Security cameras serve as your own system in protecting your own properties and love ones. It will help you in monitoring your home’s security and it will serve as surveillance to all the things and properties you’ve got at home. If you want to be secured and live life o the fullest just use this system in your daily living. For the further explanation and information just go on our website which is www.securitysystemspro.com.



I am amazed of the quantity of gift items you can see on their site. They have almost every personalized gift you can think of. Art town gifts are truly one of a kind for providing people the right gifts with affordable prices. For me these gifts especially roses are very lovely to give for your sweetheart especially on your anniversary or other important events on your relationships. Not just ordinary roses but gold dipped roses are the best example of a perfect gift. You can also check their silver roses if you want something else rather than gold.

Choose a variety of colours like Gold trimmed roses which has a solid colour for the rose and trimmed with gold. What a nice gift to give. This time I won’t let the opportunity to give something like this to her for I know this will last a long for her to cherish it.

There are things in life that cannot be attained if you are alone. For example, you cannot attain security for your home alone and if you don’t have a partner that can be trusted for that matter. If you want your home to be secured, you must see to it that your home has Wireless Security Systems on it. This will be your trusted partner in attaining security. Security is one serious thing and should not be taken lightly. That is the reason why if you will choose your partner to promote the safety of not only your home but also the lives of those who dwell on it, make sure that that partner can deliver the job and can also be trusted because one mistake could lead to fatal results when it comes to security matters.

You may ask about the perfect partner for you in finally attaining safety for your home. Well, Honeywell Security Systems is more than enough to be a qualified partner for you. They are one of the best systems providers for security systems. Their products are of top caliber and can really compete with other leading brands and systems. The company that produces such systems can be your perfect partner in attaining safety for your home. It is but just right that when it comes to these matters, you choose only the best because you are dealing with a very serious matter in here. There is no time to joke around when safety is being talked about because that should be the most important concern of all of us.

Do you believe that an effective writer can turn something that is not that popular into something that is really worth seeing? That is the magic every writer possess and if you want to be an effective writer, this is the characteristic that you should definitely have. If you have this, then you can definitely be a good and competent writer. For instance, you write about wind visor. This is a part of a car and normally, this is not given so much attention. If you can create your written output to a point that people will realize that such part of a car is important, you can finally say that you have earned the right to be called an effective writer.

Writing with visors as a topic is not an easy task but if you really have the passion as a writer, you can make something good out of it. Make it to a point that you make people think of a situation where visors are viewed to be very much useful. If you can do that, you really are a writer. Writers don’t just write, but they convert things, simple things into something that is attention-getting or eye-catching. That is the magic of the pen.

Who says that only visual artists such as painters and architects can make masterpieces that can astound us all? Even writers can do the same thing. The only difference is that writers make use of words and even simple illustrations to blow away the spectators which are mainly the readers. If you are really a good writer, there is no doubt that you can do such thing. You just have to make sure that you writer creatively and that you are also a versatile writer, meaning that you can write about anything at any given time. You need to be flexible. If you want to test how flexible or versatile you are as a writer, this is one test that you can do…write about something that is not common to many of us. If you can do that and you can get a good impression, it is an indication that you really are a good writer.

Why not try to write about proflix flip books? Have you heard about these? You might get the misconception that these are actual reading books but they are not. This kind of books refers to those photographs that are made tangible by the technology of electromagnets. This is actually an upgraded version of those things that are represented by electronic images. As we all know of it, when things are represented this way, we will not be able to hold or touch them. But with the use of the said technology, we can now have a seemingly hard copy of the image. It is such a beautiful subject for writing because it can be very catchy especially for those who are very much into reading articles about technology. It is about time you test yourself as a writer.

Let us take the case of reading Home Security System Reviews. Isn’t it amazing that you are provided with a lot of information about the thing or the product that is being reviewed? You can have fun with it because there are pictures and even video clips that are attached with these reviews. So if you are reading these kinds of reviews, you are having fun because you see images and you also view videos and you also learn because of the extensive amount of information that you can have from this source. Well, this is of course, aside from the concept of online schooling where you enroll classes but you don’t actually go to schools. You just stay at your home and study there while doing other things, right? These are the things that make studying fun.

Never take it too seriously to study because you will see in the end that this will not help at all. Just relax and enjoy what you are doing. That is the key to effective study techniques.

Stealing is one of the most common crimes that are committed in our society. Criminals break into houses because they know that they cannot be captured. They are very confident that even if thy have done bad, if they are not captured then it will be okay. They can just do it over and over again. However, this kind of thinking might change when they realize that homes now are equipped with state of the art Security System. With this, the security of the house is strengthened and criminals will not be able top carry out their plans after all.

Whenever Wireless Security System is present in your home, the best benefit that you can get from it is that criminals will not have the thought of breaking into it. Do you know why? Of course, there is no one that would like to something bad if he knows that he will be caught in the act red-handed. He will directly go to the jail. I am sure that criminals think this way and so if you want to get rid of stealing in your home and perhaps your community, just have security systems in your home and your safety will be guaranteed.

Criminals might be wise, but that does not mean that we cannot be wiser. We just have to out think them by thinking the course of actions that they will take. If we can do that then we can do some counter plans for their evil plots for us.

For miles around, I believed, there wasn’t a finer sister than my eldest sister, Manang Easther. She was made of a different stuff and was everything we three younger girls were not everything we ever wanted to be. I was proud of my Manang Easther, and my greatest frustration was that I could never be quite like her.

She was special in every way, but I thought the most special thing about her- the one thing that I secretly coveted most- was her creamy, almost flawless skin. The slightest insect bite had the most devastating effect on us younger girls. We were plagued with skin rashes and allergies which festered, leaving their ugly, telltale trademark stamped on our arms and legs. It was nothing unusual; really, every other kid we know suffered the same fate. But not Manang Easther. She always managed to escape unscathed from the hordes of fleas and mosquitoes that accompanied our childhood. Or, if she did get bitten, it didn’t show.

Slant-eyed and light complexioned, she could have been a Chinese mestiza, and sometimes she was mistaken for one. When she was in grade school, there was there program where she was perfect for her role as a little Chinese girl. For the occasion, Mother made her a Chinese collar and a pair of pants which looked like pajamas. I can still see her braided pigtails and bangs that reached down to her eyes, and hear her voiced as s bravely recited her lines. “My name is Ah Wang. I’m a little Chinese girl. I live across the sea.”

The three of us younger girls-well, we were regular brownies, and no matter how hard we tried, we never succeeded in making an impression.

Manang Esther never had a problem with her weight. She could feast all day and not put on an extra, unwanted pound. She was always trim and slim; unlike the three of us who struggled endlessly and hopelessly to attain some kind of figure. There was a time I took to wearing a secret, tight-fitting waist band to give me a little shape. All to no avail .It gave me nothing but a deep, dark ring around my middle. The doctor who did physical students told me to stop wearing it.

She had a high cheekbone and perfectly formed of teeth. Her favorite snack was balikutsa (candy made from molasses which she was an expert in preparing) but I don’t think she knows what it feels like to have a toothache. And while we younger ones suffered the rounds of tooth decay, dental fillings and extractions, she was smiling with close-up confidence all the time, Me, I had crooked teeth and refrained from smiling. When I did it was with a painful self- consciousness.

As if all that was not enough, Manang was taller than the rest of us. She’s over five-four. I am barely five-feet two, my sister Eunice is a bit shorter, and Merli is less than five.

She was just the right size, the right shape, and the right color while we younger three were mostly the wrong. Queen Esther, no less, or the beautiful swan in a brood of ugly ducklings.

“If there was a long list of the great things Manang knew and could do, there was an equally long list of the simple things she couldn’t do.”

Well, she could have been somebody else’s sister!

The differences between Manang Esther and the rest of us transcended the physical. She was smart, too, and possessed a lot of skills important to growing children. For example, she was an expert in catching dragonflies by the tail, or stealing the shy mimosa leaves before they could fold up. She knew the very places where we could find firewood and guavas or kamachile at the same time. She could play “Manang Biday” on a little, one-octave bamboo xylophone by hitting its keys with a couple of dried bettlenuts fastened at the end of two sticks, and she was often asked to do so during homeroom programs. She knew a great many stories about giants and kings, fairies and ghosts, aswang and mangkukulam, and she spent long hours spinning tales for us as we sat in the flowerless flowerbox in an upstairs window waiting for the moon to rise.

When it did, she’d sneak us out of the house, down through the window and over the bamboo fence, to play patalunton with the neighborhood children in the street. But first she had to teach us to fix our beds just so, so that should father decide to conduct an on-the-spot check, he would find us “asleep” in our designated places.

If there was a long list of the great things she couldn’t do. But it never occurred to us as a lack on her part then, only as difference. A difference which only served to set her apart from the rest of us ordinary mortals, making her even more special to our eyes. A difference we believed inherent in her birthright.

She couldn’t go upstairs or downstairs alone at night; it was S.O.P. (standard operating procedure) the one of us younger ones would be in tow. “Come and hold the lamp while I look for my thing,” she would say.

She couldn’t go to sleep at night until she’d personally checked and double-checked the wood stove to live coals. One night while father was away on a trip, she poured a whole pailful of water into a few dying embers; the next morning, mother could not start a fire.

She couldn’t eat fish, big or small, without almost always managing to get a bone stuck in her throat. Several times we had to summon our nurse-neighbor, her namesake, to remove the offending fishbone. Other times we took her to Manong Fred, who was a suni (born with his feet first). Peering with his one good eye into my sister’s wide open mouth lick his thick, short fingers, touch them to the afflicted throat, and the pain would vanish just like magic. Sometimes our cat, Kuning, did the magic trick. Father would take Kuning and rub its paw on Manang’s throat. But our favorite trick was our simple, homegrown, tried-and-tested remedy of secretly slipping a fishbone on top of her head. Someone would hand her banana and a glass of water, and after she had washed down a large, half-chewed chunk, the bone would be gone. We done it countless times, she knew and would automatically reach a hand up to brush the top of her head as soon as it was over. On one occasion Father had to take her to emergency when the combined efforts of Kuning, our nurse neighbor and Manong Fred, as well as our secret method of deboning , failed to bring relief. One time we had malunggay fruit for viand, but no matter, she also managed to get a bone in her throat-a malunggay bone, no less!

One fairly simple thing she couldn’t do was run a sewing machine. We had lived with sewing machines as far back as I can remember (my father sold and repaired them), and we girls learned early and easily to operate one. But not Manang Esther. She’d try again and again but just couldn’t make it go; the machine would keep going back and forth. Well, we younger ones could very well end up being seamstresses, but-no,-sir-definitely, not her!

Another thing she couldn’t do was to take a “no.” Once while we were living in Baesa (Caloocan) and didn’t have money to spare for beauty parlors, she asked me to trim her hair. I didn’t want to do it because I did not have the expertise. But you don’t argue with Manang Esther. So I did my best. When she got a good look at my handiwork, she was so mad that started screaming and pulling my hair. She never trusted me to cut her hair again.

But she did trust me to do something more important, like going to the library at the Manila Central University where she was a medical student to do a research job for her. Wearing her white uniform and her student ID, and, in spite of my fear of being found out, I felt like a million dollars. I kept hoping some of my friends would see me as I waited for a jeepney outside, but, unfortunately, no one was around.

Manang Esther seems to stay forever young. To entertain my husband and me while we were visiting in the US, where she and her family had gone to live, she took us to the casinos in Las Vegas where we tried inserting a few nickels into the slot machines, just for the hang of it.

“There are five whole years between us, but when she introduced me to her friends as her younger sister they accused her of kidding”.

There was a sign which read, “Minors Not Allowed in Casino,” and a guard who had been intently watching approached her. “Excused me, Miss, but are you 18?” he asked. “Oh, yes, I’m more than that,” she replied, blushing lightly. She was all of 40!

There are five whole years between us, but when she introduced me to her friends as her younger sister they didn’t believe her. They accused her of kidding.

When it was her turn to come visiting not too long ago, I had the chance to see her in a different light, but nonetheless special. In spite of the differences between her and me, and between her world and mine, I found out what we do have common interests. These commonalities must have been there are along, but I had probably concentrated too long and hard on the differences nothing else seemed to matter.

One common interest is love of God’s out-of-doors, a passion born out of our lifestyle while we were growing up in Artacho. As children we climbed the hills, roamed the woods and swam in ditches and rivers, and my heart is still out there. I have yearned for the excursions of my youth, but neither my obsession. There is the river a little distance from our home which I look at with longing each day we drive past, but my suggestions-sometimes pleadings, other times naggings- to go for a dip have invariably fallen on deaf ears.

The first thing Manang Esther asked me to do during her brief interlude with us was to accompany her to the hills, which I was only more than happy to do, naturally. On her last day, it was a bit warm in the afternoon and I asked her-tentatively, not wanting to impose, fully aware that she has a well appointed swimming poll and a jacuzzi in her backyard-did she want to go to the river?

Of course she did!

“Why did we not come here earlier?” she said as we soaked in the cool, clear, sparkling waters and contemplated the woods and mountains that surrounded the place. “I could stay here forever.”

I smiled secretly I could, too. Manang Esther may be different, but at heart she is very much like me. The 30 years she has lived in the US as a medical practitioner might have been reordered her life and her wardrobe, but not her soul. The next time she comes to visit, I know where I’m going to take to her: to the kamachile woods to gather kamachile fruit. I’m sure she’d love it.

Well, she could have been somebody else’s sister, but, you see, she’s mine. And am I glad!

OMAR KHAYYAM, a Persian poet, mathematician, and astronomer, was born at Nishapur, in Khorasan, about A.D. 1050 and died about 1125. Khayyam means “the Tent-maker,” and it is probable that Omar maintained himself by the craft until the sun of fortune rose for him. He was in youth a pupil of the most famous philosopher of Khorasan; he and two of his fellow-students entered into a compact that if either of them rose to fortune he should share it with the others. Nizam-ul-mulk, one of the three, became in time Vizier of the mighty Alp Arslan, and his successor, Malek, son and grandson of Togrul Beg, the Tartar founder of the Seljouk dynasty. He devoted himself to study, especially of astronomy, and when vizier undertook to reform the confused Mohammedan calendar, Omar was one of those to whom the work was confided. The result of their labors is thus described by Gibbon; “The reign of Malek was illustrated by the Gelalaan era; and all errors, whether past or future, were corrected by a computation of time which surpasses the Julian and approaches the accuracy of the Gregorian style.”

Of his Rubaiyat “Stanzas,” only one manuscript, written at Shiras in 1640, exists in England ; it contains one hundred and fifty-eight quatrains, the first, the second, and fourth lines usually, though not invariably, rhyming together. About two thirds of this manuscript was translated into English by EDWARD FITZGERALD in 1872. A superb edition of this translation was published in 1884 at Boston, in a large folio volume, profusely illustrated by Elihu Vedder; the illustrations occupying some ten times as much as space as the text. If we could conceive of the Greek Anacreon and the Roman Lucretius combined onto one being, we should have something like the Persian OMAR KHAYYAM. Of him and his poem, Mr. Fitzgerald says:

“Having failed of finding any Providence but destiny, and any world but this, he set about making the most of it, preferring rather to soothe the soul into acquiescence with things he saw them than to perplex it with vain disquietude after what they might be…I have arranged Rubaiyat into a sort of Ecloque, with perhaps a little less than the equal proportion of the ‘Drink and make merry,’ which recurs over-frequently in the original. Either way, the result is sad enough. Saddest, perhaps, when most ostentatiously merry; more apt to move the sorrow than anger toward the old Tent-maker, who, after vainly endeavoring to unshackle his steps from destiny, and to catch some glimpse of tomorrow, falls back upon today (which has outlasted so many tomorrows) as the only ground he has got to stand upon, however, slipping from under his feet.”

Mr. Vedder arranges the quatrains somewhat differently from Mr. Fitzgerald, whose order we follow:

Selections from the “Rubaiyat”

I

Wake! for the sun who scattered into flight

The stars before him from the field of Night,

Drives Night along with them from Heaven, and strikes

The Sultan’s turret with a shaft of Light.

II

Before the phantom of False-Morning died,

We thought a Voice within the Tavern cried,

“When all the Temple is prepared within,

Why nods the drowsy worshipper outside?”

III

And as the cock crew, those who stood before

The Tavern shouted, “Open, then, the door!

You know how little time we have to stay,

And once departed, may return no more.”

XLI

Perplexed no more with Human or Divine,

To-morrow’s tangle to the winds resign,

And lose your fingers in the kisses of

The Cypress-slender minister of Wine.

XLII

And if the Wine you drink, the lip you press,

End-in what all begins and ends-“Yes!”

Think, then, you are Today and Yesterday

You were-Tomorrow you shall be not less.

XLIII

So when the Angle of the darker Drink

At last shall find you at the river-brink,

And Offering his cup invite your Soul

Forth to your lip to quaff-you shall not shrink.

XLIV

Why, if the Soul can fling the dust aside

And naked on the air of Heaven ride,

Were not a shame-were not a shame for him

In the clay carcass crippled to abide?

XLV

‘Tis but a tent where takes his one-day’s rest

A Sultan to the realm of death addrest,

The sultan rises, and the dark Ferbash

Strikes, and prepares it for another guest.

XLVI

And fear not lest Existence, closing your

Account and mine; should know the like no more

The Eternal Saki from the bowl has poured

Millions of bubbles like us-and will pour.

XLVII

When You and I behind the veil and past,

Oh! but the long, long while the World shall last,

Which of our coming and departure heeds

As the Seven Seas should heed a pebble cast.

XLVIII

A moment’s halt – a momentary taste

Of Being from the well amid the waste –

And lo! the phantom caravan has reached

The nothing it set out from. Oh, make haste!

XLIX

Would you that spangle of Existence spend

About the Secret – quick about it, friend!

A Hair, perhaps divides the False and True,

And upon what, prithee, does life depend?

L

A Hair, perhaps, divides the False and True;

Yes; and a Single letter the clew –

Could you but find it – to the Treasure-house,

and, peradventure, to the Master, too;

LI

Whose secret Presence through Creations’s veins

Running, quick-silver-like, eludes your pains.

Taking all shapes from Fish to Moon,

They change and perish all – but He remains

LII

A moment guessed, then back behind the fold.

Immured for darkness, round the Drama rolled,

Which, for the pastime of Eternity,

He does Himself conclude, enact, behold.

LIII

But if in vain down on the stubborn floor

Of Earth, and up to Heaven’s unopening door

You gaze today, while You are – You, how then

To-morrow You, when shall be You no more?

LIV

Waste not your hour, nor in the vain pursuit

Of This and That endeavor and dispute;

Better be jocund with fruitful Grape

Than sadden after none – or bitter fruit.

LV

You know, my friends, with what a brave carouse

I made a second marriage in my house;

Divorced old barren Reason from my bed,

And took the Daughter of the Vine to spouse.

LVI

For Is and Isn’t with rule and line.

And Up-and-down by logic I define,

Of all that one should care to fathom, I

Was never deep in anything but Wine.

LVII

Ah! But my computation, people say,

Reduced the Year to better reckoning. Nay,

T’was only striking from the calendar

Unborn tomorrow and dead Yesterday.

LVIII

And lately by the Tavern-door agape

Came shining through the dark an Angel-shape

Bearing a vessel on his shoulder; and

He bade me taste of it: and t’was the Grape!

LIX

The Grape, that can with logic absolute

The two-and-seventy jarring sects confute;

The sovereign Alchemist that, in a truce

Life’s leaden metal into gold transmutes.

LXIII

Oh, threats of Hell and hopes of Paradise!

One thing at least is certain – this life flies;

One thing is certain, and the rest is Lies;

The flower that once has blown forever dies.

LXIV

Strange, is it not, that of the myriads who

Before us passed the door of Darkness through,

Not one returns to tell us of the road,

Which to discover we must travel, too?

LXV

The revelations and devout and learned,

Who rose before us and as prophets burned,

All are but stories which, awoke from sleep,

They told their fellows, and to sleep returned.

LXVI

I sent my soul through the Invisible,

Some letter of that After-life to spell;

And by and by my soul returned to me,

And answered, “I myself am Heaven and Hell.”

LXVII

Heaven’s but the Vision of fulfilled Desire.

And Hell the Shadow of a soul on fire.

Cast on the darkness into which ourselves.

So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.

LXVIII

We are no other than a moving row

Of magic Shadow-shapes that come and go

Round with this sun-illuminated lantern, held

In midnight by the Master of the Show;

LXIX

Impotent Pieces of the game He plays,

Upon his checker board of Nights and Days,

Hither and thither moves and checks and mates

And one by one back in the closet lays.

LXX

The Ball no questions makes of Ayes and Noes,

But right or left; as strikes the Player, goes;

And that he that tossed you down into the filed,

He knows about it all – He knows, He knows.

LXXX

The moving Finger writes – and having writ,

Moves on; nor all your piety and wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half of line,

Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.

LXXXI

And that unveiled bowl they call the sky,

Whereunder crawling, cooped, w elive and die,

Lift not your hands to it for help – for It

As impotently rools as you or I.

LXXXII

With the first clay they did the last man knead,

And there of the last harvest sowed the seed;

And the first morning of Creation wrote

What the last dawn of Reckoning shall read.

XC

What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke

A conscious Something to present the yoke

Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain

Of everlastink penalties if broke!

XCI

O thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin

Beset the road I was travel in,

Thou wilt not with predestined evil round

Enmesh, and then impute my fall to Sin!

XCII

O Thou, who Man of baser earth didst make,

And even with Paradise devise Snake,

For all the sin wherewith the face of Man

Is blackened, Man’s forgiveness give – and take!