Latest news with #Kristi
Local Norway
28-05-2025
- Local Norway
Norwegian word of the day: Kristi Himmelfartsdag
Kristi Himmelfartsdag literally translates as Christ's heaven travel day, which pretty accurately describes why the day is celebrated. It always falls 40 days after Easter, which also means that it's always on a Thursday. Like Easter, the date is decided based on the cycle of the moon, so the date varies each year. The etymology behind the name of the holiday is interesting, as the word Kristi is actually a unique genitive form of the Norwegian word for Christ, Kristus. Speakers of German and most Slavic languages will know that the genitive case is used when talking about possession. In English and in Norwegian, this is expressed by adding an -s to the end of the person or thing to who the object belongs to (e.g. the man's house or mannens hus ) – So Kristi Himmelfartsdag should be written literally as Christ's journey to heaven day or Kristus Himmelfartsdag . Advertisement However, in Latin, the genitive form of Christus is Christi. In religious contexts, Norwegian has imported this form of the word as Kristi. Himmel , the second bit of the word, is the Norwegian word for heaven, and fart means speed or motion. Finally, dag is the word for day. The day is a red day, or rød dag, and has remained so even after Norway split the church from the state in 2017. Ascension Day, therefore, means a day of work and school for most people in Norway. As the holiday always falls on a Thursday, Friday is an inneklemt dag , meaning it is squeezed between a public holiday and a weekend. This means many who have planned ahead will have also booked the Friday off to enjoy four days off.
Local Sweden
27-05-2025
- General
- Local Sweden
Swedish word of the day: Kristi himmelsfärdsdag
The Swedish word for Ascension Day, the day Jesus is believed to have ascended to heaven, is 'Kristi himmelfärdsdag'. Here's the background behind the Swedish name for the holiday. Advertisement Kristi Himmelsfärdsdag literally translates as Christ's heaven travel day, which pretty accurately describes why the day is celebrated. You might also hear it jokingly referred to as Kristi flygare, or Christ the flyer. It always falls 40 days after Easter, which also means that it's always on a Thursday – it used to be known as helgetorsdag or Sacred Thursday. Like Easter, the date is decided based on the cycle of the moon, so the date varies each year. The etymology behind the name of the holiday is interesting, as the word Kristi is actually a unique genitive form of the Swedish word for Christ, Kristus. Don't miss any of our Swedish words and expressions of the day by downloading our app (available on Apple and Android) and then selecting the Swedish Word of the Day in your Notification options via the User button. Speakers of languages with cases, like German or most Slavic languages, will know that the genitive case is used when talking about possession. In English and in Swedish this is expressed by adding an -s to the end of the person or thing who the object belongs to (e.g. the man's house, or mannens hus) – so Kristi Himmelsfärdsdag should be written literally as Christ's journey to heaven day or Kristus Himmelsfärdsdag. In Latin, however, the genitive form of Christus is Christi. In religious contexts, Swedish has imported this form of the word as Kristi, meaning that you'll often see it in religious phrases and names like Jesu Kristi Kyrka av Sista Dagars Heliga (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or the Mormon Church), Kristi brud (the bride of Christ) and Kristi kropp (the body of Christ). Himmel, the second bit of the word, is the Swedish word for sky and heaven, while färd is the word for travel – it has the same root as the fare in English farewell, which was originally a way of wishing for someone to have a safe journey. Finally, dag is the word for day. Unlike many Swedish holidays, Kristi Himmelsfärdsdag is celebrated on the actual day of the holiday rather than the evening or afton before. Advertisement Example sentences: Kristi Himmelsfärdsdag firas den 29 maj i år. Ascension Day is celebrated on May 29th this year. De flesta svenskar gör inget särskilt på Kristi Himmelsfärd. Most Swedes don't do anything in particular on Ascension Day.
Yahoo
16-05-2025
- Business
- Yahoo
Myersville introduces proposed fiscal 2026 budget
Myersville's town council will vote in June on a budget for the upcoming fiscal year that includes an expected operating budget of just over $1.9 million. The municipal property tax rate would stay the same. The town's proposed fiscal 2026 budget includes operating revenues of $1,938,008 and expenditures of $1,914,961, leaving a surplus of a little more than $23,000. Under the proposed budget ordinance introduced at a meeting Tuesday night, the town's real property tax rate would remain the same, at 34.6 cents per $100 of assessed value. The real personal property tax rate applied to businesses would also stay the same, at 78.2 cents per $100 of assessed value. The public utility tax rate would be set at $1.173 per $100 of assessed value. No residents spoke at a public hearing on the proposed budget Tuesday. The council is expected to vote on the budget at its June meeting, scheduled for June 10. The budget goes into effect July 1. The town's fiscal 2025 budget is estimated to end with operating expenditures of $1,930,809. The fiscal 2026 budget is expected to include $1,817,708 in revenues from taxes and shared funds, including $818,850 in real estate taxes and $525,000 in public utilities taxes. It also projects $16,950 in revenue from municipal fees, and $3,350 in miscellaneous income. Among other increases in the proposed budget are increased costs for utilities, including for electricity to the town's municipal center and higher costs for heating oil, Town Manager Kristin Aleshire said Tuesday. The budget for heating oil is increased from $12,000 to $15,000 in the fiscal 2026 budget, while electricity costs are projected to rise from $24,000 to $24,500, according to the proposed budget. The costs of the town's various contracted services are also expected to increase, by nearly $20,000. The increases include $2,000 more for accounting services, an additional $5,000 for engineering fees, and a $9,212 increase in the town's contract with the Frederick County Sheriff's Office to provide a deputy for the town. The proposed budget also includes an additional $10,000 for mowing services, although it's offset by $10,000 less budgeted for snow removal. The town's enterprise fund, which covers its water and sewer operations, more than doubles in the proposed budget, from $1,020,901 to $2,071,404, bolstered by $1,040,000 in grants from the state. The town received grants for treating per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances, known as PFAS, in its drinking water, Mayor Mark Hinkle said Wednesday, as well as one to connect several houses on Easterday Road to the town's water system. The budget also includes $249,000 in capital projects for infrastructure in the town, including maintenance improvements to sections of Main Street and some stormwater projects, Aleshire said. The budget includes a lot of maintenance projects and routine improvements, but 'nothing spectacular,' Hinkle said. 'I think it's a fair budget. I think we can accomplish a lot,' he said.
Yahoo
02-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
My Best Friend And I Stopped Talking For 5 Years. Then I Learned The Surprising Truth About Why She Cut Me Off.
'Do whatever you want, Kristi, I'm done here,' I angrily texted after being removed as my friend's maid of honor for speaking up over what I felt were unreasonable demands. But friends fight, and I was sure we'd laugh about this in a couple weeks over penis flutes. That was the last time Kristi and I would speak for five years. The wedding came and went, and I never even received an invite. I reached out, attempting to mend fences a couple months after our initial argument, but I received radio silence. The experience was so painful and disorienting that I flew home to my dad's house in Florida and cried for a week into my cat's fur. I'd heard about best-friend breakups, but I never envisioned it happening to us. I first met Kristi freshman year at Northwestern University after we'd each bombed a mainstage audition and decided to get drunk together. Where I was the introverted and observant type with an outward stoicism and a rotating collection of combat boots, she was an extroverted, social butterfly who enjoyed humming along to 'Mary Poppins' while stenciling turquoise owls onto her bedroom walls. We were kind of like if Daria and Quinn actually liked each other and went and swigged cheap-ass vodka together on a dorm-room floor. We were perfect complements. From that crummy audition on, Kristi was the sister I never had. We shared apartments in Chicago, took vacations to New York together to see Broadway shows, and even moved to California in unison after graduation. We may have even swapped hookup buddies a time or two (after granting each other explicit permission). But as we approached 30 and our lives began moving in different directions, we struggled to connect. I was transitioning into a writing career in Los Angeles while she was settling down in Sacramento with her fiancé. I'd run script ideas by her, but she didn't care to hear them, claiming it impinged on our having fun. When I questioned her sudden disinterest in my life, she uncharacteristically responded by judging my day jobs and Craigslist roommates, as though my struggles were immature and not worthy of her time. Similarly, she'd call me to discuss wedding preparations that I found insignificant, deeming her quandary over the perfect shade of bridesmaids' gowns a frivolous problem to heap upon an artist in survival mode. We'd always been different people, but our values had never diverged to this extent. We became distant and entirely self-absorbed. As resentment mounted, all it took was one, heated text exchange for the lid to completely blow. Just like that ... an entire era was sunk. Once that reality set in, I ached everywhere. Over those five years that weren't, I saw on Instagram that she had a son; she saw I'd published in new magazines. Here and there, we'd exchange happy birthday messages or congratulatory comments on social media. Where there was once a deep closeness, there was now just a gaping void. I'd resigned myself to the sad fact that our friendship was firmly in the past. The author (right) and Kristi clubbing in Chicago in 2008. Related: 19 Wholesome Posts I Found On The Internet This Week That Are So Urgently Needed Right Now So when she texted me out of the blue — 'would love to catch up soon' — I wasn't sure how to feel. The message seemed awfully casual in the context of everything that happened. What about those times I reached out to her and got ignored? Frozen, I stared at my phone. On the one hand, I really missed her. On the other, I was incredibly hurt that I'd been cut out so unceremoniously. And, on still another, I felt guilty over my part in it, too. I wanted to talk to her, but I wasn't sure I could forgive. I wasn't sure she could either. And why now? I wasn't sure of much of anything other than there was nothing to lose by having a conversation, and I needed not take issue with the envelope the offer came in. Underneath it all, I really was ecstatic she'd reached out. The call came early on a Thursday evening while I typed on my laptop. I hesitantly answered after the most amount of rings. For a few minutes, there were some awkward first-date pleasantries. Then I called out the elephant in the room: I should have shown up for her more at that particular time in our lives, but I didn't feel my punishment fit the crime. I could tell she was uncomfortable, but she owned her part, too, stating she'd lost herself during wedding planning and felt she'd been selfish. She now missed old friends because they reminded her of who she was. Then she stammered as she apologized for not knowing how to apologize better. It was crystallizing for me in that moment how much she disliked confrontation and how different our conflict styles were. Was this ... the start of a best-friend reconciliation? Her apology was pretty lackluster, was I prepared to let her off that easily? I wasn't sure. All I knew was that, after hanging up, my shoulders dropped, and my body felt lighter. It's crazy the way pain lives inside you when it isn't given anywhere else to go. I was happy to be back in touch, but I was honestly skeptical how close we would ever be again. We'd missed huge milestones. Time had elapsed. Trust had been shattered. So when she proposed visiting each other, I wasn't ready. In fact, I let the invitation sit for a few months until a bout of writers' block-induced anxiety nearly drove me to the brink and, really needing to get away, I asked if she'd like to meet me in the middle of California at Hearst Castle. She replied she'd love a night away from mom duty. But even after we'd chosen a date, I almost canceled. My bedroom window was leaking from a particularly heavy rainstorm, and it would have been so easy to just ... not go. This reconciliation all seemed so out of nowhere. Was this at all about me ,or did she just need an exit ramp from the slog of life? I took a breath and acknowledged it was likely both. These days, I recognized answers weren't always all one thing or the other. Life is fuckin' hard. Sometimes you just want the people around who know and love you. Related: "It's Sad And Sexist But True": 17 Tips Women Learned From Other Women For Keeping Themselves Safe In The World We Live In The author (left) and Kristi wine tasting in Sacramento in 2014. Throughout the entire three-hour drive to San Simeon, I wondered if I should prepare topics of conversation in case there were awkward lulls, but I ultimately decided against it. Let's just let whatever is there, be there, I thought. This didn't deter me, however, from arriving a few minutes early to redo my hair and put on lipstick. She texted a few minutes out that she, too, still needed to put on mascara. We'd mopped beer-soaked streamers off the floor of our rickety college apartment in unlaundered T-shirts at 7 a.m., but there's an anxiety that comes with a reunion which screams, If nothing else, they can't think I totally let myself go. As I walked across the pavement toward the visitor center, I spotted Kristi's blonde ponytail and denim jacket near some shrubbery. She looked up from her phone, and she saw me too. The same jubilant girl I'd met at 18 years old power walked over to me with a huge smile and warm hug as though no time had passed. She looked exactly the same. It felt amazing to see her. Even though our reunion may have felt a little too breezy, a little too fast, it was clear she was choosing to put the past in the past. Nonconfrontational — that was her way. I could see she needed to do that. And, as her friend, I realized I needed to let her do that. This was imperfect, no way around that. But I wanted her in my life more than I wanted to be mad at her. I reminded myself our friendship flourished when we accepted each other as we were. There was nothing false or inauthentic about that. We were here. We were trying. Once I gave over, the rest of the trip was so unawkward, it was almost awkward. As we boarded the bus to take us up the hill to the castle, Kristi exuberantly showed me a photo of her 3-year-old son trying to ride her pit bull, Bianca, and another of her family's second house in Tahoe. I entertained Kristi with anecdotes of showbiz, burlesque classes I'd taken, and the museum exhibit that is Hinge. Married, she listened wide-eyed to my dating stories, as though she'd stumbled upon an exciting, secret portal. She seemed genuinely fascinated by the breadth of my experiences and covetous of my 'me' time — quite a different reception than I'd received when last we left off. Similarly, I was surprised to find myself admiring the warmth and fullness of her life. Five years ago, I may have mischaracterized her burgeoning lifestyle as prescriptive and confining — but confining is only ever in the eye of the beholder. No one knows that better than the woman who has a self-destructive relationship with her writing career. Kristi had the foresight to acquire some of the things I never knew I wanted until I realized I didn't have them. I could see that now. It's been a year since Kristi and I got back in touch and six months since Hearst Castle. We continue to catch up every few weeks by phone, exchange existential and musical theater-themed Instagram reels that remind us of each other, and text quick tips on sex, books and asshole colleagues. We've even committed to planning another trip as soon as our lives slow down a bit. Perhaps Sonoma. Or maybe Vegas. Probably the biggest realization I've made over the past year is how little our breakup actually had to do with our lives diverging — and how much it had to do with the fact we'd stopped truly seeing each other. Five years ago, Kristi and I were each at crossroads in life, terrified of the choices we were making, insecure in who we were, and desperate to receive reassurance from the one person who mattered most … the one person without the capacity to provide it at that time. We hadn't realized how much the other needed us, and so we grew resentful and judgmental. It was partly out of hurt, but mostly as a way of validating our own choices. Now, years after the divergence happened and our identities felt more secure, we really appreciated each other's lives. The author (right) and Kristi touring Hearst Castle in San Simeon, California, in 2024. This experience even made me question the growing normalcy of friendship breakups. Occasionally, they can be warranted. But, so often, friends think they've irreversibly grown apart when they haven't become different people at all — they've just started showing up differently. That can be fixed if both parties are able to look within and willing to fight for the relationship. She's since admit she should have done a lot of things differently. So have I. Had Kristi and I written each other off forever, we would have missed out on so much. It took courage and vulnerability to risk opening ourselves back up — to trust each other not to shatter a sacred piece of our hearts (again). Sure, we both made mistakes, but none were so egregious that the relationship had to end. Life has a way of teaching us that things are both way more nuanced and nowhere near as complicated as we want to make them. I think we had to meet each other again — wiser and more grown — to say, 'I'm sorry,' 'I love you,' 'This is stupid, 'Let's do better,' and, most importantly, 'Let's move on.' I'm so grateful we did. This article originally appeared on HuffPost in March 2025. Also in Goodful: 19 Wholesome Posts I Saw This Week That Were So Cute, They Legitimately Put Me In A Happier Mood Also in Goodful: "It's Killing Them": Doctors, Nurses, And Medical Professionals Are Sharing The "Harmless" Habits That, Well, Aren't So Harmless
Yahoo
28-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
My Best Friend And I Stopped Talking For 5 Years. Then I Learned The Surprising Truth About Why She Cut Me Off.
'Do whatever you want, Kristi, I'm done here,' I angrily texted after being removed as my friend's maid of honor for speaking up over what I felt were unreasonable demands. But friends fight, and I was sure we'd laugh about this in a couple weeks over penis flutes. That was the last time Kristi and I would speak for five years. The wedding came and went, and I never even received an invite. I reached out, attempting to mend fences a couple months after our initial argument, but I received radio silence. The experience was so painful and disorienting that I flew home to my dad's house in Florida and cried for a week into my cat's fur. I'd heard about best-friend breakups, but I never envisioned it happening to us. I first met Kristi freshman year at Northwestern University after we'd each bombed a mainstage audition and decided to get drunk together. Where I was the introverted and observant type with an outward stoicism and a rotating collection of combat boots, she was an extroverted, social butterfly who enjoyed humming along to 'Mary Poppins' while stenciling turquoise owls onto her bedroom walls. We were kind of like if Daria and Quinn actually liked each other and went and swigged cheap-ass vodka together on a dorm-room floor. We were perfect complements. From that crummy audition on, Kristi was the sister I never had. We shared apartments in Chicago, took vacations to New York together to see Broadway shows, and even moved to California in unison after graduation. We may have even swapped hookup buddies a time or two (after granting each other explicit permission). But as we approached 30 and our lives began moving in different directions, we struggled to connect. I was transitioning into a writing career in Los Angeles while she was settling down in Sacramento with her fiancé. I'd run script ideas by her, but she didn't care to hear them, claiming it impinged on our having fun. When I questioned her sudden disinterest in my life, she uncharacteristically responded by judging my day jobs and Craigslist roommates, as though my struggles were immature and not worthy of her time. Similarly, she'd call me to discuss wedding preparations that I found insignificant, deeming her quandary over the perfect shade of bridesmaids' gowns a frivolous problem to heap upon an artist in survival mode. We'd always been different people, but our values had never diverged to this extent. We became distant and entirely self-absorbed. As resentment mounted, all it took was one, heated text exchange for the lid to completely blow. Just like that ... an entire era was sunk. Once that reality set in, I ached everywhere. Over those five years that weren't, I saw on Instagram that she had a son; she saw I'd published in new magazines. Here and there, we'd exchange happy birthday messages or congratulatory comments on social media. Where there was once a deep closeness, there was now just a gaping void. I'd resigned myself to the sad fact that our friendship was firmly in the past. The author (right) and Kristi clubbing in Chicago in 2008. So when she texted me out of the blue — 'would love to catch up soon' — I wasn't sure how to feel. The message seemed awfully casual in the context of everything that happened. What about those times I reached out to her and got ignored? Frozen, I stared at my phone. On the one hand, I really missed her. On the other, I was incredibly hurt that I'd been cut out so unceremoniously. And, on still another, I felt guilty over my part in it, too. I wanted to talk to her, but I wasn't sure I could forgive. I wasn't sure she could either. And why now? I wasn't sure of much of anything other than there was nothing to lose by having a conversation, and I needed not take issue with the envelope the offer came in. Underneath it all, I really was ecstatic she'd reached out. The call came early on a Thursday evening while I typed on my laptop. I hesitantly answered after the most amount of rings. For a few minutes, there were some awkward first-date pleasantries. Then I called out the elephant in the room: I should have shown up for her more at that particular time in our lives, but I didn't feel my punishment fit the crime. I could tell she was uncomfortable, but she owned her part, too, stating she'd lost herself during wedding planning and felt she'd been selfish. She now missed old friends because they reminded her of who she was. Then she stammered as she apologized for not knowing how to apologize better. It was crystallizing for me in that moment how much she disliked confrontation and how different our conflict styles were. Was this ... the start of a best-friend reconciliation? Her apology was pretty lackluster, was I prepared to let her off that easily? I wasn't sure. All I knew was that, after hanging up, my shoulders dropped, and my body felt lighter. It's crazy the way pain lives inside you when it isn't given anywhere else to go. I was happy to be back in touch, but I was honestly skeptical how close we would ever be again. We'd missed huge milestones. Time had elapsed. Trust had been shattered. So when she proposed visiting each other, I wasn't ready. In fact, I let the invitation sit for a few months until a bout of writers' block-induced anxiety nearly drove me to the brink and, really needing to get away, I asked if she'd like to meet me in the middle of California at Hearst Castle. She replied she'd love a night away from mom duty. But even after we'd chosen a date, I almost canceled. My bedroom window was leaking from a particularly heavy rainstorm, and it would have been so easy to just ... not go. This reconciliation all seemed so out of nowhere. Was this at all about me ,or did she just need an exit ramp from the slog of life? I took a breath and acknowledged it was likely both. These days, I recognized answers weren't always all one thing or the other. Life is fuckin' hard. Sometimes you just want the people around who know and love you. The author (left) and Kristi wine tasting in Sacramento in 2014. Throughout the entire three-hour drive to San Simeon, I wondered if I should prepare topics of conversation in case there were awkward lulls, but I ultimately decided against it. Let's just let whatever is there, be there, I thought. This didn't deter me, however, from arriving a few minutes early to redo my hair and put on lipstick. She texted a few minutes out that she, too, still needed to put on mascara. We'd mopped beer-soaked streamers off the floor of our rickety college apartment in unlaundered T-shirts at 7 a.m., but there's an anxiety that comes with a reunion which screams, If nothing else, they can't think I totally let myself go. As I walked across the pavement toward the visitor center, I spotted Kristi's blonde ponytail and denim jacket near some shrubbery. She looked up from her phone, and she saw me too. The same jubilant girl I'd met at 18 years old power walked over to me with a huge smile and warm hug as though no time had passed. She looked exactly the same. It felt amazing to see her. Even though our reunion may have felt a little too breezy, a little too fast, it was clear she was choosing to put the past in the past. Nonconfrontational — that was her way. I could see she needed to do that. And, as her friend, I realized I needed to let her do that. This was imperfect, no way around that. But I wanted her in my life more than I wanted to be mad at her. I reminded myself our friendship flourished when we accepted each other as we were. There was nothing false or inauthentic about that. We were here. We were trying. Once I gave over, the rest of the trip was so unawkward, it was almost awkward. As we boarded the bus to take us up the hill to the castle, Kristi exuberantly showed me a photo of her 3-year-old son trying to ride her pit bull, Bianca, and another of her family's second house in Tahoe. I entertained Kristi with anecdotes of showbiz, burlesque classes I'd taken, and the museum exhibit that is Hinge. Married, she listened wide-eyed to my dating stories, as though she'd stumbled upon an exciting, secret portal. She seemed genuinely fascinated by the breadth of my experiences and covetous of my 'me' time — quite a different reception than I'd received when last we left off. Similarly, I was surprised to find myself admiring the warmth and fullness of her life. Five years ago, I may have mischaracterized her burgeoning lifestyle as prescriptive and confining — but confining is only ever in the eye of the beholder. No one knows that better than the woman who has a self-destructive relationship with her writing career. Kristi had the foresight to acquire some of the things I never knew I wanted until I realized I didn't have them. I could see that now. It's been a year since Kristi and I got back in touch and six months since Hearst Castle. We continue to catch up every few weeks by phone, exchange existential and musical theater-themed Instagram reels that remind us of each other, and text quick tips on sex, books and asshole colleagues. We've even committed to planning another trip as soon as our lives slow down a bit. Perhaps Sonoma. Or maybe Vegas. Probably the biggest realization I've made over the past year is how little our breakup actually had to do with our lives diverging — and how much it had to do with the fact we'd stopped truly seeing each other. Five years ago, Kristi and I were each at crossroads in life, terrified of the choices we were making, insecure in who we were, and desperate to receive reassurance from the one person who mattered most … the one person without the capacity to provide it at that time. We hadn't realized how much the other needed us, and so we grew resentful and judgmental. It was partly out of hurt, but mostly as a way of validating our own choices. Now, years after the divergence happened and our identities felt more secure, we really appreciated each other's lives. The author (right) and Kristi touring Hearst Castle in San Simeon, California, in 2024. This experience even made me question the growing normalcy of friendship breakups. Occasionally, they can be warranted. But, so often, friends think they've irreversibly grown apart when they haven't become different people at all — they've just started showing up differently. That can be fixed if both parties are able to look within and willing to fight for the relationship. She's since admit she should have done a lot of things differently. So have I. Had Kristi and I written each other off forever, we would have missed out on so much. It took courage and vulnerability to risk opening ourselves back up — to trust each other not to shatter a sacred piece of our hearts (again). Sure, we both made mistakes, but none were so egregious that the relationship had to end. Life has a way of teaching us that things are both way more nuanced and nowhere near as complicated as we want to make them. I think we had to meet each other again — wiser and more grown — to say, 'I'm sorry,' 'I love you,' 'This is stupid, 'Let's do better,' and, most importantly, 'Let's move on.' I'm so grateful we did. This article originally appeared on HuffPost in March 2025.
