SPECIALTY TOYS FOR CHILDREN - SPECIALTY TOYS


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Specialty Toys For Children





specialty toys for children






    for children
  • For Children (Hungarian: A Gyermekeknek) is a cycle of short piano pieces composed by Bela Bartok. The collection was originally written in 1908-11, and comprised 85 pieces which were issued in four volumes.





    specialty
  • A particular branch of medicine or surgery

  • forte: an asset of special worth or utility; "cooking is his forte"

  • specialization: the special line of work you have adopted as your career; "his specialization is gastroenterology"

  • A pursuit, area of study, or skill to which someone has devoted much time and effort and in which they are expert

  • A product, esp. a type of food, that a person or region is famous for making well

  • peculiarity: a distinguishing trait





    toys
  • An object for a child to play with, typically a model or miniature replica of something

  • An object, esp. a gadget or machine, regarded as providing amusement for an adult

  • (toy) dally: behave carelessly or indifferently; "Play about with a young girl's affection"

  • (toy) a nonfunctional replica of something else (frequently used as a modifier); "a toy stove"

  • A person treated by another as a source of pleasure or amusement rather than with due seriousness

  • (toy) plaything: an artifact designed to be played with











Chuck




Chuck





I met Chuck Dale three years ago at a blues festival in Calgary. Our bond was immediate and strong. What struck me first was how easily we managed to negotiate the common space between our merchant tents. Chuck was a veteran importer, a traveller, and a gypsy prince with a wicked sense of humour. We met the following year at the Pemberton Music Festival and again set up side-by-side. Finally, this year, we set up as neighbours at the Vancouver Folk Festival.

The bond is impossible to explain. We should have been brothers. We worked and played together like grown children. He’d appear in our tent and make some odd comment and I’d offer him 20 bucks to fuck off. Then 40, 80, 100. Shoppers often didn’t know how to react to our kibitzing. Were we serious? What the hell were we talking about? I owed him thousands. Other times he’d simply appear beside me like a ghost. One time I told a security volunteer that a homeless person was harassing me. I described Chuck and she caught him lurking behind my tent. He never did pay me back for that prank.

We had a thing about feather dusters. We offered patrons a light dusting with their purchases. Sometimes we’d walk from tent to tent among other merchants, dusting off their goods. We’d shake and twirl the dusters as if they were alive. We’d stand in threatening poses and brandish the dusters at each other like weapons. They became puppets and spoke to each other or to passers-by: “Never underestimate a feather duster.” At night, when the tent sides were closed, the dusters became shadow puppets and danced on the white walls.

We were old souls who met on a long road. We shared an ancient way of life, bringing goods to market from far places. We both followed the Western Canadian street market and music festival circuits, our vans filled like caravans of old. Traces of merchants lie strewn throughout history. Much of what is known of the past is through the investigation of trade goods found in sunken ships or painted on the walls of ruined civilisations. People call us vendors, but vendors is such a weak word. We are merchants.

Last I saw Chuck was at the Vancouver Folk Festival. The festival wouldn’t let us bring our vans on-site so we had to haul everything along a gravel walkway from a far parking lot. Chuck had a trailer full of goods and infrastructure, including 42 3ft X 6ft metal grids. After some discussion with a security person, Chuck was given permission to haul his trailer in by hand, a seemingly impossible task.

But Chuck lifted the tongue of the trailer with a hand-dolly and five of us hauled and pushed the thing over a low rise and down to the west bazaar. The hand-dolly holding the trailer tongue was lifted and navigated by a short and muscular young man - Te, a friend from Thailand who called Chuck daddy. It was one of those physically impossible tasks people do to prove that they can do it. Four men and a girl - Chuck’s 20-year-old niece Sabrina was with us. Joggers, other merchants, Parks’ officers, festival volunteers – all were amazed.

In the late evenings, after our tents were shut, several merchants sat together in a park near the Jericho Beach hostel. Sometimes Chuck and I would sit alone. We shared vignettes of our lives. Our laughter surprised us. People thought we’d known each other for ages. His import company was called Odyssey and, like Odysseus, Chuck had a unique resourcefulness. His occupations in life were various – auto-body-man, heavy equipment operator, mechanic. He had an extended family, the result of several relationships and the relationships of his partners, children and stepchildren, and countless uncles and aunts. He spoke of his father once, a terrible few moments. I forget what he told me. He’d like it that way.

His feet were giving him trouble. He seemed more haggard than I remembered. But still strong and vibrant at times. All summer season long we had texted one another and were looking forward to being at the jazz festival in Kaslo together, all four of us, because my partner JoAnn and Chuck’s wife Darlene were fast friends. There is so much more to it. Really, but … Chuck took ill and died.

I last spoke with him while at the Shambhala Music festival, my cell set on speakerphone and resting on a fencepost. Te was with me. Chuck was in the hospital. “You get better daddy,” said Te. “Come to Thailand and play your drum.”

The service for Chuck Dale was held on an expansive property in an upscale neighbourhood in Maple Ridge, near Vancouver – Darlene’s sister’s place. I met most of the people Chuck had spoken about with love, bewilderment and humour. We shared such complexities. The yard and house were full of objects Chuck had imported over the years from South Asia - pottery and textiles on ledges and walls and up the winding staircase, a 10ft stone statue of Buddha in the yard, three wooden bird chimes hung around a circular section of the wide wood deck. This section was draped in white sheers. There stood a high











Superman/Thundercats




Superman/Thundercats





Suspended Animation Classic #784 First published January 4, 2004 (#1) (Dates are approximate)
Superman/Thundercats
By Mark Allen
The evil Mumm-Ra has ever striven to aquire the powerful Eye of Thundera. Now, he has made a pact and secured a trade with an exile from another dimension; his protection for the Orbs of Barrak, talismans which will allow him to travel to other dimensions. Particularly, one which holds a twin to the Eye; modern-day Earth. And, as this is a Superman cross-over, where else would the Eye be, but in a Metropolis museum?
And so begins a high-action tale that may well appeal to the child in many of us; it appealed to mine, anyway. A long-time Superman fan, and an avid viewer of the Thundercats series in the '80's, Superman/Thundercats scratched an itch I never even realized was there; primarily, seeing Superman (with his vulnerability to magic) go head-to-head with Mumm-Ra. Of course, as the Thundercats pull off their own reality-hop to Metropolis, being perceived as a crew of invading aliens, readers also get to see Supes throw down with everyone's favorite feline aliens.
What more could a fanboy (or girl) want? Kudos to writer Judd Winick for producing a fun story, and preserving the personalities of all characters involved. Props also go to artists Ale Garza (pencils) and Trevor Scott (inks) for a dramatic, dynamic style, slightly manga-influenced, but also with an attention to detail. Perfect for the Thundercat characters, as anyone familiar with the series knows.
This is one of those comic projects that, in my opinion, has the cross-over appeal that comics so dearly need, today. If well-hyped and sold outside the specialty market, a lot of people who don't normally read comics could be reminded why they enjoyed them as children. Who knows? Maybe DC (the owners of Wildstorm) will reprint this project, releasing it through Wal-marts, Quick-Trips, Toys-R-Us stores, etc. Hey, a comic fan can dream, right?
Recommended for all ages. Find it at comic shops, conventions and online auctions.
Superman/Thundercats, published by Wildstorm Productions, 48 pages, $5.95.












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