppose he 's had so much to do with pretty ones that a plain one 's a change.
I gripped her small shoulders with my large hands, and shook her till her jewels rattled and she scratched my fingers and gasped for breath. But I did not mind so long as she was silent. Chris spoke from the darkness. He came and stood over us, running his hand through his hair unhappily. It is how you feel, I know.
It 's been a horrid night. We smiled sadly at each other as we sat down by the fire, and I perceived that, perhaps because I was flushed and looked younger, he felt more intimate with me than he had yet done since his return. Indeed, in the warm, friendly silence that followed he was like a patient when tiring visitors have gone and he is left alone with his trusted nurse; smiled under drooped lids and then paid me the high compliment of disregard.
His limbs relaxed, he sank back into his chair. I watched him vigilantly, and was ready at that moment when thought intruded into his drowsings and his face began to twitch.
The Return of the Soldier.
I know how she bows when you meet her in the street, how she dresses when she goes to church. All that a wife should be she 's been to you. His silence compelled me to look at him, and I found his eyes, cold and incredulous and frightened, on me.
She is your wife, and this place is changed, and it 's better and jollier in all sorts of ways, believe me, and fifteen years have passed. Why, Chris, can't you see that I have grown old? I 'll never tell. His elbows were on his knees, and his hands stroked his thick tarnished hair. I could not see his face, but I knew that his skin was red and that his gray eyes were wet and bright. Then suddenly he lifted his chin and laughed, like a happy swimmer breaking through a wave that has swept him far inshore.
He glowed with a radiance that illuminated the moment till my blood tingled and I began to rub my hands together and laugh, too. But you don't know old Monkey.
Let me tell you. From Uncle Ambrose's gates, it seems, one took the path across the meadow where Whiston's cows are put to graze, passed through the second stile—the one between the two big alders—into a long straight road that ran across the flat lands to Bray. After a mile or so there branched from it a private road that followed a line of noble poplars down to the ferry.
Between two of them—he described it meticulously, as though it were of immense significance—there stood a white hawthorn. This was the Monkey Island Inn. The third Duke of Marlborough had built it for a "folly," and perching there with nothing but a line of walnut-trees and a fringe of lawn between it and the fast, full, shining Thames, it had an eighteenth-century grace and silliness.
Well, one sounded the bell that hung on a post, and presently Margaret in a white dress would come out of the porch and would walk to the stone steps down to the river. Invariably, as she passed the walnut-tree that overhung the path, she would pick a leaf, crush it, and sniff the sweet scent; and as she came near the steps she would shade her eyes and peer across the water. I did not say that I had seen her, for, indeed, this Margaret I had never seen.
A sudden serene gravity would show that she had seen one, and she would get into the four-foot punt that was used as a ferry and bring it over very slowly, with rather stiff movements of her long arms, to exactly the right place. When she had got the punt up on the gravel her serious brow would relax, and she would smile at one and shake hands and say something friendly, like, "Father thought you 'd be over this afternoon, it being so fine; so he 's saved some duck's eggs for tea.
It was so good to sit in the punt by the landing-stage while Margaret dabbled her hands in the black waters and forgot her shyness as one talked. She 's charity and love itself. If people drifted in to tea one had to talk to her while she cut the bread and butter and the sandwiches in the kitchen, but in this year of floods few visitors cared to try the hard rowing below Bray Lock. So usually one sat down there in the boat, talking with a sense of leisure, as though one had all the rest of one's life in which to carry on this conversation, and noting how the reflected ripple of the water made a bright, vibrant, mark upon her throat, and other effects of the scene upon her beauty, until the afternoon grew drowsy, and she said, "Father will be wanting his tea.
He was a little man, with a tuft of copper-colored hair rising from the middle of his forehead like a clown's curl, who shook hands hard and explained very soon that he was a rough diamond. Then they all had tea under the walnut-tree where the canary's cage was hanging, and the ducks' eggs would be brought out, and Mr. Allington would talk much Thames-side gossip: Margaret would sit quiet, round-eyed at the world's ways, and shy because of Chris.
So they would sit on that bright lawn until the day was dyed with evening blue, and Mr. Allington was more and more often obliged to leap into the punt to chase his ducks, which had started on a trip to Bray Lock, or to crawl into the undergrowth after rabbits similarly demoralized by the dusk.
Then Chris would say he had to go, and they would stand in a communing silence while the hearty voice of Mr. Allington shouted from midstream or under the alder-boughs a disregarded invitation to stay and have a bite of supper. Chris explained this part of his story stumblingly; but I, too, have watched people I loved in the dusk, and I know what he meant. As she sat in the punt while he ferried himself across it was no longer visible that her fair hair curled differently and that its rather wandering parting was a little on one side; that her straight brows, which were a little darker than her hair, were nearly always contracted in a frown of conscientious speculation; that her mouth and chin were noble, yet as delicate as flowers; that her shoulders were slightly hunched because her young body, like a lily-stem, found it difficult to manage its own tallness.
She was then just a girl in white who lifted a white face or drooped a dull-gold head. That he loved her in this twilight, which obscured all the physical details which he adored, seemed to him a guarantee that theirs was a changeless love which would persist if she were old or maimed or disfigured.
He stood beside the crazy post where the bell hung and watched the white figure take the punt over the black waters, mount the gray steps, and assume some of their grayness, become a green shade in the green darkness of the foliage-darkened lawn, and he exulted in that guarantee. How long this went on he had forgotten; but it continued for some time before there came the end of his life, the last day he could remember.
I was barred out of that day. His lips told me of its physical appearances, while from his wet, bright eyes and his flushed skin, his beautiful signs of a noble excitement, I tried to derive the real story. The whole world seemed melting into light.
Cumulus-clouds floated very high, like lumps of white light, against a deep, glowing sky, and dropped dazzling reflections on the beaming Thames.
The trees moved not like timber, shocked by wind, but floatingly, like weeds at the bottom of a well of sunshine.
When Margaret came out of the porch and paused, as she always did, to crush and smell the walnut-leaf and shade her eyes with her hand, her white dress shone like silver. I 'll come and see you all the same. That afternoon they did not sit in the punt by the landing-stage, but wandered about the island and played with the rabbits and looked at the ducks and were inordinately silent. For a long time they stood in the fringe of rough grass on the other side of the island, and Margaret breathed contentedly that the Thames was so beautiful.
Chris said he would take her down to Dorney Lock in the skiff, and she got in very silently and obediently; but as soon as they were out in midstream she developed a sense of duty, and said she could not leave the inn with just that boy to look after it. And then she went into the kitchen and, sucking in her lower lip for shyness, very conscientiously cut piles of bread and butter in case some visitors came to tea. Just when Chris was convincing her of the impossibility of any visitors arriving they came, a fat woman in a luscious pink blouse and an old chap who had been rowing in a tweed waistcoat.
Chris went out, though Margaret laughed and trembled and begged him not to, and waited on them. Still Margaret would not leave the island. Learoyd comes for his ale. Allington's least successful enterprises, fought down to the fringe of iris on the river's lip. In this gentle jungle was a rustic seat, relic of a reckless aspiration on the part of Mr.
Allington to make this a pleasure-garden, and on it they sat until a pale moon appeared above the green corn-field on the other side of the river. Then a heron flapped gigantic in front of the moon, and swung in wide circles round the willow-tree before them. He seized the hand she flung upward and gathered her into his arms. They were so for long, while the great bird's wings beat about them. Afterward she pulled at his hand. She wanted to go back across the lawn and walk round the inn, which looked mournful, as unlit houses do by dusk.
They passed beside the green-and-white stucco barrier of the veranda and stood on the three-cornered lawn that shelved high over the stream at the island's end, regarding the river, which was now something more wonderful than water, because it had taken to its bosom the rose and amber glories of the sunset smoldering behind the elms and Bray church-tower.
Birds sat on the telegraph wires that spanned the river as the black notes sit on a staff of music. The little room was sad with twilight, and there was nothing to be seen but Margaret's sewing-machine on the table and the enlarged photograph of Margaret's mother over the mantel-piece, and the views of Tintern Abbey framed in red plush, and on the floor, the marigold pattern making itself felt through the dusk, Mr.
On this stood a small Greek temple, looking very lovely in the moonlight. He had never brought Margaret here before, because Mr Allington had once told him, spatulate forefinger at his nose, that it had been built for the "dook" for his excesses, and it was in the quality of his love for her that he could not bear to think of her in association with anything base.
But tonight there was nothing anywhere but beauty.
He lifted her in his arms and carried her within the columns, and made her stand in a niche above the altar. His love was changeless.
Lifting her down from the niche, he told her so. And as he spoke, her warm body melted to nothingness in his arms. The columns that had stood so hard and black against the quivering tide of moonlight and starlight seemed to totter and dissolve. He was lying in a hateful world where barbed-wire entanglements showed impish knots against a livid sky full of blooming noise and splashes of fire and wails for water, and his back was hurting intolerably.
Chris fell to blowing out the candles, and I, perhaps because the egotistical part of me was looking for something to say that would make him feel me devoted and intimate, could not speak. Suddenly he desisted, stared at a candle-flame, and said: We gripped hands, and he brought down on our conversation the finality of darkness.
It fell to me to fetch her. It is a place where autumn lives for half the year, for even when the spring lights tongues of green fire in the undergrowth, and the valley shows sunlit between the tree-trunks, here the pond is fringed with yellow bracken and tinted bramble, and the water flows amber over last winter's leaves. He had come down here soon after breakfast, driven from the house by the strangeness of all but the outer walls, and discontented with the grounds because everything but this wet, intractable spot bore the marks of Kitty's genius.
After lunch there had been another attempt to settle down, but with a grim glare at a knot of late Christmas roses bright in a copse that fifteen years ago had been dark he went back to the russet-caved boat-house and this play with the skiff. It was a boy's sport, and it was dreadful to see him turn a middle-aged face as he brought the boat inshore. He thanked me for it. I 've seen Margaret.
She came up here, so kind and sweet, to tell us you were wounded. She 's old, Chris. She is n't beautiful any longer. She 's drearily married. She 's seamed and scored and ravaged by squalid circumstances. You can't love her when you see her. I shall wait for her down here. When we asked them the way they turned to us faces sour with thrift. It was a town of people who could not do as they liked. And here Margaret lived in a long road of red-brick boxes, flecked here and there with the pink blur of almond-blossom, which debouched in a flat field where green grass rose up rank through clay mold blackened by coal-dust from the railway.
Mariposa, which was the last house in the road, did not even have an almond-tree. In the front garden, which seemed to be imperfectly reclaimed from the greasy field, yellow crocus and some sodden squills just winked, and the back, where a man was handling a spade without mastery, presented the austere appearance of an allotment.
And not only did Margaret live in this place; she also belonged to it. Her face was sallow with heat, and beads of perspiration glittered in the deep, dragging line between her nostrils and the corners of her mouth. Her tense stare relaxed. She rubbed her hands on her overall and said: It 's the girl's day out.
If you 'll step into the parlor—" So in her parlor I sat and told her how it was with Chris and how greatly he desired to see her. I could see that the skin of her face was damp. And my voice failed me as I looked round the room, because I saw just what Margaret had seen that evening fifteen years ago when she had laid her cheek to the parlor window at Monkey Island. There was the enlarged photograph of Margaret's mother over the mantelpiece, on the walls were the views of Tintern Abbey framed in red plush, between the rickety legs of the china cupboard was the sewing-machine, and tucked into the corner between my chair and the fender were a pair of carpet slippers.
All her life long Margaret, who in her time had partaken of the supreme dignity of a requited love, had lived with men who wore carpet slippers in the house. He was sneezing very frequently, and his sneezes made the unbuckled straps at the back of his waistcoat wag violently. I supposed him to be Mr. I had finished the statement of our sad case, and I saw that though she had not moved, clasping her knees in a set, hideous attitude, the tears were rolling down her cheeks.
Her tear-stained immobility touched the heart. And I 'm sure," she said kindly, "you 're looking after him beautifully. I 've been baking. You can't get a girl nowadays that understands the baking. It 's wrong, I know it 's wrong, but I am so glad Chris wants to see me, too! I 've often wondered if I did right in going. Even if Chris has forgotten, he 'll want to do what 's right. He couldn't bear to hurt her. He watches her out of the corner of his eye, even when he 's feeling at his worst, to see she is n't wincing.
But she sent me here to-day. I could not talk about Kitty.
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She appeared to me at that moment a faceless figure with flounces, just as most of the servants at Baldry Court appear to me as faceless figures with caps and aprons. You know how the saints and the prophets are depicted in the steel engravings in old Bibles; so they were standing, in flowing white robes on rocks against a pitch-black sky, a strong light beating on their eyes upturned in ecstasy and their hand outstretched to receive the spiritual blessing of which the fierce rays were an emanation.
Into that rapt silence I desired to break, and I whispered irrelevantly, "Oh, nothing, nothing is too good for Chris! But she really was like that. She had responded to my irrelevant murmur of adoration by just such a solemn and beatified appearance as I had imagined. And then, at a sound in the kitchen, she snatched my exaltation from me by suddenly turning dull. Grey come in from his gardening. You 'll excuse me. And if I 'm late for supper, there 's a dish of macaroni cheese you must put in the oven and a tin of tomatoes to eat with it.
And there is a little rhubarb and shape. He was a lank man, with curly gray hairs growing from every place where it is inadvisable that hairs should grow,—from the inside of his ears, from his nostrils, on the back of his hands,—but he looked pleased when she touched him, and he said in a devoted way: Don't worry about me. I 'll trot along after tea and have a game of draughts with Brown. You 're going to keep me in lovely cabbages, just as you did last year, won't you, darling?
When she came back into the parlor again she was wearing that yellowish raincoat, that hat with hearse plumes nodding over its sticky straw, that gray alpaca skirt. I first defensively clenched my hands. It would have been such agony to the finger-tips to touch any part of her apparel.
And then I thought of Chris, to whom a second before I had hoped to bring a serene comforter. I perceived clearly that that ecstatic woman lifting her eyes and her hands to the benediction of love was Margaret as she existed in eternity; but this was Margaret as she existed in time, as the fifteen years between Monkey Island and this damp day in Ladysmith Road had irreparably made her.
Well, I had promised to bring her to him. But when she paused by the painted drainpipe in the hall and peered under contracted brows for that unveracious tortoiseshell handle, I said hastily: I 've got a sort of party feeling now. Meet Mikey Weinstein, who has become the leading whistleblower and campaigner against the influence of fundamentalist evangelicals in the US military.
Listening to him is a strange experience. He is the most combative speaker I have ever heard in public life.
His language is so extreme that I hesitate to reproduce it lest readers discount his views. But the man himself is convincing, both in person and in his book With God on Our Side: If he is right … well, more on that later.
First, hear his voice: And it is the destruction of the US constitutionally mandated wall separating metaphysical and physical, spiritual and non-spiritual, church and state, in the technologically most lethal organisation every created by humankind, which is our honourable and noble military.
Weinstein was transported back to an event he had never told his family about, when, as a student at the Academy decades before, he was severely beaten up by anti-Semites. The Times quoted Brig. In he filed a lawsuit against the military. His greatest concern is with the Dominionist wing of the Religious Right, who aim to end the separation of church and state and establish a Christian nation.
These groups have a goal they believe is much more important than the oath they all swore: Let me say that one again, and think back over history. Ambassadors for Christ in uniform. Third, empowered by the Holy Spirit.