I just opened an account with Postimage.org. I wanted to see if it works......and it does.

It seems to be simple enough. I drag and drop the photo onto the site.

The only problem I was having was after uploading a photo, that photo was the only one I could see. Any previous uploads had disappeared, and I had no idea how to find them.

Just now, I clicked on that first image, and behold, there were the rest of the images! All neatly displayed in a row.

There has to be another way to find them. This works for now, since I only have a few images on board.

Also, I wanted to group them into albums. Do you name the album first and then load the photos into them, or ???

Any help would be greatly appreciated!

This is a heavily photoshopped "diamond ring" photo that I took at the end of totality, that I felt like making into something else.

Hope you enjoy!

The moon has just taken the first little bite out of the sun. Slightly to the left and below that bite, you can see a vertical row of sunspots. We had a light cloud cover plus some ash in the air from the Vancouver fires, so those sunspots aren't as clear as they could have been.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

A juice company dumped orange peels in a national park. Here's what it looks like now.

The rest at the link:

http://www.upworthy.com/a-juice-company-dumped-orange-peels-in-a-national-park-heres-what-it-looks-like-now

A song by Isaac Albéniz:

https://itsgoingdown.org/state-trooper-try-stop-medics-performing-cpr-heather-heyer/

I was horrified and sickened and angered to read this compelling post.


As a queer, non-binary, anarchist, critical care RN/street medic who was the first responder for Heather Heyer, initiating CPR and, with a team of amazing bystanders, facilitating resuscitation until EMS arrived, I feel a compelling need to tell our story.

When we heard the car crash into our march, I was about 20 feet away from Heather, and I responded immediately to the screams for medics. I arrived to find bystanders holding c-spine traction on Heather’s neck and putting pressure on a deep leg wound to stop the bleeding, and I stopped to assist in controlling the bleed. Within a minute or two, Heather’s respirations slowed and stopped, she lost her pulse, we rolled her onto her back, and I began chest compressions. An EMT street medic provided respiratory supplies, and a bystander with medic training began respirations.

One of the critical aspects of Advanced Cardiac Life Support (ACLS), which is the advanced form of CPR that trained medics provide, is maintaining chest compressions at an effective depth and speed, with no breaks in compressions. Providing effective chest compressions is exhausting, and to maintain effective compressions, we ideally provide compressions for only two minutes, and take turns with other medics.

In 90 degree heat, this is even more essential. I was horrified to discover, after two minutes of intense, exhausting chest compressions, that a state trooper had forcibly removed the EMT assisting me in resuscitation, as well as other bystanders ready in line for the next round of compressions. The EMT told the state trooper that we were actively resuscitating a patient, but the state trooper physically removed him from the scene anyway.

The rest at the link.

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http://johnpavlovitz.com/2015/10/31/the-day-ill-finally-stop-grieving/

How long has it been? When is he going to get over that grief and move on already?”

I get it.

I know you might be thinking that about me or about someone else these days.

I know you may look at someone you know in mourning and wonder when they’ll snap out of it.

I understand because I use to think that way too.

Okay, maybe at the time I was self-aware enough or guilty enough not to think it quite that explicitly, even in my own head. It might have come in the form of a growing impatience toward someone in mourning or a gradual dismissing of their sadness over time or maybe in my intentionally avoiding them as the days passed. It was subtle to be sure, but I can distinctly remember reaching the place where my compassion for grieving friends had reached its capacity—and it was long before they stopped hurting.

Back then like most people, my mind was operating under the faulty assumption that grief had some predictable expiration date; a reasonable period of time after which recovery and normalcy would come and the person would return to life as it was before, albeit with some minor adjustments.

I thought all these things, until I grieved.

I never think these things anymore.