Series 66 Uniform Securities Act (1 and 2)
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In its day, it had been polished marble, but the marble had long since been sold to pay for necessities during our time of tribulation. By now we were well accustomed to poverty, but little did we know, on that cool September morning, just oil broker drunk trading cards dire our situation was. It was the beginning of my second year, and I was excited at being allowed to speak again after the traditional year of silence.
All during oil broker drunk trading cards year I had wondered, silently, what my fellow brothers made of me. Oil broker drunk trading cards had traded the life of a Wall Street broker for the contemplative life, my briefcase for a rosary, the roar of oil broker drunk trading cards trading floor for Gregorian chant. Once, as I was on my knees scrubbing the linoleum taking care not to brush too hard lest I crack it furtherI heard Brother Fabian tell Brother Bob: My vow of silence never chafed so painfully, but then I reminded myself that this was why I had sought sanctuary from the grasping world.
And, if truth be told, they were not far off the mark. As my managing director had said to me the day I was dismissed from the firm, "This has been one of the greatest bull markets in history. How did you manage to lose so much of our clients' money? I walked out and headed up the Street to Slattery's Bar. How oil broker drunk trading cards mornings had I spent here, reading the Journal while knocking back Bloody Marys?
He looked at me thoughtfully. That was about as much as I recall of that day. I came to lying on my stomach in a storage room next to a case of bottles labeled "Cana I unscrewed the cap and took a sip. Suddenly I became convinced, without ever having sampled a mixture of grape Kool-Aid and battery acid, that it oil broker drunk trading cards taste precisely like the fluid now in my mouth.
I spat it on the floor and careened to the men's room to rinse out the gritty residue. I was staring into the mirror, picking what appeared to be particles of rust from my teeth, when Slattery found me. He was closing up for the night, but I begged for a cup of coffee to wash away the taste.
He poured it at the bar. Watching you in here mornings, I got the feeling all you wanted was to get away from the Big Board. You don't need a bottle to do that. His words burned into me even more than the coffee, although not quite as much as the wine.
Perhaps after all I wasn't meant for the Street. Remember what grass looks like? I was in no position to distinguish between things bright and beautiful. Monks, doing something pastoral. I was still in oil broker drunk trading cards position to judge. I shuddered and washed some coffee down my throat. I'll clean it up. I give it to the winos. But it's a nice place and they're good souls and what the hell, it's a good cause, right? The sheep or the monks? In the background, above the monks in the vineyard, was a brick building and a church on a green hill.
Most peaceful vacation of my life. You might like it. Although I guess a winery isn't exactly the place for you these days. Slattery smiled as I washed down more coffee. I didn't hit Canada. And the week in the Monastery of Cana's guesthouse turned into two years. The vacation became a vocation. It was comforting, that September morning as I chanted with the other monks, to feel so far from the material world, with all its getting and spending and so little getting of understanding.
I was, after the usual custom, about to go out and check the vines for overnight frost, when the Abbot made a special announcement. I have something to say to you. We gathered around the folding card tables pushed together to approximate the shape of the magnificent fifteenth-century Florentine table that we had sold in order to repair the roof. Brother Bob, sitting next to me, said under his breath, "Another announcement. What is there left to sell? The Abbot stood before us, a picture of exhaustion.
A barrel-chested man in his mid-fifties, he had normally a booming baritone voice and a hearty manner that cheered us all through the long winters, doubtless the same quality that had made him a legendary captain of the Holy Oil broker drunk trading cards football squad. But this morning, in the dim predawn light, the oil broker drunk trading cards ruddy face looked drawn and fatigued.
The strain of fending off bill collectors and watching the monastery literally fall apart had taken its toll. Of late he had been acting erratically; some of the older monks whispered that he had been muttering obscenities in Latin.
Now there was something in his eyes I had never seen before: There can be little oil broker drunk trading cards that we have lived up to our vow of poverty. Our bank account is empty. Our credit is exhausted. We have nothing of value left to sell.
We have one functioning vehicle left, with a quarter tank of gas. We have no hopes of attracting retreatants to be our guests unless we do something about the plumbing and--through no fault of Brother Tom--our food.
Our founder, a fervent twelfth-century penitent who was eventually martyred by Sultan Omar the Magnanimous, had put the order under direct authority of the Pope.
But our relations with the Holy See in Rome had been strained ever since an unfortunate incident ten years before. As per tradition, the monastery had sent the first case of the new wine to the Pope. His Holiness took ill shortly after drinking a glass with his dinner.
Although it was never conclusively proved oil broker drunk trading cards our wine had caused his distress, the chemical analysis turned up a number of "impurities. And, frankly, who can blame them? The Abbot spoke as though struggling to maintain control. Due to our problems with quality control, the Cana label has been dropped by every wine distributor except the one owned by Brother Theodore's uncle.
And now even his devotion and loyalty are wavering. Uncle Leo called me yesterday after sampling the Cana Nouveau. He is a kind man. I got the feeling that his charity is being sorely tested. Though he does not wish to abandon us, he said that he knew of no liquor store in America, even in the least fortunate neighborhoods, or for that matter, anywhere in the industrialized world, that would buy Cana from oil broker drunk trading cards, at any price. He asked me if we had ever considered marketing it as an industrial solvent.
I assured him that he must have received a bad batch. At any rate, he is coming next week to taste the new vintage, and I do not think we can try his faith any further. The Lord does not expect us to produce wine from water, but we ought to be able to make it from grapes.
There was a deep oil broker drunk trading cards, deeper even than the normal monastic silence. I doubt Saint Thad would rejoice if he knew that we have been living oil broker drunk trading cards food stamps. I still haven't paid last year's fuel-oil bill. Unless you have a plan for alternative heat oil broker drunk trading cards, we face a winter without heat, which is not an agreeable prospect in a climate where the temperature normally dips to ten below.
None of us took a vow of lunacy. I tried to dispel the gloom. My attempt at levity met oil broker drunk trading cards silence. Some of the brothers gave me disapproving looks. Oil broker drunk trading cards Jerome, who tended the pigs and hens, was known for his simplicity as well as his piety.
The Abbot sighed heavily, as he usually did when Brother Jerome offered one of his helpful suggestions. I think Brother Ty was making an attempt at humor. Perhaps his one year of silence was not sufficient. After you help Brother Jerome clean the sty. He led us in a short prayer and bade us go about our duties. I went off to clean out the pigs' pen in penitential silence. That done, I went to see the Abbot.
He was deep in reading, sitting at his desk, an old door straddling two drab metal filing cabinets. He caught me reading the title. They tell me he's on television all the time on the educational channel. He was at the end of his tether. Best humor him, I decided. I have no idea what the man is talking about.