Word: dreading
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...Teresa's that confused us most was her care of the terminally ill destitute who came to the Kalighat Temple to die near a holy place. She wasn't interested in prolonging their life. What she railed against was the squalor and loneliness of their last hours. Her apparent dread of mortality and her obsession with dignified dying were at odds with Hindu concepts of reincarnation and death as a hoped-for release from maya, the illusory reality of worldly existence...
...speech at the library's opening ceremony, President James B. Conant '14 extolled Lamont's virtues: "The conventional red tape of library bureaucracy has disappeared. The undergraduate in quest of knowledge or inspiration, whether he is self-propelled or motivated by dread of approaching examinations or papers to be written, can go directly to the shelves...
...Haverill resident notified the CPD that he had been approached on Mass. Ave. near Brookline Street by a black male who was about six feet tall and had dread locks. The man pressed a hard object against the victim's stomach and demanded his gold chain. When the victim refused, the suspect struck him several times in the head with a pistol. The suspect then removed the victim's gold necklace and fled. He was later arrested...
Does anybody remember RSI? A year ago, even the few of us unsure of what the dread acronym stood for (for the record, both repetitive strain injury and repetitive stress injury are correct) knew enough to tremble at the slightest twinge in our wrists. Idle hands would lapse unconsciously into the aptly-named "prayer stretch" as we invoked our various patron saints to protect us from the debilitating disease. These days, however, as the "RSI Action Group" mousepads at email terminals start to fray at the edges, the former scourge of the keyboard seems about as threatening as scurvy...
Spring has sprung; the rites are upon us. The annual process of Making Sure the Lawn Looks Perfect for Commencement-- a process which, for many of us, is dialectically invested with both anticipation and dread--is once again underway. The squadron of landscape-artists has been unleashed; like Stravinsky, they aspire to create a magnum opus of the season's rituals. With ardor, with bags of dirt, they have already begun to transform the Yard from a relatively pleasant, serene meadow into a confusion of cordons, chemical grass simulacra and bare patches of earth hideous to behold. Harvard subsists...