Word: shaking
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...especially for the developing nations. They have already run up some $220 billion in debts since oil prices began climbing almost six years ago, and the latest rises could add some $6 billion more to the burden by year's end. Fears are growing of defaults that would shake the private Western banks that have done much of the lending. Turkey, Sudan, Bolivia, Zaire, Zambia, Jamaica and other countries are in trouble...
...chat with John Paul II on the new Pontiffs trip to Mexico last January. Wynn reports great differences between the two as air passengers. "Pope Paul established the habit of visiting the press section during each flight," recalls Wynn. "But he was reserved and a bit shy. He would shake each newsman's hand, murmur a greeting, and then return to his compartment." But when John Paul II meets the press, he is outgoing and garrulous. On the flight from Rome to Warsaw, the Pope fielded inquiries in six languages (English, German, Polish, Spanish, Italian, French) and managed...
...there." He floors the accelerator, heading for the tornado's path, so he can get pictures. At 4:09 p.m., the first heavy drops splatter on the windshield, washing away the dead insects. A jumble of blue gray shapes rushes across the sky. Soon chilly blasts of air shake the truck. A windmill in a nearby field whirs crazily. "It's only a matter of time before we get hail," says Moore...
...preferred by his predecessors. Breaking with custom, he rarely celebrates early morning Mass alone, nor does he like to dine by himself. When a Pope strolls through the Vatican gardens, Vatican guards normally keep watch over him from a distance. One morning John Paul eluded them and offered to shake hands with a gardener. Awed, the man put his hands behind his back, stammering, "They're dirty, Holy Father." With a grin, the Pope grabbed the earthy hands and rubbed them on his white cassock. "I know they're dirty," he said...
...conditioning, bathed in Dolly Parton from the tape deck. In shopping malls, supermarkets the size of National Guard armories feel as cold as meat lockers; housewives in pedal pushers go Brrrr as they load their carts with food encased in a wealth of nonreturnable glass, metal and paper. They shake their heads as they pay what the check-out computer demands of them, and pile the groceries into broad-beamed station wagons. At home, the automatic icemaker sighs and clatters in the kitchen; the automatic washer discos through the spin cycle. The microwave starts dinner...