The Bee is not afraid of me
by Emily Dickinson

The Bee is not afraid of me.
I know the Butterfly.
The pretty people in the Woods
Receive me cordially—

The Brooks laugh louder when I come—
The Breezes madder play;
Wherefore mine eye thy silver mists,
Wherefore, Oh Summer’s Day?

- F 113 (1859) 111

Driving along a back road the other day, I happened upon this magnificent swarm of bees.

Bees - July 2014


Bees 3 - July 2014

“Machinations of War” – Chapter 6 – a Collaborative Story by Alexander Thomas and Kimberley Thomas

Here is this week’s installment of “Machinations of War” the collaborative story my son and I are writing.

This week’s Chapter 6 is my contribution.

If you’ve missed the introduction to this project, or wish to read the story in its entirety please visit here for Chapters 1-5.


Chapter 6
by Kimberley Thomas

Capitol City, Terra, 536 AC

Standing in the shadows of the stone threshold of the King’s personal quarters, Rafe silently observed the elder King Suhn as he sat motionless at his elaborately carved desk. Unaware of his being watched the King appeared mesmerized, staring blankly out the open window toward the sea beyond. He seemed to be desperately looking at, or perhaps for, something that was no longer there. After a long while, Abraham stirred from his prolonged trance. Leaning forward in his massive oak chair, the King propped his elbows up on the worn wooden desktop, wearily dropping his head into his hands. King Suhn sighs deeply, a sound of despair that echoes across the long room. Suddenly, Rafe becomes acutely aware that he is witnessing the private misery of a defeated and broken man. Regarding the sight before him, Rafe thinks, “A King he may be, but he suffers all the same.”

Rafe begins to shuffle in the doorway, alerting the King to his presence. King Suhn quickly gathered his composure, immediately transforming himself into the self-controlled, figure of supreme governance whom Rafe was accustomed to seeing.

Falling to one knee, Rafe greeted the King, “You sent for me, Your Majesty?”

The King stood with the grace and authority expected of one who has spent his lifetime under scrutiny for weakness. The dejected man, who Rafe had observed just moments before, had simply vanished. It was as if he had never existed.

“Yes, my good Sir Skerrett, I have indeed requested your presence. You are aware that most of my visitors do not simply let themselves into my private quarters unannounced. Yes?”

Still on bended knee before the King, Rafe bowed his head ever more slightly, “I am deeply sorry King Suhn, for my breach of protocol, I …” But the King brusquely cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Never mind, never mind.” The King was obviously impatient; another attribute Rafe had failed to observe in His Majesty prior to today’s impromptu tête-à-tête. “Rise, Sir Skerrett. We have much to discuss. But, not here,” leaning in close to Rafe, the King whispered, “there are traitorous ears listening.” Abraham Suhn, in a most un-kingly like fashion, flashed a sardonic grin at the young soldier.

Rafe swallowed hard. The only thought racing through his mind over and again, “Shit! Shit! Shit! He knows…

Rafe was sure this was to be his end. Although, he was not certain whether the elder King Suhn knew about his relationship with his daughter, Aislyn, or his traitorous ties to his son, Alexander, the Heretic King. Rafe began to imagine the elder King knew of all his double-crossings on behalf of King Alexander, and his lack of discretion with Aislyn. Why else would the King himself, personally march him to a deserted swath of beach to torture and execute a lowly double agent? It mattered not, he supposed, as he trudged over the rocky terrain on his death march.

Surprisingly, he remained calm. When they finally reached the rocky strand, Rafe kneeled before the King. “I will not confess to any misconduct, Your Majesty. I have served the Twelve Kingdoms with honor. Exposing his bare neck to the King, Rafe continued, “All I ask in return is for my execution to be respectful of my honorable service.”

“Stand up, Rafe!” the King snapped. “I did not bring you here to execute you. Although, I am sure you do deserve it. Whether you are a loyalist to my son, and his heretical band of followers, I am unsure. However, I do not desire to know too much about you, or your activities, as that would put us both in grave danger. However, the one thing I am certain of is that you and my daughter are engaged in a romantic dalliance that has put both your lives in danger!”

Rising quickly, Rafe boldly addressed the King, “Your Majesty, I love Aislyn. This isn’t a dalliance, as you so put it—for neither her, nor me.”

“Good.” King Abraham glanced toward the sea once again and smiled sadly. Rafe had seen that same smile far too often on Asilyn’s face. “You are bold, yet shrewd, Sir Rafe. I think that if there is anyone who can defend and serve my daughter, and aid her in the trials she will soon face, it will be you.”

“Your Grace?” Rafe was clearly perplexed by the King’s remarks.

The King sighed wearily, “My son has been correct all along in his assumptions concerning the Creator.”

The ordinary man, who Rafe had so recently observed in the King’s quarters, had returned. Standing before Rafe was not King Suhn, Leader of the Twelve Kingdoms and the Capital City, but merely a troubled and remorseful father.

The King began to share with Rafe a complicated tale of deceit, danger, coercion, and treachery, spanning generations, since the time of the Great Purge. At the center of it all was the Creator. The Creator, the King confided, was not the Supreme Being their people had been led to worship and honor, the source of all moral authority and human fortunes. King Suhn illustrated a sinister entity; the Creator as the grim foundation for all the suffering the people of the Twelve Kingdoms endured.

The King further wove an account of the Creator as an all-controlling entity with feelings of malice and hostility toward everyone in Terra. How he has been aware of this for many years but because he feared for the safety of Alexander and Aislyn, he had to become part of the charade that is the established institution of the Capital City.

“As soon as I learned of Alexander’s doubts of the validity of the Creator as a benevolent God, I knew I had to send him as far south as possible in an effort to keep him safe,” the King mused.  “I did not bear my estranged son any ill-will, as he has long believed.” Rafe noticed tears forming in the King’s eyes as he continued speaking, “I loved the boy with all my heart. My greatest regret is that I had not possessed the strength and courage to follow him. Alexander is the rightful King of the people, of that I have no doubt. The Creator and the High Priesthood may call him the Heretic, but mark my word Rafe, my son will one day liberate our people from the bondage of the Creator and his priesthood minions. Whatever may transpire from this day forth, you must give me your solemn promise, Sir Skerrett, that you will let my son know how deeply I loved him. Impart to him my great sorrow and shame for not being the man who could support his own son’s conviction in the rightness of his position, when he too knew its truths. Tell him all that I have told you, and convey to him how proud I am that he has become a much greater leader than I ever was.”

The elder King Suhn paused for a long time, for which Rafe was deeply grateful. He found himself grappling with the enormity of the revelations the King had bestowed upon him. Finally, the King took a deep breath in, then slowly exhaling, resumed speaking. “Now we must discuss how you will manage to get my daughter out of the city safely.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but Aislyn will not leave willingly. She will not leave you, or the High Priesthood. She feels honor bound to stay, to fight by your side. Besides, she thinks her brother is a traitorous murderer. She will not go to Alexander without knowing the truth.”

“And you know this how?”

Rafe’s face reddened, “Because I have asked her to leave with me on several occasions, Your Grace.”

“Hmm, I see.” The King mulled over this new bit of information. “Sir Rafe, the High Priesthood is a highly clandestine organization manufactured by the Creator to keep the populace of the Twelve Kingdoms under control. My daughter’s gift is merely a tool for the Creator to be able to spy on dissidents and insurgents who pose any real threat to his continued rule. The innocuous and kindly Lord Preston is actually a ruthless and evil second-in-command to the Creator. Preston is the human reach of the Creator.” The King stopped abruptly, obviously gathering his thoughts, “I tell you all this because you must be aware of the grave danger the High Priesthood poses to her.”

Rafe nods his head in affirmation, “Yes, Your Majesty. I understand.”

“There is so much to impart to you, Sir Skerrett. I fear if I forget to pass on the smallest detail, it will be to your and Aislyn’s undoing.”

Rafe gently put a hand on the King’s shoulder, “Your Grace, I will trust no one, and protect her with my last breath.”

“Son, the day will come when you will need to put your confidence in someone to aid yours and Aislyn’s journey. Just as I have entrusted you. I simply hope that when that day arrives, your trust will be well placed, for her sake as well as your own.”

Rafe was the one blankly staring out at the sea now. “I will arrange the gear necessary for our quick departure. Under the circumstances, I think it best if we plan to meet here again tomorrow, before sunrise, to take our leave.” The King nodded his agreement to Rafe’s proposal. “I think it would be best, Your Grace, if you bring Aislyn to the beach. Together we can explain the situation as quickly as possible, in an effort to expedite our escape.”

The King stood, ready to depart, yet stopped short, “One last thing, before we take our leave, Sir Rafe. I am not sure how you have managed to fool Lord Preston and the council of High Priests of your infiltrator status. Moreover, I am especially curious how you have been able to defy detection by the Creator. From your first appearance in the Capitol City, I have had my doubts about your credibility, about the sincerity of your story. However, it matters not. I chose not to raise suspicion, and I must confess I have been rather astounded by your ability to gain their trust, in such a short period.” The King paused, searching Rafe’s face intently. Finally, dropping his gaze the King implored the young soldier, “I am not sure what magick you possess, but I beg of you to draw upon it to protect my daughter.”

Rafe abruptly grabbed at the pendent hanging from the leather cord around his neck. His impulsive action immediately drew the King’s gaze downward toward the crude item.

With a wry smile the King said, “Who would have guessed.”

A Wandering Wild Burro

Out for a family picnic last week at Lake Pleasant, an artificial reservoir located approximately 40 miles northwest of Phoenix, we caught a quick glimpse of this wild burro as he wandered along the shoreline.


Several hours later, as we headed out of the park, we once again crossed paths with this handsome fellow. This time he was relaxing in the shade of covered campsite, finding a little relief from the 115° heat.

Burro - July 2014


Burro - July 2014


Posted in response to this week’s photo challenge from The Daily Post – Summer Lovin’

Music Monday

To kick off my weekly celebration of Music Monday (if you would like to learn more about my new weekly event click here) I’ve decided to re-post a music-related piece that I created back in March in response to a Daily Post Daily Prompt.

This particular song happens to be my very first music related memory, and it involves my mom, the one person who has had the greatest influence on my life. Therefore, I thought it befitting that this particular song be in the #1 spot as my first Music Monday choice!

Without further ado, here is one of my most treasured song related memories!

I’m always taken aback when I hear the song begin to play. It’s an “Oldie, but Goodie,” so it isn’t often that it receives airtime, perhaps that is why I always feel slightly assaulted by its unexpectedness. For reasons that I do not quite understand, hearing the melody makes me feel more than a little disconcerted and sad; at times, I become completely choked up and misty-eyed.

Immediately I am three-years-old again, jumping up and down on my mother’s cream-colored chenille bedspread. She is meticulously pressing the mound of clean laundry sitting on the floor next to her wooden ironing board; her trusty can of Niagara Spray Starch by her side. “Kimberley Anne!” she halfheartedly scolds, (it would be at a slightly later date that I would propel myself off the aforementioned bed, splitting my head wide open above the left eye, leaving a scar that would follow me into adulthood). We were happily listening to her new tabletop radio, a General Electric tube model, off-white with fancy golden knobs, perched atop her off-white chest of drawers. She, mindlessly passing the time away, making the monotony of her ironing a bit less repetitive; me, completely lost in the revelry and joy music conveys only to small children.

That is when Petula Clark starts to declare that traveling Downtown can be a positively cathartic experience, a place where “You can forget all your troubles,” and “forget all your cares”—

When you’re alone and life is making you lonely
You can always go, downtown
When you’ve got worries, all the noise and the hurry
Seems to help, I know, downtown

Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city
Linger on the sidewalk where the neon signs are pretty
How can you lose?
The lights are much brighter there
You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares

So go downtown
Things will be great when you’re downtown
No finer place for sure, downtown
Everything’s waiting for you

Don’t hang around and let your problems surround you
There are movie shows downtown
Maybe you know some little places to go to
Where they never close downtown

Just listen to the rhythm of a gentle bossa nova

You’ll be dancing with ‘em too before the night is over
Happy again
The lights are much brighter there
You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares

So go downtown
Where all the lights are bright, downtown
Waiting for you tonight, downtown
You’re gonna be alright now, downtown


And you may find somebody kind to help and understand you
Someone who is just like you and needs a gentle hand to
Guide them along
So maybe I’ll see you there
We can forget all our troubles, forget all our cares

So go downtown
Things will be great when you’re downtown
Don’t wait a minute more, downtown
Everything is waiting for you, downtown

Downtown (downtown)
Downtown (downtown)
Downtown (downtown)
Downtown (downtown)

Whenever I hear this song, I am instantly transported to a small, cluttered, upstairs apartment. A time when it was just me and my mom and the world outside our tiny universe didn’t matter. When music and fun were a part of our daily existence. Perhaps, sadness strikes now, when I hear this song, because I miss the naiveté that only a three-year-old can experience—spending a leisurely summer afternoon, listening to music with her mother, instinctively knowing that nothing else really matters.

My Mom and me - posing for a selfie! October 2013.

My Mom and me – posing for a selfie! October 2013.


“Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.”
Berthold Auerbach, German-Jewish poet and author (1812 – 1882)


Music Monday (469x288)

Happy #MusicMonday, everyone!

Celebrating Music Monday

There is a weekly event on Twitter, which I have recently become aware of, called #MusicMonday. From what I have gathered, this originally began as an annual Canadian celebration that takes place on the first Monday of May, demonstrating the importance for all young people to learn music. The idea of celebrating music seems to have evolved from a yearly gala into its current weekly tradition, where music lovers everywhere recommend music they enjoy every Monday!

Pretty cool, right?

I have decided, beginning tomorrow, it would be an interesting endeavor to add Music Monday to my weekly blogging schedule. Music has always been an integral part of my life. Many of my best memories are intimately tied to specific songs. Every person who has had an influence on my life has at least one song I immediately recall when I think of him or her. Of course, some have more than others do; I suppose the number of songs in someone’s collection is largely dependent on whether we’ve shared a love of music, as well as their impact on my life.

I have decided to use music as a weekly writing prompt to recall pleasant—and perhaps some not so pleasant—memories of people and events that have shaped my life. Since there is an established tradition of posting one’s favorite music on Monday, I have decided to join in on Mondays too.

I guess I am creating my own personal weekly event!

Every Monday I will post a music video; lyrics to a particular song; or possibly a music-related photo; then I will write a post about the memories the music evokes.

I hope you’ll join me every Monday, to share your own music-related reminiscences: the song you and your best friend danced to with wild abandon; the song you recall from your 8th grade winter dance; the song your mom played on the piano every Christmas Eve. Let’s recall our happiest memories, or perhaps those moments that left us heartbroken, through song.

To take part, simply publish your own interpretive Music Monday post on your own blog.

Anything goes—a music video, lyrics, or a music-related photograph.

Then post the link to your Music Monday post in my comment box, or you can link back to my current week’s Music Monday post for a pingback.

To make it easy for others to check out your blog, title your blog post with a “Music Monday” tag.

Let’s celebrate music! :D

Music Monday (469x288)


My Mystery Ending – If Everyone Cared

Day One:

I have been rather blue the past few days. I’m not quite sure why. I spent most of yesterday cleaning my desk, which is a sure sign of melancholy on my part. Housecleaning is a highly scheduled affair for me—impromptu cleaning sessions only occur when I am either angry or sad…

I am so very tired of the heat of summer. We have been suffering under record-high temperatures in the 100+teens range for the past few days and nighttime lows in the mid 90’s offer no respite. I have to keep reminding myself that it is nearly half over; before I know it, autumn will be here and I will be able to work in the yard again without fear of suffering from heat exhaustion. I hate to rush my life away, but I find, as I grow older, I enjoy summers less and less.

I would prefer to live in a cooler environment but anywhere that we could afford to live comfortably, within our means, would be far too cold for my husband. Most people think that heat is the greatest debilitating factor for those suffering from Multiple Sclerosis, but the fact is, cold temperatures can be just as bad – if not worse. When the temperature drops below 50°F his nervous system goes into overdrive and his legs will completely lock up. Therefore, we stay in the low desert, the lesser of two evils for him.

I’ve been rather homesick of late. We have lived in Phoenix for 6 years now, and while it is a beautiful city with much to offer, I miss California’s High Desert. I miss the Joshua trees; I miss the howling afternoon winds; I miss the occasional snow in the winters. I miss searching out ghost towns and old cemeteries. I miss places such as, Four Corners, Kennedy Meadows, Sand Canyon, Panamint Valley, and Death Valley. I miss jotting down to Los Angeles for an afternoon at the Getty Museum, or whatever else strikes my fancy. I know it is infantile, I made the choice to leave (and am better off for it), but I still suffer from the occasional bouts of homesickness.

Perhaps this is why I have been feeling so blue.

Panamint Valley

Panamint Valley, California – Landscape panorama courtesy of DesertWilderness.Net


Day Two:

I am still feeling rather gloomy today. My oldest son decided several weeks ago to apply for job openings outside of the Phoenix area. Frustrated by his lack of advancement in the Phoenix region, he decided to apply for newly opening positions in every market from Denver westward.

I’m saddened to think that I won’t be able to see my granddaughter on a nearly daily basis. It pains me even more that I won’t be privy to conversations like these:

Her: “I’m so excited!”

Me: “You’re so excited?”

Her: Yes, I’m so excited! Play-Doh, Play-Doh, PLAY-DOH!”

Nevertheless, today I can forget the rest of the world and make Play-Doh capes for her Fisher-Price Little People, which magically transforms them—according to her—into “super heroes”.

Callie - Play-Doh


Day Three:

I remember as a young girl I wanted to be an undercover detective like Julie Barnes (played by Peggy Lipton) of the Mod Squad (1968-1973). I no longer remember why, at such a young age, I aspired to be like her, but she was the first person I ever remember wanting to emulate. Further childhood aspirations I contemplated:

  • schoolteacher
  • archeologist
  • social worker (specifically, a Juvenile Probation Officer)
  • space-woman
  • airline stewardess (now thankfully referred to as flight attendants in a more gender-neutral manner).

While schoolteacher and flight attendant were largely viewed as a “woman’s profession” way back when, my childhood self never thought to limit my dreams to gender specific occupations. I truly believed I could be whatever I set my heart on becoming.

I was a member of the generation of young women raised to believe we could achieve our dreams on equal footing with men. Our mother’s and older sister’s had burned their bras and demanded equal rights: equality in the workplace, equality in the bedroom, and equality in the choices women made for ourselves. Yet, in spite of all the choices granted to me by the hard work and determination of women a mere generation before me—as the only child of a young widowed, working mother, what I wanted to be most desperately was a wife and mother. I dreamed of marrying a loving husband, having a house full of children, who all lived happily ever after in a big white house with a matching white picket fence.

I never had the big white house with the matching picket fence. Although, I did manage to marry a wonderfully loving and devoted man and we chose to have only two children because we realized neither we, nor planet earth, would be able to provide adequately for any more than two children. Throughout the years, both my husband and children have supported my dreams, whatever they may have been. They are still my greatest advocates, believing in and encouraging me in my current hopes, dreams, and future goals.

I guess I’m a pretty lucky gal. I need to stop feeling blue and be more thankful for the good people who grace my life. In spite of the adversities we have encountered, we have, and will, continue to brave it all together.



Day Four:

Some mornings I wake up feeling like a big tub of cottage cheese: white, soft, and more than a little lumpy. And it’s okay. I fully embrace my mild, slightly sour, blandness.

There was a time, not too long ago, when I was as fiery as a bottle of hot sauce, ready to combust like a shaken bottle of Coca-Cola. But, like a mug of milk, waiting to be warmed, time has somewhat mellowed me. I can still be as sharp as a good wedge of aged cheddar, but more often than not, my life resembles a tray of brown eggs just waiting to be scrambled.


Day Five:

Music has always spoken to me—serving as a soundtrack for my life, in times both good and not so good. For me, songs are merely poetry set to harmonious tones. After five days of documenting one of the most challenging weeks I have experienced in quite a while, I put my music player on shuffle.

Here is what I have come to realize—in the grand scheme of things, my week spent down in the dumps is nothing more than a selfish indulgence in self-pity, which I have no right to engage in.

Lastly, if you have managed to make it all the way to the end with me, I leave you all with this moving song by Nickleback: <3


“If Everyone Cared”

From underneath the trees, we watch the sky
Confusing stars for satellites
I never dreamed that you’d be mine
But here we are, we’re here tonight

Singing Amen, I, I’m alive
Singing Amen, I, I’m alive

If everyone cared and nobody cried
If everyone loved and nobody lied
If everyone shared and swallowed their pride
Then we’d see the day when nobody died

And I’m singing

Amen I, Amen I, I’m alive
Amen I, Amen I, Amen I, I’m alive

And in the air the fireflies
Our only light in paradise
We’ll show the world they were wrong
And teach them all to sing along

Singing Amen, I, I’m alive
Singing Amen, I, I’m alive
(I’m alive)

And as we lie beneath the stars
We realize how small we are
If they could love like you and me
Imagine what the world could be

If everyone cared and nobody cried
If everyone loved and nobody lied
If everyone shared and swallowed their pride
Then we’d see the day when nobody died
When nobody died…

We’d see the day, we’d see the day
When nobody died
We’d see the day, we’d see the day
When nobody died
We’d see the day when nobody died


It really is an inspiring video, you really should give it a view. :D

This post was inspired by the Daily Post’s Weekly Writing Challenge: Mystery Ending

“This weekly writing challenge focuses on the “weekly” part — start your post today, and build on it for the next four before publishing. Who knows where you’ll end up?”

Chapter Five of “Machinations of War”, an ongoing story by Alexander Thomas and Kimberley Thomas

Kimberley Thomas:

Here is this week’s installment of the collaborative story my son and I are writing. This week’s Chapter Five is Alexander’s contribution.

If you’ve missed the introduction to this project, or the previous Chapters 1-4, and wish to read the story in its entirety, please visit here.

Originally posted on Riding into the Sunrise:

Chapter Five of our weekly story, Machinations of War. Enjoy.

Middlelands, Terra, 536 AC

James sits at the table, nervously drumming his fingers. Next to him sit three people of imposing stature: Reyes, a thin, lanky man with long, stringy hair; Jacks, a darker skinned man with muscles the size of trees; and Long, a towering mountain of a woman with short, black hair. James knew from his encounters around the camp that these three were known as the Triad. A small group of highly effective soldiers that are loyal to Queen Giselle.

“How’s everyone doing today?” James asks meekly, his eyes quickly gravitating towards the table as soon as he mutters the words.

Reyes stands up and moves from across the table to sit down next to James, “Do we make you nervous?”

James’ eyes meet Reyes’, “Me? N-n-no. Why?”

Jacks slams his arms on the table and…

View original 1,429 more words

Celebrating Poetry | Linda Pastan

The Obligation to Be Happy
by Linda Pastan 

It is more onerous
than the rites of beauty
or housework, harder than love.
But you expect it of me casually,
the way you expect the sun
to come up, not in spite of rain
or clouds but because of them.

And so I smile, as if my own fidelity
to sadness were a hidden vice—
that downward tug on my mouth,
my old suspicion that health
and love are brief irrelevancies,
no more than laughter in the warm dark
strangled at dawn.

Happiness. I try to hoist it
on my narrow shoulders again—
a knapsack heavy with gold coins.
I stumble around the house,
bump into things.
Only Midas himself
would understand.

I have desperately missed celebrating poetry, as I did this past April in honor of National Poetry Month.
I think I am going to start incorporating more poets and poetry into my blogging schedule.

*Featured image: Ruby Beach, Washington, July 2010.

Good Things Come in Small Packages

She is unlimited curiosity, viewing her world with unrestrained wonder and amazement.
She is endless energy, unwilling to close her eyes, lest she miss a thing.
She is unbridled joy.

My granddaughter— she is all of this, and so much more—wrapped up tightly and packed into a tiny 3-foot container.

Posted in response to this week’s photo challenge from The Daily Post.

Callie 7-2014


A Brief History of Humankind

Are you curious to learn more about the history of humankind? For free?! Then you’re in luck!

Beginning August 10th 2014 – December 31st 2014, Dr. Yuval Noah Harari, who lectures at the Department of History, at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, is offering a free course:

A Brief History of Humankind.

Here is a brief description from the course website:

The course surveys the entire length of human history, from the evolution of various human species in the Stone Age up to the political and technological revolutions of the twenty-first century.

This course will explain how we humans have conquered planet Earth, and how we have changed our environment, our societies, and our own bodies and minds. The aim of the course is to give students a brief but complete overview of history.

There are no entry requirements. The course is intended to both people who have never studied history seriously, and wish to gain an overview of the human past, and to people who have studied history before, but who would like to get a fresh and challenging perspective on it.

This free college level course is offered via Coursera, a Massive Open Online Course (MOOC) portal; “an education platform that partners with top universities and organizations worldwide, to offer courses online for anyone to take, for free.”

Did I mention that this course is free? How cool is that?!

However, if history isn’t your thing, there are literally hundreds of other courses that might spark your intellectual curiosity. For FREE!

Again, how cool is that?!

Have a wonderful day, everyone! :)

Mahatma Gandhi (1869 – 1948) Image courtesy of Gandhi Quotes

Mahatma Gandhi (1869 – 1948) Image courtesy of Gandhi Quotes

*Featured image courtesy of