Eve Architecture

Eve Architecture Eve Architecture Official

09/11/2025

This GTA mission feels way too familiar for anyone from the UK...

She was born into a world that did not expect her to dream of flight, and yet Elsie MacGill made the skies her destiny. ...
08/28/2025

She was born into a world that did not expect her to dream of flight, and yet Elsie MacGill made the skies her destiny. Raised in Vancouver in 1905, she grew up surrounded by strong, educated women—her mother was a suffragist and judge, and her grandmother one of the first women in Canada to study medicine. With that kind of lineage, Elsie was never one to be told what she could or could not do. She studied engineering when few women were even allowed in the classroom, earning her degree in electrical engineering before turning to aeronautics.

But her journey was not without hardship. As a young woman she was diagnosed with polio, left temporarily paralyzed and told she might never walk again. She did not accept that fate. She rebuilt her strength, walking with canes for the rest of her life, but refusing to let disability define her. If anything, it sharpened her determination.

Elsie became the first woman in the world to design and oversee the production of aircraft, and not just any aircraft. During the Second World War, she supervised the Canadian production of the Hawker Hurricane, a fighter plane that helped Britain survive the Blitz. Her role was so vital that she became known as “Queen of the Hurricanes,” a title that captured both her brilliance and her unflinching authority in a male-dominated industry.

Beyond her work in aviation, she was a lifelong advocate for women’s rights, carrying on the legacy of the women who raised her. Elsie believed in possibility—in the idea that no door should be closed simply because of gender. Her life was proof of that belief. From the drawing board to the factory floor, from the lecture hall to public service, she broke barriers with grace and tenacity. And though she may not have piloted the planes herself, Elsie MacGill helped women everywhere imagine new altitudes.

Christopher Lee.
08/28/2025

Christopher Lee.

Traces of Texas reader John Christopher Turner kindly submitted this wonderful shot of his great great grandparents and ...
08/20/2025

Traces of Texas reader John Christopher Turner kindly submitted this wonderful shot of his great great grandparents and had this to say about it:

"This photo, taken around 1920. is Willard and Frances Dickerson, my great, great grandparents. He was born in Atlanta, Texas around 1888-1892. While her specific age was unknown, she was born close to Shreveport, Louisiana, but spent her teenage years in Jefferson, Texas. They married around 1912 and had 5 children. He along with his half-brother and stepfather farmed property west of Atlanta in what is called the Honey Grove community until the early 1940’s. In 1942 he moved his family including the oldest granddaughter, (my mother) to Detroit, Michigan and worked at Ford Motor Company. Their they lived until the early 1970’s and eventually moved back to Texas settling in Texarkana. They remained there until his death in 1978 and her passing in 1989. Because I grew up in Atlanta I was only around them for several years. He would always come to our house on Sundays. I was fascinated by the stories he told. He had a way of bringing to life stories about people who were long gone. I always looked forward to his visits. My great grandmother was a homemaker most of her life. She raised or kept her children, grandchildren and a few great grandchildren. She could make the best from scratch cakes along with fig, tomato and plum preserves."

A superb photo and a wonderful caption. I love their attire.

Thank you, John Christopher. SUPER DUPER!

On the final day of filming *Being There* (1979), Peter Sellers, dressed as his character Chance the gardener, silently ...
08/16/2025

On the final day of filming *Being There* (1979), Peter Sellers, dressed as his character Chance the gardener, silently pointed his remote control at director Hal Ashby, clicked, and watched as the entire crew froze in place before breaking into applause. It was a fitting final act, a subtle yet profound gesture that captured the essence of Chance—silent, detached, and unknowingly profound. Sellers, known for his comedic roles in *Dr. Strangelove* (1964) and *The Pink Panther* (1963), delivered a performance in *Being There* that was a stark departure from his usual explosive energy. His portrayal of Chance, a simple-minded gardener with no understanding of the world beyond his employer's estate, was characterized by stillness and restraint, turning the character into a figure of eerie and unsettling depth.

The film follows Chance as he stumbles into the complexities of the outside world, mistaking simple gardening metaphors for political wisdom. After the death of his employer, Chance's life shifts when he meets Eve Rand (Shirley MacLaine) and is mistaken for a man of great intellect. His vague, slow speech is interpreted as profound political insight, and soon, he is invited into the elite circles of Washington, including a meeting with the President of the United States. The film’s satirical edge lies in how easily people project their own desires and assumptions onto Chance, using him as a blank slate to fit their own narratives, while Chance remains blissfully unaware of the myth being created around him.

*Being There* is more than a film about mistaken identity; it is a reflection on the fragility of perception and the way power and media hunger for meaning in silence. The movie’s pacing, coupled with Johnny Mandel’s soft, jazzy score, creates a surreal atmosphere, further isolating Chance from the world he inadvertently navigates. In the film’s haunting final scene, Chance walks across a pond without sinking, a moment that leaves the audience questioning whether the world’s eagerness to believe has created a myth of its own making. Sellers called this his most important role, and it remains a testament to his ability to blend humor with a deep, poignant silence, embodying the quietest of characters who speaks volumes through his very stillness.

This is my wife Jessica having dinner after a 14 hour day. She comes home from work, has enough time to eat and get read...
08/16/2025

This is my wife Jessica having dinner after a 14 hour day. She comes home from work, has enough time to eat and get ready for bed and it’s back to work the next day for another shift. She is up early to get ready for her day. She doesn’t like to be bothered in the morning and I respect that. She showers throws her hair up, grabs her lunch gives the dog and me a kiss, and heads out the door.
At work, she takes care of people who are having the worst days of their lives. Strokes, Car accidents, motorcycle accidents, falls, breaks, brain damage, and more. She takes care of mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, friends, and families. It doesn’t matter who you are or what happened. She will take care of you.
She works through lunch and rarely has time to sit. She comes home after 14 hours, takes off her shoes that have walked through blood and tears, and just wants to sit down. I don’t ask her about her day because She doesn’t like to talk about work when she is home and that’s fine.
If she does want to talk, I will listen. Sometimes she comes home happy and sometimes she comes home sad. But no matter how she feels, she is always on time for her next shift.
I love her with all my heart. My wife is my hero. My wife is a Stroke Nurse.
Credit: Philip Urtz

My daughter handed me her school progress report. Although it displayed a steady stream of positive check marks, there w...
08/16/2025

My daughter handed me her school progress report. Although it displayed a steady stream of positive check marks, there was one check mark standing dejectedly alone from the rest.

“How am I doing, Mom?” my child asked with a level of maturity that did not match the small dishevelled person gazing up at me with smudged eyeglasses that teetered on the tip of her nose. With her small finger, she pointed to her teacher’s neatly printed words next to the lone check mark.

It read: "Distracted in large groups." But I already knew this. I knew this long before it was written on an official report card. Since she was a toddler, this child has offered astute observations of the world around her.

After pointing out all the positives on the progress report, I told her what was written. Upon hearing the news, she gave a tiny, uncertain smile and shyly admitted, “I do look around a lot.”

But before my child could feel one ounce of shame, one iota of failure, I came down on bended knee and looked her straight in the eye. I didn’t want her to just hear these words, I wanted her to feel them. This is what I said:

“Yes. You do look around a lot. You noticed Sam sitting off by himself with a skinned knee on the field trip, and you comforted him."

"You noticed Banjo had a running nose, and the vet said it was a good thing we brought him in when we did."

"You noticed our waitress was working really hard and suggested we leave an extra good tip. You noticed Grandpa was walking slower than the rest of us so you waited for him."

"You notice the beautiful view every time we cross the bridge to go to swim practice."

"And you know what? I don’t ever want you to stop noticing because that is your gift. It is your gift that you give to the world.”

As I watched my daughter beam with the glow of acceptance, I realized her approach to life had the power to change the world.

You see, we are all just waiting for someone to notice—notice our pain, notice our scars, notice our fear, notice our joy, notice our triumphs, notice our courage.

And the one who notices is a rare and beautiful gift.

****

~Rachel Macy Stafford, author of "Hands Free Life."

Artist unknown

John Wayne and the Secret Promise After 34 YearsSometimes, even when the world changes, a cowboy never forgets.The Wayne...
08/16/2025

John Wayne and the Secret Promise After 34 Years
Sometimes, even when the world changes, a cowboy never forgets.

The Wayne family’s private archives hold many untold stories.
This one was confirmed by the daughter of Fred Phillips during a program about Hollywood’s Golden Age backstage crews.

Fred was just a teenage makeup artist in 1939 when he worked on Stagecoach — the movie that made John Wayne a star.

During the grueling desert shoots, the dust and an old costume adhesive triggered a severe allergic reaction in Wayne.
Fred noticed before anyone else did, acted quickly, and helped him recover.
Wayne never forgot.
That day, he made himself a quiet promise: Someday, I’ll pay him back.

Years rolled on.
Fred built a career in makeup, moving from westerns to TV to sci-fi, even Star Trek.
Wayne went from a rising star to an American legend.

They didn’t cross paths for decades.

Then, in the early 1970s, Fred suffered a debilitating stroke.
He was forced to retire early, and the medical bills began piling up.
His daughter, worried but not asking for charity, wrote a short letter to let Wayne know her father still proudly talked about “Duke” and their time on Stagecoach.

A week later, an envelope arrived.
No note.
No fanfare.
Just a check covering the entire hospital bill — plus extra.

The signature at the bottom? John Wayne.

It didn’t stop there.
For the next three years, until Fred’s death, the Phillips family never saw another medical bill.
Wayne quietly took care of it all.

No press release.
No interviews.
No public praise.

Just one man keeping a 34-year-old promise.

Sometimes, promises don’t need to be announced to the world.
Some actions don’t need the spotlight.
They just need to be done —
quietly,
at the right time.

In Chandler, Arizona, Doug is a loyal customer at Arby's restaurant. Actually, he's the most loyal customer they have th...
08/16/2025

In Chandler, Arizona, Doug is a loyal customer at Arby's restaurant. Actually, he's the most loyal customer they have there. Doug is a 97-year-old World War II veteran, and has long loved the famous roast beef sandwiches on which the chain has built its reputation. Doug comes in every single day to enjoy a meal with his favorite sandwich. He almost always orders a Swiss cheese filled roast beef slider and a Coke with no ice. All the staff members there have memorized that as his “usual.”
After quite a while, one of the employees, Travis Coye, wanted to know more about this elderly man, and why he had such a fascination with the food they serve there. So he asked him why he keeps coming there; why that location? Doug replied, saying: “This is the only place I can get a sandwich or get anything else to eat that doesn’t hurt my stomach.” Actually, it may be closer to the truth that he likes the sandwich so much that he stopped looking for alternatives.
Doug lives in a nearby retirement home, but always makes sure to get his daily meal at Arby's. And he has his own favorite table where he enjoys it. The staff there treats him as much like family as possible and staff members go out of their way to make him comfortable. Says the manager there, Christina Gamage: “He comes in with a walker, as soon as we see him come to the doors, we try [to] grab the doors for him. He’s gone through a lot being a veteran, coming in, being in a retirement home, but he doesn’t have family.”
Doug is such a loyal customer and really good guy that one day the staff pitched in and got him a $200 gift card. He thought at first they were joking, but it was definitely real, and Doug told them: “Thank you. I never know if I’ll be here the next day, but thank you so much for this.” But what might be even more important than that... at least, more meaningful... is that many of the staffers gave Doug their phone numbers in case he needed anything. And they all offered to bring him his favorite meal to the retirement home in case he could not make it there.
Then, after Doug's story made national news, Arby's gave him another gift... free food for the rest of his life. Now he never has to worry about where his next meal is coming from, giving him more time to make more friendships.

Credit: Daniel Moloney

What the Camera Didn’t Show: John Wayne Quietly Carried Walter Brennan on the Set of Rio BravoIt was 1958 in the dusty h...
08/16/2025

What the Camera Didn’t Show: John Wayne Quietly Carried Walter Brennan on the Set of Rio Bravo

It was 1958 in the dusty heat of Old Tucson, Arizona. The Rio Bravo crew was setting up for another long day of filming. Walter Brennan, already in his 60s, was getting into character as “Stumpy,” the grumpy old jail guard with a bad leg and a sharper tongue.

But behind the scenes, Brennan wasn’t just acting. His arthritis had flared up badly that morning, and even the simple wooden steps of the set felt like a mountain. Director Howard Hawks quietly considered delaying the scene. Before he could decide, a tall shadow fell across Brennan.

John Wayne looked down at his friend and said in that calm, steady voice:

“Don’t worry, Walt. We’ll get through this together.”

When the cameras rolled, the audience saw a sheriff and his deputy moving across the set, ready for a gunfight. What they didn’t see was Duke’s arm, firm but discreet, around Brennan’s back, helping him take every single step. Wayne carried the weight of the scene, and quietly, the weight of his friend.

The take was perfect. Brennan eased himself into a chair, the pain still in his eyes but now softened by gratitude. He smirked at Wayne:

“You’re a big, stubborn nuisance… but I’m glad you’re here.”

Wayne chuckled, clapped him on the shoulder, and said simply:

“That’s what old friends are for, Stumpy.”

It wasn’t in the script. But it was the kind of moment that defined John Wayne the man, not just the legend.

Credits goes to the respective Owner

We're remembering Judy Hartline Elbring, a courageous Army nurse who volunteered for two tours in Vietnam starting in 19...
08/16/2025

We're remembering Judy Hartline Elbring, a courageous Army nurse who volunteered for two tours in Vietnam starting in 1967.

Judy dedicated herself to caring for the wounded amid the chaos of war, even tending to her own brother after he was injured. Like all nurses, Judy faced the horrors of treating young soldiers with devastating injuries, often staying with the dying to ensure they weren't alone.

She reflected on the emotional toll: “There wasn’t time to be scared. There wasn’t time to worry about anything except the immediate job at hand.”

One haunting memory lingered: “He stays with me. I don’t know why he stays with me, but he does. He comes back in my dreams. They’re helpless dreams in a way. They’re all the things I can’t do anything about. I would love to be somebody’s good dream. Oh God, wouldn’t that be wonderful? I’d be very proud to be somebody’s good dream.”

Upon returning home, Judy encountered hostility and silence, yet she later advocated for veterans' recognition. She passed in 2022 at age 79, leaving a legacy of compassion and resilience.

She never sought fame or rode into town with a six-shooter on her hip. Her power came from a different place—a deep, ste...
08/16/2025

She never sought fame or rode into town with a six-shooter on her hip. Her power came from a different place—a deep, steady current of compassion that could change the course of history without a single gunshot. On the unforgiving Texas Panhandle in the late 1800s, Mary Ann “Molly” Goodnight met the dust, danger, and loneliness of the frontier with a kind of courage that didn’t make headlines, but shaped lives.

When she married rancher Charles Goodnight in 1870, Molly stepped into a world where survival was the first priority and comfort was a rare luxury. Yet she brought something rare to that world—a commitment to care. While Charles was away on cattle drives, she became the ranch’s heartbeat. She tended to injured cowboys as if they were her own brothers, listened to the weary confessions of drifting strangers, and managed the sprawling operation without ever losing her warmth.

Her greatest act of rescue came in 1878, when she came across a small group of orphaned buffalo calves, their mothers slaughtered by hunters in the ongoing devastation of the plains. Most people saw the buffalo as doomed relics of a vanishing wilderness. Molly saw lives worth saving. She nursed them herself, bottle by bottle, and convinced Charles to take them in. From that act of quiet defiance against extinction grew the Goodnight Bison Herd—one of the last genetically pure herds of Southern Plains buffalo. The lineage she saved still runs wild at Caprock Canyons today, a living testament to the moment she refused to walk away.

But Molly’s legacy reached beyond the pastures. In 1898, she co-founded Goodnight College, offering education in a region where opportunity was scarce. She welcomed strangers into her home, gave help without keeping score, and infused the rough frontier with the rare grace of stability and care.

She never claimed the title of pioneer hero. She didn’t need to. Her work spoke for her—in the young people educated under her roof, in the buffalo still roaming under the open sky, and in the quiet truth that strength can be measured as much in mercy as in muscle. Charles may have built the ranching empire, but Molly gave it its enduring heart.

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