Latest news with #Shayla
News.com.au
3 days ago
- Business
- News.com.au
Werribee family's almost $200k Amazon thanks to cat
A Werribee home sale that had even the auctioneer nervous by the halfway mark, has gone on to raise the home's price almost $200,000 in fewer than two years. And a homemade cat run for their pet Ziggy was a big part of the success. Josh Palmer and his partner Shayla were 'pretty nervous' as the 4 Amazon Place home started off with low level bidding and stalled in the middle of its price guide. Bulldogs great Mark Hunter lists $4m+ Williamstown home 'And then it skyrocketed,' Mr Palmer said. 'I was just in a whole lot of shock.' Ironically, celebrations for the sale boosted by the carpenter's renovation work had to be kept limited as he was booked in to help some family with a reno on Sunday. 'But we will be looking for another house to renovate,' he added. They'll also be taking some time to enjoy the space that they've filled with memories, including bringing their daughter Mia, 18 months, home to. While the renovation gave the buyers confidence they could just move in and enjoy the home, it was a cat run built down the side for the Palmer family's cat Ziggy that had them enthused. Hocking Stuart's Justin Tong said while the home's renovation, and feline-friendly reno, had given it an edge — buyers hadn't let on until well into the auction. 'It was at $550,000 at the halftime break, with only two bidders, and I was a little bit concerned,' Mr Tong said. 'Then I came out and threatened to pass it in and it just went off.' In a sign that fear of missing out (FOMO) is returning, the agent said such gambits hadn't been as effective recently as buyers were better at holding their nerve. Records show the owners paid $547,000 in 2023. 'So it has gone up nearly $200,000 in two years,' Mr Tong said. A young couple buying their first home outbid an investor and a downsizer. The agent said rising demand after rate cuts had created a 'perfect storm' for home sellers in recent weeks. 'Two underbidders is fairly common at the moment,' Mr Tong said. The agency sold three out of their four auctions yesterday, with the only one falling short priced over $1m. Co-worker Samantha McCarthy yesterday secured a $740,000 sale at the top of the advertised range for 22 Mirrambeek Rd, Hoppers Crossing.
Yahoo
5 days ago
- General
- Yahoo
Sioux City Warming Shelter temporarily pausing donations
SIOUX CITY, Iowa (KCAU) — The Sioux City Warming Shelter will be temporarily pausing donations. The Warming Shelter posted on Facebook Thursday morning that for the next two weeks they will be pausing donations. Story continues below Top Story: Potential SNAP cuts could impact food banks in Siouxland Lights & Sirens: 1 dead after truck crashes into backhoe near Norfolk Sports: Local Iowa high school girls playoff soccer highlights and scores (5-28-25) Weather: Get the latest weather forecast here The pause in donations is so that the Warming Shelter can organize their warehouse and get ready for construction. 'These changes will help us create designated spaces for male clients and female/children clients. In the process, we'll be reallocating surplus items to nonprofits and organizations that can put them to good use, ensuring we are responsible stewards of the generous donations we receive,' The Warming Shelter said in their post. The Warming Shelter said that they will post updates as they continue to clear their inventory. Currently, the Warming Shelter is offering walkers and crutches to those who may need them. If you are interested in crutches or a walker, you can contact Shayla at 712-301-4638. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Yahoo
13-05-2025
- General
- Yahoo
I used to not correct people when they got my name wrong. I've stopped trying to make it easier on other people.
Even my Dominican parents found my name complicated and call me by a nickname. Starting a new school year gave me anxiety because I knew I'd have to introduce myself. A teacher made me speak up when people mispronounced my name. When I was younger, I learned quickly that my name was complicated — not just for others, but even for my Dominican parents. My full name is Shaeleigh Severino (pronounced "shay-lee se-ver-ee-no"), and throughout my life, it has become a puzzle people prefer to simplify rather than solve. At home, my parents navigated between calling me "Shay-leigh" and "Che-la," influenced heavily by their Spanish accents and their struggle to balance Dominican traditions with adapting smoothly to American culture. Before I knew it, "Che-la" morphed into "Shayla," a simplified, Americanized version of my name. Over time, even I accepted this as my own. Every school year began with anxiety, knowing new teachers would inevitably stumble over my name. I would feel tension building each morning before class began, waiting to hear how teachers would attempt my name this time. Would they pause uncomfortably, avoid eye contact, or simply default to a nickname they'd heard others use? To ease the discomfort, I quickly adopted my nickname — Shae, which spread like wildfire among my classmates. Each new version created another layer of identity, fragmenting who I was into pieces that felt increasingly unfamiliar. This wasn't simply about pronunciation — it was about cultural assimilation, a desire to blend in and avoid standing out as different. The subtle pressure to conform and make life easier for others often meant distancing myself from the cultural heritage embedded in my given name. By allowing my name to be simplified or Americanized, I unintentionally participated in a broader erasure — an act that quietly distanced me from the stories, traditions, and legacy my name was meant to preserve. But everything shifted during my sophomore year of high school, thanks to one unforgettable teacher. On the very first day of class, after hearing me mumble yet another simplified version of my name, she paused and firmly said, "Your name matters. You force them to say it correctly or don't let them say it at all." Her words, simple yet profound, resonated deeply with me. In that instant, standing in front of friends who'd known me as Shay or Shayla for years, something clicked. I realized I'd spent too long answering to a name chosen solely because it was convenient for others. From that moment forward, I began gently but confidently insisting on my actual name — Shaeleigh. It wasn't always comfortable; correcting others felt awkward, and it still does. Sometimes, I hesitated, wondering if it was worth the trouble. Yet each correction became easier, feeling less like confrontation and more like an act of quiet bravery. Every small victory — a new friend or colleague getting it right on the first try — has been incredibly affirming. These moments remind me that even though fragments of my old identities still exist, I am continuously reclaiming and rebuilding my true sense of self. Nowadays, different versions of my name coexist, depending on when people entered my life. Old friends and family still call me Shayla, while newer acquaintances know me as Shaeleigh. I've learned to be patient with this mixture, recognizing that reclaiming your name and identity is an ongoing journey rather than a single event. I still pause when someone asks me, "What do you prefer to be called?" because it acknowledges the power and significance of my choice. In those moments, I reclaim my agency, one syllable at a time. Read the original article on Business Insider
Business Insider
13-05-2025
- General
- Business Insider
I used to not correct people when they got my name wrong. I've stopped trying to make it easier on other people.
Even my Dominican parents found my name complicated and call me by a nickname. Starting a new school year gave me anxiety because I knew I'd have to introduce myself. A teacher made me speak up when people mispronounced my name. When I was younger, I learned quickly that my name was complicated — not just for others, but even for my Dominican parents. My full name is Shaeleigh Severino (pronounced "shay-lee se-ver-ee-no"), and throughout my life, it has become a puzzle people prefer to simplify rather than solve. At home, my parents navigated between calling me "Shay-leigh" and "Che-la," influenced heavily by their Spanish accents and their struggle to balance Dominican traditions with adapting smoothly to American culture. Before I knew it, "Che-la" morphed into "Shayla," a simplified, Americanized version of my name. Over time, even I accepted this as my own. School gave me anxiety Every school year began with anxiety, knowing new teachers would inevitably stumble over my name. I would feel tension building each morning before class began, waiting to hear how teachers would attempt my name this time. Would they pause uncomfortably, avoid eye contact, or simply default to a nickname they'd heard others use? To ease the discomfort, I quickly adopted my nickname — Shae, which spread like wildfire among my classmates. Each new version created another layer of identity, fragmenting who I was into pieces that felt increasingly unfamiliar. This wasn't simply about pronunciation — it was about cultural assimilation, a desire to blend in and avoid standing out as different. The subtle pressure to conform and make life easier for others often meant distancing myself from the cultural heritage embedded in my given name. By allowing my name to be simplified or Americanized, I unintentionally participated in a broader erasure — an act that quietly distanced me from the stories, traditions, and legacy my name was meant to preserve. A teacher told me my name mattered But everything shifted during my sophomore year of high school, thanks to one unforgettable teacher. On the very first day of class, after hearing me mumble yet another simplified version of my name, she paused and firmly said, "Your name matters. You force them to say it correctly or don't let them say it at all." Her words, simple yet profound, resonated deeply with me. In that instant, standing in front of friends who'd known me as Shay or Shayla for years, something clicked. I realized I'd spent too long answering to a name chosen solely because it was convenient for others. From that moment forward, I began gently but confidently insisting on my actual name — Shaeleigh. It wasn't always comfortable; correcting others felt awkward, and it still does. Sometimes, I hesitated, wondering if it was worth the trouble. Yet each correction became easier, feeling less like confrontation and more like an act of quiet bravery. Every small victory — a new friend or colleague getting it right on the first try — has been incredibly affirming. These moments remind me that even though fragments of my old identities still exist, I am continuously reclaiming and rebuilding my true sense of self. Nowadays, different versions of my name coexist, depending on when people entered my life. Old friends and family still call me Shayla, while newer acquaintances know me as Shaeleigh. I've learned to be patient with this mixture, recognizing that reclaiming your name and identity is an ongoing journey rather than a single event. I still pause when someone asks me, "What do you prefer to be called?" because it acknowledges the power and significance of my choice. In those moments, I reclaim my agency, one syllable at a time.
Global News
05-05-2025
- Health
- Global News
Kelowna mom shares difficult journey of daughter living with rare disease
A Kelowna, B.C., woman is helping spread awareness about a rare disease that has touched her family in a personal way. May marks Tuberous Sclerosis (TS) Awareness Month in Canada, with May 15th being Global Tuberous Sclerosis Day. 'It affects one in 6,000 to one in 10,000,' Cindy Fairs said. TS is characterized by benign tunours in the brain and many other parts of the body. Fairs' daughter Shayla was diagnosed with TS when she was only seven-and-a-half months old. 'She had had a seizure and the doctor didn't initially recognized it as a seizure. Two days later it was a status seizure and we ended up in the hospital and we almost lost her at that point,' Fairs said. Story continues below advertisement 'She ended up going through three hospitals and ended up at B.C. Children's Hospital before she was diagnosed.' That was 1989 and while Shayla is now 36 years old, she is developmentally at the level of a child between three and five years old. 'She doesn't know how to count, she doesn't know her numbers, she doesn't know her letters, she doesn't know my name,' Fairs said. Fairs said brain surgery was considered when Shayla was five years old but it never happened. 'At that time they had never done brain surgery on anyone with tuberous sclerosis in Canada, so we were looking to go to California,' Fairs said. Get daily National news Get the day's top news, political, economic, and current affairs headlines, delivered to your inbox once a day. Sign up for daily National newsletter Sign Up By providing your email address, you have read and agree to Global News' Terms and Conditions and Privacy Policy 'We weren't able to go because of the cost to do the surgery and all of what comes with that and BC Medical would not cover it.' Fairs said the idea was re-visited again when Shayla was 14. 'By then, surgery was happening for individuals with tuberous sclerosis in Canada but there had been so many tumours that had developed in her brain, they could not isolate them so it wasn't an option any longer,' Fairs said. 2:18 Fight for B.C. girl's life-changing medication Fairs said thinking back to when her daughter was diagnosed in her first year old life brings back difficult memories. Story continues below advertisement 'When I think about it, it takes me back to a time of isolation and having very little support and no support,' she said. Fairs added that the only organization she found to lean on was in the United States. 'It was a lifeline,' Fairs said. The kind of lifeline she said was badly needed in Canada, so despite dealing with her daughter's challenges, Fairs got to work and co-founded Tuberous Scelrosis Canada, a non-profit organization now in its 35th year. She's hoping that by raising awareness, it prevents others from feeling the same kind of isolation she did all those years ago. Fairs said that she is only aware of four other families dealing with the disease in the Central Okanagan. Describing Shayla as her everything, Fairs said that four years ago her daughter and her best friend, who is also dealing with health challenges, moved into a place of their own marking an important milestone. 'They have 'round-the-clock care that comes in and supports there two gals and looks after them,' Fairs said. 'She's very happy and it gives her some independence.' Fairs wants to provide hope to others and ensure that people know there are supports in place for those experiencing TS and their loved ones. Story continues below advertisement More information can be accessed on the Tuberous Sclerosis Canada website.
