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carryonmywaywardwriters · 4 years

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One Day At A Time - Jensen x Reader

A/N: Part Seven! If you’d like to be tagged, please send an ask or message. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Widower!Jensen. Drunken Shenanigans. Upcoming smut.

Word Count: Roughly 2,100

“Get ready, we're going out.” Sure that your brain had short circuited, you ignored the deep order. Continuing to read your book as if no one had spoken. “Hello, anyone home?” A large hand waving by your hand tugged you from the pages. Almost pouting, Jensen managed to catch your attention. “Are you even listening to me?”

“I'm sorry,” Carefully, you set down the novel. Folding your hands primly on your lap, you found your best lady of the manor impression. “Continue, Master.”

“Brat,” His eye roll made your lip twitch. Moving on, he straightened the deep grey t-shirt over his jeans. “Mom and pops are coming up to steal the kids for the night.”

Failing to see what that had to do with you, your eyes turned back down to the page in your hands. Finally to the moment where the characters discovered their feelings matched. Coming together in a blind passion. Only to be called back to order with a deep throat clearing. “So, how does this involve me exactly?”

“We're. Going. Out.” The drawn out order had you pinching your brows. Becoming aware that you had heard right. “Don't give me that look.”

“Am I supposed to be your wing man, here? Or...” An unamused frown curling your lips downwards made him roll his eyes for the second time. “It's a legitimate question.”

“You're supposed to go out. Get drunk. Make some bad decisions. And most importantly? Have fun.” He pulled out the finger wag and all.

“You're such a dad.” But the last bit got the desired response. You laughed at the cheesy speech. With a dramatic huff, the book was set aside. His overzealous fist pump only earned an eye roll. “This is only because I know you're going to nag me to death if I don't give in.” And absolutely nothing to do with his sparkling green eyes. Plush smile. Definitely not the curved up lips. Shaking your head, you got to your feet too quickly. “What's the dress code?”

“Bar finery.” That you could do.

Jean shorts. A billowy, black tank top that emphasized what you had to work with. Hair styled to the 't'. Just enough makeup to feel like you were actually trying. Nothing fancy. And yet, just the process of getting cleaned up lifted your mood.

“I wanna go with you!” Arrow sulked when she realized you were going out. Bottom lip out in full force.

“They're having adult time.” Justice Jay's answer was to the point. And yet, it sounded almost scandalous. You could feel your cheek's heating up as the adult Ackles' looked over you. Almost as though they were under the same mindset.

Jensen had no problem taking everything under control. Shooing his spawn and parents with an inspiring efficiency. Then he was flipping his keys in his hands, “You ready?”

“As ready as I'm getting,” Your bag rested over your hip. Shifting, you tried to ignore his deep inspection of your person. Well aware that your own brain was your enemy.

“Take it off.”

“Excuse me?”

“The bag.” His answer restarted your heart. And then came the pinched brows. “Don't give me that look. You don't need it. Tonight's on me.”

With a frown, you stared him down, “You're awfully bossy today.”

His arm fell across your shoulders, “I'm just tryin’ to lighten the mood around here. Besides, I owe you. You've been holding down the fort while I jump all around town.” Another pull followed at the reminder.

There'd been five dates. Five nights of trying to cheer up the bachelor afterwards. All while you procrastinated getting set up, yourself. Clearly, he'd decided enough was enough. Sighing, you took off the purse. Expecting the worst from the night ahead.

“This is ridiculous,” You laughed an hour later as the shot glass was pushed your way. Having already been primed with half a dozen wine coolers, your blood was simmering. Resisting the urge to peek around; trying to find the boogieman in the corners of the busy bar. So sure that the public would eat you alive. That a trap was laid out around the bend.

“Good,” Jensen raised his own. Seemingly unafraid of anything. “About time you do somethin' a little irresponsible.” With that toast for the ages, he tipped back one. Watching as you choked down the smooth liquid. More than a little out of practice. Being the good man he was, your glass was replaced with another from the tray as soon as it was emptied.

The actor would be lying if he said he didn't appreciate the way you relaxed across from him. Forgetting about everything his life had thrown at you. Leaning your elbows onto the table after the second drink. Eyes alight with nothing less than mischief as the alcohol buzzed more in your veins. Enjoying the way the music throbbed through the air. Nineties night in full swing. “How'd you find this place?”

“Jared and I used to hit it up,” Came the easy answer. You weren't the only one out of practice, “Wanted to see if it still had the same energy.” The response only drew back everything that everyone wanted to forget.

“Does it?”

Instead of answering, his fourth and final shot on the tray was taken, “Looks like you've got some catchin' up to do, kid.”

“Kid?” A snort left you at the challenge. Back to back, the final two were finished. Going down smoother as you found your rhythm. “Another round, old man?”

“That's my girl,” His words burned through your body. Straight to the pit in the middle of your stomach. With that, he got to his feet. Hunting down another bundle.

Your eyes trailed over him. Watching the confident swagger of his bow legs. The tall, straight edge of him that carried an edge of danger. Noting the way his back pressed against the thin material of his henley. Too strong for your sanity. Cursing yourself, you pushed up to your feet. Trying to regain a semblance of sense.

Nelly blasted through the speakers as you weaved through the flailing millennial crowd. All reminiscing over their childhood as they drank down their problems under the white and blue lights. Not caring that the arrogant song came from the 2000's. “Shake Your Tailfeather” had bodies writhing. More twerking than you remembered from the time hitting across the floor.

The throb of it had your hips swinging more than you intended as you made your way over to the empty dart board. Letting the music draw you away from your thoughts, you gathered the arrows. Refusing to turn your gaze back to the bar. Taking all of the emotions simmering under your surface out on the wall.

Jensen found you letting the needle fly. Moving to the bass without realizing it. Missing the bulls-eye by a mile. He wasn't the only one who noticed.

The guy was mid-twenties. Crooked smile. All decked out in a striped sweater and jeans that flashed his ankles. Looking like something right out of Fresh Prince.

He watched the way you interacted with the kid. Polite smile. Leaning away from his touch as he tried to offer advice. Hitting to the left of the mark in the process.

“Jensen!” The relief in your voice was undeniable when you caught sight of the actor. “I was just telling...” Ackles told himself the twitch in his lip had more to do with how hard you were trying to remember the name rather than the fact that you hadn't cared enough to in the first place. “Him,” Clearly you'd given up. “That you'd promised to help me out.” When he didn't respond, you continued a little more pointedly. “With the darts.”

“He any good?” Masculine pride bubbled to the surface as the younger man looked him over. With his smooth skin. Not a line or grey hair in sight. Rolling his shoulders, the actor looked down on the punk.

“Not at all.” Your face fell at that answer. Believing that he was going to throw you to the wolves. Biting back his grin, Jensen reached over. Plucking the dart from your fingers. Still holding the second tray of drinks. Years of practice showed as he flicked his wrist. Leaving the needle embedded into the wall. Right where it needed to be. Showing the kid what good really looked like.

Muttering something that sounded a lot like an excuse, the guy left the scene. Bobbing his head as he began his hunt for his next victim in the crowd. “Nice hit, Winchester.”

The teasing tone turned Jensen's attention away from his kill shot, “Still got it.” His brows bounced when you laughed. Reaching for another glass from his hands. “Looked like you were struggling.”

“Darts are complicated.” You brushed off the encounter. As if it didn't really matter. Tossing back the next drink. Using it to steady your hormones as Missy Elliot took over the room. Pretending it would actually help.

“You really want to learn?”

Have him right behind you? Guiding your body? You'd expire on the spot. And yet, self control was becoming less and less important. “Why not?”

The table beside you held the drinks as he moved in. It was a mistake. But the heady brush of his cologne over your senses blocked that out. It was one night. What would it hurt?

Time seemed to blur from the patrone. From the soft touch of his fingers against your hip and wrist. You didn't know how it happened. One minute, you were working on the darts.

The next? You were in the middle of the crowd. Whining your hips to “Right Thurr” by Chingy. Even the music forgetting the purpose of the night. A strong chest pressed to your back as your fingers dug into the back of his neck. Holding him over you as a warm bulge pressed against you. The deep grind of it sent sparks scattering through your body.

All at once, you spun around. Sense crashing back into place for the moment. Slapping your hand to his chest, you demanded his attention. Gazing up into the pink stained cheeks and glazed emerald. “Y/N?”

“We have to go home.” Something sparked in his eyes that forced you to remove all contact. You had to get away. Clear your head.

The entire ride home was filled with charged silence. Your uber driver sent amused glances between you two. As soon as you pulled into the driveway, you were out the door. Rushing to the place where you were sure you'd be safe.

When the door clicked behind you, it was as if all the air had been ripped from your lungs. He was right there. Too close. That heady, almost sweet scent cloaking the air between you two.

“I...” Speaking was practically impossible as he stepped closer. Nothing about the night made sense. And yet, your weakness held you right where you were. “I had...”

“Fun?” He finished for you. His eyes moving from yours down to your lips. The only thing you could do was nod dryly. Warning bells screamed in your head when his lips curled up. “Me too.” At the first touch of his fingers against your cheek, your pulse jumped. It was gentle. And yet, nothing had felt more threatening.

“We should...” Irresistible. That's the only word you could think as his caress against your cheek slipped down to your throat. It was impossible to hold out against the draw.

“Definitely.” Warm breath drifted across your face. He was the one who'd initiated contact. Who'd leaned in. But, it was you who lifted up. Unable to hold back for another second. Lifting your hands to his hold him where you wanted him as your lips pressed home almost innocently. If he was surprised, he didn't show it. Instead, he drug you closer as your head fell back. Strong fingers digging into your hair as his mouth moved down to your throat. Turning everything hot in a moment...

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger @lilulo-12 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @michaelneedssomemilk @lemondropirwin @fanfictionismydeath @neii3n @zpandaqueen

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @screechingartisancashbailiff @woodworthti666 @coldmuffinbanditshoe @weepingwillowphoenix @delightfully-wicked

ODAAT: @winchester-ofthe-lord @smoothdogsgirl @ima-be-a-mongoose @briagallen @agusdoti @my-proof-is-you @deanwinchestersmydaddy @sucker-for-dean @blacktithe7 @thevelvetseries @sucker-for-dean @sociopathtime @deans-baby-momma @aomi-nabi @brandinicole911 @demonqueen47 @c-ly-g @bakabozza @socalgem1124 @hillface89 @winchester-fantasies @redwineloves @monkeymcpoopoo @mcshloemer @chocolateheart @hystylessmendes @lyarr24 @hugwinchester

#supernatural #SPN #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural reader insert #spn reader insert #Jensen #jensen ackles #Jensen x You #jensen x reader #jensen x y/n #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #Jensen Fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles reader insert #jensen reader insert

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docmary · 3 years

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Food Insecurity-We may not live by bread alone, but neither do we live without it.

The test of our progress is not whether we add more to the abundance of those who have much; it is whether we provide enough to those who have little. Franklin D. Roosevelt

It has been my good fortune to have been able to support myself (barely at times) doing the work that I love, being a naturopathic doctor, for most of my adult life. I remember a sign in my tax preparers office that read: “The joys of owning your own business, not unlike the joys of natural childbirth, have been greatly exaggerated.” Or something like that. There are certainly those in my profession that have been financially successful along with the intrinsic rewards of helping people, but I was not one of them.

And then I got cancer. And not dying became my full-time job. On the side I also worked as a home health aide and I made little money but also had little in the way of responsibility. I also relied on programs like Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP), also known as food stamps to survive.

I am doing well now. I have relocated from Alaska (my home of 30 years) to Washington state where I grew up, so that I could be closer to family. I was fortunate in that I had family to take me in while I figured out my next moves. Some are not so lucky.

I started volunteering at the Sky Valley Food Bank in my new community as a way to build my social network. I was blessed with the instant camaraderie of many fellow and sister volunteers, and paid staff, who were joined in a single purpose: support the mission of eliminating hunger. Every week we provided food for an average of 261 families, enough for 10 meals per person. This amounts to more than 75,000 pounds of food distributed every month—almost one million pounds per year.

And Then Came COVID-19

According to data from the US Department of Agriculture (USDA), some 13.7 million households (10.5% of all households), experienced food insecurity at some point in 2019. That is 35 million Americans who were either unable to acquire enough food to meet their needs, or uncertain of where their next meal might come from.

In one study that came out in June 2020, researchers asked: “In the last seven days, which of these statements best describes the food eaten in your household?”

Enough of the food we wanted to eat

Enough, but not always the kind of food we wanted to eat

Sometimes not enough to eat

Often not enough to eat.

According to these researchers, since 2019, food insecurity has doubled overall and tripled in households with children.*

The Ripple Effects of Hunger

Not having access to healthy food has ripple effects of chronic ill health, disability, stress, and worsening poverty. These problems did not start with COVID-19, but the pandemic has made even more glaring the differences in the quality of life between “those who have much [and] those who have little.” This kind of safety net, that supplies sustenance to those in need, makes good economic sense. Adults who have a disability, in particular a disability and are not in the workforce, also experience more than twice the rate of food insecurity as adults who do not have a disability.

At our local food bank, we were unable to have our customers shop in-doors like we had in the past safely. We were shut down but found a way to deliver boxes of food to the porches of 125 families in the area. We also drastically cut down on the number of volunteers that could be in our warehouse per day which translates to fewer people doing more physically demanding work. The good news is that people from the community, from gardeners, to private businesses, to social service organizations, and individuals found ways to help Sky Valley Food Bank carry out the mission.**

School Closures and Vulnerable Students

With schools being shut down, students were no longer able to receive meals at their schools at a reduced price or free as they had in the past. This was not just a local problem, across the country nutrition directors reported that they were serving fewer meals than when school was in session. Last spring, the School Nutrition Association surveyed 2000 districts that reported 80% were serving fewer meals. Of those, the majority said the number of meals had dropped by 50% or more.

Most areas relied on the food pick up model that they usually did in the summer months where families could drop by their local school each day, often between 11-1, and pick up a bag lunch and maybe breakfast. But as parents started returning to work, the pickup model did not always work if parents were not always able to take children to the drop off site at the right time.

In Fulton County Georgia and Tucson Arizona, nutrition programs started packing food including frozen hamburgers and pizza, enough for a week’s worth of meals, and sending them out on school buses to be distributed at bus stops where the lowest income families typically resided.***

Food Deserts

In the best of times getting adequate nutrition is especially challenging for people who live in a “food desert.” The definition of a food desert can change depending on where you live. In urban areas, you need to live more than a mile away from a grocery store. For rural areas, you live more then 10 miles away. According to Feeding America, rural areas make up 63% of counties in the US and 87% of counties with high rates of food insecurity. In 2015, 19 million people lived in a food desert and 2.1 million households both lived in a food desert and lacked access to a vehicle according to the USDA.

The Shifting Model of Getting Food to the Food Insecure

In the summertime at Sky Valley Food Bank, we were able to greet our long-time customers, and many new ones, that were able to shop in our outdoor market. I loved being able to chat with our customers and find out how they were getting along. From my own experience, I can say that accepting help for something as necessary as feeding myself was a blow to my ego. Thank goodness I got over that. Being able to help my fellow and sister humans, regardless of why they were our customers is something I treasure.

Like many school districts around the country, our schools were not able to open in September. We partnered with our public schools to set up food pantries in five of our schools. We also had the return of rainy weather and the outdoor market was not an option. We began having a drive through service where our staff would build boxes of food for distribution in people’s cars. We were now serving 325 families and had special “Holiday” boxes in November and December, along with the usual boxes of meat, dairy, dry goods, canned goods, grains, produce, and food for their four-legged household members. Getting two boxes is better than one box, especially during the holidays.

In December we also had a toy drive that garnered an incredible assortment of toys from community members. It is remarkable how much our community does to provide for people having a tough time—food, toys, money—all gratefully accepted. The parents were able to pick out toys for their kids.

We are looking forward to having our customers back in our service area to carefully select the foods they want for themselves and their loved ones. We are looking forward to giving them the kind of respectful service we always have and continue to provide. COVID or no COVID.

LONE WOLF

I am a lone wolf.

I have lost my pack.

My sire was the first to go. The alfa.

His job to protect the pack, especially from each other, fell to no one.

I grew up with the bitch who was two years my elder.

Always the more adventurous one. She was gone

Before her pups were fully grown.

And they are lost to me.

The she-wolf who bore me tried desperately to keep the pack together.

“Come home. Why don’t you move back home?”

She grew old, frail, a little crazy

A kind of crazy that was always there but kept in check by the alpha.

The older bitch is gone too.

When did the word bitch become derogatory?

I reclaim that title. It suits me.

It suits those of us who live in a world where self sufficiency is prized above all

And sentimentality is a luxury.

Another sire gone. Was it really eight years ago?

He left to be with Jesus.

I think he’s food for flora and fauna.

Who’s to say?

My brother looks up from the hard work of dying

All traces of silliness and the infectious laughter that is his calling card are gone

And the world is just a bit more lonely.

The rest of the pack is dispersed.

Do they prowl in search of the familiar?

Of course they do. (howl)

*IPR.northwester.edu/documents/reports/ipr-rapid-research-reports-pulse-hh-data-10-june-2020.pdf

**Helpful Hint: when thinking of donating food to the food bank, treat the task of going through your pantry the same way you go through your closet—three piles; keep, donate, throw away. You don’t donate clothes that are ripped or stained. You throw them away. The food bank volunteers spend a lot of time sorting through donations. We cannot serve food that is spoiled or way, way, way past the pull date, or that has been opened. Thanks.

***NPR.org/2020/09/08/908442609/children-are-going-hungry-why-schools-are-struggling-to-feed-students

#food insecurity #food bank #COVID-19 #food deserts #school lunch programs #food and health #SNAP

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galadrieljones · 4 years

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The Lily Farm - Chapter 43

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.

Chapter 43: Origin Story

There was an old fence that lived in Blackwater, a man who kept a room in a boarding house not far from the lumber yard. He had known Hosea and Dutch in their old days running booze in Kansas, a lot of years before, and he came down to Blackwater sometime in the late-eighties. Since then, he had served as a fence for many unsavory years, and now he was a cobbler and he owned a pawn shop. He was sixty-two with white hair, and he did not do much fencing anymore but for with those who he remembered from the past. He was just an old broker from the plains now, named Frum. He’d been away from home for a very long time.

That afternoon, when she came through his door in a crisp blue dress, he remembered Mary Beth, from the last time the van der Lindes had blown through town. She wore a handkerchief around her hair as if to conceal her identity, but she was such a pretty girl that he would always remember for her canny sensibility and her beautiful contraband, and her Kansas roots. There had been Pinkertons in Blackwater for a long time, it was true, but he had not seen them in some weeks. He did not know where they had gone to nor why, but even still, he was pretty sure they would not remember her. She was not a gunslinger. She was not the thing they wanted. She was, to the undiscerning, despite her mild beauty, forgettable. It was an aspect of her art.

“Mary Beth from Shawnee,” he said when she came to his counter. “You're a sight for sore eyes. It's been some time.”

She removed the handkerchief from her hair and approached demurely. She looked sad. She was alone. “Hello, Mr. Frum,” she said. “How are you?”

“Old, and older,” he said, adjusting his spectacles. “Are the boys back in town? Or just you.”

She smiled. “Just me.”

“How can I help you today, my dear?”

She reached into the pocket of her dress. On his counter then, she placed a time piece—a most lovely pocket watch of the highest and most elite design, made of gold, pieces dipped in silver, jewel-crusted from here to there. It looked Italian-made, with many embellishments. It was mighty elegant. He had rarely seen anything like it.

“My word,” he said. “What have we here?”

“Just a piece of jewelry,” she said, sighing, "that I need to sell. How much do you think I can get for it?"

Frum removed his monocular from a drawer. He held it up to his eye and examined the watch. “This is not just a piece of jewelry, Miss Gaskill. This is extraordinary,” he said. There were diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. The jewels were not massive, carat-wise, but there were so many. “It is worth quite a bit."

“More than you keep on hand?”

“No.”

“Can you hock it?” she said, sounding nervous. “It’s hot. I’m not sure what can be done.”

“I can hock anything, Miss Gaskill. I been in the game a long time.”

She blushed. “That’s a relief,” she said. “For a second, I was worried the effort had been fruitless. And it ain’t Miss Gaskill no more, for the record. It’s Mrs. Morgan now. I got married.”

He removed his monocular, looked at her and her many freckles. “Mrs. Arthur Morgan?” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

His heart warmed considerably. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

He took a deep breath. He put the monocular away in a drawer. The room was wide and warm and full of baubles. None of them shone as brightly as her that day. He remembered Arthur. Arthur was a good man. “I will give you $1800 for this watch, Mrs. Morgan,” he said. He set the piece back down on the heavy, polished wooden counter. He slid it toward her, and then he folded his hands together. “But I must inform you, I reckon you may be able to pull nigh on $2000 in a big city. Could be more if you get a sucker. Blackwater ain’t no cow town, but it ain’t much for glitz and glamour neither. It’s ranchers, land rich only. I’ll have to move this watch many miles. It will find sale in New York, or Boston. St. Denis, maybe.”

“This watch cannot find itself in St. Denis,” she said, serious. “I hear what you’re saying, but that can’t happen. I can’t fence it there, and it can’t be sold there. In fact I can’t fence this watch nowhere but here—well, maybe one other place but that place is a cow town and I am sure they don’t got the means for it. So I will take the $1800. Thank you, sir.”

He studied her, how she seemed a little wayward. They shook on it. It was a deal. “Where’d you come by this anyway?” he said. “You don’t have to say. I’m just curious.”

“A rich Italian,” she said, tucking the hair behind her ears. “Real dumbass, mind you. He ain’t none the wiser, Mr. Frum, but St. Denis is where he makes his home in the states, and so you catch my drift.”

“I do.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded then. He told her he would be right back. He went through the door behind the counter, which lead to a backroom where he kept his safe. He turned the combination and carefully counted and removed $1800, cash money, strapped it, and placed it in a leather envelope. He then closed the safe, came back to where she was leaning on her elbows, dreamily admiring the odds and ends of the store. When he returned to the counter, she smiled and knitted herself together. They completed their transaction. He wrapped the watch in a piece of suede and placed it in the drawer beside the monocular.

Mary Beth counted the bills. $1800. Truth be told, it was more than she had expected, but not by much. She pocketed the money. It was a heavy take, and she ultimately felt good about it. “Thank you, Mr. Frum,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

“Is everything okay?” he said, placing his hands in his pockets. “You seem different. Not like the spritely girl I knew when y’all moved through here some months ago.”

“I ain’t spritely no more,” she said, shrugging. “That’s for sure. But I’m okay, Mr. Frum. I am just different. I am doing my best.”

“That is all one can hope for,” he said. “Where is Arthur? Is he here with you, in Blackwater?”

“No,” she said. "He ain't." She swallowed some air, though her throat felt dry. She placed the scarf back over her hair, tied it under her chin, put on a happy face. She did not care to elaborate that day. “Thank you again, Mr. Frum. For I will see you again.”

“I hope so,” he said. He smiled warmly, his eyes sparkling like little shells. “Give Arthur my best. And Dutch, and Hosea.”

“I will.”

She left the pawn shop. Outside, Call was leaning against a lamp post, reading the newspaper. He had his wide-brimmed hat, his face cast in shadow. The local law were all sleeping, that is mostly what she noticed that day. Nobody cared about them. It was a ghost town. She wondered, all at once, what the hell they were all so afraid of? Coming back here. This place, it was meaningless. When Call saw her, he folded the paper and tucked it into his back pocket.

“How’d you do?” he said.

“Very well,” she said.

“Where to next,” he said. “We still have an hour before the train.”

But Mary Beth did not care much about the train. She said, “I would just like to take a walk. By the water. Do you mind?”

“Do I mind what.”

“I’d like to be alone.”

This seemed to give him pause. He took a very deep breath. He looked exhausted as he glanced around. “I suppose it is broad daylight,” he said. “Where you aiming to go?”

“Just along the water, then up the road and back. I’ll meet you at the station in thirty minutes time. I ain’t a child, Mr. Call. And I know this town.”

He gazed at her pensively and agreed. “Of course. Stay alert, though. You need anything, you just scream, and I will come a-running.”

“I don’t doubt that, Mr. Call,” she said. She curtsied to him and went on her way.

She walked down the block then, past a stagecoach and the bank, and she turned the corner until she was out of his sight. The city was quiet, and all the men tipped their hats to her respectfully. She walked with her hands cupped together, trying to appear both married and above her station. It was a skill she understood, sort of. The morning was sunny. Whatever storm was moving in the night before had blown by. The rooftops were wet from it, and gleaming. She walked by the penny store where it was she had gone with Sean MacGuire many months in the past. It was where he had purchased that book of poems by W.B. Yeats and then brought it to her in secret, asking if she would teach him how to read. He had been dead now for such a time. She wished it did not have to be so. How she wished. She recalled Arthur, and how he had sounded as he read one of those poems out loud, sitting in Hamish Sinclair’s loft under the pouring rain, the night of their first kiss. It had been their origin story. She took a big breath and said a prayer for him, and for Sean, and then she walked into the Blackwater stables.

“Hello,” she said to the big man in charge. He looked unfamiliar. He was almost as young as she was but he was missing a tooth. She thought he must be running this place for his father. “I am looking to buy a horse. Maybe two.”

He put down the paper he had been reading and looked at her somewhat condescendingly. “What kind of horse,” he said.

“I am interested in only your finest breeds.”

“Such as.”

“Such as an Arabian. Or perhaps a Foxtrotter. I like unusual coats. Of course, this is assuming you got anything at all. I don’t know what kind of circus you’re running here. Have you got taste in ponies?”

“Excuse me?” he said, taken by surprise.

“I said, have you got taste in ponies. I have money, I am in town for one day only, and I am looking to buy, but not from no cub.”

He regarded her anew, in this moment, exited from behind the counter with his hands behind his back. “You know your stuff?”

“Yes, sir, I know my stuff. My husband is a wrangler, and I know my stuff.”

“Well then. In that case, let’s take a look.”

Woodrow Call was standing by, leaning outside the train station with his arms folded across his chest, waiting for Mary Beth and thinking back upon all the mistakes he had made in his life. He was a steadfast man who had come to be so predictable, even he could understand what overcame him that day. He knew it had something to do with Mary Beth, with Arthur, how young they were, her especially. Pregnant, married, new. It was like he had been tasked with delivering them safely unto the ether and though he was proud, he was also terrified. He could not remember the last time he spoke to his own son. This is what he remembered now. Was it five, six months? It’s not that they weren’t friendly, just that their lives rarely touched anymore. He had gone with a cattle drive up to Wyoming the year before and taken a wife in Laramie. She was a butcher's daughter, and religious. Call sent letters every so often, and he received letters in return, but Call had been out of Texas for some time now, and who knows how many where there, waiting for him, unread? He knew he had a grandbaby on the way, or perhaps it had been born already? Most likely not, but still. He planned faithfully to take a train to Wyoming the moment his business east of the Mississippi had come to a close, to see for himself, the baby and the wife. He missed the notion of home. He wanted desperately to get it back, though the days seemed behind him now when he could make one new, and this was a rude awakening.

He took a couple steps off the station platform now and began to scan the streets for Mary Beth. There were many men in high fashion suits waiting for the train. He knew they must have been headed for St. Denis. After some minutes of fretting and glancing at his watch, he finally saw her, but it was a surprise, the thing he saw. She was coming up the thoroughfare on a horse, and yoked to it was another horse. She had two horses. She was a sight to see. He went up to her in the middle of the street, with his hands on his hips, feeling miffed and lost for words.

“What in god’s name?” he said. “Where’d you come by these ponies?”

“I bought them,” said Mary Beth happily. He took her hand as she hopped down, and then she dusted off her blue skirt. They were lovely girls, one of them a sizable Arabian in a rose champagne, the other a hale Foxtrotter in a Silver Dapple Pinto. “From the stable, just now.”

“You bought both of these?” he said. “With what means?”

“I sold Angelo Bronte’s pocket watch,” she said. “There's a fence here in town, an old friend of the gang's. That watch yielded me $1800. And I negotiated these to a good price. Don’t worry. I ain’t been had, Mr. Call. I even got some leftover.”

“Well, I am impressed,” he said, genuine. Though still confused. “I just—explain it to me though. I thought we was taking the train.”

“I know,” she said, “and I’m sorry. I know I should’ve said something. But it just—I wanted to keep it to myself. These isn’t just for the ride. One of them is a gift for Arthur.”

He shifted his weight, one foot to the other. He was smoking a cigarette. “A gift?”

“Yes sir," she said. "Arthur has lost a couple different horses this past year. They died by terrible means. Bloody. His last one, Sarah, she was a Foxtrotter with a champagne coat, and she died not a couple weeks ago. Caught a hail of bullets in a shoot-out with Lemoyne Raiders on the road, and Arthur had to put her down himself. Arthur is a hard man, Mr. Call, as you well know. He has lived a rough life, losing many things, but when it comes to animals, he is soft. He has been putting off getting another horse, though he needs one. Desperately. I don’t think he knows how to move on yet. Nothing is good enough. But I thought—maybe if I give him this gift, he’ll accept.”

Call watched her, closely. The sun was high in the sky now. It must have been approaching noon. “That sounds like a very loving gift, Mrs. Morgan.”

“Thank you.” She took a couple sugar cubes from her pocket. She seemed relieved as she gave one to Call. They fed them to the horses. It was so nice to have them there. They were so alive and big and full of movement.

“Which one will you give him?”

“I don’t know,” she said, gazing upon them, looking dreamy. “They’re both fine fillies. I’ll let him take his pick, and I will ride the other. In the meantime, we can break them in a little. Ride to Valentine, instead of taking the train. What do you think? I mean, I know it ain’t close, but we can do it.”

“I reckon we can,” said Call. Truth be told, he was relieved, but he didn’t tell her that. He wasn’t sure how recognizable she’d be in the Heartlands. He was worried that with Arthur’s name refreshed in the mind of the Pinkertons, hers might be, too.

They started walking those horses down the gravel road then. They were leaving the city, leaving the sorry plains of Blackwater behind. They passed the cemetery, passed the outskirts and weeds and the sleeping homeless man in his union kepi. Now, they headed for the grassy hills, and the prairie canyons. Call didn’t know the backroads, but he reckoned they would just follow the river for as long as they could. Ride up to Cumberland Falls, then trek east past Calaban’s Seat until they hit Valentine. It was gonna be a pretty ride, and he would be glad for the distraction. They mounted up and started riding when they got to the Montana, crossed the river, and then rode till they made it to the Dakota. There, they took a short break on the banks. Call shot a rabbit, which they cooked up on a spit and ate with their fingers. Mary Beth told him about Wisconsin. He thought that sounded real fine, though he did not ask many questions.

Mary Beth had been saving that pocket watch. She didn’t know what for, but she’d been saving. It was a nest egg. It had been a symbol of all the things good that were coming for her. But as she had walked through the dusty old sadness of Blackwater that day, she thought about Arthur, and escaping, and lily farms, and it all began to feel impossible. She wondered, truly, if they would ever leave the gang. Everything, everybody they loved, including each other, was in the gang. Dutch had made them that ultimatum, and how quickly had it dissolved, become nothing? Meaningless. Poof. The same as everything, every day, every score. What was right? If they left now, it would be the dead of winter when they got there, nowhere to live, nowhere to go, in a frozen tundra. If they waited until the baby was born, then would they travel with a newborn, risk the freeze? Or would they wait? How long then, and where? They’d have to leave Lemoyne, all of them, this she had surmised based on the renewed interest from the Pinkertons, but where would they go now? And how would they get there?

Mary Beth had suddenly lost her footing for the future, but it wasn't all bad. She just needed to regroup. She had never been one for anything but dreaming, and so she accepted it was only the now she could control. The here. The things she could touch and see. So she traded in that pocket watch, and she bought those horses. The horses were real, and they had a true practical function. Unlike daydreaming, they did a job. That night, she fed the horses. She did not give them names. She called them both "Pretty Girl." As she brushed their manes and braided their tails and pet their subtle heads, she tried looking forward to Valentine, where it was she was convinced she would see him again. Her handsome husband, safe and sound, who she loved so much. They camped deep in the wooded hills of Diablo Ridge where the trees could not guard them from the stars.

Meanwhile, Arthur and LaBoeuf were a half a day ahead. They had made their swift departure from Braithwaite Manor, left straight away in the morning, before the sun came up. Penelope gifted them each a respectable steed and a set of binoculars. They thanked her sincerely for her trouble, which she waved off in her flippant southern manner and said, “Set them nags free when you’ve done with them, boys. Or sell them. By any means, I don't care. Just don’t bring them back here, for the love of god. Here, they'll die!” She was full of foreboding and mocking scorn for her family, like some gothic horror novel given to him by Mary Beth. He thought it was a bad thing, but at least she had awareness. He hoped one day that she would find a way out of her stifling existence, much like he was trying to escape his own. LeBoeuf was healing already. The wound was not as deep as it had originally seemed, and though he was in some amount of pain, he managed it with whiskey and cocaine gum. Arthur changed his dressings once, and they were able to ride at a brisk pace the whole way to the Heartlands. They did not get held up at all. For they stayed off the beaten paths, as they had nothing for artillery and no means to protect themselves. Arthur knew this would have to change fast, as there was nothing but trouble lurking in this unlucky country—for him, LaBoeuf, everybody really.

They made it to Citadel Rock that evening. It was a fine night, clear and cool, the clouds gone off to the north. They hitched their horses to a tree and climbed the uneven rock formation, Arthur leading the way and hauling LaBoeuf where the ridge was too narrow. When they got to a safe spot with a good vantage point, they laid out, and with their binoculars, took to scoping out the city. It mostly looked empty at first but for a couple of rustlers moving through to the auction yard, stragglers and locals. The day was winding down.

But then they saw some suspicious characters camping in covered wagons outside of the town. Pinkertons, and by the true love in their hearts, they had not expected this.

“Goddam cockroaches," said Arthur. He could not believe his eyes. He was exasperated. "In Valentine? What the hell?"

LaBoeuf said nothing at first. He was staring through the binoculars, chewing gum, looking fed up. He shook his head. He was calculating something. Arthur wondered what was his origin story? Where was this man from.

But instead of asking, he just exhaled. It was a setback. Just that, he told himself. Maybe they would leave. Maybe they would be on their way by morning light. He momentarily feared that Mary Beth and Call may have already been through and been found out, but LaBoeuf promised Arthur that Call would not enter the town without conducting his own recon mission, much like this. So Arthur let all the air out of his lungs and flattened out on his stomach with his cheek pressed to the cold, hard rock, and he closed his eyes and thought about his childhood for some reason, the days before his mother had died, living up in Oregon, and how she used to wash their clothes with a special formula that she mixed herself with herbs from the yard. Mary Beth, she did something similar. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it brought him great comfort as he sought to avoid any and all thinking toward the coming days and nights of this goddam longwinded journey to the end.

"I just want to go home," he said, closing his eyes.

"Where's home?" said LaBoeuf, unknowing in the profundity of the question he asked.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #mary beth gaskill #arthur x mary beth #the lily farm #<3

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talix18 · 4 years

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November 21

Yesterday Katelyn called to see if I wanted to hang out. Katelyn is the almost 22-year-old who I call my adopted niece but she’s something more than that. I lived with K and her mom from the time K was 18 months old until she was four-and-a-half so I was her de facto other mom. I know it’s just the slightest approximation of what parenting must feel like but I treasure the memory of her being satisfied with coming to me if Mom wasn’t available. Three-year-old K running towards me when I showed up to pick her up from daycare. The memory of the Christmas when all K wanted from Santa was to see her father and her mother and I couldn’t make that happen – talk about powerlessness. Watching her sing at her high school variety show remembering how I’d been too terrified to sing in front of people…

She inherited some things from me – her opinions and eagerness to share them is probably the big one, but she also, somehow, has come to love Def Leppard (I suspect that’s her boyfriend’s influence). You already know how Def Leppard introduced me to my first boyfriend. I can tell you exactly where I was and who I was with when I heard about the car accident that ultimately took Rick Allen’s arm. I remember that someone who worked at a music store called me to tell me Steve Clarke had died. Def Leppard was my third concert (1st: Asia; 2nd: Stray Cats) – I still can’t believe Mom let me go with Allen and some of his friends at 15. Some people have made-up imaginary friends – mine were real people.

I went up to see K at her mom’s place after work (Kate’s mom and her husband of a year and a week are still on their delayed honeymoon in Tennessee) and we talked about all kinds of things. She said something about Def Leppard touring with Motley Crue, which led me to the Crue documentary I just watched on Netflix over the weekend. I was a fan – saw them open for Ozzy once; had a poster on my ceiling for a while – but the milestones in their lives were vague memories. Of course Tommy was married to Heather Locklear and Vince committed vehicular manslaughter, but that was most of what I knew.

The documentary is an unflinching portrait of the toll drugs took on the band – specifically Nikki Sixx – but that’s not the part that really got to me. I know how addiction works. I had to stop the movie to Google what happened to Vince Neil’s daughter after her cancer diagnosis, which paid off as the next scene opened on her dead four-year-old body laying in the hospital bed. So now I’m having feelings about poor Vince losing his daughter after killing his friend how many years after the fact?

On the way home, after playing a Def Leppard song, the DJ mentioned the tour with Crue and I had to call Katelyn. We are definitely going, I assured her, now that I have even more emotions tied up with these people. I am definitely not thinking about the fact that “Crue called their friends in Def Leppard” to arrange the tour because I assume that means the Leps were also hard partiers and I’d rather not consider all the sordid debauchery that follows along. (Poison is also on the bill, and we’re all down with Bret since Rock of Love. Don’t threaten me with a good time!)

K and I also watched Mean Girls, which I had never seen, and I’m always happy to patch up a hole in my cultural reference knowledge. “Her hair is so big because it’s full of secrets” is everything. Feel free to welcome me to fifteen years ago.

I have to believe the increased meds dosage is making a difference. Tuesday alone I scheduled a doctor’s appointment (colorectal), an ultrasound (thyroid), a dinner/movie date with a friend, a massage, an eye exam, and a dentist’s appointment AND I enrolled for supplemental vision insurance. It seems like a reasonable amount to accomplish in one day, but I’d been putting off some of these appointments for months. Why is it so hard to pick up the phone and call someone? I will never be able to explain it. Trust me – I wish I could help people understand! The best I can do is recognize that I’m functioning more effectively and keep track of what I’m doing that’s different.

Yesterday I committed to flying to Boston to see a friend get married on New Year’s Eve. “Black tie optional”? Hell yeah I want to go hang out in that hotel and see that venue that my amazing friend and her intended are having a black-tie optional shin-dig in! I can’t imagine my lifestyle ever affording me such luxurious splurges on the regular so I need to take advantage of the opportunities when they manifest. Besides, I already have a dress that I got for a black-tie New Year’s Even anniversary party a few years ago; wearing it a second time makes it an even better value! (We don’t discuss how much money I ultimately spend on a wrap and statement earrings.) (Ack! I need to make an appointment with Katelyn for my hair!)

I haven’t seen Karen (the friend getting married) in FIVE years, which seems impossible, but there it is. Karen is one of my original gang of Webpeeps – Webpepes 1.0! Most of us met on a news aggregate website, got to know each other in the forum (4um elites represent), and created a new bulletin board to hang out in. At our peak we had about 150 members but the core group was about 40, and I’ve had the pleasure of meeting at least 30 of us in meatspace.

The first time I met Karen (GreenBeans/GB) was at her then husband’s 30TH (?) birthday party. Rider (PsiDefect), Tim (GasMasher), and I drove my car up to Boston from Philly (Tim and I drove up from MD) to surprise this dude we’d never met, and that cemented my friendship with both Karen and Ted (Law). Their marriage broke up some time ago, which I learned the weekend she and I got together in Orlando with Catrina (CatWritr) and CJ (Hajen). Which was somehow five full years ago.

The first time I met ANY of these nerds was…I don’t even know how long ago at the original Farkoasterfest. I lived with Katelyn and Vanessa at the time and V straight up took pictures of Rider and his license plate when he pulled up to scoop me and head out to Sandusky, OH. I do know I was working at SSA and it was relatively early in my tenure, so early-2000s? It was also probably the first time I spent an entire weekend with people not in recovery since I’d gotten clean. Several hundred miles away with nearly perfect strangers – who thought that was a good idea?

It turned out to be one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Some of the people I met that weekend and after are straight up some of my closest friends. It was my first experience making friends as an adult, which is startlingly difficult to do. My first group of friends that didn’t start in our hometown or on campus or in recovery – people I connected with in a realm where all we had was the words on the screen and our wit.

Places I’ve since hung out with these people include Seattle twice, Cedar Point one or two more times, Northern VA, DC, PA, and Toledo. I’ve seen at least three couples wed and have almost ten kids between them. I dated the guy in Toledo for a few years. I flew out to Seattle for Andrea (BigOrangeCat/TheOtherAndrea)’s 40th birthday party and to visit her in the hospital before she died. We helped Amy (Hisey) mourn the loss of her nearly full-term daughter. We helped Joe (ThedNeedles) deal with his ex keeping his son away from him – some of his helped him with legal aid. We watched each other’s kids grow up and have kids of their own. Norm (Zorgon) just emailed to let me know he was in town (-ish –northern DC suburb) and wanted to connect but was laden with germs – we get together for a meal very few years when work brings him this way. Never let anyone tell you your online friends don’t count.

(Logging back in to the old bulletin board to count heads gifted me with a video of Mike (BitZero) (father of FarKoasterFest) smashing up some obsolete Fark hardware. Good times!)

I reached out to CJ and Cat to see if either one was planning on coming to the wedding to offer the other side of the king-sized bed I’ll be sleeping in in Boston and I’m glad I did. CJ’s got a handful of kids so money is always a concern and I’m paying for the room whether I’m alone or with someone else. We’ll be FaceTiming Cat at midnight and maybe during the ceremony too.

In fact, I’ve been suspiciously functional this week. Monday was meh, but since then I’ve had three good, productive days in a row. I have no specific plans tonight so I could go to a meeting, or I could go home and see if any of this momentum can be channeled into house projects. Coming up with a fictional framing device has given me the opportunity to figuratively walk myself through the necessary steps to get started. So whatever comes of this writing exercise, it’s been worth doing.

#nanowrimo #f**k fifty

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theydontknowaboutusimagines · 5 years

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12 Days of Christmas - Day #4 - “I’ll Be Home For Christmas”

“Ahh, You’re home!” Anne smiled rushing over to you and Harry wrapping her arms around the two of you in a group hug.

“Hey, Mum,” he smiled kissing her cheek.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she smiled. “Y/N! I’m so thrilled you were able to come this year.”

“I am too,” you smiled. “Thank you for having me.”

“Of course, you’re welcome to my home anytime you want,” she smiled. “Especially for the holidays.”

You and Harry had been together for almost three years, but this is the first time you two have spent the actual holidays together. The other years you two would always celebrate with one another before or after the holidays so that you each could spend that time with your families. However, this year, your parents had decided they wanted to take a holiday for just themselves as a bit of Christmas gift for themselves.

When you told Harry about it, he didn’t hesitate to invite you to come with him to celebrate with his family at his childhood home. Which is where you are now, Harry had brought you up to the room you would be staying in, his old bedroom that was still technically his bedroom.

“Aww,” you smiled. “This room is definitely you.”

He laughed, ”Yeah, Mum keeps mine and Gemma’s room the same for the most part because they’ll always be our rooms, she said. Luckily, I was able to make it a little more adult like with the decor and not look like a teenager lived here.”

“But it’s hard for her having both of her kids away,” you said. “Especially when they both travel and one is usually several thousand miles away.”

He nodded, “It’s hard on all of us, but none of us would change the way things are.”

“So, do you have any baby pictures of you up here?” You smirked. “Or any secrets hidden away in a sock drawer?”

He laughed, “No, and even if I did, you won’t be seeing them.”

“Oh, come on, isn’t that how this goes? I spend the holidays with your family and see what your life was like during your childhood. Including all the embarrassing photos and videos,” you smirked.

“Yeah, no,” he laughed shaking his head. “I told Mum to make sure everything was put up somewhere because you will not be seeing anything embarrassing.”

“You, Harry Styles, are no fun,” you pouted.

“Oh, I’m fun,” he smirked. “In other ways,” he said pulling you towards him.

“Ew, please remember there are other people in this house and right next to your room,” Gemma said from the doorway.

“Same goes for you,” he smirked.

She rolled her eyes, “Anyway, Y/N! I’m so happy to see you,” she smiled hugging you tightly.

“Hey! What about me,” he said.

“Eh... it’s okay, I guess,” she smirked.

“Lovely,” he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, be nice you two,” Anne said walking in. “I’ve made some tea and snacks that are waiting to be eaten. Come on now.”

Later that night, you all were sitting in the living room. The fireplace was heating up the house, the only lights were those of the Christmas lights hung around the room and on the tree. So far, you were loving every minute of spending the day with Harry and his family. Currently, you were listening to Christmas music while drinking hot chocolate.

Harry was sitting next to you on the couch with his arm around you, when Anne walked in with her hands full. She sat on the other side of you and smiled.

“What’s all that Mum?” Harry asked sipping his hot chocolate.

“Oh, just a little something I thought I’d share with Y/N,” she smiled.

“Oooh, what is it?” You smiled sitting up.

She handed you a photo album and as soon as you opened it, you saw a naked baby Harry on the front page.

“Awwww, you were so cute,” you smiled. “Look at those cheeks.”

“Muuuumm, seriously?” He groaned.

“Oh, hush, she’s your girlfriend,” she smiled. “She deserves to see these photos.”

“Yeah, I do,” you smirked sticking your tongue out at him.

“Make sure you show the awkward phase photos,” Gemma smirked. “She’ll love those.”

“Oh, so the awkward phase isn’t now?” You joked.

“Heeeey!” Harry whined.

You laughed kissing his cheek.

The rest of the night was spent looking at old photos of Harry and Gemma before Anne broke out the old home movies.

“Oh my god, why haven’t we burned these yet?” Harry groaned running his hands over his face.

“They’re not that bad,” you laughed. “Besides we all have these type of videos, especially if we grew up in the 90s.”

“Touche,” he laughed.

“I’ve got the popcorn,” Gemma said bringing in two large bowls filled to the top.

“Oooh, this is Christmas of 2000,” Anne smiled. “Seems fitting.”

You smiled cuddling up with Harry as you two grabbed some popcorn and watched the video. The majority of the time, Harry was blushing as you laughed and he would let out a laugh every now and then as well. Once it started getting late, everyone called it a night and went into their rooms, except for you and Harry.

“If you’re thinking about hiding those tapes, I’m pretty sure your mother will know,” you giggled.

He laughed, “As much as I’d like to do that, I do have to admit I’m glad we have those.”

“See,” you smiled.

“Now, that we’re alone,” he said. “Would you mind doing something with me?”

“Sure, what is it?” You asked.

“So, I talked to your parents the other day... and well they told me about this tradition...” he started. “And since you aren’t with them this year... I thought maybe we could do it...”

You smiled, ”And what tradition is that exactly?”

He went over to the record player to put on some music before walking back over to you and holding his hand out for you, “May I have this dance?”

You smiled widely placing your hand in his as he pulled you off the couch and over to him. He took you into his arms as the two of swayed the sound of the music.

“My parents started this tradition when they were dating,” you whispered. “Every Christmas Eve, my father would sneak over to my mother’s house and they would dance under the Christmas Lights to whatever Christmas song that was playing on the radio. After I was born, they would always do it after I went to sleep, until I was about six and the music woke me up. I thought it was Santa or something, so I went rushing into the living room to find out it was just my parents dancing together. It was then when they started to incorporate me into the tradition. We’d always dance until I went to bed... and for the most part, we’ve kept that tradition.”

Harry smiled, “I love it... and I think we should make it our own tradition.”

“I’d love that,” you smiled.

“Love it enough to marry me?” He whispered looking into your eyes.

“I-what?” You gulped.

Harry reached into his pocket to reveal a small box. When he opened it up, a diamond ring glistened inside of it. You were speechless as you stared at it and as Harry knelt down on the ground.

“Y/N, I love you with everything inside of me. You are the one person I’m supposed to have and to hold and to love forever. I want you by my side for the rest of our lives. I want to grow old with you and have children with you. I want us to make our own traditions and carry on our family traditions. I want to spend every Christmas with you as long as you'll have me,” he whispered.

His hands shook as he held the ring. You were still at a loss for words, but you were able to work up the nerve for one word. And that word was all that you needed.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Harry smiled, tears falling down his cheeks, as he placed the ring on your finger and stood up. He pressed his lips to yours as you heard cheering and camera shutters in the background. You pulled away, laughing as you saw his family there smiling with tears in their own eyes.

“You knew?” You giggled.

“Of course,” Gemma smiled. “And we couldn’t be happier.”

“Welcome to the family, Y/N,” Anne smiled. “I always knew you would one day be my daughter.”

“I can’t believe this just happened,” you laughed wiping the tears from your eyes. “I’m engaged... wow... we’re engaged.”

Harry smiled kissing your forehead, “Yeah, we are,” he smiled. “Merry Christmas, love.”

“Merry Christmas,” you smiled pressing your lips against his.

#One Direction Imagines #Harry Styles Imagines #12 Days of Christmas 2018

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parvinasseaynk72insurance-blog · 5 years

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Lexus NX Cheap Insurance

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arizonajim · 5 years

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THE BEARD

Once I turned 17, and could grow facial hair, I have had facial hair. Mustache and goatee, just a goatee, or slim line beard; those were my “go to” looks back in the early days. Then I joined the US Navy in 2000 and said goodbye to facial hair. Almost 8 years of shaving daily. Keeping this face smooth as a baby’s bottom. Luckily after the first couple weeks at bootcamp, my face became accustomed to the daily beating my face took with this new morning ritual. The red, irritated, soreness went away, and I was now full-fledged NAVY ready! Well, at least my face anyway.

Almost 8 years later, the Navy and I said our goodbyes, and I was on my way into the “civilian world”. The excitement, the anxious nervousness, the fears. Oh God what was going to happen. Where was I going? After 8 years living the military life, I was walking into the completely unknown. With all the fears and uncertainty, before exiting the gates of Naval Base San Diego for the last time, I did know one thing for sure. I was going to rebel against everything I had known for those long 8 years, throw caution to the wind if you will. The facial hair was coming back!!! I drove the 350(ish) miles from San Diego to Phoenix in just under 7 hours. As soon as I got home and started unpacking my things, I immediately threw every razor I had into the trash bucket. I was ready… LETS DO THIS!

I stopped shaving for 3 or 4 months (I honestly don’t remember exactly how long ok… back off). I looked like I had been lost in the woods or was sleeping on a park bench somewhere. If I must be honest, it was not a good look at all. It had come time to make myself presentable. To be an adult who gave a damn. So, I went back to the mustache and goatee look. That was my look yet again for the next several years.

Fast forward to around 2014(ish). I started seeing more and more dudes with actual beards. Not fashion stubble, but real beards. Full face of hair… trimmed… neat and tidy… but BEARDS none the less. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought… hmmmm I bet you’d look sexy AF with a thick, full beard. At that moment I once again stopped shaving entirely. Week after week, the hair grew in. First was my cheeks, the hair growing in higher and higher. Before I knew it, when I looked down, I could see hair… it was glorious!! 6 months later, I had a beard. A REAL BEARD! I had started shaving down my cheeks, creating a soft curve towards my nose and mouth. This gave birth to my first beard shape. It was no longer a wild thing attached to my face. It became a part of my face, apart of my identity. I had arrived.

I was smitten with my own facial hair. It was glorious, it was beautiful. I felt like a new person, the person I was meant to be. Then came the irritation. The soreness. The constant itching and it flat out hurt at times. I had grown angry at my beard. How dare you turn your back on me you son of a bitch! This is not how you were supposed to treat me. But it became unbearable… too much. I had to shave it off. I got out my clippers, chocked back the tears and before I knew it, the beard was gone. It laid in piles all around me at my feet. I looked in the mirror and did not recognize the face looking back at me. I squinted my eyes, tilted my head back and forth trying to identify this boy who was staring back at me. I was devastated. I no longer could hold back, and a single tear rolled down my cheek. The cheek that was now bare… smooth as a baby’s bottom. I vowed to never do this again! Not to ruin the story for you, but yes it did happen again. Multiple times again.

I was determined to not have to endure that heartache again, so I started researching beard maintenance and beard care. I soon discovered the wonderful world of beard oils, butters, balms and waxes. I learned that using shampoo and soap were horrible for your beard. Possibly even some of the worst things you can do to a beard, and of course, that was what I had done. I had denied my beard proper nourishment, essentially starving and killing it slowly. With this new information I knew what I had to do… BUY BEARD CARE PRODUCTS! I went crazy! I bought up all kinds of oils, balms and waxes. I totally overlooked balms and beard wash figuring I could make do with the oil’s, balms and waxes. I must have spent well over a hundred bucks on oils alone. I had gone certifiably nuts! But I was determined to NOT kill my beard.

I have had my ups and down since then with my beard. I have shaved it to shock family and friends, or I just simply jacked up a beard trip so bad there was no saving it. Even with the feeling of it being a love/hate relationship at times, the beard has become a part of who I am. I treat it as a living, breathing thing and make sure I nourish, care, and love my beard every day. It has now been almost 8 months since I last shaved it off due to a trimming accident, and the beard is going strong. It is full and thick, soft and luscious. I have done some VERY minor trimming during the last 8 months, but my goal it to make it a full year without having to start from scratch… again.

What is your story??

#beards beardlife beardstruggle beardcare beardmaintenance beardlove

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cavalierconvoy · 6 years

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Commission Drive and Fundraiser for Science! Medical Expenses!

The Good News: My health is under control.

The Bad News: While I am fortunate to have some semblance of health insurance, it's not the best of coverage. (For more details, read under the cut, and if anyone wishes to know more, please feel free to PM me; I am open with discussing it.)

Commission Rates Master Post

Inquiries are always open - PM or Inbox me!

Other Ways to help (and the thanks for helping rewards!) :

Ko-Fi (one-time) or Patreon (monthly) :

$3 - A6 bust sketch of your favourite character or OC (with reference)

$6 - A5 full body sketch, or a 1000-word ficlet

$9 - A5 full body inked, or a 2000-word fic

$24 - A5 3/4 body action pose, traditional marker or digital colour

The last two tiers are open to NSFW guidelines.

Trades: Because of my situation, art and fic trades, while not suspended, will have to be on low priority.

Reblogs and signal boosts are greatly appreciated! Thank you!

Commissions (4 in queue; inquiries welcome!) Patreon | Picarto Channel | DeviantArt | Twitter Like what you see? Buy me a coffee and I’ll sketch for you!

As most of my followers know, the health care system, specifically the way insurance is handled, in the United States is a quagmire of bureaucracy. While I'm fortunate enough to have a base coverage and all my doctors and specialists are within network, it's still a struggle, and I currently have over $1500 worth of medical bills. While the financial departments are accommdating for payment plans, this is still a huge chunk of money and with the extreme weather we've had in the northeast this winter, we've already used most our emergency savings to do house and vehicle repairs. We are one major repair away from depleting it entirely, and our car, a 2004 Chevy Cavalier with 140K miles, needs to last us for another year.

I've been dealing with major depression for most of my life. I had a horrible relapse that was a long time coming back in December of 2017, a couple of weeks after we had to euthanise Caligo, our 20-year-old cat, due to kidney failure. Cal had been my companion since I struck it out on my own after college, so it was especially hard to lose him. I was able to come out long enough to get into a "business as usual" mentality until I crashed again a week later, first week of 2018. My husband pushed me to see my primary care provider ASAP. I was able to get in that day, had my medication increased, and scheduled for in-patient crisis counseling until an spot opened up for a counselor at the affiliated mental health center. I was encouraged to get exercise, so I started going to the gym as well. While my physical health had improved, I was still having what I called "monguls"...little dips and peaks that while didn't distract from day to day activities still left me feeling down and exhausted by the time I got home. Ultimately, my PCP scheduled a procedure, and they had found what could be the cause: something that isn't malignant or cancerous, but troublesome enough to cause multiple physical and hormonal issues. Because of this, I've been referred to a specialist for a surgery consultation in May. This is a Good Thing, as this is a problem I've been addressing for 27 years and finally, it's being acknowledged. (If you wish to know more, feel free to PM me; while I don't mind talking about it, going into details may cause some of my mutuals, especially fellow AFAB/transmasc folks, discomfort and dysphoria.)

Counselling has been extremely helpful, and three weeks ago, we adopted Faris, a 14-month-old cat that is more kitten than adult. She is friendly, social, and playful, a real cuddlebug.

So my mood has improved dramatically, I've been in a good place, my physical health has been getting better, and I'm slated to get a situation I had thought I'd have to deal with for the rest of my life is going to be finally taken care of. That's the Good News.

The Bad News is that while many of these procedures and services qualify for adjustments, anything that isn't an office visit or medication has to go against my insurance deductible. Which in itself can be considered a good thing, as I'm about half-way towards meeting said deductible and thus my possible surgery, as so long as it happens this year, would be covered.

Every little bit helps, even reblogs! Thank you!

#maccadam #valveplug #till all are one #lost light #transformers #commission #artist for hire #medical cw #depression cw #thank you!

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michiganandback · 6 years

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July 24-27 AM

As an addendum to our cave tour, we met a group from Denmark who were visiting with the father's house family when he was an exchange student in 1984. Since then his children have been exchange students in various places in the United States and now back in Kentucky. They have visited many times back and forth across the pond watching their kids grow up. We started talking to the American counterpart and it turns out he's a musician and choral director who played the organ in a big church in New York City for 21 years, St. John the Divine. He and Elizabeth had a lot to talk about. We know a very good organist from Tulsa and this gentleman is pretty sure he knows Casey Cantwell. You find out the most interesting things when you ask just a couple of questions. The next day we headed north by Northeast in the direction of the Michigan border. We stopped at a campground on the Ohio River but they had no bath house so we meandered backwards to a state campground that has water and electric hookups and a nice bathroom near the campsite. This campground must have had 2000 campsites within boundary along with a campsite reserved for horsemen. We got a good walk in the morning and headed north again. We ended up in Elkhart Indiana, rather east of Elkhart in Amish Country. On this trip we have noticed a remarkable lack of bugs hitting the windshield. That doesn't seem like a really strange thing but it is when you drive almost 2,000 miles and don't have to clean your windshield at every gas station. As we drove through Amish Country, we noticed a woman mowing her grass with a self-propelled gasoline mower. All the clothes are hung on the clothesline but using a lawn mower seems to be acceptable. We found a nice KOA campground near a Scenic Highway that is registered in the National Geographic book of Scenic byways in the United States. We ventured out in the morning to tour some of the local sites. Our first stop was at a Mennonite historical information center that had a history lesson about how the Mennonites, the Huttenites and the Amish came into existence. We did not know it started in the early 1600s in Germany and evolved in Northern Switzerland. They are all from the same sect of Anabaptists who believe you can't be truly baptized as an infant and can only be baptized when you reach the age of maturity when you can make an informed decision to join the church. We never found out at what age that is. Need to research it further. There was an hour and a half digital presentation about the Mennonite Church, specifically, but they discussed the different sects, how they evolved and how they live today. For instance, the Mennonites Embrace some of the technology, drive cars but only black ones, work in the secular community, can run for political office and actually pay taxes. The Huttenites live in a commune existence and pay no individual taxes because they only have the corporation taxes of their community. The Amish adhere to mostly non-technological accessories, but they do use electric bicycles, can you solar energy, battery powered devices but no longer teach organized education past the 8th grade. The Mennonites started their own school and have a Mennonite College and also go on to Advanced degrees. The Huttenites educational system was not fully described in our tour. It was a very interesting informative visit. They had broken away from the Catholic Church because they wanted to read and understand the Bible themselves and they didn't believe infants should be baptized as prescribed by church and state law when the church and state became one. Ironically, most of the baptisms are done by pouring water over in adults head but some sects believe full immersion is acceptable way for baptism. They all believe in breaking bread and drinking wine or grape juice for communion. We learned more than I can put into the blog because I'm sure you're tired of reading most of this but we'd be happy to explain more when we visit if you're interested. I can say they make really good pastries because we stopped at the largest restaurant in Indiana for coffee and pastries. Actually, it is the largest family-run restaurant in Indiana and they can seat 1000 people at each meal. Tomorrow we head north by Northeast to the shores of Lake Huron to start our journey in Michigan. We got reservations to the least visited national park in the United States, The Isle Royale National Park in the middle of Lake Michigan. You can only get there by ferry or seaplane. We hired a seaplane to fly us there, but will have to take a 6 hour ferry ride back.

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betweensceneswriter · 6 years

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Jimjeran-Chapter 2 Miss Peach-ay

Jimjeran (Shim-sher͂on) : Marshallese – a lifelong companion Claire is a nurse in the Peace Corps, spending 18 months in the Marshall Islands. Down the road, three Peace Corps volunteers–Jamie, Angus, and Rupert–are running the local elementary school.

Click Here to Hop to the Table of Contents

Click here for Audio Version--I am no Davina Porter. Still working on my Jamie, Angus & Rupert. But as for the Marshallese words, you can imagine them, or you can hear me butcher them like Claire would.

“What the hell was I thinking?”

“Did you say something, Claire?” Laura yelled over the roar of the airplane engines.

“No,” I responded, shaking my head and staring down at the little green and white loop of shoe-string flung in the middle of the indigo Pacific Ocean, my home for at least the next 18 months.

I thought our pilot was trying to land us in the water as the plane began to slow and descend. I couldn’t see anything beneath us, in front of us, or to either side.

“What’s he doing?” I finally yelled to Laura, terrified. “There aren’t pontoons on this plane!”

“Don’t worry. He’s landing on the airstrip,” she yelled back. Airstrip? It wasn’t until we were merely hundreds of feet off the ground and the tall green coconut palm trees came into sight that I realized she wasn’t kidding. We were landing on an airstrip, indeed—an airstrip that took up the entire width of the island. As the plane taxied bumpily on the grass runway, I looked in amazement at my surroundings. Water to my left, water to my right.

“You knew it was an atoll, didn’t you?” Laura asked, grinning at the shell-shocked look of terror in my eyes.

“I knew what atoll meant, but I didn’t realize it referred to an island that is only like, five feet wide,” I said, extricating myself out of the cramped seat once the plane had stopped and the engines had sputtered until the propellers were still.

“Don’t exaggerate,” Laura laughed. “At its narrowest point, it’s still at least 30 feet wide.”

I’d stared at the little island of Arno on Google Earth, zooming in as close as I could when I’d first accepted the assignment, curious about this place I’d never been. I could see the wide treed portion where the clinic was in the village of Ine, and I’d followed the narrow strip with a single road down the center around to see where the main island ended but the shallower water continued along the edge of the lagoon, soon to become another little island in the circular chain.

I had always dreamed of being in the Peace Corps, volunteering in some remote community for a year or two after college. But Frank Randall and I had met when I was just a freshman, and twitter-pated by the handsome, mature, intelligent history major’s interest in me I had simply forgotten who I had wanted to be one day. Frank graduated that year, continued toward his masters’ degree, and then taught in the history department my final year in the nursing program. When I graduated, he proposed.

Five years after graduating, Frank and I were still engaged and living together, just had never set a date. So on my 27th birthday I had announced to him that I was joining the Peace Corps.

“You’re kidding, right, Claire?” he said, taken aback by my cavalier announcement.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “We’re not married yet, we don’t have kids yet, and you’re doing research for your doctoral thesis. You can use the focused time to write, and I won’t have regrets once I’m too old or too entangled to volunteer anymore.”

“Eighteen months, though, Claire?” Frank looked at me in concern. “You know fertility decreases with age, don’t you?”

“And you know we haven’t been using birth control for the last five years, don’t you?” I responded. “If it was going to happen naturally, it would have happened by now.” I’d stopped taking the pill when I finished my last day of nursing school, figuring if we got pregnant at least that might light a fire under laconic Frank’s ass. I’d dropped enough hints about marriage, and I was getting tired of my mom scolding me, saying, “They say a man won’t buy a cow when the milk is free.”

Thinking about Frank’s disappointed confusion had me feeling emotional, but I blinked the tears away and whipped my hair up into a sloppy bun. It was humid, and not only did my naturally curly hair get ten times curlier, my neck and face were almost instantly glistening with sweat, and I could feel a single droplet traveling down between my breasts.

A pickup truck had rattled up to the plane, and Laura and I took turns handing heavy boxes down from the cargo hold of the plane and then putting them in the back of the truck, practically filling the truck bed with boxes. When everything was loaded, Laura went to the pilot. Holding up two fingers, she said, “Ruo awa.” Two hours. I almost had a panic attack at the thought.

Laura came smilingly back to the pickup, where it seemed as if the driver was asking Laura if we wanted to ride or walk. After the cramped half hour on the plane, I thought walking might be nice, but I was only wearing sandals and it sounded like the clinic was two miles away. I needed as much useful time with Laura as possible. With the idea of seeing the clinic and apartment as another motivator, I hopped up into the bed, found a sturdy box and sat down, tucking the skirt of my sundress around my legs so it wouldn’t fly up in the breeze.

Laura smiled at my wide-eyed fascination as we rode along, attempting to point out different landmarks. I didn’t need a travelogue, though; my brain felt full enough as it was. It seemed like I’d been transported back in time. The airstrip had been in a completely clear grassy area with no trees, but we quickly reached the coconut palm tree “forest,” if that’s what you could call it, coconut trees scattered across the sandy landscape, interspersed with bushes, some places overrun with green jungle plants. The road was white gravel. At times it was level and looked like any other dirt or gravel road I’d seen, but at other times it was two narrow channels of tire tracks with a grassy stripe down the middle.

After a few minutes, we began to see signs of life. Two little kids walked along the road barefoot, the little girl in a skirt and tee shirt, the toddler in just a tee with a pair of bare brown buns below. They moved to the side of the road and waved and smiled at us, white teeth beautifully splitting their tan faces.

“They’ll steal your hearts,” Laura said. “Gosh, I’m going to miss them.”

“Well, thanks for sticking around to give me an initiation,” I said. “There’s no way I would have known how to shop for six months at a time, and I can’t imagine finding my way out here with my limited language knowledge.”

I had tried, honestly I had. But between having the stomach flu for three days during the immersive training in Hawaii and my chronic thick-headedness when it came to learning foreign languages, I had escaped from my language orientation knowing only “Where are you going?” “Kwej etal n͂an ia?*” and “Ejjab melele**,” which meant, helpfully, “I don’t understand.”

Thankfully, I was going to have a translator for a few hours each morning during my basic clinic time, so I could learn about people’s symptoms and better treat and teach them.

Laura had been the nurse on Arno for the previous 18 months. With her service time coming to an end, the Corps had sought a replacement for her, and I was the one chosen. An island with an area of a mere 5 square miles with only 2000 inhabitants spread throughout the 133 little islands surrounding the large central and two smaller lagoons didn’t warrant a huge hospital, but having a nurse practitioner at the clinic brought about an instant improvement to the quality of life for the locals. I would be responsible for basic health and sanitation education, family planning advice and medications, and general emergency care. For more serious injuries or trauma, the hospital on Majuro, 20 miles away, was able to send a helicopter to the airfield to pick up patients.

“That’s the Iroij’s*** house,” Laura shouted over the rattle of the truck, gesturing at a utilitarian cement block structure a ways back from the road on a slight rise. It was surrounded by a few other small houses, outbuildings, and shacks, and had a neatly kept yard covered with white gravel. “Mr. Timisen is the local governor. He speaks pretty decent English, and he has one of the two satellite phones on the island, if you need to get word to headquarters in Majuro before your short wave radio appointment.”

Where we were currently driving I couldn’t see the ocean, but every once in a while I would catch a glimpse of the turquoise water of the lagoon. It was surreal, beautiful, and humid. I scratched my leg; I think so far I’d counted sixteen mosquito bites. I was grateful for the multiple cans of bug spray I had packed in one of the boxes.

As we went farther, there were more and more houses—gray brick buildings with low windows, shacks cobbled together of corrugated aluminum, plywood, and plastic sheeting, some with grass or palm branch roofs, and yards of the same white rocks.

Adults and children stared at us curiously. Laura seemed to get the lion’s share of the greetings and smiles. “Miss Leenchah!” they called out excitedly. “Miss Leenchah, iiọkwe eok!”

“Leenchah?” I asked, confused. “Isn’t your last name Lynch?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Putting “uh” or “ay” at the end of your name is a Marshall term of endearment. You’ll have to write and tell me what nickname they give you!”

Write. Now that was a new one. Write with pen and paper, envelopes, and stamps. Arno didn’t have electricity, much less cell service or WiFi. I was already panicking without my cell phone to look at for the time, the weather, the news, texts from friends. I’d bought an actual wristwatch, but not really wanting a watch tan, I’d found a cute watch necklace, which hung upside down. I could easily grab the watch and check the time, without the claustrophobic sweaty feel of a wristwatch.

And with that, the pickup pulled off to the side of the road, the tires making a crunching sound in the thick gravel.

There it was, my clinic! A nondescript building, boxy and white, it had an angled roof with solar panels on it, and louvered windows with screens. Laura hopped out and offered me a hand down from the truck. Looking around, I saw that a small crowd had gathered. Laura spoke to the group in what sure sounded like fluent Marshallese, but of course I wouldn’t know. Finally she gestured to me and said “Your new nurse, Miss Beauchamp.” I could see them mentally processing the name. Finally a small voice piped up, “Welcome, Miss Peach-ay!”

Laura smiled. “Guess I don’t have to wait to find out, Miss ‘Peach-ay’!”

The crowd of men, women, and children gathered around the truck. With much greater speed than we’d loaded, the boxes were whisked out of the truck and into the apartment or the clinic as Laura directed them.

“House first, or clinic?” Laura asked. She had just been surrounded by a crowd of kids, and I realized she had been handing out chewing gum to her eager fans. “Bribery never hurts,” she grinned. “I bought you some gum to share.”

“Clinic, I think,” I responded. “Seems more important.”

Laura ushered me through the door into the clinic. Only about 20 by 20 feet, it held one small hospital bed at the back of the room and an examination table, both with curtains that could be pulled around them. There was a sink that had a pump handled faucet next to what looked like a kerosene stove. A long counter with cupboards above and below was along one wall, and there was an old-school scale as well as an infant scale on a table next to it. One locked cupboard stood on the far wall. I assumed that contained most of the medicine, though we had brought a supply of new medications and bandages in three of the boxes we’d brought from Majuro.

“So, no running water, and no hot water?” I double-checked, still a little amazed that there were places without running water in this day and age. “Just the pump?”

“And a big tea kettle and kerosene stove,” she said. “I always try to keep some water hot or warm for washing boils or cuts, but it’s pretty quick to heat if you forget. They sell kerosene at Mr. Ogawa’s store. Don’t forget to keep yourself stocked. You’ve got solar powered lights, but they don’t last forever, so you’ve got kerosene lanterns for another source of light.”

Looking around the room for anything else she’d forgotten, Laura showed me the calendar and schedule on the wall. “First Monday of the month is Depo day. Depo Provera shots for any women who are doing family planning. Infant mortality is really high if they don’t wait long enough between pregnancies. Second Monday is well child check-ups. Third Monday is health day. You’ll teach some sort of lesson on cleanliness, sanitation, or nutrition. And the fourth Monday afternoon is teen time. You can answer questions about safer sex, good dental health, things like that.”

“How busy will I be?” I asked, feeling overwhelmed at the barrage of information. It wasn’t like nursing was new to me, and I’d oriented on tons of different floors in hospitals. With finishing the Nurse Practitioner program, I was more independent and comfortable assessing and treating a whole variety of illnesses. It was just the combination of the heat, the humidity, the new environment, and the underlying sense that time was passing quickly, and that Laura would inevitably be leaving me. Alone.

“Totally depends,” she said. “Mondays are the busiest, of course. And you’re “on” all the time, so be sure to leave a note on the door to let them know where to find you, but definitely make sure you relax. Go snorkeling, learn to spearfish, visit families. That’s probably where you’ll do the best community health. Observe people in their environments and figure out which habits are causing poor health. And then, as they get to know and trust you, help them learn how best to improve their lives.”

She passed the clinic keys off to me on a stretchy hot-pink curlicue cord to put around my wrist—a key for the medicine cabinet, and two keys for the door. We locked the clinic door, and headed around the corner to the attached apartment.

As I stepped in the door of my new residence, I was stunned. This wasn’t a house or an apartment; this was a cabin. A stark kitchen with open lower cabinets was to the right of the entrance. A set of shelves to my left held a can of spinach and a tin of something. Beyond the pantry, a little closet area consisted of a stark bar with some hangers on it and a mirror over a chest of drawers. One twin bed and a bunkbed flanked the big window at the far end of the room floored with dark unvarnished wood. Stunned as I was by how plain it was, I found myself drawn across the house to the window. I turned the dusty louvers to get a better view, and as I stood there, I took a deep breath. It was poster-worthy perfect. White sand melted into aqua water that deepened into teal at the center of the lagoon. Ghostly green bumps along the horizon showed where the other islands in the chain were across the lagoon. And the sky was a heartbreaking blue beyond blue, filled with white clouds.

“You will never find another place this beautiful,” Laura said quietly as she came to stand by me. My nose was prickling and my eyes were watering. “You’re going to be okay,” she said. I turned to her and crumpled into a hug as she patted my back.

Laura helped me unpack the cans and plastic bins of food into the pantry, helped me hang up my sundresses and make my bed with clean sheets. She showed me the well and demonstrated the best method for getting the tin bucket to fill with water; took me to see the little shower stall attached behind the apartment, open to the sky. She took me to the outhouse, helping me use the bucket of water to flush the “real” toilet. She showed me the short wave radio and wrote down the instructions for how to use it. As we finished each task, I could feel the passage of time, and a sense of terror rising in my chest. Finally, it could be avoided no longer. A honk announced that Laura’s ride back to the airport had arrived.

“Tomorrow will be awesome,” she said. “You’ll see all the little kids for well-child checkups, and the mamas will be sweet to you, even if they don’t speak a word of English. Sharbella is supposed to show up at about 9…but realistically, she’ll be here at 10. Island time, you know.”

I walked Laura out to the truck and gave her a final hug.

“If you’re dying for conversation in English, there are a few young guys teaching at the local school down the road that way,” Laura said, gesturing indistinctly down the road. “They’re also in the Peace Corps, but they are…” she wrinkled her forehead, shook her head, and smiled. “Well, I’ll let you decide how you feel about them.”

She climbed into the passenger side, and the truck pulled away from the cabin, tires crunching in the gravel. I waved goodbye to Laura, standing on the doorstep of the clinic. And I spoke the words to myself again.

What the hell was I thinking?

*Kway´ zhuh tell´ n͂an yah´<br /> **etch´-up (like ketchup, with no k) muh lah´ lay<br /> ***ee roych´<br /> ****yock´ way yook´--I love you!

On to Chapter 3 : Pain in the Arse Claire's lonely, so she takes some dinner to the boys, meets some island kids on the way, and loses a battle of wills with Jamie.

#alternate universe #jamie x claire #Marshallislands #Outlander fanfic #BetweenSceneswriter

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saraseo · 4 years

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stellacarrierimaginationbuilders · 5 years

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Shocking Adventures of Futuristic Culinary Employee Spencer Truman

Start time by 519 pm Sunday June 2 2019

Completion time by 558 pm Sunday June 3 2019

Shocking Adventures of Futuristic Culinary Employee Spencer Truman

Hi My Name is Spencer Truman and I work as a culinary assistant to university chefs in the Hampton Roads Virginia area in the Year 2105 cooking for Old Dominion University in Norfolk Virginia, Tidewater Community College in Norfolk Virginia and sometimes assisting my brother Damion Truman at some of the events he is asked to set up for on the University of Maryland College Park campus. I reside in a completely paid for home that is a mile from the Norfolk Virginia naval base that cost 99000 American dollars in early 2000s money. I was born June 14 2070 and I have an older brother named Damion Truman born June 13 2060 who currently resides in a paid for home less than a block away from the College Park metro station in College Park Maryland. Damion Truman paid 100,000 dollars in early 2000s American money for his home. He works as a caterer on the University of Maryland College Park campus and he sometimes invites me to help set up events with him on a volunteer basis once or twice a week. I Spencer Truman am about purchase a car within the next two weeks. We are able to easily see each other at least weekly because of a high speed train station system that was built by the year 2065 that opened across various parts of the United States. This changed the U.S. economy a lot because a person living and residing in the Washington D.C. area could now go from taking a train from downtown Washington D.C., northern Virginia andor certain parts of Maryland and be in let’s say California in the span of just an hour andor even all the way across England andor Iceland in the same timeframe more on that in a future session.

I Spencer Truman have been asked if me and my brother are direct descendants of President Harry Truman and/or members of his family. To be honest, both my brother and I have yet to know because we were both adopted by the time we were 5 years old and by the time we both worked up the courage to ask both of our adoptive parents (by the year 2090) they both mysteriously died the same day as our biological mother who died a year before (in 2089). This is important because we both have been told by our adoptive family members that only our adoptive parents know the complete information on who could be our father because our late biological mother was a popular prostitute who mingled with men of various backgrounds and socio-economic classes by the time prostitution was legalized across the United States by the year 2060. Neither my brother or I judge her for her lifestyle, however we have yet to find out our full backgrounds on our full racial ancestries because we found out through a past boyfriend of our biological mother that she was still immersed in the field of prostitution before and after she gave birth to the both of us averaging at least 8 to 20 clients a month that netted her an income of at least 2000 dollars a month in early 2000s money. However, yesterday before this interview someone who says they were one of the coworkers and a relative of one of the regular clients of my late biological mother contacted me after seeing me and my brother featured on a popular newspaper article of high society in the Hampton Roads Virginia area and interviewed on a news channel. My brother and I were featured as part of a summer camp teaching other adults psychic abilities and cooking demonstrations at a week long summer camp that is available for men and women of ages 17 on up by the year 2080. We were both interviewed because of our side business that we were offering both as matchmakers to traditional couples and matchmakers to non-traditional couples for a fee to 500 dollars in early 2000s money. We grew in popularity because we had a high rate of success in matching people who were mutually attracted to each other after just one try (i.e. over 90 percent of our clients only had to invest 500 dollars). Over 80 percent of those pairings resulted in long term relationships andor partnerships andor long term love affairs spanning at least 10 to 15 years and at least 60 percent of them resulted in marriages. We both became millionaires in the span of just 5 years because of the high demand for our services particularly from people who controversially it would have been considered taboo for them to seek out such services, i.e. a high percentage of married women and men of various ages ranging from 21 to 120 of various incomes and backgrounds and men and women of various ages backgrounds and income looking to discreetly meet these women. Yes many of these successful pairings were at our Virginia Beach summer camp along with our traditional couple pairings and oddly enough in a positive way many people got along with each other. A coworker who is connected to my potential father noticed the physical similarities of my brother and I to one of his friends that he knew and at first he admitted to not wanting to contact us until the late friend’s sister insisted that he at least lets me and my older brother know for closure even though my rumored biological father already passed away (the sister is offering up her dna). Both I Spencer Truman and Damon Truman decided to stay working in our culinary fields for now for the enjoyment of it. Apparently the rumored biological father kept my late biological mother a secret from many of his friends and family members not because of her profession but because he was married and worked in a field that necessitated he keep relations with my late prostitute mother a secret (he was a high ranking navy intelligence officer). The sister offering up her dna to see if her married brother was our father has worked as a food publicist both across the Norfolk Virginia and Virginia Beach Virginia areas in addition to multiple parts of the metro Washington D.C. area (College Park Maryland, Arlington Virginia, Wheaton Maryland Mclean Virginia etc.)Anyhow, I Spencer Truman plan to speak with you more on the feature on this exciting summer camp that opened in Virginia Beach by the year 2080 and rumor has it that a similar camp is going to open in College Park Maryland by the year 2108. I Spencer Truman admit that both myself and my brother have been told that we resemble Sting from the Everything She Does is Magic era which helps in our side business as matchmakers. However, I must be on my way because one of my career psychic coaches just texted me and is letting me know that he thinks that we both won a 200 million dollar lottery that we both purchased and shared lottery tickets for.

Resources

https://www.randomlists.com/boy-names

Washington D.C. area and Hampton Roads Virginia area stories

9 Virginian Pilot

I have eaten at Shake Shack in at least 3 different locations within the metro D.C. area since Shake Shack came to the metro D.C. area after the May 2011 timeframe. My favorite burger is the shack stack burger which comes with a hybrid of a cheeseburger and a fried mushroom burger stuffed with cheese. I am guessing that the new Shake Shack location in Virginia Beach is probably going to be popular for at least a while if their food is just as good as the locations I have been to in the metro D.C. area. I admit that I intend to eventually try the Virginia Beach location Shake Shack.

https://pilotonline.com/business/consumer/article_1eb4e6d0-7c81-11e9-b682-6326ddaa780c.html

Shake Shack Fans Early To Line Up For Famed Burgers and Fries by Robyn Sidersky staff writer May 22, 2019

https://pilotonline.com/business/consumer/article_1eb4e6d0-7c81-11e9-b682-6326ddaa780c.html

online Virginia schooling college network

https://onlinevirginia.net/onlinelearning/

A six dollar pricing for a cranberry meat and brie sandwich sounds fine. The fact that a new chef is going to test out their foods each Monday sounds interesting.

https://pilotonline.com/life/flavor/article_ee758982-35f1-11e9-8401-b3d0d1a9aed8.html

At One Norfolk Space, Diners Can Try A Brand New Restaurant Every Month by Matthew Korfhage Staff Writer February 25 2019

https://pilotonline.com/life/flavor/article_ee758982-35f1-11e9-8401-b3d0d1a9aed8.html

I am taking a wild guess that these coworking spaces referenced in this article are going to become even more popular by the July 2019 timeframe especially with the multiple businesses referenced: Old Dominion Norfolk State Novel Coworking City Center etc.

https://pilotonline.com/business/real-estate/article_77539218-7c05-11e9-8b68-0b2ebca27592.html

Co-Working Office Space Continues To Pop Up In Norfolk Here’s Why by Briana Adhikusuma updated May 28 2019

https://pilotonline.com/business/real-estate/article_77539218-7c05-11e9-8b68-0b2ebca27592.html

Novel Coworking City Center

https://novelcoworking.com/locations/virginia/norfolk/city-center/

The Poketastic place seems pretty unique from the detailed description of the eating experience and sounds to have a combination of nourishing and tasty ingredients with the references to scallop salmon pineapple seaweed salad cilantro mixed greens salad etc . I pre-ordered the book Classic Restaurants of Coastal Virginia by Patrick Evans Hylton back in April 2019 and I wonder if there are any restaurants similar to Poketastic that are going to be referenced in the Classic Restaurants of Coastal Virginia book.

https://pilotonline.com/life/flavor/restaurants/peake-eats/article_874480d6-7aa4-11e9-a273-f3225a3fc867.html

At Poketastic, Possibilities Abound With Tender Toppings From Raw Seafood To Seaweed Salad by Patrick Evans Hylton

https://pilotonline.com/life/flavor/restaurants/peake-eats/article_874480d6-7aa4-11e9-a273-f3225a3fc867.html

I unexpectedly saw the University of Maryland College Park Robert H Smith school of business ad advertised online via the Patrick Evans Hylton Poketastic Virginian Pilot story

University of Maryland College Park Robert H Smith School of Business

https://www.rhsmith.umd.edu/programs/part-time-mba/?utm_campaign=f17-ptmba-choozle

http://virginiaeatsanddrinks.com/

https://barryartmuseum.odu.edu/

This article that showcases a multiple number of items that are available in the Barry Art Museum of Old Dominion University in Norfolk Virginia and from the collection of Richard Barry and Carolyn Barry is informative. However, the only caveat I feel is that I wish that at least a few pictures of the art available in the Barry Art museum were included with this Virginian Pilot article.

https://pilotonline.com/opinion/editorial/article_5c4beb0e-e84a-11e8-8be3-c7c4ce9c5275.html

See Artworks At ODU For Free by The Virginian Pilot Editorial Board November 15 2018

https://pilotonline.com/opinion/editorial/article_5c4beb0e-e84a-11e8-8be3-c7c4ce9c5275.html

I do feel that it is both worthwhile and helpful to discuss broadening the increase of grocery stores in modest income neighborhoods across the country. I am fortunate in the sense that I have enough free time in my schedule to travel to certain grocery stores for necessary food items where I live. However, I have been in areas within the U.S. that Warner refers to that could benefit from more grocery stores with affordable foods.

https://pilotonline.com/opinion/columnist/guest/article_58fa07a6-824b-11e9-8984-b37945cf96b8.html

Congress Food by Mark Warner U.S. Senate

https://pilotonline.com/opinion/columnist/guest/article_58fa07a6-824b-11e9-8984-b37945cf96b8.html

Washington Post

This Washington Post article helps remind me to eventually check out the International Spy Museum sometime before the end of this year.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/dc-md-va/2019/05/09/things-do-dc-area-this-weekend/?utm_term=.4a2025859e8f

17 Things To Do In The DC Area This Weekend by GoingOut Guide Staff Friday May 10

https://www.washingtonpost.com/dc-md-va/2019/05/09/things-do-dc-area-this-weekend/?utm_term=.4a2025859e8f

Each of the Events in this Washington Post article seem interesting in their own way. However, I admit to being curious to research more information on the By The People Festival referenced in this article.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/goingoutguide/the-best-things-to-see-drink-and-do-in-june-in-the-dc-area/2019/05/29/2ec3bea2-7e2f-11e9-8bb7-0fc796cf2ec0_story.html?utm_term=.e73864f7e0f5

The Best Things To See Drink and Do In June In The D.C. Area by the GoingOut Guide Staff May 31 2019

https://www.washingtonpost.com/goingoutguide/the-best-things-to-see-drink-and-do-in-june-in-the-dc-area/2019/05/29/2ec3bea2-7e2f-11e9-8bb7-0fc796cf2ec0_story.html?utm_term=.e73864f7e0f5

The Washington Post features a good mix of concerts in this article. However, I respectfully disagree with the Something In The Water Festival being in the Washington D.C. Area not having a note listed of the transportation arrangements to make because it is actually in the Hampton Roads Virginia area with the festival taking place in Virginia Beach. Something In The Water Festival affiliated with the talented Pharrell Williams is actually connected with the Hampton Roads Virginia area. Both the Hampton Roads Virginia and the Washington D.C. area are fascinating places to live. However, the well meaning inclusion of the Something In The Water Festival must accompany a note that such a festival would most likely need to be accessed via taking an Amtrak train, airplane or greyhound bus even with the inclusion of a Delaware festival in the article for Washington D.C. readers who might have resided in the Washington D.C. area their whole life and might be led to believe that all of these festivals are public transportation accessible. I am adding that note with also admitting that I do intend to eventually attend the Something In The Water Festival in Virginia Beach in ideally 2020.Still, I am a proud Washington Post subscriber and I intend to be for years to come especially because a multiple number of the Washington Post articles are fascinating to look at andor read.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/goingoutguide/music/summer-music-festival-guide/2019/04/17/2734977a-4fda-11e9-8d28-f5149e5a2fda_story.html?utm_term=.f69c84cf35a0

Dozens of Music Festivals Are Vying For Your Attention This Summer by Chris Richards Hau Chu Rudi Greenberg Stephanie Williams April 18 2019

https://www.washingtonpost.com/goingoutguide/music/summer-music-festival-guide/2019/04/17/2734977a-4fda-11e9-8d28-f5149e5a2fda_story.html?utm_term=.f69c84cf35a0

Obviously as an Amazon fanatic, I do believe that Amazon moving to Arlington Virginia is a good move both for the overall state of Virginia and for the metro Washington D.C. area. The Hampton Roads area of Virginia would have been the next best area for Amazon. However, I can understand why the Crystal City Arlington Virginia area was chosen because of the top notch public transportation in both Crystal City Arlington Virginia across the metro Washington D.C. area that helps even car-free male and female career professionals easily get around.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/realestate/awaiting-the-amazon-influx-crystal-city-savors-its-urban-feel-and-dc-views/2019/01/24/4099b834-0f62-11e9-84fc-d58c33d6c8c7_story.html?utm_term=.b3aed7163377

Amazon Influx Crystal City Arlington Virginia

https://www.washingtonpost.com/realestate/awaiting-the-amazon-influx-crystal-city-savors-its-urban-feel-and-dc-views/2019/01/24/4099b834-0f62-11e9-84fc-d58c33d6c8c7_story.html?utm_term=.b3aed7163377

I feel lucky that I came across this honest/truthful Washington Post article. My husband and I both have a goal to own a completely paid for home ideally by the time we are in our 50s and this article helps me understand why I must try harder towards that goal. However, I hope that the seniors featured in this article go on to prosper andor find a place andor area/region within the U.S. that they both like to live and is affordable for the money that they have.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/dc-md-va/2019/05/28/middle-income-seniors-risk-falling-through-cracks-housing-market/?utm_term=.94ee9a7f0025

Middle Income Seniors by Tara Bahrampour May 28 2019

https://www.washingtonpost.com/dc-md-va/2019/05/28/middle-income-seniors-risk-falling-through-cracks-housing-market/?utm_term=.94ee9a7f0025

Congratulations to Manuel Franco for his lottery won and his newfound millionaire status. I believe that this was the same person referenced in another article who bravely/courageously admitted that he was just trying to save up at least 1000 dollars or more when he unexpectedly won the lottery.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/2019/04/23/how-winner-million-lottery-jackpot-nearly-lost-his-ticket/?utm_term=.693a010f5aca

How The Winner Of A $768 Million Lottery Jackpot by Michael Brice Saddler April 23 2019

https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/2019/04/23/how-winner-million-lottery-jackpot-nearly-lost-his-ticket/?utm_term=.693a010f5aca

Youtube Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum

I am fortunate to have had the chance to visit the National Air and Space Museum in the metropolitan Washington D.C. area multiple times within the past few years. One of the visits that influenced me to check out the National Air and Space Museum multiple times was when my husband and I visited around the November 2014 timeframe for my birthday. We also have had a chance to recently visit less than 2 to 3 months ago.

I admit that the National Museum of the American Indian in Washington D.C. is another museum that I have been to with my husband multiple times. There are good mixes of a variety of exhibits there. However one of the few caveats is that on each visit I have yet to find anything related to the Menominee Indian Tribe. I was naturally a little curious to see if there was anything about the Menominee Indian Tribe because my late biological mother, my late maternal biological grandmother and multiple members of my biological mother’s family have Menominee Indian ancestry.

youtube link of National Museum of the American Indian via Cspan One of the multiple beneficial/positive things to living in the metro Washington D.C. area are easy proximity to public transportation and places to go to including the malls. I happen to find out that the Tysons Corner Center mall (in Mclean Virginia) is easy to get to after a friend told me about where Tysons Corner Center mall is at by the 2014 timeframe. Despite this mall being a distance from where my husband and I live this mall has a great mix of places inside it. Youtube link The New Tysons Corner Center via the youtube channel the Tysons Corner Center My husband and I are both at least somewhat familiar with Arlington Virginia because since around the 2010/2011 timeframe we have at times went to the Pentagon City mall in Arlington Virginia plus some of his college classes that he attended between the 2010 to 2012 timeframe were in Arlington Virginia. However, I still found this youtube video of Arlington Virginia Exploring Memorials Events Dining and Neighborhoods Near Washington DC (via the Visit the USA channel) very informative. I am glad to have spotted this video on youtube featuring the Westfield Wheaton mall in Wheaton Maryland. There are a strong variety of grocery shopping places to go to with the inclusion of Costo, Giants and Safeway plus multiple options of places to eat and shop at. Youtube channel of Wheaton Mall Lara Findeisen This youtube video is pretty brief though it does capture a good view from above the University of Maryland College Park campus. I feel fortunate that I have been a University of Maryland College Park staff employee for 2 years and 9 months. Maryland From Above via UMD youtube channel

Songs for me to keep in mind: Case of Loving You by Robert Palmer, Rebel Yell Billy Idol, Move Along by American Rejects, Natural by Imagine Dragons, Ocean Avenue Yellowcard, Riptide Vance Joy, High Hopes Panic at the Disco, Fame David Bowie, Everything She Does is Magic Sting,Wheel In The Sky Journey

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robandsonsme · 5 years

Photo

Jade, Rory and Nathaniel - (A Sad True Story)

By Robert Sherriff 2017

Jade, Rory and Nathaniel Oh, no please No. Not again. Has anybody here seen my friends? Jade, Rory and Nathaniel. Please tell me where they’re gone? By Robert Sherriff 2017 Déjà vu it has happened again. I have had this all my life. I am truly cursed? or did someone put an evil spell on me? I have been to places where I then get a chill. I then must get out of there as fast as I can. I knew when my Twin Brother Peter died. There were six people in the car they were all killed. My Twin and I was close. I nearly went for that ride. This happened over forty years ago. I knew when Mrs S died; I cry so much. When my father committed suicide, he took the gutless way out. When I was overseas, another friend of mine died his name was Peter. Did I know how? I was in shock. Was the Angel of death stalking me? Was my world meant to be a world of death? A song I heard over 50 years ago, in my head, then this song came out in the last twenty years. Bad habits. I had such a tragic life as a child a victim of sex abuse. A was a victim of Domestic violence followed by years of horrific abuse. I was a street kid. I only had a Grade three education. I then started my company. We turn over about four million a year. I was a two-pound baby. Three months premature. My Father broke my arm and four ribs when I was seven years old with a broomstick and his fist. As a child, I was a little seven-year-old boy who suffered such a traumatising miserable childhood. I at the age wanted to die. Again I would suffer such horrific injuries. Broken Bones. Beaten to an inch of my life. 1961 I was covered with the terrible bruises after the most savage beaten by my Father. I knew I Breathed the Devil’s Fire when I saw my Fathers Face. The hate in his eyes. Then I was to be tragically sexually abused. By adults. Employed by the State Government of South Australia. I saw the face of this evil. The face of these monsters? Have they the look of the Satin? The face of evil and terror is left on the face and in the minds of every lost and frightened little child. Perhaps it will expunge the hate and tragedy I have seen in my life. You know they have hurt me all my life. Please don’t read this if you are one of those people who think they fucking know it all don’t even scrutinise me don’t even try to understand me as you don’t know me the man behind the man I am who I am God gave me life God gave me my faith God held my hand. Did you? So, put away your pessimism. Give me your mind, your time, your heart, and your ears. The thing I want the most from you is your voice, a voice that is high and loud. A voice. That will shout out to the World. And make a difference in this World. I found God when I was 7. Please read this story a story that will stand a story that will inspire, my story. Many stories. A story of hope and courage. The World is my stage. The world can be your stage if only you let it in. Never regret what you could have done (IF) only. Oh no please, No. Not again. What would I do? What could I say? Why, why? Never have I have seen so much sorry. Why? am I so damned am I just bad luck? This story takes you back into the past and brings you back to the present day and then back to the past again. Never in my life have I ever see so much heartache and pain. The sorrow. I always get that feeling when something bad will happen. I left home that morning about 6-30am on 23-1-2003. The sky was dark, cloud cover rain and hail the wind was blowing a Gale. Speed about 34 to 40 knots (39 to 46 miles per hour; 63 to 74 kilometres per hour); dangerous storms trees were swaying. Trees uprooted. Car accidents. A neighbour’s black cat two doors down ran across the road in front of my car. I knew this would be not like any other day. My thoughts my actions my six senses. I talk about courage, love, hope, family, and strength of this beautiful family. In this world, the Woman and Man in this story are my Heroes. My heart was shallow so dark. So full of hurt, anger, why, some people blame God for things that happen. I don’t. I have taken a long time to write my thoughts on paper. My (words). When anyone says to me, they are having a tough time? I say no you’re not. I then tell them this story. Don’t you know what a tough time is? No, you don’t. Think again you have it easy. It’s not all about you in this World. Some people think because they have a sore finger it is the end of the earth. Speak out fix an unjust right a wrong. Have an open heart, love your neighbour’s? Help those who cannot help themselves. I repeat myself sometimes as I want you to see all the different stories in this story and the pain in the world my pain David and Michelle’s grief and your pain, we all need to love one another and pray. “Tears are wording the mouth can’t say nor can the soul bare” When I started writing this story, I thought to myself there are millions of other stories out there. It just happens, s to be the one I became involved. This tragedy occurred just after the new century had approached 22-1-2003 it would become a journey for David and Michelle that no one should ever have to bear. Their courage, their love for each other. This Woman is a SAINT. They are a hard-working couple who only wanted a good life for their children. The Husband was a truck driver who would sometimes work 18 hours a day and his wife would make concrete moulds of Statues and sell them in her shop to help with their expenses and their dreams. Such a friendly couple. Open hearts. So, kind. They lived in a small country town. This was a small industrial area in the shadows of grain silos. And they always made you welcome. If you turned up at their house, they would always feed you, give you a coffee. I first worked with this David back in early 1980 and in late 1990, s. We used to work for Rob Williams who had his own company in telecommunications. My mate David was a bobcat operator. And the three of us had a good working relationship. They knew us as The Three Musketeers. We would all work together until there was a bad break-up with the boss and me. My mate David would then leave after weighing up all his options. Then a year or two would pass. I was working at a paving company. I thought of them often. I knew the state this family had moved to and the town. On the way to work one day. I bought a paper; there was a story about three children drowning. I was not sure what happened (the full story) again I knew the state and town I knew something was wrong.

The sad thing about this bust up. Robert Williams was only paying me $50 for a 14hour day sometimes or 8 hours or 16 hours $50 this was going back over 30 years. I stopped working for him about 2000. I was also in hospital for 8 weeks with skin grafts during this time I never saw Williams once and I received no money to help with my young family. He begged me to not go to Work cover. When I left and took Williams and his wife to court. His wife Sharyn sent me a letter. It stated that I thought life was like winning the X-lotto and I was ripping them off. I knew then she was a fucking water buffalo. I remember I went to their house early one day, and I went to their bedroom window. Well, boy I got a shock her tits were bigger than a cow.

It reminded me about the time Robert Williams was bragging to David and myself about having sex with Sharyn’s best friend were in each other’s wedding and what a great friend Elain was how Robert was fucking her. I said what about Sharyn at the time he said fuck her it’s about getting my dick sucked. Sharyn is starting to be a fucking water buffalo. I smiled and said yes.

I was ringing and ringing no answer again next day no response. I took a day off then the bomb went off in my brain one of their relations phoned me. I just started to cry and cry and cry. When I got home from the shops, I saw the story on the news. It scared the hell out of me. I was shaking so bad. Sweating and throwing up. I know my mate David worked in this other state of Australia. Up near Darwin NT the heartache, this is a sad story a sorrowful story, compelling story. Where they must overcome their Demons to lose one child is bad enough, but to lose three children, it would break any heart to hear of this journey an unwanted voyage how these beautiful people have coped or survived? The suicide for this case would have been tenfold over. They have always said no child or individual should die before your parents. Such an inspirational story is a story that must be told by me. We now go back in time the family decided to leave the state and move onto another warmer state Darwin. Where it would rain in the late months of the year. Michelle had a boy and a girl from her first partner (husband). David had three girls from his relationship with his first wife. Once they got married, they had a little boy. The Worst Day in my Life was at the Three Children’s Funerals. Day of the funeral the saddest thing I have ever seen the three children’s coffins they were all white on top of each over. There were about 400 people at the cemetery. David escorted his wife into the chapel he had to hold her up. I wish at that stage. I could have taken away their grief the pain what Michelle and David must have to live with for the rest of her life. Oh, why It’s not fair. When they were laying them to rest, they let three white doves go; it was beautiful. The doves fly off. Adam and my wife were there for me. I spoke to David his wife Michelle was lying on the ground she was so overcome by grief. What could I do? What could I say? The tears were running down my face. No one will ever forget their courage. They were stronger than me. They should never forget this story for courage above all her duty as a parent what she did that day was amazing she is a real hero of mine. May God always walk with her. She is a decent person, good, an excellent woman and wife and mother. May Gods Angels always be with her. I can remember, the children she had with her first (husband) the partner would fly back to the state they came from and see their Father. When the holidays were over, they would fly back to their Mother and David their Stepfather interstate.

I still remember the day like it was yesterday about 13 or 14 years ago, I took my wife and Adam he drove my car that day. My wife and I adopt Adam. When I was there, I had a little a hostile attitude from my ex-boss. The ex-boss and his wife have three children. I have always blamed myself that David and Michelle moved interstate. At the time, 2003. I was taking my ex-boss to court; it became very messy. The sad thing about all this is that the ex-boss and his wife were Godparents to all my children. The other sad thing about all this was my Wife had grown up with my ex-boss’s wife they just lived around the corner from each other. I first met my ex-boss when he was 16 years’ old. I now get back to the main story. Again, on the day of the accident, at about 4.30pm on Wednesday the 22nd of January 2003 Michelle was driving south on the Stuart Highway. In the car were her three children, Jade, Rory and Nathaniel. She had just picked up Rory and Jade, who was returning home after visiting their father in Adelaide. Near the Edith River Bridge, her vehicle hit a metal plate on the roadway. The car slid out of control, because of a punctured left rear tyre from the metal plate. The car rolled, the roof striking rocks near the river. It continued toward the river, stopped briefly by a sapling on the riverbank. The current of the river washed the vehicle off the tree and began to carry it downstream. Michelle could not open her door because of the crash damage to the car. She knocked out the driver’s window and reached for her son. Rory, who was beside her. Michelle got out the driver’s side window and held the hands of Rory to get him out between the crushed roof and console. Without warning, the vehicle suddenly went vertical, nose down, and sunk under the water, taking all three children with it. Michelle attempted to dive for the vehicle but could not find it.

The children could not be rescued and subsequently drowned. Their deaths, resulting from an accident, were reported to the Coroner. From the evidence, the Coroner found that there was nothing further that Michelle could have done to save the lives of her children. Her endeavours were desperate and extraordinary. Given the flow of the river, the damage to the vehicle and the depth of the water there was nothing a sole person could have done to get the children out. As I have already said. She took their little boy to pick up her two children from her previous relationship Interstate from Airport. On the way, back to their house, they had to go over a bridge generally no water in the river, but the rains had come early that year. Michelle was heading back towards their house when out of the blue she hit an object on the bridge the car then flipped over into the river on its back. Michelle somehow managed to get out. God only knows how she tried and tried. Michelle could of so easily of drowned her thoughts were only I repeat of her children. Only to somehow, grab at their seatbelts to no Aval try to rescue her three Children and pray to God that they would not drown. When they found Michelle, she could not move they took her to the hospital she was in shock. We now go forward in time I went to their house in 2015 for Christmas. I was there with another worker who came with me. I do not believe in any spirit world. I felt someone touch my right shoulder I think it was a boy. I suspect about fifteen to sixteen-years-old the hand was warm it scares the hell out of me. As soon as that happened, I had to get out of David, s house the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I left straight away with another guy from our company. Ten houses away are the cemetery. At first, I was a little scared to go in. I now go back again in time to the day about fourteen years ago, where they were laid to rest. Their white coffins were all placed on top of each other. I was like a scared little boy what do I do after just what happened? We go forward in time again. The scary thing about it all is they live only about ten houses from the cemetery now. I think it’s their way of finding peace. I slowly entered the cemetery with a fair bit of reservation I could feel the sweat flowing. Down my forehead, with every step I took. I could feel my heartbeat getting louder and louder. I started to shake a little as I approached their grave I knew straight away where they were buried. When finally, I approached their grave site; I saw their pictures on their tombstone I had tears rolling down my face. It was so chilling it started me thinking about the reception. I had just encountered, as I have never believed in ghosts. David and Michelle since the accident has had another two beautiful girls, they are about twelve years old and ten – years – old. David and Michelle now hit the alcohol on the weekends. It is a coping mechanism. David and Michelle also see Doctors and psychiatrist who try to help them cope. In 2016 one of the girls said to David why do you love them more than us? David’s heart was shattered nearly broke in two. Again, the suicide rate is so high when a tragedy like this occurs. Where do you get the strength from? Now they live a few houses away when she has had a few drinks, and everyone has gone to sleep. Michelle goes to the gravesite and lies on top of the grave where they are buried when drunk. During the night when her partner wakes up, he goes looking for her and finds her at the cemetery.

The girls in the last two years said to David. How come you love them more than us? David was in shock he said he felt his heart burst.

I leave it for you to decide. I pray for them. The silence that is life without them. Their death has affected deeply many people who had come to know them over their lives, and even thousands who had not known them. Sleep sweet silent Angels go to sleep. Rest in God's arms. AMEN.

I thought this story was finished, but no David stabbed me in the back after I gave him a job and put him on $35 an hour. With David it was never about friendship it was about stabbing my son and myself in the back as often as he could. I never realised what a loser David was.

It's so sad that you can keep on crying wolf.

Jade Loades, Rory Loades and Nathaniel Rose RIP XXX

http://www.localcourt.nt.gov.au/docs/judgements/2004/ntmc074.html

“Tears are words the mouth can’t say nor can the soul bare” (by) Joshua Wisebaker

(There is a rainbow down every street, and then the sun comes out) (by) R.L. Sherriff

This true story I have Dedicated to My Wife and my six Children and my ten Grandchildren, plus My Two Great Grandchildren R.L. Sherriff

0466240021

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aftaabmagazine · 5 years

Text

Home After 20 Years: Travel to Herat

words and photos By Fariba Nawa

From the 2001 issue of Afghan Magazine | Lemar-Aftaab

Journalist Fariba Nawa traveled to her hometown in 2000 which was then under Taliban rule. Here is her story.

Flies buzzed and circled around my face. I swatted them away with my hands as I slowly looked up to a dozen men watching me. Standing in line at the Iranian border waiting to cross into my hometown Herat, Afghanistan, the men stared at my face and hands - the only bared parts of my body. My hair and the rest of my body were covered in observance of Iran's dress code for women.

Keeping my eyes to the floor to avoid the ogling, the Iranian border agent called my name. My hands trembled as I handed him my Afghan passport - perhaps the least useful travel document in the world. In a matter of minutes, I would be home again after nearly 20 years. I was eight years old the last time I crossed the Silk Route. The desert I was about to cross was the frontlines of war. My parents, sister and I walked as donkeys carried our belongings for six hours until we reached safety in Iran.

My family fled Afghanistan during the Soviet invasion in 1981. We escaped to California where I grew up.

As an adult, I am Americanized but Afghanistan is in my heart and memories. I visualized returning to my grandfather's orchard home, where I used to play with my cousins and eat the sundry of fruits we picked from trees. The 5-acre home was a sanctuary from my parents' neighborhood where the boom of rockets and bullets echoed in our backyard.

The Afghan-Soviet war has turned into a civil war now as Afghans struggle to survive in the wake of more United Nations sanctions. One of the poorest countries in the world, Afghanistan is facing a severe drought as well as the threat of starvation. The Taliban, the militia ruling the majority of the country, enforce a strict code of law. In the name of religion, they forbid women from going to school or working in most fields and force men to pray. Women must travel with a male kin and wear a burqa, which covers the body like a tent with only a mesh for sight. Men must sport long, scraggly beards. This was the Afghanistan I was about to enter.

My cousin's best friend was my rented male kin or mahram traveling with me. Mobin was a merchant who traveled across Iran and Afghanistan, selling buttons and lace to survive. He saw his wife and 18-month-old son in Herat one week out of every month. Shrewd and experienced on the road, Mobin promised to take me from Iran to Afghanistan and finally back to Pakistan, where I worked as a freelance journalist.

With my American passport hidden under my bra, I held my breath as we passed Taliban customs. We rented a taxi with two other women. Mobin was also their mahram. The Taliban banned music, but the taxi driver popped in the latest Afghan folk songs and increased the volume as we headed toward Herat. An ancient city once known for its art and culture in Central Asia -- now it is the only Afghan city with a running economy.

The station wagon rolled up and down on the sand dunes. I took out my journal and wrote under my black coat. Every time a man appeared in the distant, the other women and I covered our faces with the edge of our headscarves.

"Don't worry. The Taliban are scared of women," Mobin said.

"They usually stop cars with men. The ones with women, they turn their heads."

We decided to don the burqa once we reached the city. In disbelief, I closed my eyes, smelled the air and listened to the folk singer, who had recorded his music in Virginia. The singer lamented that he was distant from his homeland. But I was finally home.

Two hours later in pitch dark, we entered the gates of the city. My heart was throbbing. The adobe, high walls hid the houses, but downtown was lit up in neon-colored lights. Men rode their bicycles on the unpaved roads. It was 10 p.m., and there was not a woman in sight.

[caption: A shrine in Herat.]

The taxi stopped in front of Mobin's house, I stepped down and kissed the ground, then looked up at the sky. The fall breeze blew the dust in my eyes, but I could still see the constellations, shooting stars and the moon. That's the closest I have gotten to euphoria.

The people I knew in Herat were distant relatives with the exception of my step-grandmother, who still lives on our land. My mother's uncle was the only one who knew I was coming because he was one of the few owners of a telephone. I stayed with his two wives and their children. They were fairly well off and rebellious. Disobeying the Taliban's ban on music and television, a satellite dish propped up on their porch, a television and musical instruments in the basements. My five female cousins, mostly teenagers, did not clandestinely go to home schools as did some girls. They did their house chores and learned to read the Koran from a religious teacher for an hour a day while their 15-year-old brother attended public high school and took English courses.

This family's attitude toward the Taliban was typical of other Heratis. They have accepted the limitations in exchange for peace. However, they want Ismail Khan back in power. While warlords, once freedom fighters against the Russians, fought each other, Ismail Khan began to develop Herat, and he was still corrupt but better than the Taliban, my relatives said.

[caption: Few of the minarets built during the 15th century Timurid Empire are still standing. Others were toppled during the past 20 years of war.]

The ruling militia has instilled a chilling fear in Afghans, especially women. Since Herat is the Taliban's base for money, they give its residents more leeway to break the law. Heratis take advantage, but they go about it in a schizophrenic manner. My cousins would drum on their tambourines at midnight, cursing the Taliban as they sang. The next day, the girls whispered in conversation, afraid the Taliban were coming to get them. One way of appeasing the Taliban was to invite their ringleaders to parties where they joined in the festivity.

I kept a low profile, not asking too many questions and staying inside most of the time. I fit in surprisingly well despite my liberal ideas and informal mannerisms. My relatives assumed I had forgotten the Persian language and Islam, both of which I have kept.

[caption: One of the sarachas; strangers live in my family home now.]

On the second day of my journey, I bravely put on the burqa like my mother used to and hit the streets for the first time with my cousins. I walked slowly embarrassed that I might trip on the flowing fabric. There is an ironic power in being invisible. Men in public noticed my ankles and hands, but they did not look at my eyes watching them. I stared at their expressions and actions, reading them without the interruption of their gaze.

We first rode a decorated Toyota Corolla taxi, then a horse wagon to reach my family home. I knocked at the old brass gate. A child opened the door and led me to my grandmother. She was praying. I lifted the front of my burqa as she turned her head. My grandmother, 70, screamed in disbelief like I was a ghost. She passed out for a few seconds before hugging me and sobbed on my shoulders.

[caption: Our four-acre house in Herat was sold and divided into four small homes. This is the doorway leading to one of the sarachas.]

The next few days passed so quickly in glee. I went shopping, visited shrines and my school where I stopped attending after I witnessed a bomb kill my second-grade classmates 19 years ago.

On the seventh day of my trip back to Herat, I stepped into the orchard home, saving the best for last. I threw my burqa on the ground and sprinted toward the living quarters, hearing my family's laughter inside the hallways.

[caption: My cousin Ehsan, 16, stands in front of Gazergah where renowned Sufi poet Khwaja Abdullah Ansary is buried.]

But there was no one and no laughter. The doors of the 11 rooms were locked shut, some of their windows broken. I ran out to the field, frantically looking for the mulberry and pomegranate trees where we had picnics.

I found the trees but no harvest due to the drought. The entire place seemed much smaller. I kept running into walls. Then I recalled that my uncles sold three acres of the land a few years ago. My happy nostalgia turned into despair. I climbed the roof overlooking the city, buried my face in my hands and wept.

[caption: My maternal grandfather's orchard where all my happy memories of Afghanistan live. The orchard yielded little harvest because of the drought in the last couple of years.]

The tears were a catharsis, an acceptance of the past as past. My distance from Herat for these 20 years had left a void in me. I was missing something as I had lived my comfortable Western life in San Francisco. But 10,000 miles away, leaning at the edge of my childhood roof, I felt a sense of completion, that I was coming back full circle, fulfilling a spiritual journey.

About Fariba Nawa

Fariba Nawa, an award-winning Afghan-American journalist, covers a range of issues and specializes in women’s rights and conflict zones. She is based in Istanbul, Turkey and has traveled extensively to the Middle East, Central and South Asia. Visit Her Website

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