HOW TO MAKE PAPER LAMP SHADE. PAPER LAMP SHADE

HOW TO MAKE PAPER LAMP SHADE. FLOWERING SHADE SHRUBS. FUSE A SHADE

How To Make Paper Lamp Shade


how to make paper lamp shade
    paper lamp
  • Paper lanterns come in various shapes and sizes, as well as various methods of construction. The easiest form, is simply a paper bag with a candle placed inside, although more complicated lanterns consist of a collapsible bamboo or metal frame of hoops, covered with tough paper.
    how to
  • A how-to or a how to is an informal, often short, description of how to accomplish some specific task. A how-to is usually meant to help non-experts, may leave out details that are only important to experts, and may also be greatly simplified from an overall discussion of the topic.
  • (How To’s) Multi-Speed Animations
  • Providing detailed and practical advice
  • Practical advice on a particular subject; that gives advice or instruction on a particular topic
    shade
  • Screen from direct light
  • Darken or color (an illustration or diagram) with parallel pencil lines or a block of color
  • represent the effect of shade or shadow on
  • Cover, moderate, or exclude the light of
  • shadow: cast a shadow over
  • relative darkness caused by light rays being intercepted by an opaque body; "it is much cooler in the shade"; "there's too much shadiness to take good photographs"
    make
  • The making of electrical contact
  • The manufacturer or trade name of a particular product
  • give certain properties to something; "get someone mad"; "She made us look silly"; "He made a fool of himself at the meeting"; "Don't make this into a big deal"; "This invention will make you a millionaire"; "Make yourself clear"
  • engage in; "make love, not war"; "make an effort"; "do research"; "do nothing"; "make revolution"
  • The structure or composition of something
  • brand: a recognizable kind; "there's a new brand of hero in the movies now"; "what make of car is that?"

Quiet Mirror: Twenty Poems by Phillip Taylor
Quiet Mirror: Twenty Poems by Phillip Taylor
QUIET MIRROR 20 poems 1.Broken Men 2.A Love Sonnet 3.Love in the Afternoon 4.Responsibility 5.Love Poems 6.This Day of Days 7.Charlotte’s Last Dance 8.Another One For You 9.Pity 10.Ghost 11.County Kent 12.Clouds 13.Rain On Glass 14.Trees 15.Fish 16.The Army 17.Battle 18.The Fog Of War 19.A Sequel 20.The Yellow Dawn BROKEN MEN A sorcerer waved his cunning wand Upon the squalor of the world. The devil danced his evil hand on life Shattered from his wicked rod. Broken men stood around him Hiding promises which smeared The world, no longer round but Flat and full of ugly tears. My sorcerer returned again To tempt my faceless, broken men. There was little left but death for them And the awesome question when. I cried for all that I could see Seemed only a quiet mirror of me. A LOVE SONNET To begin at the beginning has no rhyme or reason. It awoke that simple Christmas of innocent adolescence Because she had no plan or chronological season, And then it spread to New Year essence. She stood alone, sad, amongst the others. Soft, gently, beautifully feminine and defined, Destined never to become one of the brothers. But instead, herself among the pathetic unrefined. It was not love, more a smile of recognition, interest, Perhaps desire which she resisted amid the willing. Never to be forgotten, deemed so even through protest. It may seem sad, that coy, wary face, that thrilling Real bikini-figure, the sentimental arrest. But love, hate, admiration and disgust appear milling. LOVE IN THE AFTERNOON I Streams of waters flowing like a monster to its feed chatter, sparkle and beckon, say come or be gone. But when I arrive, there is nothing to fulfil my need. She was beauty like a timeless lilting summer song, but as the saffron sunset sinks low her golden, eager face swells my tears of fond remembrance- sweet darling, please don’t go. Her love-look calms me, quelling all my fears. II You are the living flower, to brighten pale waters a light on the dark, dreary, disillusioned dying. A shade on sordid life, to reflect in our daughters. I’m not really sententious, so come to me smiling, softly making love in the afternoon, in a Sun’s last quarter, oh, Snowdrop, I miss you, but I am no longer crying. RESPONSIBILITY I love having loved, without a sense of guilt- knowing that she worried, captures an emotion. Why, I can’t explain. Difference between love and falling in love- so hard strange, and I love her. For her being, her very existence. The rest was trivial, irrelevant. A dream of substance to kill cruel embers in a smile. LOVE POEMS I At first it was an idea not a love relationship. Time we spent together was so short. I’ve never forgotten sweet memories of you or our time. Your white face always carried wishful thought. II Our affair, like shade in a deep valley, bottomless, yes misleading, unreal. Life was not the same when I left for time seemed to float by in restless boredom- I longed for the day when I could see you again. III We walked, linked through hands, feeling no care. Thick leaves, once bright, swung in the breeze. Winter winds streamed, all inside was bare, unburdened to cling lovingly to clustering trees as I to you on those lonely days- we both needed a friend. It reminds me three years ago we met now there is no end. THIS DAY OF DAYS On this day of days I forget A humming bee on a stuffy day. I think of you remembered with regret As I sleep the longest sleep away. Darkness, and in such tender darkness I think of that day of days. Love came but once before the rest A sentence commuted to a phrase. The blocked heart strains no more Suspended forever inanimate on the floor. CHARLOTTE’S LAST DANCE My first thoughts had been Impressions in the eye of fire: Under a cloudy, blackened sky With flame of heat and desire. The journey flowed swiftly Passing the grey death lands. To return fresh as another Playing a child in the sands. Yet enwrapped in itself, What of the drowning years? With buckets from the jokers Distributing the presents of tears. On our last journey We passed a land of poppied cornfields, Ironically sad, as a romantic Protected by love’s paper shields. We parted forever at the crossroads; Forlornly embracing, wanting to stay, Like a retreating sun on rain-kissed lips, As broken light creased the day. ANOTHER ONE FOR YOU I I love you so I wrote some songs Of fondness Which meandered in Tiny, tranquil streams. When, suddenly You cried And I went away. II I won’t pass this way again Or meet things I’ve seen. The journey before me is harsh The road behind me, crushed. We have parted sadly At these crossroads. PITY I And so the Goodbye came it was downhill all the way. You left with your own name following our romantic play. I counted seven shining farewells each better than the last but not one on which to dwell as a memory for the past. You were all I wanted then. To shape my lingering thought like repetition yet again of something always
"So what do you want to eat?" I said. He was sitting across from me, at a table inside Denny's. He looked at the menu with intent focus. He was sitting on his hands with his feet swinging back and forth against the vinyl upholstery. After some time, he pointed at the photo of the All-American Slam with his right hand and a vanilla shake with his left. He titled forward and smiled gleefully. I motioned the waitress over. She smiled at the boy and then looked at me with disapproval. It was 2:30 in the morning. "What can I do for you?" she said. "We'll have an All-American Slam. I'd like the eggs scrambled. And a vanilla shake," I said. "And for him?" "That's for him actually. I'll have a coffee," I said. "Alright," she said. And turned to the boy, "You're a big boy aren't you?" The boy didn't respond. He had not said a word the entire night. I was working late that night from home. I'm a real estate auditor for an accounting firm downtown. I had forgotten some paper work at my office and had decided to go and get it. It didn't take that long since I lived across the bridge in West Sacramento. I parked the car in the parking garage inside Downtown Plaza, got my papers and came back down. I drove up the parking embankment, onto the street and was about to cross onto the other side of the river when I noticed something stirring in my rear view mirror. The child stretched and yawned. He rubbed his face with the bottom of his palm in the same way that drunks do in the morning. As impossible and improbable as it was, had I drove off with the wrong car. I put the car into park right there in the middle of the street and turned on the interior lights. He couldn't have been more than six. I closed my eyes thinking that I was dreaming and opened them. I wasn't. "Who are you?" When I was seven, I was lost at the San Jose Flea Market on Berryessa Road once. My aunt and my mom were with me. They were watching a man claim small miracles out of some washing detergent as he worked a patch of carpet on a wooden board. I held onto my mom's hand but let go after some time. I was thinking of the game vendor that we had passed on our way. It was a Saturday afternoon of the first of the month. The crowds was at its peak. I found the game vendor and picked up the controller that was placed deep inside the center of the tent. It was connected to a small television set with a Super Nintendo attached to it. I joined another boy who was playing "Ninja Turtles: Turtles In Time". He grinned at me and I grinned back. I pressed start. After the boy left and after the store keeper realized that my time was too much time, he turned the Nintendo off and told me to get out. I stood outside the shade of the blue tarp overhead and waited. I looked out and up. There were endless blue tarps overhead. I had forgotten which one was the one with the carpet washing man and my mom and aunt. I didn't cry. I never did. Only cried from things like getting my finger slammed by the car door or when I broke my leg the year of the earthquake. I walked out into the crowd. The boy looked at me blankly. "Do you know where your parents are?" The same blank expression. "Jesus. What have I gotten myself into," I muttered to myself. It was two already. I parked the car on the sidewalk. "What's your name?" He was looking out the window name. I took a legal pad out from my dash and a pen and gave it to him. He scribbled his name on it. I could only assume it was his name as I was unable to make it out. I spoke slower, "Can - you - talk ?" The boy shook his head. "Can - you - hear - me?" I pointed at my mouth. He nodded. "Where - are - your - parents?" He neither nodded or shook his head. He looked at his stomach. It growled. I turned the inside lights off. "Alright. Alright. Alright." I took a big breath. We had passed a Denny's on the way. It was also next to the county sheriff's station. Less than a mile alway. I brought the car off the sidewalk and turned around. I had no idea what I was doing. The disapproving waitress placed the food in between us. She also brought a cup of coffee, the vanilla shake and two smaller plates. I pushed the All-American Slam towards the boy. Three scrambled eggs, two bacon strips, two sausages, hash browns, and toasted white bread. Combined with the shake, the amount of food looked ridiculous in front of him as he picked at it clumsily with his fork. Fist wrapped around the bottom of the handle right above to chunks of hash browns he pierced. "Good?" He nodded with his mouth gorged. "Don't forget to swallow." I watched him gulp and handed him the milkshake. "You got to wash it down kiddo," I said and pretended to pound my chest. He ate as if he had not eaten anything the entire day. He left a few scraps of scrambled eggs, and a slice o

how to make paper lamp shade
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