How Sneeze Travels Inside an Airplane–Popular Science

 

How Sneeze Travels Inside an Airplane via Popular Science

H/T New Advent

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Fix Me Up by Zach Sobiech

 

“Fix Me Up” Lyrics
Tell me something you never told before
Before I walk through the door, I adore you, I adore you
I do, I do
Smile with me and cry with me
I won’t ever tell a soul
Hold my hand
I’ll squeeze it back
And I’ll never let go
Never give up, never look back
I won’t give up I’ll keep on trying
Dry your tears up, all your crying
Cannot fix me up my darling
Fix me up my darling
Twisty, turning winding path
I could listen to your laugh
As we tiptoe on these humble truths
I don’t want to lose you
Show me how to love deeper than the surface, my friend
And you can show me what it means to have purpose
And I’ll tell you again
Never give up, never look back
I won’t give up I’ll keep on trying
Dry your tears up, all your crying
Cannot fix me up my darling
Fix me up my darling
Woh Woh Woh….. Hold on
Don’t you lose hope the sky’s not falling
Please just listen ’cause I’ll be calling
Stay with me just one more moment
I know you’re in pain just please don’t show it
One more moment, please
It’s too late I’m afraid I have to leave
[Repeat]
Promise me, promise me that you’ll…
Never give up, never look back
I won’t give up I’ll keep on trying
Dry your tears up, all your crying
Cannot fix me up my darling
Fix me up my darling

St. Monica’s Dying

From the Confessions of Saint Augustine, bishop
Let us gain eternal wisdom

The day was now approaching when my mother Monica would depart from this life; you knew that day, Lord, though we did not. She and I happened to be standing by ourselves at a window that overlooked the garden in the courtyard of the house. At the time we were in Ostia on the Tiber. We had gone there after a long and wearisome journey to get away from the noisy crowd, and to rest and prepare for our sea voyage. I believe that you, Lord, caused all this to happen in your own mysterious ways. And so the two of us, all alone, were enjoying a very pleasant conversation, forgetting the past and pushing on to what is ahead. We were asking one another in the presence of the Truth–for you are the Truth–what it would be like to share the eternal life enjoyed by the saints, which eye has not seen, nor ear heard, which has not even entered into the heart of man. We desired with all our hearts to drink from the streams of your heavenly fountain, the fountain of life.

That was the substance of our talk, though not the exact words. But you know, O Lord, that in the course of our conversation that day, the world and its pleasures lost all their attraction for us. My mother said: “Son, as far as I am concerned, nothing in this life now gives me any pleasure. I do not know why I am still here, since I have no further hopes in this world. I did have one reason for wanting to live a little longer: to see you become a Catholic Christian before I died. God has lavished his gifts on me in that respect, for I know that you have even renounced earthly happiness to be his servant. So what am I doing here?”

I do not really remember how I answered her. Shortly, within five days or thereabouts, she fell sick with a fever. Then one day during the course of her illness she became unconscious and for a while she was unaware of her surroundings. My brother and I rushed to her side but she regained consciousness quickly. She looked at us as we stood there and asked in a puzzled voice: “Where was I?”

We were overwhelmed with grief, but she held her gaze steadily upon us and spoke further: “Here you shall bury your mother.” I remained silent as I held back my tears. However, my brother haltingly expressed his hope that she might not die in a strange country but in her own land, since her end would be happier there. When she heard this, her face was filled with anxiety, and she reproached him with a glance because he had entertained such earthly thoughts. Then she looked at me and spoke: “Look what he is saying.” Thereupon she said to both of us: “Bury my body wherever you will; let not care of it cause you any concern. One thing only I ask you, that you remember me at the altar of the Lord wherever you may be.” Once our mother had expressed this desire as best she could, she fell silent as the pain of her illness increased.
O God,
who console the sorrowful
and who mercifully accepted
the motherly tears of Saint Monica
for the conversion of her son Augustine,
grant us, through the intercession of them both,
that we may bitterly regret our sins and find the grace of your pardon.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, for ever and ever.
– Amen.