Word: cladding
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...Savana is bigger than a Chevy Suburban but smaller than a Winnebago, and there's nothing mini about it--especially since the Explorer Van conversion company got through with it. It's a full-size van with a raised roof so you can easily move about the wood-clad cabin. Its sheer size gives you an enviable advantage over just about anything else on the road--personal space. Its two rows of captain's chairs and a rear bench seat mean the kids are rarely within reach of one another. Which, of course, is how sibling love flourishes on lengthy...
...picture of Mother Teresa that I remember from my childhood is of a short, sari-wearing woman scurrying down a red gravel path between manicured lawns. She would have in tow one or two slower-footed, sari-clad young Indian nuns. We thought her a freak. Probably we'd picked up on unvoiced opinions of our Loreto nuns. We weren't quite sure what an Albanian was except that she wasn't as fully European as our Irish nuns. Or perhaps she seemed odd to us because we had never encountered a nun who wore a sari. There was only...
...semi-clad models began adorning this Square landmark, it seemed like sacrilege to many. But others say the death of independent stores in the Square has been greatly exaggerated...
...even happy to riff on his 12-year relationship with Hurley, the often scantily clad Valkyrie to whom he seems content to play the hapless chorus boy. "Elizabeth made me buy a house," he confesses, "and we spent two years having idiot, pretentious, criminal bozos decorate it. It's now completely hideous, and I'm quarreling with her because I don't want to live there. The shower smells of dead people; I hate it." Instead, he hangs out in their old flat around the corner. "I go there and watch the football and drink beer. But I think that...
...rocks around it. Sprawled facedown on the mountainside, with arms outstretched and hands dug into the frozen ground, lay the bleached, mummified remains of a man. It was Mallory, his body almost perfectly preserved in the thin, dry air, a safety rope around his waist, and still partly clad in remnants of his tattered cotton, wool and tweed climbing clothes, the ragged collars stitched with markings G.L. MALLORY. He had apparently tumbled wildly down the slope, tried to arrest his descent with his hands, then died shortly thereafter--"still fighting, still gripping the rock to the end," says climber Jake...