5jili online casino real money Peggy Sue Martinez has worked for almost a decade with a security workers union in Los Alamos to send Christmas presents to young children at two Española schools. Over that time, she has seen the kids' needs increase "drastically." "The needs are more basic," she said. Martinez, an Española city councilor, goes to James H. Rodriguez Elementary School and Los Niños Kindergarten Center each year before the holidays and speaks with kids who have been identified as the students most in need. In past years, she said, many children would say they need a pair of shoes or a jacket, "but now they need both shoes and a jacket," she said, "and socks and underwear ... and they have siblings who need the same." She added, "These kids aren’t afraid to say in front of their peers that they need socks, and why do you think that is? Because they’re not the only ones." Martinez said the International Guards Union of America Local 69 provided gifts — shoes, coats, socks and even some laptop computers — to 70 students this year. They plan to increase the program in hopes of providing for up to 200 children in 2025. "These aren't just toys — we are trying to affect their daily needs," Martinez said. "And the needs are there." Several local government officials, leaders of aid programs and organizers of holiday charity efforts that serve the Española Valley have noted what appears to be an increase in need in recent years amid inflation, increasing housing costs and a continuing opioid epidemic that has wracked the region. The number of kids who receive gifts through the Northern New Mexico Toy Drive has swelled to 7,200 this year from 2,500 in 2021, and an annual Christmas shopping spree organized by Española police served more children than ever. Organizers of the Empty Stocking Fund, a holiday project of The Santa Fe New Mexican and the Santa Fe Community Foundation, hope to raise a record $475,000 this year to meeting a growing demand in Santa Fe and Rio Arriba counties for funds to cover costs like car repairs, past due rent and utility bills. Española Social Services Director Michelle Fraire — who began in the position earlier this year — confirmed what others have noticed. "We are seeing a high increase in children needing necessities," Fraire said. "They need clothing for school, laptops to do schoolwork; college students we hear from need food, groceries, etc." The city launched its social services department earlier this year with funding from opioid lawsuit settlements in an effort to combat increases in homelessness and addiction. Fraire has organized several fairs that bring state agencies like the Department of Health, along with a host of providers, to help connect people with support services and, ideally, housing. The city held such a fair Dec. 16 at the Española Pathways Shelter. Fraire said more than 40 people attended. Leaders of other initiatives noted higher need this year as well. The Española Firefighters Union raised $7,000 to split among seven people who are battling breast cancer, Assistant Fire Chief John Wickersham said. The cash is meant to help offset some of the expenses of cancer treatment, which can be financially devastating for families, he added. "There is an increased need throughout the Valley that we can see," Wickersham said, noting the union has seen rising numbers of applicants for the funds in recent years. Wickersham noted the high price tags for health care and other costs often associated with cancer treatment like travel. Meanwhile, Española police officers participating in Shop with a Cop accompanied a record 134 kids on a trip to the local Walmart store, where each child was given $100 to spend. Police Chief Mizel Garcia said the department also gave out 300 stockings after the event. Children from the Española Valley are referred to the Shop with a Cop program through the New Mexico Children, Youth and Families Department and other agencies. Garcia aims to continue growing the program, which he said can help mend relationships with police, especially for children who are in state custody or have had negative experiences with law enforcement. Wendy Croze, a program manager for Las Cumbres Community Services' Grandparents Raising Grandchildren program, said there has been an uptick in Española in recent years of grandparents taking in grandchildren, largely because of drug addiction. With families who take in grandchildren — or even neighbors, in one case — "it's very common that there is already financial need," Croze said. "Many had to retire from their jobs early in order to take care of young children who are now older," she said. "And so the need for food is enormous." Food Depot Executive Director Jill Dixon said the Santa Fe-based regional food bank serves nine counties, and about 20% of the food it distributes goes to Rio Arriba County, where estimates in recent years have shown more than 20% of the population experiences food insecurity. The Food Depot has seen an increase in need for fresh, nutritious foods in particular. A newsletter the organization published in recent months says about 30% of people who struggle with access to nutritious food do not qualify for food benefits through the federal Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program. Dixon said the regional food bank often sees people using food pantries on an intermittent basis, such when they are hit with expensive emergencies like unexpected medical bills or car trouble. The organization in December 2022 opened a "no-cost grocery store" in Española called Casita de Comida that allows people to shop, free of charge, through a selection of about 60 items. The pantry, which is growing and moving to a location on La Joya Street, currently serves about 360 families per month. Dixon hopes to expand it to serve about 100 more families in the next year. High rates of food insecurity are not limited to the Española Valley, she said, noting the need has been "holding steady" across The Food Depot's service territory for several years. She pointed to inflation in 2023 amid the evaporation of support and protections that helped many families through the coronavirus pandemic. "We just saw the need explode all over again," she said. "Everything is expensive," Dixon said. "It's just gotten incredible, and we've seen housing costs just skyrocket in basically every community that we serve. When you see housing, you know, eating up 30% to 50% of your earnings, there just isn't any room for error." People who don't frequent food pantries sometimes find themselves there when they suddenly discover they need new tires or a mammogram, she said, or perhaps because of the extra expenses associated with the holidays. "And that's what we're here for," she said. "But systemically, we have some pretty big problems to address."Pioneer farmers in the Davis region largely made a living growing grains. A big challenge before the arrival of the California Pacific Rail Road in 1868 was getting their bales of wheat and barley to the market in San Francisco. If it wasn’t flooded or impossibly muddy, they could drive their harvested crops to Washington (West Sacramento). From there a barge would move the grain on the Sacramento River to the Delta, Suisun and Grizzly Bay, through the Carquinez Strait and San Pablo Bay before sailing to San Francisco. Unfortunately, most years, what we now know as the Yolo Bypass was impassable by land. So instead, teamsters would load up horse-drawn flatbed trailers and haul large stacks of grain southwest to Suisun or Vallejo. The railroad’s arrival changed all that. It also led to the demise of a few villages on the main road and the appearance of new towns on the rail line. If you travel south a few miles out of Davis, you’ll come to Tremont Road. There’s an extant church and active cemetery that date to pioneer days. Until 1868, Tremont was a village with a schoolhouse, a hotel, a general store and a post office. It served travelers and teamsters on the road to and from the Bay Area. Tremont faded away and Davisville emerged when the railroad was built on the north side of Putah Creek. The same fate struck Silveyville when the new tracks skipped that village and passed through land owned by Thomas Dickson, a few miles east. Mr. Dickson realized having a railroad station nearby would be beneficial to himself and his neighboring farmers. So he donated 10 acres to the Cal-P with the agreement they would build a depot and subdivide his land to establish a new town. The plat map laid out, the first resident — not counting Mr. Dixon and his family — was a man named W.R. Ferguson, who purchased 1 acre, built a stone house and opened a store near the railroad station. According to an 1879 book — “History of Solano County: A full and particular biography of its early settlers and principal inhabitants” — the first package to arrive by rail in the new town was addressed to, “W.R. Ferguson, Dixon.” But for that spelling mistake, the city eight miles from Davis would likely have been called Dickson. Taking its cue from the parcel, the California Pacific erected a sign on the depot reading, “Dixon.” That spelling was finalized when the city incorporated in 1878. Not long after Ferguson opened his store, a man named Bernard Greinburg built the Empire Hotel near the tracks; and following him men named Eppinger and Kattenburg opened new Dixon enterprises. The growth in business and residents was at the expense of Silveyville. Residents of the old town — centered around where Silveyville Road and Schroeder Road now meet — were rapidly relocating to Dixon. According to an online history article by Sabine Goerke-Shrode, “Whole houses, even the Methodist Church, were moved on log rollers, pulled by 40-horse teams.” It wasn’t long before the community started by Elijah Silvey was largely gone, and the place named for Thomas Dickson was thriving. Like many Californians in his day, Dickson was drawn to the West by the hope of making money mining gold. He was born June 4, 1800, in Pennsylvania. His family moved to New York state four years later. When Thomas was 19 years old, the Dicksons left for Indiana. In 1832, he served in the Black Hawk War in Illinois. One of his fellow soldiers in that conflict was Abraham Lincoln, who was nine years younger than Dickson. A year after returning home from those hostilities, Thomas met and married Jane Parker Hood, who was originally from Knoxville, Tenn. One year into matrimony, they started a family. Mrs. Dickson eventually gave birth to five boys — one died as an infant — and three girls. With their 1-year-old daughter, Elizabeth Francine, in tow, the couple relocated to Iowa and farmed there for 18 years. Thomas wasn’t quite a “49er.” The Dicksons didn’t arrive in the Sierra foothills until 1853, when Thomas was 53 and Jane was 39. They brought with them 12 head of oxen, three cows, three wagons and several horses. Mr. Dickson prospected for the elusive mineral for one year near Diamond Springs, south of Placerville, and decided that was enough. The family moved to Solano County in 1854. Mr. Dickson was impressed by the wild oats he saw growing near the town that would later be named for him. He farmed in the area around Dixon the rest of his life. Thomas started by renting 1 acre, and eventually he purchased land on what had been the Vaca-Peña property known as Rancho Los Putos. In 1855, he built a house that was still there, though larger, when he gifted those 10 acres to the railroad. Through the end of the 19th century, grain farming was the primary endeavor in the Dixon region. Growers relied on winter and spring rains and let their crops dry in the summer. Most farmers had no access to streams or wells for irrigation. The problem was the heavy clay under the topsoil couldn’t easily be penetrated to reach the aquifer below. That changed with new technology, and wells were dug all around Dixon early in the 20th century. Irrigation allowed farmers to grow alfalfa and raise cattle; and that turned Dixon into a hub for dairies and beef. Thomas Dickson never saw that change in his town. He died in 1885 and is buried at the Dixon Cemetery next to his wife (1906) and most of their children. — Rich Rifkin is a Davis resident; his column is published every other week. Reach him at Lxartist@yahoo.com .

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USEA stock hits 52-week low at $1.89 amid market challengesNate Johnson scores 25 as Akron defeats Alabama State 97-78By THOMAS ADAMSON PARIS (AP) — The day after the inferno struck Notre Dame on April 15, 2019 , Philippe Villeneuve walked despondently into the remains of his cathedral. Smoke choked the spring air, the spire lay in rubble, and charred beams littered the nave. “We had lost the framework, the roof, the spire, and three sections of the vault,” Villeneuve, its chief architect since 2013, said. Yet just hours earlier, President Emmanuel Macron had issued an extraordinary decree: Notre Dame would rise again — in just five years. “There was one sole (problem),” Villeneuve said in an interview with The Associated Press, “the deadline.” It felt impossible. Yet as Villeneuve stepped through the wreckage with doubts in his mind, he was caught by surprise. Terrifying as it was to see the charred remains of the 861-year-old Gothic treasure, a beacon of hope emerged. “All the stained-glass windows were spared, the great organ, the furniture, the paintings -— everything was intact,” he realized. “It was doable.” A historic restoration Macron’s decree became the driving force behind the most ambitious restoration in modern French history. The announcement — to restore an edifice that took nearly 200 years to build in just five years — sparked unprecedented global support, with donations quickly nearing $1 billion . Yet, other obstacles came in waves. First, the fire’s immediate aftermath brought a lead contamination crisis that halted work for a month, and woke the world up to the dangers of lead dust. Then came the pandemic, forcing workers off-site. Weather, too, seemed to conspire, with heavy rains delaying the removal of the scorched scaffolding that had fused into a skeletal reminder of the disaster. But Villeneuve persisted, working with his team on what he called the “presidential building site” to redefine what was possible under extraordinary conditions. He lobbied for the final reopening date to be delayed from April of this year to align with Dec. 8 — a Catholic holy day celebrating Mary’s conception without sin — a symbolic choice that felt both achievable and sacred. His irreverent sense of humor — delivered amid expletives, and with a childlike grin that belies his 61 years and his silver hair — seems to have carried him through the relentless five years of work. But as the reopening fast approaches, Villeneuve confessed his lingering anxiety. “I’m not calm — not at all. I’m completely stressed out,” he said. “This was not just about restoring a building. This was about restoring the heart of France.” More beautiful than ever There were positives. The fire badly scarred the cathedral but also revealed its hidden brilliance — with many who glimpsed the restored interiors last week saying they are more majestic than before the catastrophe. “It’s horrible to say (of the fire), but every cloud has a silver lining,” Villeneuve said, smiling. “The stone is luminous now. It almost glows.” The intense heat and falling debris left behind a film of toxic lead dust, requiring meticulous cleaning of every surface. Sculptures, walls and organ pipes were painstakingly stripped of grime and soot, exposing a brightness unseen for centuries . Strolling through the medieval wooden beams of the reconstructed framework, so complicated it is known as the “forest,” or beneath the newly restored spire, Villeneuve felt the work was so seamless it seemed as if the inferno might never have happened, he said. “That’s success,” Villeneuve said. “If I can make (cathedral visitors) doubt there was ever a fire, then I’ve erased the horror.” Inked devotion While his restoration adhered faithfully to the historical designs of Eugène Viollet-le-Duc, Villeneuve found a deeply personal way to mark his connection to Notre Dame. He knew he could not leave his name etched into the stone, so he chose to get a long, bold tattoo running down his forearm, calling himself “Rock and Roll” for it. It depicts Viollet-le-Duc’s original spire — the one that collapsed in the fire — not the newly restored version crowned with the golden phoenix cum rooster . Complementing it is another tattoo over his chest, inspired by the cathedral’s stained glass, forming a rosary design. “This wasn’t about me,” he said, “but I’ve left my mark in my own way.” Viollet-le-Duc’s 19th-century spire, a meticulous recreation of a medieval aesthetic, remains at the heart of the restoration. “He was a genius,” Villeneuve said of the architect. “My role was to ensure that vision endured.” Lingering mystery of the fire While Notre Dame’s restoration has proceeded with remarkable precision, one question still looms over Villeneuve: the cause of the fire, a frustrating investigation into one of the biggest mysteries in France in living memory. Despite extensive efforts, money and interest, authorities have still not identified the blaze’s origin. Initial theories suggested an electrical short circuit, possibly linked to ongoing renovation work, but no definitive cause has been established. The lingering uncertainty still troubles Villeneuve as the cathedral nears its reopening. It’s personal, particularly as he was in charge when the fire broke out. “It’s something that haunts you. Not the responsibility for the fire — I know very well that I bear no personal responsibility for it,” he said. “At least, I think so.” “But it annoys me not to know.” In the wake of the disaster, lessons have been learned, and steps taken to ensure Notre Dame’s protection in the future. Villeneuve and his team have installed cutting-edge fire safety systems in the cathedral to prevent a similar catastrophe. The attic, now divided into three fire compartments—choir, transept, and nave—features advanced thermal cameras, smoke detectors, and a revolutionary water-misting system. Unlike traditional sprinklers, this system releases a fine mist of water droplets designed to extinguish flames while minimizing damage to the fragile wood and stone. “The mist saturates the air, reducing oxygen levels to smother fires without harming the wood or stone,” Villeneuve explained. “These are the most advanced fire safety systems in any French cathedral. We had to learn from what happened. We owe it to the future.” Triumph of Notre Dame Related Articles World News | Alternative healer gets 10 years in UK prison for death of woman at slap therapy workshop World News | South Korea’s governing party head supports suspending Yoon’s powers, making impeachment more likely World News | Photos: Then and now, Notre Dame Cathedral’s rebirth from fire World News | Thousands flee as Syrian insurgents advance to the doorstep of the country’s third-largest city World News | Hamas official says Gaza ceasefire talks have resumed after weekslong hiatus Standing on the banks of the Seine, Notre Dame’s spire once again reaching into the Parisian sky, Villeneuve allowed himself a moment of quiet pride as he took questions and compliments from passersby — enjoying his new “celebrity” status. For Villeneuve, the journey — his life’s work, shortly before he retires — has been as personal as it was monumental. “The cathedral burned, she collapsed, and I collapsed the same day,” he said, speaking of the monument in visceral, human terms. “I gradually got back up as she got back up. As the scars began closing, I felt better. Now I feel ready to leave the hospital.” He suggested that the nation’s wounds are also healing as the reopening approaches. With 15 million visitors expected per year — 3 million more than before the fire — Villeneuve’s work continues to resonate, both in stone and spirit.