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(Mon) NOISY WHEEL BEARING : NOISY WHEEL


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Noisy Wheel Bearing





noisy wheel bearing







    noisy
  • attracting attention by showiness or bright colors; "a noisy sweater"

  • Making or given to making a lot of noise

  • full of or characterized by loud and nonmusical sounds; "a noisy cafeteria"; "a small noisy dog"

  • (of a person or group of people) Stridently seeking to attract attention to their views

  • (of a color or item of clothing) So gaudy as to attract attention

  • make noise: emit a noise











noisy wheel bearing - Noisy Nora




Noisy Nora (Picture Puffins)


Noisy Nora (Picture Puffins)



It's tough being the middle mouse. No one's paying any attention to Nora, so she decides to do something her family can't ignore: make noise. Nora slams windows, bangs doors, and upsets furniture, to no avail. It's not until she crashes out the door--and the house goes strangely silent--that her family realizes: a noisy Nora is much better than no Nora at all.

"A wonderful story." --Booklist

Awards:
( An ALA Notable Book
( A School Library Journal Best Book of the Year

Rosemary Wells' tales of animals with very human problems make her a favorite from the board-book years on. Now one old Wells friend, Nora, that noisy mouse, returns with all her middle-child problems still on display. What's a mouse to do when little brother and big sister take up all mom and dad's time? Yup. Plenty of noise. Look at these new pictures and you can almost hear the racket. With all that clatter, it might be better to read this one before dinner, not before bed!










75% (8)





Millais Exhibition Jersey 1979




Millais Exhibition Jersey 1979





The Woodman's Daughter, a poem by Coventry Patmore...concerning social rank and doomed youth.
IN Gerald's Cottage by the hill,
Old Gerald and his child
Innocent Maud, dwelt happily;
He toil'd, and she beguiled
The long day at her spinning-wheel,
In the garden now grown wild.

At Gerald's stroke the jay awoke;
Till noon hack followed hack,
Before the nearest hill had time
To give its echo back;
And evening mists were in the lane
Ere Gerald's arm grew slack.

Meanwhile, below the scented heaps
Of honeysuckle flower,
That made their simple cottage-porch
A cool, luxurious bower,
Maud sat beside her spinning-wheel,
And spun from hour to hour.

The growing' thread thro' her fingers sped;
Round new the pohsh'd wheel;
Merrily rang the notes she sang
At every finish'd reel;
From the hill again, like a glad refrain,
Follow'd the rapid peal.

But all is changed. The rusting axe
Reddens a wither'd bough;
A spider spins in the spinning-wheel,
And Maud sings wildly now;
And village gossips say she knows
Grief she may not avow.

Her secret's this: In the sweet age
When heaven's our side the lark,
She followed her old father, where
He work'd from dawn to dark,
For months, to thin the crowded groves
Of the old manorial Park.

She fancied and he felt she help'd;
And, whilst he hack'd and saw'd,
The rich Squire's son, a young boy then,
Whole mornings, as if awed,
Stood silent by, and gazed in turn
At Gerald and on Maud.

And sometimes, in a sullen tone
He offer'd fruits, and she Received them always with an air
So unreserved and free,
That shame-faced distance soon became
Familiarity.

Therefore in time, when Gerald shook
The woods, no longer coy,
The young- heir and the cottage-girl
Would steal out to enjoy The sound of one another's talk,
A simple girl and boy.

Spring after Spring, they took their walks,
Uncheck'd, unquestion'd; yet
They learn'd to hide their wanderings
By wood and rivulet,
Because they could not give themselves
A reason why they met.

Once Maud came weeping back. 'Poor Child!'
Was all her father said:
And he would steady his old hand
Upon her hapless head,
And think of her as tranquilly
As if the child were dead.

But he is gone: and Maud steals out,
This gentle day of June;
And having sobb'd her pain to sleep,
Help'd by the stream's soft tune,
She rests along the willow-trunk,
Below the calm blue noon.

The shadow of her shame and her
Deep in the stream, behold!
Smiles quake over her parted lips;
Some thought has made her bold;
She stoops to dip her finders in,
To feel if it be cold.

'Tis soft and warm, and runs as 'twere
Perpetually at play:
But then the stream, she recollects,
Bears everything away.
There is a dull pool hard at hand
That sleeps both night and day.

She marks the closing weeds that shut
The water from her sight;
They stir awhile, but now are still:
Her arms fall down; the light
Is horrible, and her countenance
Is pale as a cloud at night,

Merrily now from the small church-tower
Clashes a noisy chime;
The larks climb up thro' the heavenly blue,
Carolling as they climb;
Is it the twisting water-eft
That dimples the green slime ?

The pool reflects the scarlet West
With a hot and guilty glow;
The East is changing ashy pale;
But Maud will never go
While those great bubbles struggle up
From the rotting weeds below.

The light has changed. A little since
You scarcely might descry
The moon, now gleaming sharp and bright,
From the small cloud slumbering nigh;
And, one by one, the timid stars
Step out into the sky.

The night blackens the pool, but Maud
Is constant at her post,
Sunk in a dread, unnatural sleep.
Beneath the skiey host
Of drifting mists, thro' which the moon
Is riding like a ghost.













London Swift finally gets underway.




London Swift finally gets underway.





Having collected this bus over twelve months ago for restoration, rather too much emphasis was placed on it's owners remark that he wasn't in any particular hurry for it! Finally a couple of days ago, it made the six mile trip from our storage compound for work to begin. The 'Cyberman' like figure adjecent to the O/S/F wheel is Dave, attacking forty years worth of flaky paint layers with a needle gun ... one of the most irritatingly noisy tools know to man... the gun that is ;-)
The Swift wears the remains of Hants & Sussex livery, the interesting independent operation once run by the colourful character Basil Williams, based in Chichester on the UK south coast. Anyone any ideas where the Arrive like 'aquamarine' colour came from I'm discovering underneath it on the roof?
Unlike most British AEC Swifts, the London ones were fitted with power assisted steering, the reservoir for which is just visible on the left hand side of the bonnet aperture. The engine also bears the remains of the casting which formerly housed the mechanical 'jack shaft' drive for the cooling fan (right of the crank pulley), though here it's been replaced by a hydraulic motor. Once again, the engine radiator is only about 50% operational having blocked over the years. On the up side, other than for an SMA class Swift I once ran, It's the most refined example I can recall driving.









noisy wheel bearing








noisy wheel bearing




True When Whispered: Hearing God's Voice in a Noisy World






Some things are true when whispered, not shouted. Life’s finest qualities drain away, Escamilla writes, as intensity, volume, and speed increase. When we hear God’s whisper to us, we can address life in a fresher, simpler way - a way that will last beyond the everyday worry and noise.

Some things are true when whispered, not shouted. Life’s finest qualities drain away, Escamilla writes, as intensity, volume, and speed increase. When we hear God’s whisper to us, we can address life in a fresher, simpler way - a way that will last beyond the everyday worry and noise.










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