Clean out the registry : How to clean rusty metal.

Clean Out The Registry

clean out the registry

    clean out
  • deprive completely of money or goods; "The robbers cleaned us out in a couple of hours"

  • force out; "The new boss cleaned out the lazy workers"

  • empty completely; "We cleaned out all the drawers"

  • An official list or register

  • In housing, The Registry is a risk management tool used by landlords as a screening mechanism for prospective renters.

  • A place or office where registers or records are kept

  • Registration

  • A building in which things are registered or where registers are kept; A register; The act of registering; registration; A database of configurations etc maintained by the Windows operating system

  • register: an official written record of names or events or transactions

a FINISHED project!!!

a FINISHED project!!!

we installed the new shelf and added the cabinet hardware today!

funny story - it took two trips to ikea to get those wine glass racks for under the shelf. I was soooo excited to put our new barware in it! then...the bottom of the wine glasses were too big to slide into the holder. I could only put them on the end spots where I could stretch out the metal bars enough. also, only two fit per row, because they are HUGE GLASSES! I picked them for the registry from crate and barrel's website, so I didn't realize how big they are. fun!

also, the countertop there? that's the cleanest and least cluttered horizontal surface in the whole condo right now.

O.K. Guards Are Asleep - its Time to Make Our Escape

O.K. Guards Are Asleep - its Time to Make Our Escape

I was able to get out today, wrapped-up to the eyeballs. These pigeons were actually behind bars in the old Town Jail. After quite a few hours of no internet access I am back now. I managed to add a lot more new RAM memory to my old P.C. with some help from a kind I.T. neighbour and also cleaned-up my P.C. registry and removed file fragments using a registry cleaner program. Our slow-as-treacle P.C. does seem a lot faster now.

By the way I have looked inside that (upstairs) old cell and it must have seemed positively luxurious accomodation, compared to the dank cold dungeons that many castles had!

clean out the registry

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registry clean up free download

tag: clean  out  the  registry  carpet  spot  cleaning  machines  how  to 



How To Clean Coins At Home

how to clean coins at home

    at home
  • An informal party in a person's home

  • A period when a person has announced that they will receive visitors in their home

  • a reception held in your own home

  • on the home team's field; "they played at home last night"

  • at, to, or toward the place where you reside; "he worked at home"

    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.

  • Practical advice on a particular subject; that gives advice or instruction on a particular topic

  • (How To’s) Multi-Speed Animations

  • Providing detailed and practical advice

  • clean and jerk: a weightlift in which the barbell is lifted to shoulder height and then jerked overhead

  • Remove the innards of (fish or poultry) prior to cooking

  • free from dirt or impurities; or having clean habits; "children with clean shining faces"; "clean white shirts"; "clean dishes"; "a spotlessly clean house"; "cats are clean animals"

  • Make (something or someone) free of dirt, marks, or mess, esp. by washing, wiping, or brushing

  • make clean by removing dirt, filth, or unwanted substances from; "Clean the stove!"; "The dentist cleaned my teeth"

  • Make (metal) into coins

  • make up; "coin phrases or words"

  • Make (coins) by stamping metal

  • (coin) a flat metal piece (usually a disc) used as money

  • Invent or devise (a new word or phrase)

  • (coin) mint: form by stamping, punching, or printing; "strike coins"; "strike a medal"

the littlest hobo (revised)

the littlest hobo (revised)

Hoboes is a name coined for men and women, but almost exclusive men that travel as migrant workers or left their friends and family in the depression or after wars when there was no work for them in their home cities. They either in many ways left to go look for a job or just to avoid the stress and strains of life in a family where they could no support their families because there was no jobs. They would maybe jump on a train, and ride in a boxcar to the next city to find a temporary job where they was building a large building, or some other temporary job like picking strawberries for the season.

Hoboes do not like to be labeled or to have people talk for them, they are an independent lot and they really do not fit into an categories. The ones that actually call themselves Hoboes have a sort of code of the road that they adhere to or are aware of, and this code is some ways enforced or not enforced. The Hobo is penniless and poor, and lives by his or her wits from a day to day existence and the future is not important because they have to normally make the cheap choice, and not the best choice. They are pragmatic and accept the reality that they are not rich and they must accept the way they must travel from place to place.

There is a love of Hoboes for the trains. Train hopping is almost synonymous with being a Hobo and although there is no hard cored connection that says a Hobo must travel by train, it is the customary or common way for a Hobo to travel. In the early years of transportation in the USA the easiest, quickest, and most convenient way to travel was by rail so there became a Hobo culture that had its community centered around the trains and living close to the railway. They would set up camps close to train tracks and live in these camps waiting for the next train, or working at a local job, and ready to leave whenever they heard the sound of the train whistle.

Life for the Hobo was harsh, and brutal in many ways, it was not the life for the weak of will, or the person that could not tolerate some bad conditions. They did what they had to do to survive and this was not always the best of ways. A Hobo was in many ways a good family man that ran astray and did not know how to compete in the world of normal jobs, and especially when the ravages of war or the depression took away their jobs, and threw them into the road. So there is a resourcefulness to the idea of being a Hobo that says you will survive by doing what you have to do.

Hoboes were both loved and hated by people. Maybe there is the "but for the grace of God, there goes I" mentality, and back to the basic idea of human nature. People take care of each other in the end. If the time really get bad, and there is a common bound of misery, or poverty people can share, but they can also be cruel and mean. Life is not always so good for the Hobo, you do not just fit in like the rest of the people, and how do you ever get up to normal standards of the community by getting a good shower, a clean bed and cloths when you are living in boxcars or traveling for days, and the last meal you had was not remembered clearly.

Hobo is almost exclusively used by the American culture and small amounts by the British, Australian, or New Zealand cultures. Basically it is an American originated word and adopted or utilized by other English speaking countries. It is part of Americana and the world of being a rag muffin immigrant land where people had traveled to for the dream of golden streets, and land of plenty, but there was not always a way to live. The American dream although not achieved by the Hobo, was still professed, and understood at it more essential end. Being a Hobo in America was about the ability to claim the American dream in the end by saying,

I be Hobo, I be FREE

So the love of freedom and the wonder or wanderlust of the Hobo as led them to explore the places the rest of the world did not go and often did not want to go, but also help them to understand real freedom.

I did no justice to the Hobo, and I am just a traveler without a home. I appreciate their free spirit, but also understand the loneliness, and possibly the life of a Hobo with no future. There are lot of Hoboes in the world that neither can return to their homes, do not remember how to return home, and when they do return, find they must leave for the road calls, and they only feel complete when they are traveling.

Andy March 14, 2004 - Mongolia



A friend came for coffee this morning and as usual that inspired a modicum of cleaning up.

The impulse to continue cleaning, tidying, and sorting out my life continued after a trip to the park where I took a lot of duck photos.

My parents' last house was in a small town in Nova Scotia, called Shubenacadie. In one of those strange coincidences that abound in life, the cousin to whom I was closest growing up married a woman who comes from the next town over, Stewiacke. This gives us such an odd connection. I wonder how many times our paths might have crossed at the Halifax airport. I also wonder what it would have been like if I had known her and had shared some of the time I spent in Nova Scotia with her.

My visits to my parents once they'd moved shortly after I'd finished high school were always a bit fraught by the fact that I knew no one but them in the province. I did meet some of the neighbours over time and I also spent some time getting to know one of my cousins on my father's side of the family, his nephew Ted. As the youngest child in a family of seven, my dad was only three years older than Ted, and when I spoke to my cousin last year I realized that they had actually spent more time together while growing up than I had ever realized.

The photo in the photo is part of a series I hadn't seen till after my mother died. Taken when they were just about 40, I suspect it dates from 1965 or so, shortly after my folks bought close to an acre of land about 60 miles from Ottawa on Bass Lake, one of the small Rideau Lakes. For the first few years we had only a homemade trailer on the property, in the middle of a field that had once been cleared for growing hay. The sun beat down on that aluminium trailer mercilessly.

Hauling water from the lake was an often several-times-daily chore. In the photo my father is growling at my mother and I know that she is shaking with laughter at having successfully nailed him with the pail of water. I can almost hear the shrieks of that laughter, which must have carried all around the one mile by three mile lake.

The fossil is a lovely one my mother got on a trip to Sydney, Nova Scotia, shortly after WWII. She had become friends with a woman named, I think, Ruth Elizabeth Steele, after whom I'm named, during her time as a CWAC. On this post-war visit they went to an old coal mine and my mother fell. She was always able to point to a little spot on the fleshy pad below her thumb where a speck of coal dust had embedded itself under the skin.

The silver backed brush in the background is one of two my dad owned. I don't think he used them often, but would bring them out when he was getting ready for special occasions, like going to the formal dinner for his regimental reunion.

The money is a collection of coins and paper money from both my parents' (not very extensive) travels, plus a Canadian dollar bill that was undoubtedly saved for posterity when the loonie was introduced.

The little brass paperweight with the three monkeys is something I bought. The story goes that when my father went to his parents' funeral he found his sisters and brothers feuding with each other as they plundered the family home. (Not, I don't imagine, that there was anything of any great value except for my grandmother's quilts and afghans and my grandfather's tools.) In a gesture I think he later regretted (certainly some of my grandfather's tools ended up in my dad's possession), my father got on his high horse, cut off his nose to spite his face, and declared that the only thing he wanted from his parents' home was an odd little pottery jar with the See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil monkies around the outside. I'm not sure what it was originally designed to hold - it wasn't pretty enough to hold hairpins, wouldn't have been designed for parlour display or for a woman's vanity. I bought the little paperweight as a reminder of the story many years ago. And because it has always seemed like good - verging on the Sufi - advice, and not a bad way to aspire to live one's life.

how to clean coins at home

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tag: how  to  clean  coins  at  home  spot  silk  cleaning  lady