Word: calm
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...hurricane struck me again. With some difficulty, much like swimming a few inches back to a levee against a flood, I managed to bury the bottom of my visor against Kenny's bowed back. Barns, fences, houses, cows, trailers, bridges, gardens, signs, dogs and clotheslines flew back. A calm center within me, which had long ago abandoned the idea of bailing out, began to consider two things. One, how far would we roll if a crash occurred. And two, how fast we were going, which would explain the number one. I counted telephone poles. We passed two poles...
...sound, almost like a siren. By fifth gear, I could tell the only thing making us go slower was the wind resistance of the egg trays. When I tried to shift the eggs from one hand to another, I felt my hand go wet with goo. Again, in the calm state of shock at top speed, I began to observe what was happening. The eggs were bounding out both left and right. First the vibrations would crack the shell, then the wind would suck the omelet out. As we zinged past the telephone poles and around curves, I twisted...
...still greatly respected and needed abroad, and could still be welcomed and on top of things at home. But his travels provided Nixon with no more than a brief respite from the pressures of Watergate and impeachment. Nor could his activity hide the fact that beneath the surface calm, he has been deeply affected by them. He often seemed subdued, yet at times he was unusually euphoric...
ELIZABETH, 44, a Manhattan advertising woman, was a fierce teetotaler because both her parents were problem drinkers. At 35, facing the prospect of a mastectomy, Elizabeth went to her psychoanalyst. The doctor proposed that she try a drink to calm her fears. "I'll never forget the feeling," Elizabeth says. "It hit me instantly. This was something I'd been waiting for without knowing it, and I never wanted to be without it again. I felt so warm and calm and safe...
Fortunately, in the Q.E. 2's resting place 270 miles south-southwest of Bermuda the seas were fairly calm, and passengers' morale was in most cases high as a kite. Surrounded by water, water everywhere, no one could complain that there was not a drop to drink. Ordering the bars open round the clock and all grog on the house, dapper Skipper Peter Jackson kept the bands going, the jollity flowing, for two drifting days. "It was all a little like Dunkirk," said one ship's officer. "You know, we English do have a talent for snatching...