Legless lizards have distinct eyelids, quite visible ear holes, and non-forked tongues; sometimes vestigial limbs are detectable. Although they may look like snakes at first glance, they are really quite different.
If you ever happen to see a legless lizard in the wild, you will be able to tell that it is not a snake purely based on its movement:
Under frictional heat, red phosphorus can turn to white phoshorus, an extremely toxic substance. It can easily be mishandled, get absorbed through the skin, etc, if people (such as children) are not careful.
I grew up as an only child, and my father was a very religious Catholic. When I was a young boy, he made me attend church with him every Sunday. As I was somewhat of an atheist, we did not really get along all that well. I was not particularly bookish, and my father into serious study - we didn't exactly have the perfect father/son relationship.
Generally, after the services, we would remain there for quite a while and do some extra Bible reading with the priest, a good friend of the family. On a particular Sunday in April, however, the priest was ill.
This was nothing new, as the priest, an old man well into his 70s, was ill quite a considerable amount. On such occasions, my father and I would remain at the church even longer, praying and studying much more than usual in hopes that our supplications and devotedness to God would help the Father heal faster.
On this bright April Sunday, however, it came as quite a shock when immediately after the services (led by a substitute priest), my father beckoned me to the car. I inquired as to where we were going, and as to why we were leaving church earlier than usual.
"You'll see," said my dad with a smile.
We drove for hours, well into the next state.
"Get out of the car," my father cheerfully said as we stopped in a clearing near a lake.
I did as I was told, and he pulled out two fishing poles from the trunk.
"But, Dad, isn't it the Sabbath?..." I protested.
Ignoring my comments, he thrust the pole in my hand.
"Let's fish," he warmly invited me.
Confused as to his seemingly dissipated piety, but happy nonetheless, I grabbed the pole and sat down next to my father on the riverbank. We fished for hours, laughing, talking, and making jokes; we did not discuss religion once. I could not believe that this was my father I was fishing with. I was having a great time, and on a Sunday, nonetheless, the day of the week I dreaded most!
Long after the sun had set, we packed up the fishing poles, as well the fish we had caught, and began to drive home.
During the long ride, I asked my father why he had chosen to do such a special thing with me. I could not help but wonder why he had seemingly gone against his religion to merely have a good time with his son.
He pulled over the car to the side of the road, looked me straight in the eye and said something to me that I will never get.
"Son," he said, "the most important thing of religion, of this religion, of any religion, is to love one's neighbor. You may not choose to be religious in later life, but remember this: be kind to other people. All people, even strangers. If someone is obligated to be friendly and inviting to strangers, how much more so to own son. I love you."
We attended many more services in the future, never going on another outing like that again. Although the priest's sermons, the musky Latin texts, and my father in his suit receiving the Holy Communion are all but a faint blur in my memory, I will still always remember that one particular Sunday in April, and the profound words of wisdom my father imparted to me on that day.
If you ever happen to see a legless lizard in the wild, you will be able to tell that it is not a snake purely based on its movement:
http://video.google.com/videosearch?hl=en&q=legless%20lizard&um=1&ie=UTF-8&sa=N&tab=wv
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Ask any chemist.
Did anyone else notice the Esperanto words on the fridge? :)
Generally, after the services, we would remain there for quite a while and do some extra Bible reading with the priest, a good friend of the family. On a particular Sunday in April, however, the priest was ill.
This was nothing new, as the priest, an old man well into his 70s, was ill quite a considerable amount. On such occasions, my father and I would remain at the church even longer, praying and studying much more than usual in hopes that our supplications and devotedness to God would help the Father heal faster.
On this bright April Sunday, however, it came as quite a shock when immediately after the services (led by a substitute priest), my father beckoned me to the car. I inquired as to where we were going, and as to why we were leaving church earlier than usual.
"You'll see," said my dad with a smile.
We drove for hours, well into the next state.
"Get out of the car," my father cheerfully said as we stopped in a clearing near a lake.
I did as I was told, and he pulled out two fishing poles from the trunk.
"But, Dad, isn't it the Sabbath?..." I protested.
Ignoring my comments, he thrust the pole in my hand.
"Let's fish," he warmly invited me.
Confused as to his seemingly dissipated piety, but happy nonetheless, I grabbed the pole and sat down next to my father on the riverbank. We fished for hours, laughing, talking, and making jokes; we did not discuss religion once. I could not believe that this was my father I was fishing with. I was having a great time, and on a Sunday, nonetheless, the day of the week I dreaded most!
Long after the sun had set, we packed up the fishing poles, as well the fish we had caught, and began to drive home.
During the long ride, I asked my father why he had chosen to do such a special thing with me. I could not help but wonder why he had seemingly gone against his religion to merely have a good time with his son.
He pulled over the car to the side of the road, looked me straight in the eye and said something to me that I will never get.
"Son," he said, "the most important thing of religion, of this religion, of any religion, is to love one's neighbor. You may not choose to be religious in later life, but remember this: be kind to other people. All people, even strangers. If someone is obligated to be friendly and inviting to strangers, how much more so to own son. I love you."
We attended many more services in the future, never going on another outing like that again. Although the priest's sermons, the musky Latin texts, and my father in his suit receiving the Holy Communion are all but a faint blur in my memory, I will still always remember that one particular Sunday in April, and the profound words of wisdom my father imparted to me on that day.