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23 Mar - keithh ..
tha girl
well, I kinda interesting with their story .. it's pretty sad (maybe)

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There’s an easier way to fall asleep fast and sleep straight through the night than popping a sleeping pill or downing a glass of vino: Just eat so

So where do you start? Here are six surprising sleep-inducing foods to add to your grocery list today.


A little sugar counters the effects of your orexin cells, says Dr. Winter. Try a banana before bed—it will give you just enough sugar to calm your orexin cells, plus magnesium and potassium to help to relax your muscles.

Passionfruit Tea

An Australian study found that when people drank a cup of either passionfruit or parsley tea, the passionfruit drinkers slept more soundly. Researchers believe chemicals called harman alkaloids—high levels of which are unique to the passionfruit flower—act on your nervous system to make you sleepy. (From white to green and everything in between, discover the 9 Healthiest Teas.)

DID YOU KNOW? Red wine contains some of the world’s best medicine—and you don’t have to go broke to reap the benefits! Try one of these 10 Best Wines Under $15.


While L-tryptophan—the amino acid that supposedly makes you crash after Thanksgiving dinner—does make you sleepy, there are better sources than turkey. Consider elk instead, says Christine J. Jones, sleep researcher at Charlottesville Neurology and Sleep Medicine. At 746 milligrams (mg) a portion, it far surpasses turkey (333 mg). Game meats not your thing? Sesame seeds (120 mg) and hummus (usually about 600 mg) are packed with L-tryptophan too.

FIX IT WITH FOOD: Check out our list of the 40 Foods with Superpowers—foods that, even in moderation, can strengthen your heart, fortify your bones, and boost your metabolism.


L-tryprophan works best when combined with carbs. Carbs trigger your body to secrete insulin, which uses up other amino acids in your bloodstream first, leaving more L-tryptophan to sedate, says Dr. Winter. The best foods for the job? Carbs that raise your blood sugar levels fast, since slow-acting carbs don’t produce the same kind of insulin response. Go for a healthy handful of dates—they’re high in carbs and have a fair amount of L-tryptophan. Fruit and air-popped popcorn are other healthy fast-acting carbohydrates.

Which snacks are actually good for you? We read the labels so you don’t have to! Find out the 125 Best Foods for Men.

Chinese Food

GABA (gamma-Aminobutyric acid) is an inhibitory neurotransmitter in your body—in other words, it’s your brain’s brakes to calm the party down. It plays a role in regulating the excitability of neurons throughout your nervous system. The only problem: “It’s not found in food, so you can’t really eat GABA-rich products,” says Dr. Winter. Instead, you can eat foods high in glutamic acid—a precursor to GABA that turns into the neurotransmitter in your body. Monosodium glutamate (MSG) is the salt of glutamic acid, and it’s usually added to Chinese food.

While MSG sometimes gets a bad reputation because it makes food “addictively” good tasting, the FDA has declared it a safe food additive. MSG can be made simply enough by putting salt on a tomato, Dr. Winter says. Other natural options: raw seaweed/spirulina (6,648 mg glutamic acid), Chinese cabbage (6,232 mg), or low-fat cottage cheese (7,455 mg). Still, if you experience the symptoms often associated with MSG, you should avoid it.


Recent research in the European Journal of Nutrition found that drinking an ounce of cherry juice twice a day—once in the morning and once at night—for a week helped people sleep an extra 25 minutes. Why? It’s laced with L-tryptophan, which can convert into serotonin, and eventually melatonin—the compound that influences your sleep cycle, says Jason Ellis, Ph.D., the director of the Northumbria Centre for Sleep Research. Increase the melatonin circulating in your body, and you’ll increase the chances of a good night’s sleep, too. Try an ounce of juice or a cup of cherries before bed. Since there are no foods high in melatonin, you want to look for foods that can produce it, says Dr. int er. A few to keep in mind: milk, yogurt, oats, eggs, and peanuts.

By Bill Phillips and the Editors of Men's Health
It happened because she was edgy and bursting. It was the first day you could really feel Spring approaching. It was that brief time in between seasons that she could feel something new happening, and it made her anxious and excited. It was like new air, or sweeping cobwebs. There was a light rain outside and Madeleine wanted to throw open her two little windows to her small apartment space and let the warm mist fill the room. But the noise from the traffic would've been too much, and she was worried for the bird. As it was, the hiss of the scratchy needle was barely audible. She crouched down beside the heating vent to listen. The music was low and tired. Something like Billie Holiday. It was Billie Holiday, but for the two weeks she had looked, she hadn't been able to find it in any of the record shops. She leaned against her raggedy old reading chair and stared at the stack of books and odd art supplies next to her. Too much time spent inside reading and dreaming, she worried.

She looked up at the small, blue-green bird in the cage next to her bed, and then picked up a blue crayon. The bird was quiet. Quite still and beautiful. Every once in a while she would turn her head slightly to observe her new surroundings. She was calm. Even when Madeleine had brought her home a week ago and taken a polaroid of her, she had fluttered her wings, but in a gentle way. The softly blurred movement was a moment of perfect grace, Madeleine thought, as she ran her fingers along the edge of the picture which now hung on the wall beside the chair. She looked like the sea. As she put down the crayon for another, it started. She wondered how long Maggie had lived down there. How long she had been there. She rested her head against the wall and began to slowly peel away the old crayon's paper label. She reached for a jar of rubber cement and twisted off the top. The music mixed with the sound of Maggie, as if the sobs were a part of the song. Not like an instrument - not an accompanying sound - but interior, as if growing from within the music. A ghost. Madeleine brushed a streak of glue next to the polaroid and stuck the green paper to the wall. "Seafoam," she whispered.

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tha girl

My name is Louis Roubien. I am seventy years old. I was born in the village of Saint-Jory, several miles up the Garonne from Toulouse.

For fourteen years I battled with the earth for my daily bread. At last, prosperity smiled on we, and last month I was still the richest farmer in the parish.

Our house seemed blessed, happiness reigned there. The sun was our brother, and I cannot recall a bad crop. We were almost a dozen on the farm. There was myself, still hale and hearty, leading the children to work; then my young brother, Pierre, an old bachelor and retired sergeant; then my sister, Agathe, who came to us after the death of her husband. She was a commanding woman, enormous and gay, whose laugh could be heard at the other end of the village. Then came all the brood: my son, Jacques; his wife, Rosie, and their three daughters, Aimee, Veronique, and Marie. The first named was married to Cyprica Bouisson, a big jolly fellow, by whom she had two children, one two years old and the other ten months. Veronique was just betrothed, and was soon to marry Gaspard Rabuteau. The third, Marie, was a real young lady, so white, so fair, that she looked as if born in the city.

That made ten, counting everybody. I was a grandfather and a great-grandfather. When we were at table I had my sister, Agathe, at my right, and my brother, Pierre, at my left. The children formed a circle,seated according to age, with the heads diminishing down to the baby of ten months, who already ate his soup like a man. And let me tell you that the spoons in the plates made a clatter. The brood had hearty appetites. And what gayety between the mouthfuls! I was filled with pride and joy when the little ones held out their hands toward me, crying:

"Grandpa, give us some bread! A big piece, grandpa!"

Oh! the good days! Our farm sang from every corner. In the evening, Pierre invented games and related stories of his regiment. On Sunday Agathe made cakes for the girls. Marie knew some canticles, which she sang like a chorister. She looked like a saint, with her blond hair falling on her neck and her hands folded on her apron.

I had built another story on the house when Aimee had married Cyprien; and I said laughingly that I would have to build another after the wedding of Veronique and Gaspard. We never cared to leave each other. We would sooner have built a city behind the farm, in our enclosure. When families are united, it is so good to live and die where one has grown up!

The month of May had been magnificent that year. It was long since the crops gave such good promise. That day precisely, I had made a tour of inspection with my son, Jacques. We started at about three o'clock. Our meadows on the banks of the Garonne were of a tender green. The grass was three feet high, and an osier thicket, planted the year before, had sprouts a yard high. From there we went to visit our wheat and our vines, fields bought one by one as fortune came to us. The wheat was growing strong; the vines, in full flower, promised a superb vintage. And Jacques laughed his good laugh as he slapped me on the shoulder.

"Well, father, we shall never want for bread nor for wine. You must be a friend of the Divine Power to have silver showered upon your land in this way."

We often joked among ourselves of our past poverty. Jacques was right. I must have gained the friendship of some saint or of God himself, for all the luck in the country was for us. When it hailed the hail ceased on the border of our fields. If the vines of our neighbors fell sick, ours seemed to have a wall of protection around them. And in the end I grew to consider it only just. Never doing harm to any one, I thought that happiness was my due.

As we approached the house, Rose gesticulated, calling out:

"Hurry up!"

One of our cows had just had a calf, and everybody was excited. The birth of that little beast seemed one more blessing. We had been obliged recently to enlarge the stables, where we had nearly one hundred head of animals--cows and sheep, without counting the horses.

"Well, a good day's work!" I cried. "We will drink to-night a bottle of ripened wine."

Meanwhile, Rose took us aside and told us that Gaspard, Veronique's betrothed, had come to arrange the day for the wedding. She had invited him to remain for dinner.

Gaspard, the oldest son of a farmer of Moranges, was a big boy of twenty years, known throughout the country for his prodigious strength. During a festival at Toulouse he had vanquished Martial, the "Lion of the Midi." With that, a nice boy, with a heart of gold. He was even timid, and he blushed when Veronique looked him squarely in the face.

I told Rose to call him. He was at the bottom of the yard, helping our servants to spread out the freshly-washed linen. When he entered the dining room, where we were, Jacques turned toward me, saying:

"You speak, father."

"Well," I said, "you have come, my boy, to have us set the great day?"

"Yes, that is it, Father Roubien," he answered, very red.

"You mustn't blush, my boy," I continued. "It will be, if you wish, on Saint- Felicite day, the 10th of July. This is the 23rd of June, so you will have only twenty days to wait. My poor dead wife was called Felicite, and that will bring you happiness. Well? Is it understood?"

"Yes, that will do--Sainte-Felicite day. Father Roubien."

And he gave each of us a grip that made us wince. Then he embraced Rose, calling her mother. This big boy with the terrific fists loved Veronique to the point of losing his appetite.

Now," I continued, "you must remain for dinner. Well, everybody to the table. I have a thundering appetite, I have."

That evening we were eleven at table. Gaspard was placed next to Veronique, and he sat looking at her, forgetting his plate, so moved at the thought of her belonging to him that, at times, the tears sprang to his eyes. Cyprien and Aimee, married only three years, smiled. Jacques and Rose, who had had twenty-five years of married life, were more serious, but, surreptitiously, they exchanged tender glances. As for me, I seemed to relive in those two sweethearts, whose happiness seemed to bring a corner of Paradise to our table. What good soup we had that evening! Aunt Agathe, always ready with a witticism, risked several jokes. Then that honest Pierre wanted to relate his love affair with a young lady of Lyons. Fortunately, we were at the dessert, and every one was talking at once. I had brought two bottles of mellowed wine from the cellar. We drank to the good fortune of Gaspard and Veronique. Then we had singing. Gaspard knew some love songs in dialect. We also asked Marie for a canticle. She stood up and sang in a flute-like voice that tickled one's ears.

I went to the window, and Gaspard joined me there.

"Is there no news up your way?" I asked him.

"No," he answered. "There is considerable talk about the heavy rains of the last few days. Some seem to think that they will cause trouble."

In effect, it had rained for sixty hours without stopping. The Garonne was very much swollen since the preceding day, but we had confidence in it, and, as long as it did not overflow its banks, we could not look on it as a bad neighbor.

"Bah!" I exclaimed, shrugging my shoulders. "Nothing will happen. It is the same every year. The river puts up her back as if she were furious, and she calms down in a night. You will see, my boy, that it will amount to nothing this time. See how beautiful the weather is!"

And I pointed to the sky. It was seven o'clock; the sun was setting. The sky was blue, an immense blue sheet of profound purity, in which the rays of the setting sun were like a golden dust. Never had I seen the village drowsing in so sweet a peace. Upon the tiled roofs a rosy tint was fading. I heard a neighbor's laugh, then the voices of children at the turn in the road in front of our place. Farther away and softened by the distance, rose the sounds of flocks entering their sheds. The great voice of the Garonne roared continually; but it was to me as the voice of the silence, so accustomed to it was I.

Little by little the sky paled; the village became more drowsy. It was the evening of a beautiful day; and I thought that all our good fortune--the big harvests, the happy house, the betrothal of Veronique--came to us from above in the purity of the dying light. A benediction spread over us with the farewell of the evening.

Meanwhile I had returned to the center of the room. The girls were chattering. We listened to them, smiling. Suddenly, across the serenity of the country, a terrible cry sounded, a cry of distress and death:

"The Garonne! The Garonne!"

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