Usted buscó: crafts for kids to do at the beach (Español - Inglés)

she was at the beach
she is at the beach

¿cuándo quieres alojarte en el b&b at the beach?
when would you like to stay at b&b at the beach?

en bash at the beach 1999, malenko perdió frente a david por el campeonato de los estados unidos.
at bash at the beach 1999, malenko challenged david for the us title but lost the match.

flair también derrotó a konnan el 7 de julio en bash at the beach para ganar el campeonato de estados unidos.
the nature boy defeated konnan on july 7, 1996 at bash at the beach to win the united states championship.

en junio de 2008, zyx studio lanzó su concierto con eric burdon, llamado live at the beach ventura california.
in june 2008, zyx studio released his concert with eric burdon, called "live at the ventura beach california".

bailey y wooten han creado "bass at the beach", un campamento para bajistas de todos los niveles.
bailey and wooten host a bass camp called bass at the beach which helps to teach bassists of all ranges.

=== 1995 ===bash at the beach 1995 tuvo lugar en julio 16 de 1995 en la playa en huntington beach, california.
===1995===bash at the beach 1995 took place on july 16, 1995 on the beach in huntington beach, california.

=== 1998 ===bash at the beach 1998 tuvo lugar en julio 12 de 1998 desde el cox arena en san diego, california.
===1998===bash at the beach 1998 took place on july 12, 1998 from the cox arena in san diego, california.

=== 2000 ===bash at the beach 2000 tuvo lugar en julio 9 del 2000 desde el ocean center en daytona beach, florida.
===2000===bash at the beach 2000 took place on july 9, 2000 from the ocean center in daytona beach, florida.

=== 1999 ===bash at the beach 1999 tuvo lugar el julio 11 de 1999 desde el national car rental center en fort lauderdale, florida.
===1999===bash at the beach 1999 took place on july 11, 1999 from the national car rental center in fort lauderdale, florida.

== resultados ===== 1994 ===bash at the beach 1994 tuvo lugar el 17 de julio de 1994 desde la orlando arena en orlando, florida.
==events=====1994===bash at the beach 1994 took place on july 17, 1994 from the orlando arena in orlando, florida.

bash at the beach fue un evento de lucha libre profesional pague-por-ver producido por la world championship wrestling (wcw).
bash at the beach was a yearly professional wrestling pay-per-view event produced by world championship wrestling (wcw).

en "bash at the beach" de 1999, wilson ayudó a flair a derrotar a dean malenko, así flair ganó el campeonato de los estados unidos de la wcw.
at the 1999 bash at the beach, wilson acted as a valet for flair as he successfully defended the wcw united states heavyweight championship against dean malenko.

después de wcw, vince russo se disgustó con la política de hulk hogan, despidió a hogan durante el evento en vivo bash at the beach 2000 y anunció una lucha improvisada entre jeff jarrett y huffman por el título mundial.
after wcw booker vince russo grew disgruntled with hulk hogan's politics, he fired hogan during the live broadcast of bash at the beach and announced an impromptu match between jeff jarrett and huffman for the world title.

the following april, while still 14, he made the cut at the 2013 masters tournament, becoming the youngest male player ever to do so at a major championship.
the following april, while still 14, he made the cut at the 2013 masters tournament, becoming the youngest male player ever to do so at a major championship.

en bash at the beach, se formó la nwo cuando hulk hogan se volvió contra él, sting y lex luger y se unió a "the outsiders", un equipo de ex luchadores de la wwf conformado por kevin nash y scott hall.
at bash at the beach, the nwo was formed when hulk hogan turned on savage, sting, and lex luger and joined "the outsiders", a tag team of former wwf wrestlers kevin nash and scott hall.

hogan pasó el resto de 1998 luchando en "celebrity matches", hizo equipo por segunda vez con dennis rodman para enfrentarse a diamond dallas page y karl malone en bash at the beach 1998 en road wild 1998, hizo equipo con bischoff perdiendo ante page y jay leno debido a la interferencia de kevin eubanks.
his second tag team match with dennis rodman pitted them against diamond dallas page and karl malone at bash at the beach and at road wild, he and eric bischoff lost to page and jay leno thanks to interference from kevin eubanks, who leveled bischoff with a diamond cutter.

==referencias==* jonas reckermann – profile at the beach volleyball database* swatch fivb world tour* cev european championship tour* homepage of brink reckermann (german)
==references==* jonas reckermann – profile at the beach volleyball database* swatch fivb world tour* cev european championship tour* homepage of brink reckermann (german)

“jane eyre” by charlotte brontë (fragment pags. 267 y 268. traductor juan g. de luaces; introducción marta pessarrodona) “farewell!” was the cry of my heart as i left him. despair added, “farewell for ever!”. that night i never thought to sleep; but a slumber fell on me as soon as i lay down in bed. i was transported in thought to the scenes of childhood: i dreamt i lay in the red-room at gateshead; that the night was dark, and my mind impressed with strange fears. the light that long ago had struck me into syncope, recalled in this vision, seemed glindingly to mount the wall, and tremblingly to pause in the centre of the obscured ceiling. i lifted up my head to look: the roof resolved to clouds, high and dim; the gleam was such as the moon imparts to vapours she is about to sever. i watched her come—watched with the strangest anticipation; as though some word of doom were to be written on her disk. she broke forth as never moon yet burst from cloud: a hand first penetrated the sable folds and waved them away; then, not a moon, but a white human form shone in the azure, inclining a glorious brow earthward. it gazed and gazed on me. it spoke to my spirit: immeasurably distant was the tone, yet so near, it whispered in my heart— “my daughter, flee temptation.” “mother, i will.” so i answered after i had waked from the trance-like dream. it was yet night, but july nights are short: soon after midnight, dawn comes. “it cannot be too early to commence the task i have to fulfil,” thought i. i rose: i was dressed; for i had taken off nothing but my shoes. i knew where to find in my drawers some linen, a locket, a ring. in seeking these articles, i encountered the beads of a pearl necklace mr. rochester had forced me to accept a few days ago. i left that; it was not mine: it was the visionary bride’s who had melted in air. the other articles i made up in a parcel; my purse, containing twenty shillings (it was all i had), i put in my pocket: i tied on my straw bonnet, pinned my shawl, took the parcel and my slippers, which i would not put on yet, and stole from my room. “farewell, kind mrs. fairfax!” i whispered, as i glided past her door. “farewell, my darling adèle!” i said, as i glanced towards the nursery. no thought could be admitted of entering to embrace her. i had to deceive a fine ear: for aught i knew it might now be listening. i would have got past mr. rochester’s chamber without a pause; but my heart momentarily stopping its beat at that threshold, my foot was forced to stop also. no sleep was there: the inmate was walking restlessly from wall to wall; and again and again he sighed while i listened. there was a heaven—a temporary heaven—in this room for me, if i chose: i had but to go in and to say— “mr. rochester, i will love you and live with you through life till death,” and a fount of rapture would spring to my lips. i thought of this. that kind master, who could not sleep now, was waiting with impatience for day. he would send for me in the morning; i should be gone. he would have me sought for: vainly. he would feel himself forsaken; his love rejected: he would suffer; perhaps grow desperate. i thought of this too. my hand moved towards the lock: i caught it back, and glided on. drearily i wound my way downstairs: i knew what i had to do, and i did it mechanically. i sought the key of the side-door in the kitchen; i sought, too, a phial of oil and a feather; i oiled the key and the lock. i got some water, i got some bread: for perhaps i should have to walk far; and my strength, sorely shaken of late, must not break down. all this i did without one sound. i opened the door, passed out, shut it softly. dim dawn glimmered in the yard. the great gates were closed and locked; but a wicket in one of them was only latched. through that i departed: it, too, i shut; and now i was out of thornfield. a mile off, beyond the fields, lay a road which stretched in the contrary direction to millcote; a road i had never travelled, but often noticed, and wondered where it led: thither i bent my steps. no reflection was to be allowed now: not one glance was to be cast back; not even one forward. not one thought was to be given either to the past or the future. the first was a page so heavenly sweet—so deadly sad—that to read one line of it would dissolve my courage and break down my energy. the last was an awful blank: something like the world when the deluge was gone by. i skirted fields, and hedges, and lanes till after sunrise. i believe it was a lovely summer morning: i know my shoes, which i had put on when i left the house, were soon wet with dew. but i looked neither to rising sun, nor smiling sky, nor wakening nature. he who is taken out to pass through a fair scene to the scaffold, thinks not of the flowers that smile on his road, but of the block and axe-edge; of the disseverment of bone and vein; of the grave gaping at the end: and i thought of drear flight and homeless wandering—and oh! with agony i thought of what i left. i could not help it. i thought of him now—in his room—watching the sunrise; hoping i should soon come to say i would stay with him and be his. i longed to be his; i panted to return: it was not too late; i could yet spare him the bitter pang of bereavement. as yet my flight, i was sure, was undiscovered. i could go back and be his comforter—his pride; his redeemer from misery, perhaps from ruin. oh, that fear of his self-abandonment—far worse than my abandonment—how it goaded me! it was a barbed arrow-head in my breast; it tore me when i tried to extract it; it sickened me when remembrance thrust it farther in. birds began singing in brake and copse: birds were faithful to their mates; birds were emblems of love. %e2%80%9cjane%20eyre%e2%80%9d%20by%20charlotte%20bront%c3%ab
“jane eyre” by charlotte brontë (fragment pags. 267 y 268. traductor juan g. de luaces; introducción marta pessarrodona) “farewell!” was the cry of my heart as i left him. despair added, “farewell for ever!”. that night i never thought to sleep; but a slumber fell on me as soon as i lay down in bed. i was transported in thought to the scenes of childhood: i dreamt i lay in the red-room at gateshead; that the night was dark, and my mind impressed with strange fears. the light that long ago had struck me into syncope, recalled in this vision, seemed glindingly to mount the wall, and tremblingly to pause in the centre of the obscured ceiling. i lifted up my head to look: the roof resolved to clouds, high and dim; the gleam was such as the moon imparts to vapours she is about to sever. i watched her come—watched with the strangest anticipation; as though some word of doom were to be written on her disk. she broke forth as never moon yet burst from cloud: a hand first penetrated the sable folds and waved them away; then, not a moon, but a white human form shone in the azure, inclining a glorious brow earthward. it gazed and gazed on me. it spoke to my spirit: immeasurably distant was the tone, yet so near, it whispered in my heart— “my daughter, flee temptation.” “mother, i will.” so i answered after i had waked from the trance-like dream. it was yet night, but july nights are short: soon after midnight, dawn comes. “it cannot be too early to commence the task i have to fulfil,” thought i. i rose: i was dressed; for i had taken off nothing but my shoes. i knew where to find in my drawers some linen, a locket, a ring. in seeking these articles, i encountered the beads of a pearl necklace mr. rochester had forced me to accept a few days ago. i left that; it was not mine: it was the visionary bride’s who had melted in air. the other articles i made up in a parcel; my purse, containing twenty shillings (it was all i had), i put in my pocket: i tied on my straw bonnet, pinned my shawl, took the parcel and my slippers, which i would not put on yet, and stole from my room. “farewell, kind mrs. fairfax!” i whispered, as i glided past her door. “farewell, my darling adèle!” i said, as i glanced towards the nursery. no thought could be admitted of entering to embrace her. i had to deceive a fine ear: for aught i knew it might now be listening. i would have got past mr. rochester’s chamber without a pause; but my heart momentarily stopping its beat at that threshold, my foot was forced to stop also. no sleep was there: the inmate was walking restlessly from wall to wall; and again and again he sighed while i listened. there was a heaven—a temporary heaven—in this room for me, if i chose: i had but to go in and to say— “mr. rochester, i will love you and live with you through life till death,” and a fount of rapture would spring to my lips. i thought of this. that kind master, who could not sleep now, was waiting with impatience for day. he would send for me in the morning; i should be gone. he would have me sought for: vainly. he would feel himself forsaken; his love rejected: he would suffer; perhaps grow desperate. i thought of this too. my hand moved towards the lock: i caught it back, and glided on. drearily i wound my way downstairs: i knew what i had to do, and i did it mechanically. i sought the key of the side-door in the kitchen; i sought, too, a phial of oil and a feather; i oiled the key and the lock. i got some water, i got some bread: for perhaps i should have to walk far; and my strength, sorely shaken of late, must not break down. all this i did without one sound. i opened the door, passed out, shut it softly. dim dawn glimmered in the yard. the great gates were closed and locked; but a wicket in one of them was only latched. through that i departed: it, too, i shut; and now i was out of thornfield. a mile off, beyond the fields, lay a road which stretched in the contrary direction to millcote; a road i had never travelled, but often noticed, and wondered where it led: thither i bent my steps. no reflection was to be allowed now: not one glance was to be cast back; not even one forward. not one thought was to be given either to the past or the future. the first was a page so heavenly sweet—so deadly sad—that to read one line of it would dissolve my courage and break down my energy. the last was an awful blank: something like the world when the deluge was gone by. i skirted fields, and hedges, and lanes till after sunrise. i believe it was a lovely summer morning: i know my shoes, which i had put on when i left the house, were soon wet with dew. but i looked neither to rising sun, nor smiling sky, nor wakening nature. he who is taken out to pass through a fair scene to the scaffold, thinks not of the flowers that smile on his road, but of the block and axe-edge; of the disseverment of bone and vein; of the grave gaping at the end: and i thought of drear flight and homeless wandering—and oh! with agony i thought of what i left. i could not help it. i thought of him now—in his room—watching the sunrise; hoping i should soon come to say i would stay with him and be his. i longed to be his; i panted to return: it was not too late; i could yet spare him the bitter pang of bereavement. as yet my flight, i was sure, was undiscovered. i could go back and be his comforter—his pride; his redeemer from misery, perhaps from ruin. oh, that fear of his self-abandonment—far worse than my abandonment—how it goaded me! it was a barbed arrow-head in my breast; it tore me when i tried to extract it; it sickened me when remembrance thrust it farther in. birds began singing in brake and copse: birds were faithful to their mates; birds were emblems of love. “jane eyre” by charlotte brontë