#Dry January Survival Kit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stevemoffett · 4 years

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A Hard Nap, The Fall of Math, The Star Wars Holiday Special, Disco Point, and There You Are

In January last year, I noticed a sign in myself of the same cancer my dad had back in 2008. Unlike the usual symptoms that set off my paranoia, it wasn’t some vague feeling, it wasn’t an intermittent pain, and it wasn’t a general ill feeling—it was clear and unambiguous, out of the ordinary and one of those symptoms that, if you google it, is under the list of “call your doctor if you experience any of the following.”

It was also nonspecific: this symptom could mean cancer, but it could also mean about five other cancer-unrelated conditions. I called for an appointment that morning with my general practitioner, who said that the earliest available date was about two weeks later.

I knew that the only way my fear would be effectively relieved was with the one sure-fire diagnostic tool for this type of cancer, one that’s recommended for everyone, but not until about age 50: a colonoscopy.

For the two weeks before my GP appointment, I mentally prepared for death. For the record, I do this every time I interpret my body’s signals as cancerous, but the mental preparation usually stops after a few days when the symptom either goes away or when a clear alternative cause presents itself. This time, I didn’t get that kind of relief and, in fact, the symptom repeated more than once between setting the appointment and going to it. Each time, it was like an intrusive thought come to life: you’re going to die. You’re going to go through surgery and chemotherapy like Dad and you’re either going to die early, or find out like he did that the cure is worse than the disease, or maybe you’ll hang on just long enough to experience both.

Winter mornings in Texas can sometimes be surprisingly cold. While stepping out the door on a midsummer morning is like walking into someone’s hot exhale, as you might expect, a 33-degree morning is more like a slap in the face. When I packed everything I figured I’d need to move here a couple of years ago, I threw away my winter coat, thinking, I won’t be needing this anymore. (The coat was also about ten years old at that point.)

My first winter in Texas, I layered a bunch of shirts underneath a light jacket and wore a scarf on freezing days. The second winter, I decided that I’d had enough of being cold. After all, I rationalized, here in Texas it was monetarily possible to never have to feel cold again if you really don’t want to. So I bought the warmest coat I could find, an unstylish, bulky parka made by Caterpillar, the company that makes construction vehicles. No more layering, no more checking the weather before leaving in the morning. I could just put this coat on and not worry about it.

But now, under the shadow of a cancer scare these January mornings, wearing the big coat made me feel less like I was smarter than the weather and more like I was trying to smuggle a terminal disease wherever I went. Under my coat, tie, button-down shirt, undershirt, skin, fat, and muscle, something was growing silently in the dark. While maybe it had slipped up and showed some of its handiwork to me, it was already too late to do much about it now.

Since it has affected my life several times before, and since it is such an exquisite mixture of dread and uncertainty, cancer is one of my mind’s biggest bogeymen. I feel personally insulted by the idea of it. I treat you so well, body—why would you betray me? Was I not nice enough? Is this poetic justice for my vanity? Is it, as the old anecdotal saying goes, due to my worrying?

Not only did I feel like I was smuggling cancer under the big coat, I was also warming it up by drinking my coffee. I was feeding it directly when I ate something too sugary. And I was probably even giving it an evil sense of satisfaction when I got stressed out about it. If I was able to keep my mind off it by working in the lab, mixing and pipetting, using kits, and doing arithmetic in my head, it would come crashing back into focus when I was pulling my gloves off to wash my hands.

I pulled up incognito mode on my phone’s browser during my breaks, googling “5-year survival rate colon cancer age 35.” “Cancer staging colon prognosis.” “Colon cancer smoking.�� “Colon cancer smoke one pack in college.” “Colon cancer smoke one pack 18 years ago.” “Colon cancer smoke one pack after seeing Luke Wilson smoking in The Royal Tenenbaums.”

At home, I suddenly started noticing the expiration dates on my nonperishables. What will last longer, I thought, the freshness of this baking soda, or me.

I knew I wasn’t going to be comforted by the first GP visit. After all, they’re usually the first stop to a specialist, unless you have a PPO insurance plan, which I don’t. The doctor listened to my symptoms and family history. “Well,” he said, “Given your history, it’s a good idea to refer you to a GI. But, you seem like you lead a healthy lifestyle otherwise, with none of the other risk factors, so we’ll see what he says.”

I made the GI appointment and had to wait two more weeks for it, with the same circular worrying and googling. At the GI appointment, I sat in the waiting room, the youngest patient there by a few decades, and I felt a little bit ridiculous. On the other hand, I’d also just read a harrowing story about a woman in her late 20s who had colon cancer and died from it. That was a real person, I thought, who at the first phase of it probably went through all the same feelings I was now, the I’m-being-ridiculous and is-this-worth-the-time-and-vacation-days, all the way up until her diagnosis. Not just because I was scared, I felt a pang of sympathy. A disease of the old picking a victim from the young is terrible luck.

And I figured, if it could be her, it could be anyone. But most of all, it could be me.

That last bit, I think, is one of—one of—my greatest flaws, the vanity of always thinking that the worst things will happen to you, in spite of the odds. It’s a way of making yourself feel special, but it has no upside. You don’t feel confidence with this type of special-feeling. In fact, you’re more likely to be timid and self-centered, and you just come across as weird to the outside observer. They might think, There’s only a few steps between that guy and Howard Hughes. Somewhere, deep in your mind, they think: Wires are crossed.

Shortly before I went in, another patient arrived, a man around my age or maybe younger who, despite a dozen or so free seats, declined to sit down. My name was called, and I passed a sign on the way to the back that said, “If you have recently traveled to China and have a fever you must let our staff know.”

This doctor’s exam rooms had floor-to-ceiling windows, the kind you’d see in a movie, instead of the usual dull and bulby, off-white plastic exam room interior. A Spanish medical student came in to give a pre-appointment questionnaire and to take my vitals. He asked, in much better English than I could have mustered in Spanish, “So. There is some blood in they crep?”

When he came in, the GI repeated what my GP had said, and since he was also the person who would be performing a colonoscopy, he said I should set an appointment for one with him. I managed to get a date three weeks later.

From other people’s stories, I knew two things about colonoscopies: they are no fun, especially the night before, but the general anesthesia on the day of the procedure, on the other hand, is fun. I was nervous enough on the day before that I actually asked someone at the pharmacy for help finding the items I was looking for: Polyethylene Glycol (or PEG, which we use all the time for lab experiments, and which I was going to have to drink 2 liters of), Gatorade, and laxative pills. I had to take about 800% of their recommended dosages, each.

The bodily effect of those chemicals was dramatic, and I will spare the details. The worst parts of it, I found, were the generally exhausting physical toll it took, and the feeling by the end that I had some kind of dangerous sodium imbalance: I was sweating between my fingers, for example, but the rest of me felt as dry as paper. At 10PM, I was too tired to do anything, but too nervous to sleep for more than a few hours.

One smaller worry that I felt the next morning, as I took a selfie in my hospital gown to send to a friend back home, making a backward peace sign to show off the IV sticking into my hand and also how brave I was being, was that I might just die right there on the table from the general anesthesia. Part of my grad school research was on Propofol, the most-used general anesthesia nowadays (which, incidentally, also killed Michael Jackson). This was the same drug I was to be given.

I’d never been fully put under anesthesia before. It was astronomically improbable that I’d have an adverse reaction to it and die (and by the way, Michael Jackson abused it, using it far outside of medical praxis—if you’re afraid to get a colonoscopy yourself, don’t be, it could save your life), but keep in mind what I said about my vanity.

“Hey, I’m really scared,” I told the anesthesiologist. He said something, muffled by his mask, that sounded like, “It’ll be all right.” Then he busied himself with a syringe, connecting it to my IV. He depressed it about a third of the way. “This should help you,” he said.

The last thing I said was, “Whoa…I feel it.”

After what felt like a hard, late-afternoon nap, I said, “Hello?”

My head was wrapped with something. When I touched my face, I could feel that there were cotton pads underneath the wrapping, holding my eyes shut. I guess that at some point either mid-procedure or after, my eyes had opened, unseeing, and they’d done this to keep them from drying out. “Hang on, sir,” I heard a nurse say, and my head was unwrapped.

“It’s over?” I asked.

“You’re all done,” he said.

“Gimme a minute, please,” I said, my South Jersey accent peeking out. “I feel a little weird.”

Eventually, I sat up. Two of the nurses helped me stand, and I pumped my arms like I was lifting light, invisible dumbbells. As I put my glasses on and looked around, I thought that they all seemed like they were fighting to not smirk. What did I say while I was blacked out? I wondered, with a twinge of panic, before deciding that it would be worthless to speculate. It could have been anything. There are literally millions of possibilities. Again—it would be worthless to speculate, I told myself, firmly.

An Uber driver, I had been told by hospital staff during a consultation, was not a legally strong enough party to take responsibility for me at discharge. Someone I knew would have to escort me to my apartment. Also, they said, they really would do that thing where you’re back in your own clothes, and they push you to the exit in a wheelchair when you’re all finished. After my procedure, my co-worker stood waiting in the discharge zone with his car as an orderly wheeled me out of the hospital exit. I stood up from the wheelchair and got into the passenger seat of his car, for some reason more aware than usual of the heat coming from the vent and the smell of the car’s leather upholstery. “I still feel weird from the anesthesia,” I said to my friend.

“I’ll bet you do,” he replied.

It was about lunch time, and I had taken the rest of the day off from work. When I got home, I ordered a pizza and lay on my bed. I ate the pizza and watched Star Wars. I had not felt any euphoria when I woke up, I thought hollowly. And my first solid meal in almost forty hours tasted unremarkable. I was still groggy, but not in a pleasant way. I felt cheated.

The hospital staff had put a manilla envelope into my hands as I left. It contained sheets of images the doctor had taken during the procedure. Once lucid, I leafed through them and compared the thumbnail-sized images on printer paper with googled images of cancerous tumors viewed through a colonoscope, trying to diagnose myself.

A couple of the images on the papers had shapes that looked weird, with what seemed like variations in the texture or color of my colon wall that to me, at least, appeared one hundred percent fatal. It was another two weeks before I had a follow-up appointment to go over them with the surgeon.

“See this?” The GI said, two weeks later, pointing to one of the images that had seemed completely normal to me, unlike other ones I had thought were much more scary and unusual-looking. “That’s a low-risk polyp. Of course, now it’s a no-risk polyp, ‘cause it’s gone.”

This medical episode ended only three or so weeks before the whole world changed, but I was all the more grateful for that. If I’d waited to be checked out, then I would have been weighing whether it was worth getting tested against the possibility of being infected with COVID.

The doctor recommended that I get a colonoscopy every five years from now on, but added, “If you want, you can go earlier than that.” I told him thanks, but once every five years sounded fine.

I wrote about the first seven weeks of the pandemic in my last entry. After that, May and June passed in the same way as March and April had. I went back to work in mid-June for two weeks before the first summer COVID spike closed things back up. I continued to play Quake, and I continued to fret about my family.

I had a job interview for a position in northern Maryland in April. I didn’t get it, but I had a good idea why I’d been turned down: the position wanted people with proven math skills. Which makes sense—for the last few years I’d said repeatedly that I wanted to have a job that involves less lab work and more data analysis. This was one of those jobs.

My graduate program gave me a degree in “Computational and Integrative Biology.” Sometimes I shorten it to “Integrative Biology,” or “Computational Biology,” but I always feel sort of dishonest when I tell people my degree. (Apparently this feeling is common among grad students). My own reason for feeling dishonest was because, in any other college, the work I was doing would probably just fall under normal old “Biology.” While it was true I had done course work that reflected “Computational and Integrative” Biology, they were courses taught in a remedial way.

When I say remedial, I mean that they were courses designed to get biologists up to speed on how to do higher-level data analyses with their experiments. For instance, in my “Biomath” course, we went over ordinary differential equations and graph theory. Those are both intermediate-level math types, ones you’d encounter in the later part of an undergraduate math degree program. Throughout that course, there was a lot of handwaving whenever I asked questions.

“Eh…,” the professor might have responded to something I had asked, “that requires a lot of background explanation we don’t need right now to handle the problem here. Just take it as a given for what we’re working on.”

In grad school, it’s common to be well-versed in only your narrow little research tunnel that leads outward to the edge of “known” biology. But a few times each month, several of us students would head to the bar down at the city’s waterfront after work to talk about our research. It usually began with a complaint—“This is the third time this kit wouldn’t work this week and it takes twelve fucking hours to run it each time,”—but to give us a more context for their problem, whoever was griping would have to go back and start at the beginning, recounting all the steps leading to their experiment’s failure.

This was a useful exercise, since a pair of new eyes on your work meant that at least you could get feedback on how to better relate the subject matter when you talked to a non-science audience, and at most, you might get a real solution for the problem you were bumping up against.

But I would sometimes get privately upset, as I sipped my beer and glanced out the window at the river, when a math-centered Computational and Integrative Biology student would start talking about their research. As someone who feels an unpleasant, TV static-like anxiety in my chest the moment I see letters in italics, or one of those big, orphan sorority sigmas following an equal sign during a math seminar, this upset feeling was directed at myself. Because, as a result of my insecurity, I would start listening to the beginning of the math student’s explanation of their research, trip over the first unfamiliar term I heard, lose the thread of what they were talking about, give up, and zone out. The math students, overall, just seemed light years ahead of me.

A critical vocabulary word that I began to mentally tie to the situation—slumming, these math types were slumming when talking to us biologists—was the grain of sand to my insecurity’s oyster. By the time I got my diploma a few years later, it had developed into a little pearl; now I had the feeling that I was, relative to those who’d come from a math background, a fake computational biologist.

Unhelpfully, the people in charge of hiring for the jobs I want nowadays seemed to agree. All the job listings I was interested in applying for made me feel the same panic that advanced math symbols on powerpoint slides did. The subjects they wanted their applicants to have experience in—machine learning, deep learning, regression analyses—were all frightening, impregnable terms, reminding me either of some kind of giant machine made up of endless tubes and valves, all spitting dangerously hot steam, or of a highly secure, underground bomb shelter that requires fingerprints or eyeball scans to get into. I knew from my previous learning experiences that if I didn’t understand the fundamentals and learned only the higher-level, applied stuff, it was just going to make me feel unworthy, and I’d forget it at once.

But summer had come—it was midsummer now, in fact. The pandemic wasn’t going anywhere, so what was I going to do if I didn’t start learning something? I ended up registering for three classes at a community college back home, which offered their fall semester online. For two thousand dollars, including textbooks, I got a spot in Introductory Statistics, Linear Algebra, and Calculus III.

Calculus III was a risk. I’d taken Calc I and II in undergrad, now about seventeen years ago, and I had earned Bs back then. I didn’t remember much of the material from either class. I’d tried watching Khan Academy videos at various points in the meantime, but could never stick with it. I’d watch several videos in a row, feel like I understood things, try a practice problem, get it wrong, and forget about it after a day or two. But now, I had put actual money into it and, in a few months, a grade would be spit back out, so this time I had real skin in the game.

But I had misgivings that I was too old to learn new stuff, or that I would be one of those students I remember when I was in undergrad, the older students who would grind class to a halt with their endless questions. Or maybe I would get worse grades than I had in undergrad, despite taking things more seriously now.

Two of the classes were taught asynchronously, meaning each lecture was a video that you could pause or replay at your leisure, and all tests were take-home, but the other class, Statistics, was done over Zoom. You might think a Zoom class could be a better way to learn—clarifying questions can be asked immediately, for instance—but for me, at least, it was not. Instead of focusing on the material being taught, the whole time I’d be thinking, “They can see me. Everyone here can see me. I can see me, and I have a dumbass expression on my face. Can they tell that I have a bedsheet instead of a curtain over my window blinds?”

My mind wandered during class just as much as it had while sitting in a lecture hall when I was eighteen, but now, these classes were held later at night, after I’d been working all day and had eaten dinner. As a result of this, and the fact that I find Statistics to be boring when it’s taught as a series of don’t-worry-about-how-we-derived-it formulas to plug numbers into, I did the worst in Statistics.

But Calc and Linear Algebra were more interesting. When I watched the class videos, I got familiar with the disembodied voices of the teachers, who each seemed to be trying to do an impression of Khan Academy videos. My Calc teacher, with his strong Vietnamese accent, would punctuate every few lines of derivation or proof with, “So what does that mean then?” Every time—new topic, new chapter, new problem, exactly the same tone of voice: “So what does that mean then?”

Eventually, in my head, his cadence merged with the tones of Woody Woodpecker’s laugh, and I began saying it to myself as I did chores around my apartment. “So what does that mean, then?” I’d half-sing at my garbage can liner as I cinched it shut. “So what does that mean, then?” I’d say to a wrinkled button-down shirt, enjoying the pepper shaker-y smell of my iron when it’s turned up to its hottest setting. “So what does that mean, then?” I’d say to the window blinds, when considering whether I should replace the bedsheet I’d hung there with an actual curtain, before answering myself that No, this apartment is too temporary for something as tony as curtains.

Sometimes I’d say it three times in a row, like Woody Woodpecker himself:

“So what does that mean, then?”

I kept a Google Sheet of how much time I spent doing work for each class, and found that I averaged about 20 hours a week total. That broke down to approximately an hour and a half each weekday, and on Saturday and Sunday I would go for about six or seven hours each. I’d get up at 7:30 those weekend mornings and brew a pot of coffee, then sit taking notes and working through every part of each assigned homework, not moving on from a problem until I understood everything about it.

I think that those Saturday and Sunday mornings may have been the happiest I felt during the year 2020. In the middle of a difficult Calc problem, not having the answer yet but certain I was on the right track, while also buzzing on caffeine, as a beam of early horizontal sunlight hit my kitchen backsplash and filled the apartment with more brightness than all my lightbulbs put together, I for once did not feel worried. I was unworried about my parents, my sisters, my brother, my sister-in-law, my niece and nephew, and all the pets. Unworried about COVID, or cancer, or the work stresses of the week. Unworried about getting older, about being alone still, or about enjoying being alone too much; unworried about letting all of this time go by and still feeling like real life hasn’t started; unworried about my dad having another stroke, or about my mom just suddenly up and dying out of nowhere, or cancer, or whether my hairline is changing, or the fact that my heart has been skipping a beat sometimes lately, or whether my friends who I speak to on the phone were getting sick of me, or whether I am too graphic when I describe symptoms I am afraid mean I might have cancer, or whether my apartment neighbors will keep me up with their noise again tonight, or whether the tooth sensitivity I feel drinking cold water lately means I need to risk a dentist visit during a pandemic, or whether I will be able to have healthier boundaries with my parents whenever I return to the northeast, or whether I’ll ever feel truly satisfied and content, or whether I’ll ever feel actual joy some day, or whether my hang-ups, and anxieties, and fears, and regrets about my personal and professional choices will end up all ganging up on me at once, or, of course, whether at any given moment, I might have cancer.

My attitude going into the classes was that I would disregard whatever grades I got and simply aim for as much comprehension as possible. But about halfway through the semester, I lost my nerve and began to think of my grades as a direct indicator of my level of understanding. So I started fretting about my grades, and on days of Calc III exams during the second half of the semester, I took vacation time so I could spend the whole day working on them.

It got a little crazy toward the end, but finally, it was over, and I managed to get all As. That made me happy, even if I knew that that kind of satisfaction is a bit immature. But I felt like I was making up for some of the sins I had committed as a college student, my laziness and my previous lack of appreciation for education finally, in a small way, absolved.

I spent Christmas here in Texas. When I think back on Christmases from previous years I find that I can remember the past two years very well because I flew home and packed a lot of family and friend time into a few short days. Before 2018, though, I can’t remember any specific Christmas well enough to recount anything that happened on the day.

But when I was a little kid, I remembered each Christmas perfectly, mainly due to the gifts I got and the room where we put the Christmas tree—where “Christmas happened”: in 1990, it was in the back room and we got a magic set, and also my brother pretended to faint when he saw he’d gotten Reebok Pumps. In 1991, it was in the family room, and my brother and I got the Nintendo game “Base Wars.” In 1992, it was in the living room and we got a Sega Genesis along with the game “Sonic 2.” In 1993, it was in the family room again, and I got a Hot Wheels Key Force car, and my brother got the Genesis game “Hard Ball 3 With Al Michaels.”

In 1994, my grandfather died a few weeks before Christmas, and we got a Sega CD. That was the year I became aware that the Christmas spirit was vulnerable to external forces, one’s first experience with death being the most offensive of those forces, and after a few months I also became aware that a hot new gaming console like the Sega CD could “fail,” slipping into obscurity with a small and unremarkable library of games. As a result, the indestructible-seeming sheen of Christmas fell away, leaving behind a better idea of what Christmas really is: a bare, thin-glassed lightbulb plugged into the middle of the year’s darkest period. After 1994, I can’t really remember what happened each Christmas.

This past Christmas will always be memorable, though, because I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day pretty much doing one of three things: playing Quake (yes, that hobby still refuses to die), watching something Star Wars-related, or video chatting with my family. At any time when I wasn’t speaking to family, I had Christmas music playing in the background, including while Star Wars was on. I turned the heat up in my apartment to 75 degrees and enjoyed how money-wastingly hot it was getting, until my nose started to bleed from the dry air.

I want to take this opportunity to say that I much prefer Christmas Eve to Christmas Day. Christmas Eve is generally all anticipation and guest arrivals, buoying the mood long into the falling night. From the viewpoint of Christmas Eve, any miracle might happen the following morning. But then after a late, over-buttered breakfast on Christmas Day, there’s nothing much else to do except think about cleaning up and regret how much you’ve eaten. The “anything could happen” feeling is now all gone, collapsed from a dazzling infinity’s worth of possibilities down to one homely outcome.

I hadn’t put up any decorations for my apartment, unless the Christmas music can be considered a decoration. This ended up being a good thing, though, since I didn’t have to take anything down once the holiday was over.

I started taking walks pretty early in the pandemic, my first walk happening after about one week of lockdown. That day there was a surprisingly large amount of people also walking. We all stayed far away from one another, since none of us were wearing masks—the width of even a modest suburban Texas street is still impressively wide, so there was no safety issue. I always took the initiative to be the one who crossed the street if I saw someone, exaggeratedly swinging my arms as I crossed so the person walking toward me could see my intentions even from far away. I did this because I figured it would be harder for the dog-walkers to wrangle their dog across the street and get out of my way, and the people without dogs were either old or were walking in a group.

In the beginning I was walking maybe twice a week, which then became three times, which became five. It held at five times a week during the fall semester because I’d have to be on Zoom from 6:30-8:30 PM Tuesdays and Thursdays, which took up the whole span of time in which I would usually walk. Nowadays, no longer taking classes, I walk every night.

For a while, I tried to get home before sunset, because I’m afraid of being hit by a car in the dark. After the clocks shifted back, I had to choose between walking earlier, during rush hour when everyone was arriving back at their houses from work, or waiting to walk until after the sun has set. I ended up buying one of those reflective construction worker’s vests for $8 on Amazon and waiting for nighttime. I feel like a dork when I wear the vest, but most of the people walking at night who I see are also wearing reflective clothes. Theirs are more chic than my vest, though, looking like they were ordered through an expensive fitness-wear catalogue. I’d buy the same type, but to me, walking is a meditative, solitary act, and I don’t want to feel that I’m catering to externalities like looking stylish while I’m trying to feel solitary. It also acts as a tacit acknowledgement that I’m not a criminal: “I’m making myself as visible as possible! I’m not casing your houses to break into them later on!”

Even though the focus of COVID is on the transmission of disease through shared, respired air, I still pay a lot of attention to contaminated surfaces. When I go out anywhere, I have a routine: first, I put on my going-out clothes (newly clean), then my shoes, which are possibly dirty, since I have to re-tie them sometimes with unwashed hands, so before I touch anything else after tying my shoes, I wash my hands. Then, I put on a mask, turn off all the lights except the one at the front door, pick up my keys with my right hand, slip my phone into my left pocket, and walk to the door. I put my keys in my right pocket (my wallet is already there), open the door with my right hand, turn out the light, step out the door, and take the keys out of my pocket to lock the door with, again, only my right hand.

I use my right hand pretty much everywhere outside—to push or pull open doors, to open my car to retrieve something from it, to open my mailbox and carry my mail in—because I know that if I use my left hand, my phone-operating hand, I’m going to have to put the phone into a little UV light phone-sterilizing box that I bought when I get home. And for some reason, I feel like it’s a small moral failure to have to use that UV box, so I try to keep my left hand from touching anything except for the phone. But I know that if I drive anywhere, all bets are off—both my hands touch the steering wheel, my left hand touches the car door handle while getting out, and I push open doors with both hands whenever I get somewhere. I’m sure that my left hand ends up touching something that may have SARS-CoV-2 on it as I carry out an errand, and therefore into the UV box my phone must go when I get home. But, when I go out to walk, there’s a good chance that I won’t need to touch anything with my left hand between leaving the apartment and coming back. If that’s the case, I can use my phone freely while walking if I want to, but when I get home, I can still just take it from my pocket and place it on my desk, no ultraviolet sterilizing waves needed. But of course then I still have to wash my right hand.

The walk is the same route every night now. It’s a vaguely circular, level 2.7 miles, starting northbound, bearing west, south, then east. It takes about forty minutes for me to walk the whole thing, plus or minus four minutes, depending on how warmed up I get while walking. My heart rate generally goes up to about 115 beats per minute for most of the walk, according to my watch, then spikes to 135 as I climb the stairs to my fourth floor apartment at the end.

Insulated by the sound of music or an audiobook on my headphones, and with my hands stuck in my pockets, actually holding onto the cloth pocket linings themselves, I feel less like a person on a walk and more like someone steering a large, inertia-filled thing—a sailboat that I have to tack against an unfavorable wind, or a bobsled whose blades I have to turn out of deep ruts on the ice. But despite feeling bodily awkward, I find suburbia to be a soothing place to move through. I really don’t understand how some people think of the suburbs as some kind of dystopia, to be honest. My neighborhood has wide streets, as I mentioned, and the houses are almost all ranch-style. The trees, like the houses, are shorter than they are in the northeast. Some of the trees look more like very tall shrubbery. As for the ground, the blades of grass are wider, and the soil is just a bit sandier. Sometimes, I see two-inch-long cockroaches, what people back home would call “water bugs,” creeping across the sidewalks.

I can’t remember the names of the streets on the walk, except for Forrest Street, which I noticed once when I saw the street sign while I was running and it made me think of “Run, Forrest, run!” and Kenilworth Street, which has the same name as a street back at home. Other than those, I only know points along the route by the informal names I’ve assigned to them. There’s a road where it changes direction from heading north to heading east, and it looks over a little park. The lack of houses there gives an unobstructed view of the western horizon. For that reason, I call that part of the route “Sunset Bend.” At another point on the route there is a house where, in the beginning of lockdown last spring, a family was always outside, the parents sitting motionless in Adirondack chairs while their kids all went nuts on the front lawn, playing with the sprinkler, or doing hopscotch, or sitting at one of those tiny plastic picnic tables, playing some board game. That part of the walk I called “Kidville.”

There were other houses that were always so inactive, so abandoned-seeming—the blinds were always closed and there wasn’t a car in the driveway—that I started to wonder if anyone lived there at all, and whether maybe the neighborhood association was mowing its lawn to stave off the shabbiness. But after the switch from walking in daylight to nighttime, I saw that some of those houses, while still shut up and silent, had lights on inside in rooms not facing the street. Looking at those houses is like staring into the vents of a space heater in a dark room.

Eventually I started thinking about how the walk is exactly 2.7 miles. Then, idly, I realized that if you multiply 2.7 by 30, you get 81. That number of years, eighty-one, seems like a decent amount of years to hope to live—it’s not greedy, you’re not asking for a hundred years, for example—but also, maybe when I get closer to 81, there will be better medical treatments and 81 will seem younger. Assuming that doesn’t happen, though, I think of 81 years as more or less “a complete life.” It is very sad, but not exactly a tragedy, to die at 81.

With this in mind, I started translating the distance along my walk to human ages. For instance, 1.0 miles into the walk, times 30, would equal 30 years. And 1.2 miles times 30 would equal 36 years, which is how old I am now. Since by the time I’d discovered this “conversion formula,” the walk was already so familiar to me that I had a very good perspective on how far into the walk any given point felt—the precise moment when I sense that I’m transitioning from the middle to the end phase of the walk, for example. So when I came up with the multiply-by-30 conversion formula, I was interested to see exactly what part of the walk 1.2 miles, or 36 years old, corresponded to.

The answer is that it was later in the walk than I’d hoped. The moment I reach 1.2 miles is long past the most scenic parts of the route; it’s just after a left turn that puts me on a long straightaway of modest houses leading to an arterial road, known to me as the hook-around part of the circuit where in past walks, I had thought, “Now I’m on my way back home.”

Over the next few evenings, I noted other points, ones that had come before the 1.2 mile marker, and compared them to parts of my already-lived life: I graduated high school at 0.6 miles into the walk, which was the beginning of Sunset Bend. I got my master’s degree in a spot where, at nighttime, a streetlight shines through the leaves on a tree, giving the street a dance hall, disco-ball kind of lighting (hence, “Disco Point”). That friendly, lighted patch of street, with a jaunty-looking house standing next to it, makes it my favorite part of the walk. As for points I have not yet reached: still ahead of my current age distance, at around 1.5 miles, is Kidville, but I haven’t seen anyone in the front yard there in months now.

Toward the end, almost back home, there’s a large school property. I’ve never seen anyone on the grounds, except for the occasional person who sneaks onto the running track to jog it. Along one of the fences that borders the school, in springtime last year, someone started zip-tying laminated sheets of paper with jokes written on them to the chain links. The jokes are all clean, and pretty lame—these days it seems like almost all kid-friendly jokes are just puns, like “How did the farmer find his wife? He tractor down!”

One time, I saw a kid about ten years old on his bike, riding along the sidewalk and stopping to read each joke. The fence ends at a small park for toddlers. There’s a big plastic sign at the entrance of the park, faded but still legible, that has a boy’s name displayed on it. Below his name is written a tragically short span of years, and below that, a message: “This park is dedicated to the memory of (the boy’s name), and to all of the little tykes of (the neighborhood).” Whoever it was putting up jokes on the schoolyard fence stopped replacing them with new ones some time during the fall, and I walk too late to ever see anyone playing at the playground. Well, that’s not quite true: very rarely, around 9 PM on warm nights, I might see what appears to be a young mother scrutinizing her phone as her kid swings in the dark.

I haven’t been to the gym to lift any weights since lockdown started. I’ve been able to do cardio in my apartment, but the result of all the cardio and all the walking is that I’ve lost a decent amount of lifting strength, as well as about ten pounds. This is consistent with how life in general has evolved: I have also reduced the list of spaces I travel to, leaving my apartment only to go to work, to pick up groceries, and to walk through my neighborhood. My body, and the edges of my life, have gone through a great miniaturization, but my perspective has adapted with it—each feature within this smaller space seems more detailed, and the day’s moments are of a finer grain. Inside my apartment, I have realized how much the lighting affects the atmosphere, and as a result the mood, so I can change which lights are on when to reflect the mood of each time of day. When I walk at night, sometimes I have the same feeling I did the week before I moved here from New Jersey, a sort of farewell feeling. That feeling started in the fall as a dessert-like flipside to my happy mornings spent doing math homework. Those evenings, I also felt like I was saying goodbye, to a more insecure, more ignorant version of myself, I guess. Nowadays, I get the feeling that I’m saying goodbye to the person who had, until now, always feared that he was missing out on things.

There will be a time, closer to now than now is to the beginning of the pandemic, when I will leave Texas. I will be happy and relieved to return home, whenever that is. But at the same time, there’s a new feeling that is starting to take root, and it’s a weird one: for all the hardship that the pandemic has presented to me, the anxiety for my family and the limitations it’s put on my mobility, social life, and career, for more than ten months now, its most memorable effect, unless I’m affected by the illness itself, will be that it made me love my neighborhood. I have walked more than 500 miles of it over the months, and scores of miles remain to be walked before I move away. I’ve walked during steaming afternoons, during cloudy sunsets, in pre-dawn twilight on cool mornings, and during soft, breezy evenings. It’s always picturesque, pleasant, very green. The houses look inviting, and the dog-walkers wave to me. I listen to music that suits my mood and do the geographical equivalent of palm reading. That’s all, really.

Can a person love a place? Feel gratitude toward landscaping, houses, parked cars, and people viewed only from a distance? Can someone feel affinity to a fox seen in a churchyard and streetlights shining through leaves in the night? Affection for lawn mower exhaust, for the noise of an approaching SUV slowly carving out a bend? Love for landmarks that correspond to moments in one’s past, or to moments that one might encounter in the future?

There will be a time, I hope, when my years in Texas are far in the past. But some day, I will hear a song, or see a house with a certain architecture, or smell a variety of grass, and Texas will return to me. At the same time, I also hope that it isn’t too overwhelming. I’ve found that I can never tell how potent a memory of a particular time or place will be until there’s a lot of distance between me and it. Sometimes, a memory will come gently, settling on me like a haze, ready to be indulged, even laughed at. In such cases I turn up the music that brought the memory, or take a luxuriating whiff of the scent, and I think back on the time, feeling only a little bit sad.

But other memories swoop down like some kind of predatory bird, and in those cases, the nostalgia feels more like the punch of the bird’s talons in the back of my neck. The sense of missing is so strong that it feels less like nostalgia and more like a distilled, portable homesickness. Ridiculously, I’ll even want to return to the memory’s time and place, despite knowing that in reality it had been fraught with pain or unease. Which makes the sneaking feeling growing during this time, at this place, all the more uncanny. I mean, all that this span of time has been, is me, and some terrain, and the wind, and the light of the sun or the moon. No one else. My nostalgia for anything before this was always about times and places with other people. So who will I be missing?

Someone once said, Wherever you go, there you are. But now, I wonder: is that really true?

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schrijverr · 4 years

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Quiet

Will had always been quiet, this is the story of how he found and lost his voice again through a happy boy in the middle of an awful war.

On AO3.

Ships: implied Blakefield

Warnings: Canon character death, suicidal thoughts and war

~~~~~~~~~~

Will had just turned eighteen when the war broke out. He was old enough to sign up for the war effort and he did along with millions of others. He’d always been a quiet kid, but he loved to read and he had been taken by the grand adventures the characters went on, so he hoped that this would be the start of his very own adventure.

This hope was crushed almost as soon as Will arrived on French soil. He was send to Marne to fight by the river Ourcq. Will didn’t know it was called this at the time, he had only learned that days later when they’d dug themselves in, Germans on the other side. When the battle was done, the fields turned into no man’s land and when the idea that this war was an adventure was beat out of him. He looked and only saw a new sort of slaughterhouse.

Yes, Will had always been quiet, but now, now he barely say a word.

He eventually got some friends, it was hard not to become acquainted with some people when most of your evening activities consisted of sitting around together. They talked about everything and nothing, Will learned more about people’s sex-life than he had ever wanted. He even shared some things about himself, although it was far out of his comfort zone to do so.

There was Hendrickson, who was full of smiles and laughs, with more jokes stored in his head than there was time to tell them.

There was Ryan, who had big dreams of becoming a politician and marrying a rich girl, never taking offense in the reverse marrying-rich jokes from the others.

There was Holland, who shared the silence with Will when the rambunctiousness got too much, but who also had a voice of gold that helped them when the nightmares got too bad and the days too long.

There was Graham, who was as dirty as he was religious, much to the amusements of others, but he was there to say the prayers when it seemed like their last moments had arrived.

Then there was the Somme.

Hendrickson fell in the first wave over the trenches, the closed formation proving a mistake. Ryan got stuck in the barbed wire and shot, the munition not enough to destroy them like they’d been promised. Holland blown up by their own mines that were timed wrong, too early and too late. Graham, who had bled out with his cross still clutched in his hand. And Will, the one who survived.

He survived every god forsaken day at the Somme, all 171 days he lived. He got a medal and a leave out of it, along with memories he could never forget and nightmares that would haunt him till the day he died.

His mother and sister knew he had never been a talker, but they weren’t prepared for the silence that Will carried with him.

He had been back for a few days, Lance Corporal Schofield, leading by example on the front lines when the new supply forces came. They were all fresh out of training with hope in their eyes and young unhardened faces.

Will avoided them as much as he could. He had done this song and dance before. He would sit with them, get to know their names and faces, personality traits and then they would die. And Will couldn’t go through that again, so he found a tree and made it his tree. He sat there when he had time off and he didn’t talk to anyone unless he had orders.

The new Privates soon learned to leave him alone, no one wanted to mess with the quiet one that had been here since the start. One of the longest surviving soldiers on the front and how he wished that fact was different.

Yes, everybody left him alone, just like he wanted, everyone except one.

Lance Corporal Blake, who had gotten that rank on good instinct at training before he had even arrived. He was young, just turned nineteen around Christmas. He was young and it showed, it showed in his enthusiasm, his smiles and in the stories he told. He was a goof and he lightened the mood around camp, always in for a game of cards or some small talk.

He was the opposite of Will in every way, but still he had chosen Will to follow around everywhere.

He was there next to Will when the man woke up and he would follow him to the Mess, they were assigned to dig together and to be the look out. Yet Blake didn’t get bored, he just talked and talked, with happy hand movements and open smiles. He wouldn’t look expectantly at Will when he asked a question, but Will didn’t answer, instead he would shrug and move on like nothing happened. He would even sit in silence next to Will and watch the sun go down.

Will was waiting for the day the smile disappeared and the stories ceased, when Blake would realize the hell he’d found himself in and give up on being lively or, even worse, when there was a battle from which Will would return once more, but there would be no Blake the next day, because his body had become part of the landscape while his soul went up to the heavens and all his mother would get was a letter about how brave he had been. Will hoped the day would never come.

It was early January 1917 when Will opened his mouth without having to for the first time in months. He had barely been aware that he had done it, he had only answered Blake’s question. The boy had been going on about his home and the fields when he had asked Will: “So yeah, I help in the fields in the summer. Where are you from? What do you do in the summer?”

Will had shrugged and said: “London, but not really the good part. I just work in the factory, or I used to at least.”

Normally after Blake had asked a question he would continue on talking, but now he had fallen silent. He was looking at Will with an open mouth, which Will only noticed after he looked at the other when he had fallen silent for a few seconds. He raised an eyebrow and asked: “What?”

His own eyes had grown wide the moment he realized what he had done. He had talked, but that wasn’t the thing that bothered him the most, it was what came with the fact that he had talked that worried him. He only talked when it was necessary or when he was close with someone. It hadn’t been necessary, so that only left being close.

He couldn’t afford it to be close with someone, but now he was. He hadn’t even realized it, but Blake had grown on him and now they were friends. He was friends with Blake and it was too late, when the boy died, the last piece of his heart would die as well.

His brain was screaming at him to run away, to get away from Blake and hope his heart hadn’t gotten too attached. That he could still cut his ties with the other if he ran now. He was almost turning away when Blake smiled and he realized that he was in too far. He knew he couldn’t turn away, not now and not later, his heart had gripped Blake close and wasn’t about to let go.

Still smiling and unaware of the turmoil he was causing Blake said: “That’s still necessary work, Scho. I mean, helping on the fields isn’t exactly glamorous either, but it is fun. You see, me and Joe used to go there and just fuck shit up when we were little and now those people are our bosses, but we were never caught, so they don’t know it was us. We made a game out of it: how many times can we vaguely mention the stuff we got up to before they figure it out? It’s amazing.” and Blake was chattering on once more, leaving Will to follow him, because there was nothing else to do.

He had been a quiet kid, whose silence was a shield that was now slowly being thorn down.

Three months later and Will said about one fifth of their conversations, not nearly taking the lion share, but still talking quite a bit, much to Blake’s excitement. In that short period of time Blake learned that Will had a mother who also worked in the factories and a father who had died at Verdun, but his sister had married quite a well off man and she didn’t need to work at all, she could care for her two children. Twin girls that Will loved a lot, he had jokingly commented that he was the fun uncle however unlikely that may seem, but that was also because he was their only uncle. He had surprised his friend with his dry comments and banter. Blake also learned about Wills love for books and poetry and he listened to Will softly recite them while they sat together watching the sunsets like they had always done.

It was now early April and they had fallen asleep by Wills tree that had slowly become their tree. The Sargent was waking Blake up telling him to pick a man and grab his kit. Will already knew, who Blake would pick, of course he did, because that’s what he had done since he arrived. He had picked Will and Will had followed his lead.

The mission they were send on seemed impossible and Will wanted to wait, to prolong their time together, because something deep down told him that this wasn’t going to end well. It wasn’t going to end well and Will would live, because that was all he had done, he had lived while everything collapsed around him. But Blake wouldn’t listen, he kept on walking and Will kept on following, because there was nothing else he could do.

When the rat tripped the wire he thought that his end had finally come, he vaguely felt bad that Blake would be buried with him, but an ugly and bigger part of him was glad that he didn’t have to live on while Blake died, but then there was a hand pulling him along and miraculously both made it out of there alive.

Will got a bit of hope, so far everything was going as well as it could. Maybe they would make it, both of them, with Blake chattering and he himself commenting here and there. Then they were suddenly talking about medals and Will almost said too much, laid himself bare for this boy, but he stopped himself.

He had never said a lot and he wouldn’t say too much after so long of quiet.

Blake took it in stride, he always had and he didn’t mind to continue chattering on and ignore Wills faults like nothing had happened. Will had never been more grateful for a person than he had been for Blake in that moment.

They walked on until everything suddenly went to shit. Stupid planes, stupid pilot and stupid naivety, they should have kept walking, they should have shot the pilot, but they hadn’t and now Blake was bleeding out in his arms asking the always quiet kid to talk and Will tried, he tried so hard. He told Blake he would write his mum and that he knew the way, that he would find his brother and complete their mission, but more than that he couldn’t say, no matter how much Blake was pleading.

The sounds were stuck in his throat, only exploding out when the soldiers in the truck wouldn’t help him when he had to go on, he had to.

He was focused, he just needed to find the Devon's, find Joe. Silently he was walking, but the quiet kept building up in his head until the dam broke when he found the woman with the baby. He recited a poem, it had been Blake’s favourite and he wanted to never stop telling it, but the church bells rang and he had to go, he had to keep on walking.

Not walking, running. He was running through the streets then he was flying through the air and then, then he was floating. For a moment he thought he was floating away, up to the heavens, but he couldn’t he had a mission. The boy that was singing reminded him of Holland, but Holland was dead along with Blake and soon these people would be as well. They would die if he didn’t keep on running, the mission wasn’t over yet, he could still save them.

Then as almost as suddenly as it had started the mission was over, he was standing in front of Joe and wordlessly gave him the rings that had been on the warm fingers of his brother not even a day ago. He stood there feeling empty, before stumbling over the field where he sat under a lone tree and looked out over the field. It was a sunrise and not a sunset. It was quiet and there was no chattering. He was alone and everything was opposite to normal and it would never go back.

He tried to write the letter, but the quiet kid that had found his voice again had run out of words to say.

The page stayed blank.

#RR writing #1917 #1917 movie #will schofield #Tom blakex will schofield #Tom Blake #joseph blake #Blakefield #tw: war #tw: suicidal thought #canon character death

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amoveablejake · 4 years

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The Inevitable Preview Piece

Right, I’ll say it now. This piece was inevitable, even if I didn’t realise it at first. Ofcourse I was always going to write a Premier League prediction piece, it was just a matter of time as to when this fact would hit me. As the season starts this weekend the past week or so has been full of predictions all over the place from podcasts I listen to, to different articles online and now I have this platform I thought why not put my thoughts in, which when the league ends I will undoubtedly look back upon and laugh at. Anyway, shall we begin because we have a fair bit to get through and I can already tell some of you may be skipping to the next segment. I promise I’ll try and make this at least somewhat interesting for those of you who don’t care. Maybe I’ll try and give each team a little title, that will keep you reading, right? Right? (Sigh)

Arsenal: The train that runs out of steam.

Arsenal always start well. I know that, you know that, we all know that. They are a team who always start well by playing exciting football and for a while their fans start to think, hey, maybe this will be our year after all. The thing is though, the first ten matches of the Premier League are the days of wine and roses and they don’t matter as much as you’d think. Its always after this honeymoon period ends that Arsenal hit a slump and run out of steam and maybe they’ll pick it back up at times but they never truly get back on track. I do however think they’ll do slightly better this year so I’m going to say they’ll finish fifth. I like Arteta what can I say.

Aston Villa: The Royal team.

Whilst Prince William supports Aston Villa I don’t think even his Royal support will spur them on to play exciting football. They had a relegation scrap last year and I see the same for them once again. I will admit that until I looked at the list to see who is in the league this year I had forgotten they were still in the top flight. I think that speaks for itself. I think that Aston Villa will finish seventeenth and will survive once again by the skin of their teeth. Sadly.

Brighton and Hove Albion: Seagulls take flight.

I don’t know why, but I have a funny feeling Brighton might do a bit better than usual this year. They always seem to finish around the middle to bottom of the table but I think that they might keep themselves in a European conversation, for a little while at least. The addition of Adam Lallana is a very positive one and I think they will prove to upset some of the bigger name teams over the course of the season. Plus they have a very swish new home kit and I sort of do have a soft spot for them. Predicted finish: Ninth, hey, its on the right track.

Burnley: You again?

Burnley is another team that I always forget exists, let alone in the Premier League. I’ll keep this one short, I think they’ll finish fifteenth. Now I’m not being mean, I hope that they have a nice season and their fans enjoy watching them play. I won’t though, I have paint to watch dry.

Chelsea: Money can’t buy happiness.

Okay, okay, I’ll admit it, I do not like Chelsea. At all. Yes they have quite a nice new home shirt and technically, technically, they are the closest Premier League team to where I was born however, they don’t get my support. To me Chelsea have always felt like the bad guys and perhaps that is unwarranted but what can I say. I just don’t like the Death Star. The boys in blue have spent a lot, and I mean A LOT, this summer but will it work? I don’t think so. They have bought excellent players in but the problem is Frank had a good team of youngsters already and I think by bringing in a lot of new players he has shown he doesn’t have faith in those younger players afterall and I don’t know if the team will form a solid base this time around. I see Chelsea coming in sixth and honestly, I don’t know if Mr. Lampard will make it to the end of the season.

Crystal Palace: Please, just let Zaha leave.

I’m never that convinced by Crystal Palace. That isn’t to say they’re not very good, they do have moments of prowess and do show signs of making it into the Europa League but then they tend to lose silly matches. I think the club might be nearing the end of its relationship with Roy Hodgson and after he leaves it might get a little shaky for a while. And the will they let him go or won’t they dance they have with Zaha every year is getting very tiring and I can’t imagine its good for the team’s atmosphere. Please, just let the man leave whilst you end up finishing in thirteenth.

Everton: Just how Everton can Everton be.

Everton are managed by Carlo Ancelotti. Everton. That is quite something. I’m still not sure if I believe it and honestly, I don’t think Carlo does either. Yes he has signed old pal James Rodriguez this summer which for my money is a fantastic new addition however, I don’t see Carlo seeing out the season at Merseyside. Its not the club for him and thats fine. I think they will show moments of looking pretty good but ultimately Everton will do what Everton is destined to do. And that is finish tenth.

Fulham: Don’t Cry For Me Brentford

I’ll keep this one short. I wanted Brentford to go up in the playoff final. Fulham didn’t deserve it. Thats right, I said it. I don’t want them here, I am still bitter and I’m not crying, you’re crying! But whats this I see through my years, I see Fulham finishing in nineteenth and me tasting sweet, sweet revenge.

Leeds: They used to be quite big right.

From what I’ve heard, Leeds used to be quite a big team. People were scared of them. The thing is, I am too young to remember those days so I don’t have the respect for them that some do. I am pleased that their fans finally got to see this return and I don’t think they’ll shoot right down again, in fact I think they’ll do reasonably well. I see them finishing fourteenth, which isn’t bad for a first season in the Premier League. They will show moments early on I think where people will say they’re going to do exceedingly well, but once again, never trust the first ten games.

Leicester City: Believe in yourself.

The foxes feel like a team that are running on the water and then when they realise what they’re doing they lose their confidence and sink. They are a team which as we know can be exceedingly good, they can be a joy to watch and whats more their players always look happy to be out there. Last season they were flying very high indeed especially on a rainy night in Southampton however, they tend to lose their confidence in themselves and I think they might do the same again this year. Also, Vardy is a great player but his back must be getting heavy carrying that attack. I think that this time around Leicester will take eighth place. Thats not a comment on them but more so on how close I think those top eight places are going to be.

Liverpool: Foot off the gas.

Liverpool are the best team in Britain at the moment. Maybe. Well they were for the past couple of years but now, I’m not too convinced. Why, why do I doubt such a strong team, its because there have been no changes. There haven’t really been any transfers and hey if something isn’t broken why fix it. I’ll tell you why, because whilst you were out there on your boat, enjoying the sun, looking around at your crew who you realised that they are all getting that much older and they’re very comfortable in their roles. In fact, they don’t really have to fight. They seem to have lost that hunger, a hunger that all the sharks growing underneath the boat certainly have and you better believe the moment they smell blood they’re going to surface. I think Liverpool will finish in third. They will still challenge for the title but it won’t be coming back to Anfield this time around.

Manchester City: A team with Pep.

Manchester City were bad last year. Yes they came second but they were so far behind Liverpool it was not a successful season. They only won one trophy also which by their standards is not good and it wasn’t even the Champions League or FA Cup. I think this season they’re going to be back to their old ways, not in a perfect way however, there are a lot of holes in that team (a new defender and striker would be good) but they do have Kevin De Bruyne and that man is from another realm. Do I see City lifting the Premier League, honestly, no, I think they might win everything else but not this.

Manchester United: I’m allowed to be biased okay.

Yes, I do support Manchester United and yes I do know that makes me biased however, I do have a sneaking suspicion they will win the Premier League. Whys that, well it might not look like it yet but I think some more transfers are coming both now and in January. The arrival of Van De Beek is also very welcome and I think the squad will start to believe in itself more and they’ll definitely improve as that confidence comes back. Don’t get me wrong, it won’t be a beautiful win, infact I think they will win on the final day and the whole title race this year will be very close but I don’t know, I have a feeling that they’ll do it. Either that or I’ll be crushed when they get relegated.

Newcastle United: Mike Ashley out.

For once Newcastle have made some good signings this summer, good sensible signings and they have kept Steve Bruce on which I think is a good thing however, with Mike Ashley still being the owner and that ever present cloud hanging over the team I don’t think they’ll ever really hit their stride. Sadly I see them finishing in sixteenth although I would really like to see them finish higher.

Sheffield United: My soft spot.

I have absolutely no idea but ever since I was little I have had a soft spot for the Blades and after their very impressive performance last year I would like to see them do well again. However, I think the end of the loan spell with Dean Henderson will hurt and they didn’t look as strong post the lockdown pause so I see them coming eleventh which is still good just not as good we’d like. We being me and a team always keep an eye on.

Southampton: It was nice whilst it lasted.

Southampton again had a very good year last year and I’m sure that their fans are hoping for more of the same however, I think that this time around the top half of the table is going to be a much fiercer, closer battle and sadly that will be at the detriment of teams like Southampton who will find themselves twelfth and it won’t really be their fault. I would like to see them head into Europe as they are my local team but I don’t think that they will this time around.

Tottenham Hotspur: No prime delivery.

Despite the fancy Amazon documentary coming out and Jose being Jose, I think that Tottenham will do exactly what their fans have sadly grown used to which is showing signs of being a top four team but ultimately making silly mistakes and losing against teams that they really shouldn’t which will slide them down to seventh. I hope for their fans that they win something this year, anything really but when it comes to Spurs you just never can tell. What am I saying, you can and they won’t.

West Bromwich Albion: Someone has to do it.

Someone has to finish last and it will be West Brom. Do I really need to say anything else. I suppose I should say something nice, um, I’ve heard that you can buy a nice pie at their stadium. A nice pie to soak up the tears when they get relegated.

West Ham United: Time to learn.

I want West Ham United to get relegated. Why? Because they need to learn. Not the players, not the manager but the club. The club is run horribly and they constantly make bad decisions whether it be getting rid of promising young players, signing players at big costs to no avail or to have a constant merry go round of managers. Its a shambles and thats a shame because they have a very nice home kit and I do sort of like West Ham. With that in mind they’ll finish eighteenth and I’ll be happy about it so that they come back stronger.

Wolves: Hear them howl.

I like Wolves. In fact my favourite animal is a wolf but thats not why I have a fondness for Wolverhampton Wanderers. No, thats because they are a good team, with a great manager, who make sensible signings, seem to be run well, sadly have a horrific kit but play very good, classic football. I like the players, I like the team and I always want to see them do well and upset the establishment. Even when one player rubs baby oil on his tree trunk arms so the other players can’t grab hold of him. He’s good enough to not make someone do that but hey, there are worse jobs to have (see playing for Burnley for further details). I think Wolves will finish fourth this time around and will reach the Champions League. I also think they’ll do well in the FA Cup and will win more praise that they definitely deserve.

So there we have it, we made it. How will these predictions pan out, probably not very well but hey, its not like I’ve written them down so I can be mocked with them later.

- Jake, a man who is fully aware he can never go to Burnley now, 13/09/2020

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uniqueimagines · 6 years

Text

New Girl In Town

Paring: Sweet Pea x Reader

Requested: No, just trying to start writing

Description: You just moved away from home taking a leap and moving to Riverdale. After your first day at work you go for a walk bumping into a new and attractive stranger.

Warnings: None

Word count: 1,876

______________________________________________________________

Your parents had been split up since you were around eight or nine years old Having a very rough and distant relationship with your father,mainly due to his mild alcohol and emotional issues, you lived with your mom from the time they split up until the beginning of the year before you turned twenty. You had an amazing relationship with your mom but had finally decided it was time to get out on your own. Having managed to find a job that would give you at least 40 hours a week and paid you enough to realistically survive off of your take home pay as long as you were good with your money. The job however was worlds away from home. Flying with just a suitcase and backpack of the things you couldn't live without to your new life in the small town of Riverdale. You had managed to find a small one bedroom apartment near the railroad tracks that wasn't too expensive and was only a mile or so from your new job a Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe.

Arriving in town in mid January, about a week before you are to start work, you have enough time to adjust to your new surroundings, get settled into your apartment and just relax for a few days. The last night before your first day of work you had managed to get the hang of the walk to the diner, got the little bit of furniture and necessities for your apartment that you didn't already have, and you were just now finishing off unpacking your things. Gently placing the hanger containing the last of the clothing from your suitcase into the closet finally finished off your unpacking and allowed you to place the empty suitcase on the top shelf of the closet out of the way. While you are way more of a night owl that you care to admit the week was catching up to you and as the clock on the bedside table read 9:30 you decided to call it a night and get a long and well rested night of sleep before your first day of work. Quickly changing into spandex shorts and a long black t-shirt you crawled under the soft covers of your bed quickly falling asleep.

*Beep Beep Beep*

The sound of your alarm startles you awake. After rolling out of bed, showering you blow dry your hair and put it up in a ponytail before curling it. Never being one to put on too much makeup you quickly put on your thin winged cat eye eyeliner, mascara, and a soft pink lipstick nearly the same shade as your lips. You quickly throw on black ripped skinny jeans and a distressed black v-neck band t shirt knowing you will be changing into uniform as soon as you arrived at work.

Pulling up in your old black jeep you had bought used just a week before you park in front of the diner getting out and locking the car. You had arrived at 7:40 even though you didn't start until 8. After changing you stashed your backpack in the break room and began to work. The day went by fairly quickly and easily nothing too exciting happening. Getting off at 4:30 you take home a burger and fries quickly eating them and deciding to take a walk around town. Pulling on an old jacket over your outfit from the morning you left the apartment with nothing else but your phone, keys, and thoughts. After about 45 minutes of walking its pitch black and you decide to turn back and head for home.

The wind setting in and sending a deep chill down your spine you begin to quicken your pace as you round a corner you run smack into someone knocking you straight to the floor. “Oh my god I’m so sorry!” you say shakily as you catch your breath and begin to stand. The tall handsome dark haired man holds his hand out to you to help you up. As you take his hand you wince a little having gravel bits in your hand from landing on it in the fall. “You okay, princess?” the dark haired boy smiles lightly helping you stand still having ahold of your hand. As he looks down on you a small smirk pulls at his lips causing a crimson blush to come to your pale cheeks and you pull your hand away letting it fall to your side. “I’m fine thank you…” your words come out much quieter than intended but loud enough for him to hear. Still feeling embarrassed you begin again but a bit louder and more confident, “Again sorry for bumping into you I wasn't watching where I was going I was getting cold and it's dark and I just wanted to get home and,” you begin to look down losing your confidence as you ramble.

Before you could continue your embarrassing rambling the boy laughs lightly and interrupts, “Do you want a ride home? I'm just parked around the corner and then maybe I could help you clean up that cut.” You look up and see he is gesturing to your hand as a few drops of blood are trickling down your fingers and rocks remain in your palm. “Are you sure? I really can make it home fine.” you state unsure if you should really accept the ride but inside hoping he says yes considering how insanely cute this tall mystery boy was and the fact that your hand was throbbing. He merely nods and leads you around the corner and to his bike. You are fairly observant and through the week you had spent in town and your first day working you had already learned about the serpents gang and their snake symbol. The fact that a large number of them rod bikes and he had a tattoo of a snake on the side of his neck made the arrival to his bike very little of a surprise to you. It also made him more attractive, you quickly stopped having a sudden realization that made you hesitate to jump onto the bike.

“I don't even know your name yet, I think I need at least that much info before jumping on the back of a strangers bike,” you bite your lip looking up at him. He merely smirks and grabs the helmet handing it to you as he says, “Sweet Pea, and you are?” you take the helmet, being careful not to get blood on it, and smirk as you reply, “Y/N, nice to meet you.” you quickly slide the helmet on and buckle it. Without another word Sweet Pea hops on and you do the same sliding behind him. You wrap your arms around his body carefully holding your hands trying not to hurt it more or get blood on him. You use your hands to guide the boy to your apartment with ease arriving in a few minutes.

When inside Sweet Pea can't help but look around a bit surprised by the interior. “It seems a bit….. Bare,” he calls standing in the living room as you go the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. Being a naturally clumsy person you had a decently large med kit looking down at the rocks in your palm you decide it's better to clean it here, “yeah I just moved in a week ago, hey mind coming in here to help? No need to get blood on my couch.” you laugh lightly. He walks in slowly still looking around as he walks though your room to get to the restroom where you are sitting on the counter beside the sink. You had already pulled out a pair of tweezers, bactine, and some gauze bandaging and tape to wrap the wound. “Get hurt often?” he questions with a raised brow looking at the large medkit on the other side of the sink to you closer to him. “Let's just say i'm a touch clumsy,” you laugh lightly looking him up and down as he walks to you from the doorway of your bathroom.

He stands gently taking your hand into his pulling the few rocks from your palm before grabbing the batine. You don't notice the few drops of blood falling into your sink or even the pain of the rocks being pulled from your hand as you are too busy spacing off as you stare at the handsome man cleaning your hand. “Y/N?..... Princess?” he finally gets your attention and you blush and look down to find your hand already cleaned and wrapped. “Thank you so much…” you bite your lip still not looking up as you speak. Sweet Pea keeps one hand holding yours and uses two fingers from his other hand to grab your chin and tilt your head to look up at him. Before either of you could think too hard about it he leans in pressing his lips softly to yours. Your eyes flutter shut leaning into the kiss pressing your uninjured hand against his chest. He moves his hand to your hip pulling you a bit closer until you are on the edge of the counter and pressed as close to his body as he deepens the kiss gently sliding his tongue over your lip asking for entrance.

Before you get a chance to part your lips he pulls away to the sound of his phone ringing in his pocket. Letting out a small groan he pulls his phone from his pocket and glances down at it you doing the same seeing a snake emoji after the initials FP. He quickly answers it, “Hello?....” he kisses your cheek before stepping into the bedroom. You watch him pace a bit nervously and after a minute he hangs up rejoining you. He steps between our knees as you remain sitting on the counter unsure of what to say to him. He was basically a complete stranger.

Before you could get too deep in thought he pulled your attention up by sliding his calloused hand onto your cheek and giving you a small peck on the lips,“ I gotta go I have some business to deal with…” He gives you a small smile hoping he hasn't just ruined his chances. “Promise you aren't just running off with some other girl?” You laugh lightly half joking as you bite your lip. “I've only got eyes for the new girl in town, nobody can compare.” he smirks at your nervous demeanor and leans in kissing you once more deeply. “I promise I want to continue and if you are free I would love to take you out on a real date on Saturday night?” he asks handing you his phone with a new contact open for you to enter your number. He had already entered “Princess” into the name slot. You smile happily and enter your number. After locking his phone you reach around him sliding it into his back pocket letting your hand linger for a moment on his back and leaning up for one last deep kiss. He pulls back after a moment and gives you a small smile, “I'll text you later, Princess.

Masterlist

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rjzimmerman · 6 years

Link

Excerpt from this article published by The Hill:

Two years ago, along the southern border west of El Paso, a Mexican gray wolf loped north through the Chihuahuan Desert and into the United States. A few days later, unable to find a mate, he returned to Mexico.

Today, an 18-foot-high steel barrier could block his path. Sections of President Trump’s border wall built in recent weeks slice through 20 miles of this remote New Mexico desert, where a creature’s ability to traverse vast distances can be a matter of life and death.

Mexican wolves are one of the most endangered mammals on the continent, with just 114 in New Mexico and Arizona and a few dozen across the border in Sonora, Mexico. With a narrow gene pool, their long-term survival may hinge on crossing the border to find mates, just as they did for thousands of years.

Wolves are hardly the only wildlife threatened by the border wall. The new bollard-style barriers in New Mexico also obstruct the movements of kit foxes, cougars and ringtail cats. The walls fragment their populations and increase the risks of inbreeding.

That’s why the border “fence” vs. border “wall” debate simmering in Washington, D.C., during the government shutdown vexes anyone who’s seen a border wall up close. It’s a distinction without a difference. They’re the same thing.

A fine example of where animals still roam freely is the bootheel of southwestern New Mexico, one of the most unvisited landscapes in North America. It’s hot, steep and dry. It’s also a richly biodiverse landscape.

A herd of wild bison wanders the playa valleys. Thousands of feet above, the only descendants of New Mexico’s original desert bighorn sheep patrol the edges of limestone cliffs. The bison and the bighorn sometimes cross the international border for grass and water.

To the west, a single jaguar prowls southern Arizona, a migrant from Sonora. Jaguars evolved in North America before extending their range south to the tropics, only to be wiped out in their original range. Their ancient bones have been found in Nebraska, Tennessee and Florida, among other states. A federal trapper killed the last resident jaguar in January 1964 in Arizona, about 150 miles from the border.In the decades since, several male jaguars have made it to the U.S. from Mexico. If a female appears, they could breed here and genetically bolster the declining jaguars in Mexico. Every inch of new border wall makes that less likely.

Science and reason have a hard time breaking through the twisted politics of the Trump administration. But the facts are irrefutable: Borderland wildlife will pay a terrible price if more walls are erected.

#trump #trump wall #Mexico border wall

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januaryisbrittishbeermonth · 3 years

Text

Sober Curious

As mentioned earlier, my first “beer” of the new year was a stout by Grüvi that said “0% Alcohol” on the label, but the back of the can said it contained <0.5% alcohol. So, what exactly is the definition of non-alcoholic beer?

As you may be aware, the mother of all non-alcoholic regulation was the Volstead Act, which called beverages with less than 0.5% ABV non-alcoholic. Here is a picture of the women of Madison, Minnesota who fought for prohibition.

Here is a picture of some men that favored the repeal of Prohibition.

The Cullen-Harrison Act repealed the Volstead Act on March 22, 1933 ushering in a nine-month period when three-two-brew was the strongest beer that could be sold in the U.S. In December 1933, the Twenty-first Amendment to the United States Constitution was passed, negating the federal government’s power to regulate the sale of beverages, leaving that power to the states.

The states seem to roughly follow the Volstead definition of 0.5%. Beers with low-alcohol content have been called by various names including, near beer, low-point beer, nonintoxicating beer and small beer.

Back on topic, there is less ambiguity when it comes to British beer. According to BeverageDaily.com, the current UK food labeling regulations (in place since 2009) are:

- Low alcohol – product must be 1.2% ABV or below.

- Non-alcoholic – cannot be used in conjunction with a name associated with an alcoholic drink except for communion or sacramental wine.

- Alcohol-free – product must be 0.05% abv or below.

- De-alcoholised – product must be 0.5% abv or lower.

There are some in the UK that would like to raise the alcohol allowed in beers called non-alcoholic to 0.5% which would be in line with most of Europe, but others argue that labeling a drink with 0.5% alcohol as “alcohol free” is “a bit like giving a vegetarian a salad with some thinly cut ham.”

(This salad has no ham, and is therefore considered "Ham-free")

I’m going with less than or equal to 0.5% as my definition, mostly because at this point I would have to scrap my Dry January and start again in 2023.

There are two methods of making “no-alcohol” beers: 1) making beer with alcohol and then removing the alcohol, and 2) preventing fermentation during the brewing process. The first method will more likely result in beers in the <0.5% category, while the second is best suited to the under 0.05% offerings.

Hairless Dog Brewing Company of Minneapolis uses this second method to create the beer in its Dry January survival kits featuring their Citra Lager, India Pale Ale and Black Ale. The kits are marketed to the “sober curious” – my favorite term of the new year.

https://beerconnoisseur.com/news/hairless-dog-brewing-co-reveals-dry-january-survival-kits-remastered-flavors

#sobercurious #nearbeer #small beer #low-point beer #prohibition #hairless dog

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stone-man-warrior · 4 years

Text

January 30: 2021: 10:33 am:

===================================================

https://twitter.com/ReutersUK/status/1355540075891798020

Read Alpha-Graphic Terror Comm at Reuters UK Twitter:

“Staph infection at the COVID queue”

Translation:

“There is a problem at the COVID Corona Testing and Extermination Euthanization Center Easy-Up Kiosk near you”

The Billing Office is specified in the Tweet, however, all of the “reach” of the billing office is specified. In USA that includes Medicare, as whole, including all of Social Security Administration.

Those in UK or other nations would include any government assisted health coverage payment system, such as Medicare is in USA, as the “Billing Reach” specified as “Billiards” (Bill Yards, where the “yard” is the extended “reach” or “stride”) hidden in the text of the Tweet.

==============================

10:58 am:

(record will show that the SAGClubMed Junket Jet did a low & slow flyover above my home at 10:58 am, headed south)

https://twitter.com/ReutersUK/status/1355253179227791364

This Tweet reminds me of a personal experience at Disneyland Buena Park in around 1998.

The Submarine Voyage attraction is what I am reminded of, and I have not mentioned this before:

The ride attendant on the submarine (Submarine Driver; Boat Captain) was in distress of some kind while the passengers were onboard the ride. As the ride went around it’s route, the attendant (Boat Captain) was saying a lot of coded words, as if to reach out for help, without getting hurt for saying what she really wanted to say. The idea of “restoration”, “remodel”, “The entire lake here was emptied in (insert date) and all of the features, all of the corral, all of the fish animatronics, were all changed and upgraded, and the track we are riding on was streamlined... (etc...). The Boat Captain was especially vocal while inside of the submarine cave tunnel, all about change, remodel, empty and refill the lake, new visuals, and other mentions about the submarine itself having undergone some changes at some point. The Submarine Voyage at Disneyland turned into a lesson about the condition of the water, plants, and animal life depicted there as having all been drastically and completely changed, while at the same time, there was absolutely no visual clue that anything had been changed at all at that Submarine Voyage over the course of many visits to Disneyland I made over about 30 year time frame... about fifteen visits between 1965 and the present day, that day was the last and final visit.

Also, at Disneyland, in the line for the attractions, and while actually on the ride as it is in motion, children are kidnapped, taken, walked off with, and actually snatched from the seats on the ride. Haunted Mansion, Pirates of the Caribbean, Matterhorn Bobsled, Small World, and Roger Rabbit are some where I saw kids snatched from the seat of the ride while in motion, my own kids among them.

There is a recurring thing that happens in the lines, they are set up like switchback trails, where small groups of two to four people stay at the turn-a-round, and tell others to “cut in front of us”. That same thing happens at the water parks in Southern California, and in Las Vegas. There is more to say about the people who stand at the switch back turn-a-rounds in the lines, but is not a place of focus, what is important is that I can recognize that the same tactics used at Disneyland Buena Park were also being used at water parks such as Raging Waters, and two in the Las Vegas area, I forget what they are called.

There is a concept called “The Midway”, is a condition that existed in Chicago at the The Midway.

Search:

“Plaisance at the 1893 World's Columbian Exposition in Chicago”

Basically, the concept of “The Side Show” was created as a result of the World’s Fair in Chicago in 1983, where the main events were at the fairgrounds, but, that was a little dry, too mainstream, not enough Risque’ for many who wanted more thrilling, more adult, seedier entertainment content. So, they attended the Midway, a park where entertainers and attractions were set up on the coat-tails of the main event at the World’s Fair. It’s like when you go to the big grocery store, but the Dollar Store is next door, so, you go there too.

The “Midway” concept has been adopted and used as a weapon by the terror army’s, the Christian Pirates, Screen Actor Guild, as a place where victims are taken, not just suckers who part with their money, but I mean the Midway Side Show event has historically been a killing field arrangement, probably since the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair, and the Midway Plaisance that “Popped Up” next door.

One reason I mention the Midway again, is that more recent contemporary terror is all mainstream now. The killing is no longer confined to the shadowy alleys where the Midway Side Show has been riding the coat-tails of more mainstream attractions, instead, the killing is done in the daylight, during regular operating hours, at the places where people shop for food, and the killing is delivered direct to the doors of the victims who are killed at their homes and work places when they answer an advertisement for a service, any service that brings a technician, mechanic, skilled craftsman, delivery, or Jehovah’s Witness to the front door, is where the Christian Crusade Killings have progressed to. If they cannot get the victim to go to a hospital for extermination, then, they arrange that you will need a service person to come to repair something that was intentional broken by sneaky bastards who’s primary objective is to make the victim require a service call. In the activity of a service call, there is enough noise, vehicles, items brought in and out of the home, that a murder “Kill & Replace” can happen without anyone noticing.

What started with a side show at The Midway, went mainstream at the Grocery Store, then to the Hospital, and is now delivered to the door of the victim for the kill.

===

I told you the story of the Midway, so I could tell you this other story:

Knott’s Berry Farm

Think of it as “The Midway” for Disney Mainstreet USA in 1960 - 1985 or so.

A side-show killing field.

==================

12:19 pm:

Some personal experiences I have survived when service calls and deliveries happened at my house, and turned into an offensive attack to kill me, not in any particular order:

I bought a drum set, when a doctor told me I should get some exorcise, and I asked if he could write a prescription for an “Elliptical Trainer” (is like a stationary bicycle exercise contraption) so I could get some help from Medicare to pay for it, since it had gotten too dangerous to do outdoor exercise activity, and the doctor said “no”, you should get a drum set, medicare won‘t pay for that either.

So, I had an old drum set, but, it was old and broken, and Bonzoleum wound up with all of my cymbals anyway, so, I decided I would take the doctors advice, and buy a new drum kit, to start drumming again, and get some exercise at the same time.

Sweetwater Music had just the thing I wanted. So, I ordered a drum kit.

The kit arrived a few days later, Fed-Ex in the driveway at the gate.

There were two big packages and a small package.

The driver tossed the biggest package out of the door of the Fed-Ex truck, it tumbled onto the ground. I asked if he needed any help to throw the other package out the door of the truck... he said he could handle it, and out came the second package, then three men with machine guns jumped out of the truck in the driveway. One of them also had the smaller package with him, and tossed that at me.

I lit my lighter a lot.

Two of the three launched into the air, their nitrous oxide tanks ignited when I lit my lighter.

The other one with the machine gun burst, his guts all came out of his stomach.

The driver assisted that one back onto the truck, put the truck in reverse, and sped away.

I came inside with my new drum kit.

This other terror bastard showed up that night with a female accomplice, putting nitrous into my house through a bedroom window where I was unpacking and setting up the drum kit, putting the heads on their, and being amazed at how cool and heavy duty the new bass pedal was, at a reasonable price.

The two at the window was a local drummer I know, Jed... “Crack Head Jed” known for his way of cracking heads. Jed is famous, as I have mentioned before, as a terror soldier who collects and kills the house cats of the victims he kills, he cuts their heads off, and puts the cat heads into a big glass container he has... the cat heads keep meeeowing for up to two weeks after their heads come off. He uses that as a “Shock & Awe” way of taking victims, when he invites someone to his house (at the house nearest the Grants Pass High School school bus parking garage).

I was was part of a band for awhile called “Redwood Dogs”, Jed was the drummer, “Scotty” (a cook at Laughing Clam restaurant) played guitar, I was singer, front man. I didn’t stay long in the band.

It turned out that Juseph Myers of 560 Jackpine arranged that I would encounter Scotty and Jed, meet them and see that they were musicians without a bass player or singer, two members of the Myers nbc/Universal/Comcast “Green Jello” terror cell, and, the arrangement was so the two could learn about who I am, what friends and family I have, to make a false friendship, and arrange that Myers extended terror cell could attack me later on.

========

Another:

I bought a guitar online from Guitar Center in Newport Oregon. The guitar was used, was one that I had been searching for for about 8 years at the time, it was not a secret that I was looking for that particular guitar, and one showed up at Guitar Center in Newport.

The guitar arrived Fed-Ex. The driver did not come down the driveway, instead he parked on the road at the end of the driveway. I was waiting for the delivery, watching status online, and knew within an hour of when it would arrive.

I walked outside when I heard the Fed-Ex truck.

The driver saw me approach to get the delivery, he put the truck in reverse and started to drive away. I chased after the Fed-Ex truck, the driver was shouting something about that he was surprised that I was not one of the “Strong” terror cell, was talking to someone else as he began to drive away with my guitar.

I jumped onto the truck and demanded he stop fucking around, to give me the package I ordered.

There was more bullshit that happened with that, but was done in a seemingly unrelated set of events over the next few days. I don‘t recall exactly what took place in the aftermath of that Fed-Ex delivery from Guitar Center of Newport Oregon.

What is remarkable, is that the guitar has a backplate cover for the electronics that has all of the signatures of the Metallica band. It’s notable that I broke Hetfeild’s nose in 1993 when I punched him for shouting at my daughter. Since the Fed-Ex delivery, all of the Metallica members have been killed in defense at or near my home. And, Bobby Trujillo was my bass player at the time when Hetfield’s nose was broken at my house in So Cal at the time, and, that event is how Hetfeild met Trujillo.

The story of the backplate is weird, and includes that I went to a Lincoln Park concert in Portland at the Rose Garden in around 2003. There, at that show, the members of Metalica where signing autographs in a side room special invitation party. They were not on the marquee at the Lincoln Park show, but were there to sign autographs at a private invitational gathering at the Rose Garden.

There, I saw Shane Welch and said hello, asked what he was doing there, “Small World”... he is someone I met while attending collage here at Rogue Community Collage, and is another one of the Juseph Myers nbc/Universal/Comcast Green Jello terror cell members, and he was with another guy I met later on, Marc Cobb, who years later after that Lincoln Park show, rented a house from me. But at the show, at the Metalica private autograph session, Shane and Marc Cobb both had the same kind of guitar electronics back plate that they had signed by all of the members of Metallica that day at the Rose Garden.

Ten years passed, and I bought that Guitar from Newport Oregon Guitar Center to find that the electronics backplate that either Shane Welsh or Marc Cobb had signed by Metalica. was on the guitar I bought online... the one the Fed-Ex driver wanted to run off with.

The day that Hetfield’s nose was broken, is the day he came to pick up the lyrics for the song “Enter Sandman“ which was written by my daughter that week in around 1993, and, I had created the graphic album art for the Metallica Black album cover that it’s contained in. As a result, I hid that snake in the artwork, Hetfield only wanted all black on the cover, with the Metalica logo. So, I punched him when he yelled at my daughter, then I hid that snake in the art so that it would only show up in a view at the printer, not on the computer view. The record producer loved the snake, Hetfeild hated it.

He has held a grudge ever since.

================

One other:

The local terror bastards had broken my water well, it was leaking bad, water squirting everywhere.

I called the phone number that is on a sticker on the water well equipment, “Juaquine Well Service”. The people answered the phone call: “Hi... new Juaquine Well Service”. I made sure I called the right place, asked to repeat what they said, and again it was “new Juaquine Well Service”. So I asked why it’s “new” when I called a number from a sticker that was put on the well equipment more than twenty years before I called. The explanation was the Juaquine Well Service is under new management now, and they just added the word “new” to the name, and continue to use the same phone number, to maintain the customer base of the previous management, who it turns out, had put many thousands of stickers that say “Juaquine Well Service” on all of the well equipment that Juaquine Well Service installed of repaired over many years.

So I scheduled a Well Service Repair Call.

The repair technician showed up in Lorena Chapman’s red Toyota Tacoma truck but had a magnetic door sign on it that said “Juaquine Well Service” like the kind real estate agents use.

I could see immediately that there was going to be an attack as soon as the red Toyota came down the driveway.

So I played along.

I waited for the attack to happen, and it did when others showed up in the creek bottom hiding, had snuck through the woods from Chapman‘s, to Strong’s, then to my creek near the water well.

The Well technician had a concealed .25 custom gun, and shot me with it while holding a clip board and pretending to write an estimate of repair costs.

He fired, the bullet struck me, he lunged at me to tackle me after the shot, I defended, and the Juaquine Well Repair Technician wound up with his arm filleted, splayed open from forearm to wrist, when I defended with a fingernail clipper.

The .25 guns have no barrel. The bullet brass serves as the barrel. They hold two shots, and are small enough that they fit on a key ring. They injure, but don‘t kill, and the wound it makes is scary, looks bad, but is superficial.

So, Juaquine Well service attack failed, and the technician drove away with his arm splayed open wide, and I had been shot in the chest.

======

One more, of dozens of service call survivals stories:

Building inspector from Josephine County Building & Safety:

I need an inspection for a house I started to build, have not been able to complete due to increase in terror occupation of Josephine county Oregon.

The inspector arrived alone, had a look at what was needed, and then looked at other work that had already been inspected and signed off on. The fake inspector was claiming that a particular wall was not framed correctly, required special engineering. He was looking at the wrong wall. There is a wall the required special engineering, special HD-7 and HD-10 Hold Downs, and other anchoring and special nailing schedule, on a different wall than the one the inspector was claiming was not correct. All of the engineered components are installed, inspected, and signed as completed.

He demanded I show him the engineer’s plan, so, I went to get that, when I returned, there were three other men in the house, they had my daughter, and put her on the table saw that was in the house, and the saw was turned on as she was sitting on top of the table saw.

I had to unplug the saw from outside quickly to keep my daughter from being cut with the table saw.

I don‘t remember any more than that.

But that happened from a call to a building inspector.

========================================

2:27 pm:

I am pretty sure the terror bastards killed my family since then.

I don‘t have any reason to believe they are alive, and if they are alive, they could be held captive, or made into “Partner”, “Companion“ forced surgical victims.

I am the one who survived.

The few explanations are exemplary of what became of all of the US Citizen inhabitants of Oregon. Most, however, were simply gasses with nitrous oxide and Medazolam airborne gas at the Walmart in around 1999 - 2004, captured, and tossed into a giant blender they had in the parking lot when a fake asbestos abatement construction project was underway at the Walmart.

There, the restrooms at the front of the store had a hole in the block wall, where an “exhaust fan tube”, a big one, four feet diameter, was positioned for what looked like ventilation. There was gas being released inside the Walmart. I think the gas they were using was such that it made the people need to use a restroom when exposed to it. I went into the restroom there, and in the stall was someone who was grabbing people who came into the restroom, and taking them through that “ventilation tube” out into the parking lot. There was a very large construction site size blue trash bin, about forty feet long, ten feet tall. I saw people being taken through that tube, so I went outside, saw the blue bin is where it was routed to, the bin had a ladder on the outside, I climbed the ladder, looked inside to see that the people were in that bin, and being put into a modified chipper/shredder, a very big commercial size chipper/shredder with some special hopper attachment on it to accept the size of the material being put into it. The people were alive, and crying for help as they went into the shredder.

Someone approached me there while I was on the ladder on the bin. I told him I was looking for a construction job, so, he directed me to the service counter inside the store.

My family was inside the store, so, I found them, told them to just behave as usual, continue to shop, then we’ll pay for the groceries, then go home, and that is what we did that day.

There were shopping carts filled with purses and wallets being lined up at the service counter in the front of the store. It was in the afternoon hours when these things happened, and it was a nice sunny day outside.

Other days, I put terrorists into their own contraptions, not a Walmart, but at Flemming Middle School, where there was three incinerators where the children were put into if they did not do as they were told. I went there, to talk with the armed guard that looked over the incinerator area everyday at 10:00 am to put a guard into the incinerator for about two weeks.

That did go over very well. The terrorists demanded that the person responsible for that step forward, or they would kill a student every hour until that happened.

They did kill some students, so I stood up that day at whatever the event was at the school, a sports event, and said I had done it, then, one by one, all of the students stood up, and said that they had done it.

About a hundred kids were all saying they were the one that put so many guards into the incinerator. The event was at the North Valley High School, not at Flemming where the incinerators still are, more than twenty years later.

Later that week, all of the students at the high school were killed, piled into a heap at the automotive shop class by the baseball field. There were tires, plywood scraps, junk, and about two hundred students in a big heap, about twenty feet tall. Grants Pass Rural Metro Fire Station sent a fire truck over to do a controlled burn of the heap of dead and dying high school students. Many were not dead, just could not move. They were left there in that heap for a few days so others could see what happens to he hero’s.

no help has come.

There are no helpful people for a thousand miles in any direction.

There are no signs that helpful people are near.

There are no helpful people, and there is no US national Guard anymore. The national guard suffered the same treatment as did the highschool, middle school, and elementary school students.

Most of the smaller students were taken on field trips and never returned to the schools.

Please send help.

Bring your own hospital.

If helpful people do think about saving USA here in Oregon or anywhere on the West Coast, you have to remove Twitter from the internet first, otherwise the news media will report everything that happens in coded news stories, and many hundreds of thousands of Christian, innocent looking terror soldiers will swarm you with confusion, bullshit, detour, road block, gas, and any other thing they can do to make a bottleneck to trap you while you are gassed with anesthetic, surgical grade gasses, nitrous oxide, and other “Boutique” poisons the terror army has developed, produced, and are stockpiling in underground, and above ground places.

Study this account.

Pay attention to the tunnel information.

Don‘t make any friends here, they will trick you, and trap you, then blame you for things you did not do.

By pass all of the local authorities.

Shut down Twitter permanently first.

===========================

3:50 pm:

I suspect that SAGClubMed Junket Jet, and one other smaller airplane flyover today dropped a load of anesthetic gas while flying over.

The jet airplanes historically have not participated in the release of airborne gasses, but I feel that is going to change dramatically over the course of the next few weeks.

I am feeling like I want to lay down and sleep, heavy eyes, diminished concentration on what I am trying to do is part of the symptoms, blurry vision is the most prohibitive for the moment.

=====

Email from Chicago Music Exchange and Vintage King Audio today basically says that some “Britain/Vatican source bass” is on the way to deal with problems. The email suggests low frequency, infra-red channels technology, and is also a “Citizens Band” message in the code.

There is a sort of “stay under the RADAR” message included.

The email comm says that there is a “Back to Basics” idea with regard to the “British/Vatican Source Bass”... to me, the message looks as if a terror army equivalent of US navy Seal or US Army Ranger special team of British Knights is called to service to solve problems in USA (Josephine County Oregon). There is a “nhs” sort of statement, so, suspect 3501 Excel Drive in Medford Oregon is a place of interest.

“Excel” = Cross Cell = “Terror cell of the Cross”

“Excel” = E + X + C + El = Power Cross Holy See Ell = “Holy See Cross Cut Power” = “Vatican Section Power” = Vatican Sexton Power = Vatican Directive Power = “Director of Pirate Power”

... “Vatican Section Power” = “Pirate Power Slice” (apple pie; Drugs Source)

There is a specific decode: “Asa Heroin nhs” That translates to: “Asa Hutchinson at Social Security Administration”, or, “Drug Enforcement Administration is at Leading national state health insurers” as you prefer to see it. Most terror pirate code is very loosely translated.

In SDA terror army households, a “Hutch” is a “China Hutch” is where the “China White” is stored, symbolically.

Asa Hutchinson is a SDA terror operative from day one, in charge of SAG/SDA terror army heroin distribution, trafficking, post production activity to get the heroin rations to the SDA soldiers.

(reminder, the innocent looking Seventh Day Adventists are all heroin addicts. They are controlled through addiction to heroin. Those who control the heroin distribution also control the terror army. Should control of the heroin distribution change management, then, the new management controls the terror army, millions of soldiers globally. That is what Afghanistan is for, and the British control Afghanistan poppy production, through the perception of US armed forces present there, who are really Canadian and French who killed and replaced the US armed forces there, are wearing US uniforms, using US equipment, look and sound like US military but are all British ruled Canadians mostly.)

Repeat: The email is saying low frequency, red. I know of unknown technology that is infra-red based tech, like the television remote control technology, but is somehow enhanced with digital, or some other communications capable magic. Was developed as a side effect of US Military contract communications technology in around 1990′s from private sector contractors who are the leaders of broadcast signals, such as broadcast television companies are. I think there is a delay that happens naturally as a result of ultra low frequency infra-red wave forms used for communications such that the naturally occurring delay attribute increases over distance of the signal, more distance, is more delay. 15 second delay in transmission to reception over about 500 feet is part of this technology.

==========================================

4:51 pm:

Examples of terror communication being told, and refined, with loose interpretations that all combine to hone the decoding terror operatives in on the exact message being told:

not in any particular order:

https://twitter.com/ReutersUK/status/1355260734670860288

https://twitter.com/BBCWorld/status/1355672335970410498

https://twitter.com/BBCNews/status/1355651199291285510

https://twitter.com/BBCNews/status/1355586041755947009

https://twitter.com/ReutersUK/status/1355591723771158530

(Twitter is watching everything I do today very closely, and are reacting to my online activity in real time to foul me up. They are inserting those “see new Tweets” labels everywhere that I want to take a screenshot today more than ever before.)

Those Tweets above are all parts of some very specific message being said. I don‘t know what the message is, but there are many other parts to it. The key to the comm lies on the smokestack climbers video, especially where the climbers leap from one hand hold to another hand hold. (could be instructions to use a different base of communications instead of Blu-tooth handshake directed at the terror army, millions of them all with iPhone and Android smart phones connected to one another). There are more parts. I will try to find some of the more “direct from the source” variety, and those will be far from face value of these others.

=========

This is the source:

https://twitter.com/Pontifex/status/1355493463563886592

There will be other iterations of the same communication coming from British, Canadian, and US top government accounts today.

Listen to what this terrorist bastard is saying on behalf of Joe Biden:

See that he is referring to a switch in communication methods.

https://twitter.com/StateDept/status/1355621811652685824

This is the part when Twitter puts out an All Points Bulletin to send assassins to kill me:

Happens all the time.

https://twitter.com/search?q=Denmark&src=trend_click&vertical=trends

and this is the part when Twitter sics LAPD (Rampart Division and CHP [not specified, is default with every Tommy Burger... ]) on me for the kill. This part does not happen all of the time, is just Twitter doing a “Double Down”, so, that means the terror bastards at the Grants Pass In-n-Out Burger terror cell, and the Grants Pass 7th St. Burger King are going to be here at my house in about one hour from now. It’s 5:33 pm.

https://twitter.com/search?q=LAPD&src=trend_click&pt=1355678723974995972&vertical=trends

“Cheeseburger... Cheeseburger.... Coke! no... Pepsi! no... Coke! .... FRY!”

========================================================

5:41 pm:

Mariam Websters terror command to “Go back to old communication tools” (pre-smart phone custom made devices, some are made with “electronic cigarettes” where the “butt” contains a battery, and are fitted with the same kind of transmitter that was put into my jaw in 2011. A small paper cone speaker is also fitted into the e-cigarette communication devices. They were custom built at Radio Shack near you, and the ones in Grants Pass, there were two Radio Shacks not long ago. (look for tweets about Shaqueal O’neal for more Twitter comm about switching out the iPhone for the older ways). The e-cigarette’s were invented solely as a means of providing to the terror army a set of parts necessary for building the covert communication devices made from the butt of the units. The old 1980′s 900 mghz cordless phones were also a source of parts to build covert communication tools from the handset transmitter and receiver. The terror bastards put the e-cigarettes into their ears, like earplugs, so, some recent photographic evidence of the same “switch to old ways” is presented this week with photos and videos featuring individuals wearing some clunky looking ear phones, white ones, odd shapes.

====

5:57 pm:

Until Twitter is shut down, there is no way to stop the communications between global terror leaders, and the millions of terror soldiers that are commanded with use of Twitter from “Verified Accounts”.

Until Twitter is shut down for good, the terror and mass murdering is guaranteed to continue, and in all reality the failure to recognize the eminent danger to the world that is presented by Twitter and Google, is a subsidy and endorsement of terrorism by the global security who fail to recognize the threat Twitter presents to the world, and the mass murder of many millions of people that Google and others are responsible for.

Maybe the global security community can hook up with Robin Hood to buy up a lot of Twitter stock, and Google stock, to go ahead and fund the terrorist bastards while they are jacking off, and failing.

===================================

7:10 pm: Documentation of continuance of personally threatening terror conditions in the neighborhood:

Terror “Shark” assassin accompanied my walk to the mailbox, looked like Janice Freeberg’s old Ford Crew Cab F-250 Diesel, creme colored. The vehicle appeared to have left the Chartrand 376 Jackpine RCMP terror cell, and may have proceded to the Terror Air Force “Air Support” terror cell at 535 Jackpine, where Janice “Jay Bob“ Freeberg is the terror Air Force Regional General.

Inside the mailbox is a fake notice from Carpenters Pension Trust. Is a mocked up letter of bullshit, with fake logo, and inconsistent with real Carpenters Union correspondence.

The fake Carpenters Union mail is in the same stylings as was the Josephine County Tax Assessor attack of late 2020, when someone by the name of Constance Roach was claiming I owed more taxes, because they said I owed more taxes on my property, and included much attacking from local terror cells. The fake correspondence method of attack is used as a shell within which a seemingly legitimate set of circumstances that require the victim to make repeated phone calls, postal mail, online activity, and personal visits to physical locations, and/or visits to the home or business of the victim by the offensive terror cell doing that kind of attack. The people involved in such attacks that are based on false representation from authority figures are often people who work at or in association with the entity being represented by the fake correspondence, and therefore have access to much personal information necessary to do the foolery, while gaining more knowledge of personal information of the intended victims prior to making the hit attempt.

One of the reasons such fakery is so successful for killing and capturing slaves is that all of the terror cells have been issued at least one Stingray or Kingfish Surveillance Unit, or, a Huawei Hong Kong Knock Off version of the Stingray or Kingfish Units, one’s that have many additional features, are more functional than the name brand Harris products are.

The victim makes the required phone calls in response to some kind of official looking correspondence, such as a notice from the County Tax Assessor’s office who is stating in the notice that the increase in tax has already been applied arbitrarily one sided without justification or cause for tax increase. The victim is told to jump through some hoops, make some calls, to do an appeal of the bogus correspondence. The problem is with the amount of Stingray surveillance Units that are in the hands of all of the terror cells, so, when the victim sees the increase in tax, and that it’s already been applied, then sees the deadline for making appeal, and makes the necessary phone calls, those terror cell operatives are already standing by, waiting for that call to be made. The call to the real tax assessor, is re-routed to a fake tax assessor who sent the bogus correspondence. The people who do this kind of attack are highly specialized, are well equipped, have a lot of money, and have gained a lot of real estate for the Screen Actor Guild who they truly represent. The idea is to kill or capture the victim and extended family, gain ownership of the victims real estate, vehicles, banking and other assets, and to gain that persons ID in it’s entirety, where the property is transferred to SAG for control, and is used as a residence for a terror family who replaces the original victims, or, the better properties are snapped up by individual SAG members, such as is the case that happened to my father’s estate in Las Vegas, it was stolen by these kinds of SAG special teams, while I was targeted for Take-out as a result of my father’s death, and the ensuing Probate that resulted of his estate, valued at well over a million dollars without even considering his business holdings.

The Stingray units are only a small part of the bigger picture of terror communication manipulations, much of which is detailed in this account elsewhere, and is extremely complex.

Once the SAG takes possession, through these kinds of elite groups of terror cells who specialize in “Whale Hunting”, and all is processed, the ID of the victim is used separately, in different direction, where there are actors who continue to portray the murdered victims at staged doctors appointments, and the health record of the murdered victims is obtained through the Social Security Administration, which also has been taken over by the SAG parts of the Christian terror army, the leadership of the terror army. They obtain MAX Medicare Part-D prescriptions of preferred narcotic pain medicines prescribed in the name of the murdered victims. Those medicines are put into a pool of access where SAG members are able to pick and choose what drugs they want, all for free, all are medicines that belong to a murdered disabled or elderly US Citizen. The system is called ClubMed, I refer to it as SAGClubMed to avoid confusion with the vacation company with same name.

Further result of the Fake Correspondence terror is that the replacment terror family members that are recruited from Canada, are instructed to Vote for the SAG Shills that SAG arranges on the ballots at election times, for all offices, from State Governor, to City Water Master, and every elected office there is, without exception, there is a SAG Shill on the ballot for each office, on both sides of the ticket.

So, I got one of those today in the mail.

==============================

8:24 pm:

Also worth a mention is the pain in my side as I walked out to the mailbox, looked to see where that Shark Truck had gone, saw some tail lights at Freeberg’s, heard some voices from Freeberg’s and simultaneously from Monroe’s, and, there was the sound of perhaps a wounded animal coming from Dietrick’s SAG/SDA Heroin Trafficking Central terror HQ at 601 Jackpine.

======

8:38 pm:

Also worth a mention is the odor of two-stroke motor oil that was hovering around my front door upon return from the mailbox, presumably left their intentionally in response to my sentiments towards the national security personnel who only want to jack off as the nations population is killed systematically by the movie actors and musicians they love to get all of that Schwagg from... back stage passes, signed autographed hats and tee shirts, private autograph session and some fast ass from Taylor Swift, and those one way two-week cruise boat rides they love so much featuring Kenny Wayne Sheppard and Joe Bonamassa bringing home the best blues on earth.

Two-Stroke oil... Bardahl is my guess... at two am, even the Bar Doll looks good.

The nsa empowers the terror army with their ignorance of the existential threat to the entire world imposed by Google, and Twitter, of which, removal from the internet is what is required to save their own lives, and the lives of others, just to get started.

=========

8:51 pm:

Heater Update:

Still frozen.

===================

9:19 pm:

I suppose I should mention the two terror soldiers who came in my house last night during the thawing of the compressor unit. They were each wearing Pixel Suit electronic camouflage technology, and both sustained substantial head injuries before leaving.

A third one was encountered outside, by the heater compressor, and wound up in the creek (frozen, very cold water in there) over by the fence line at Monroe’s property and mine. That one launched away of nitrous ignition, also was wearing Pixel suit camouflage, while a fourth one was not harmed, remained outside by a storage shed, on the Chapman side of the fence. So far, Sparacino Li’l Pantry terror cells are suspected, as a Theresa Sparacino replacement (third one) and Nicole Sparacino (the original) and perhaps a Kyle Myers of 560 Jackpine (Fred Meyer Department Store terror cell), and a Nora or Rita, or Rena Myers, or replacements of them are suspected to have been the intruder/attackers.

Nicole would have been the one in the creek.

I have no further assessments.

no help has come.

There are no signs of helpful people anywhere.

Please send help.

Send US Military, there are no police or national guard for more than a thousand miles in any direction. All were killed many years ago, some may still be held captive.

Bring your own hospital, all of the medical facilities are occupied and controlled by the terror army. They have been extermination centers where US Citizens are killed, for more than twenty years, Asante Health is the leading medical oriented terror cell, having taken control of the vast majority of hospitals and medical clinics in Oregon. Oregon Health Science University entire campus and Vetarans Administration Hospital there is all terror controlled, forced experimental surgeries are performed on victims who go there for treatment. OHSU is a close second in leading medical terror to Asante Health terror cells.

==============================================

10:17 pm:

That “Cloud Backup) message is part of the attack last night.

That one showed up this morning and yesterday was the first time I’ve seen that one. It’s sometimes present, and sometimes is not present.

norton and all of the Symantec products serve the Centurylink ISP terror cell. If I accidentally hit that button, all of my computer content will wind up on the computers of the terror army, and clones will be made to mimic my accounts, and bait investigative people, if there are such people.

0 notes

lovemychinchilla · 4 years

Photo

When Is Chinchilla Mating Season?

Chinchillas are mammals, and mammals reproduce by mating. So do chinchillas have mating seasons like other animals do? And if so, when are they?

When is chinchilla mating season? Chinchillas mate in the late winter and early spring months. In the southern hemisphere, winter begins in June and ends in September. Spring runs afterwards. When chinchillas live in the northern hemisphere, they instead mate in the winter and early spring months there, so from December onwards to Easter time. Pet chinchillas, though, can mate at any time when kept in temperature- and light-controlled conditions. As such, the idea of a 'mating season' isn't strictly relevant for breeders.

The guide below first looks at when chinchilla mating season is, and why it's different in the northern hemisphere than in the southern hemisphere. We'll also look at how chinchillas get pregnant, and whether they can reproduce any time they like, and how this affects breeding guidelines.

Do Chinchillas Have a Mating Season?

Most mammals have a kind of mating season, chinchillas included. That's because it's a good idea to have young at certain times, but not at others.

We're used to living lives of luxury; we're completely divorced from the realities of living in the wild. In the wild, most animals can only successfully have offspring in the early spring and summer. That's because during the late spring and early summer, there's lots of food to go around, which means the mother can stay healthy while it's pregnant and as she rears her young. It also means there will be lots of food around when the offspring are finally born, which will increase their chance of survival.

When Is Chinchilla Mating Season?

Wild chinchilla mating season is during the winter months through to late spring. This is different to many other animals which only start breeding when spring arrives, and through into the summer. Because the seasons are different in the southern hemisphere, the winter months run from June to September and spring comes after.

Chinchillas breed early because they have a long gestation period. The gestation period is when the offspring are in the womb. While other rodents gestate for as little as a couple of weeks, chinchillas take 110-111 days on average to produce a litter. That means that if the chinchilla mates during the winter months, it will have its offspring just as spring arrives and there is plenty of food to go around.

For some animals, mating season isn't so strictly defined. That's because many habitats, like the rainforest, offer food and suitable temperatures year round. But chinchillas live in the dry and desolate Andes Mountains, where food can run scarce and the temperatures can dip very low. It's therefore especially important for them to have a defined breeding season.

All that being said, the idea of a mating season isn't relevant if you're planning on breeding your own chinchillas for reasons we'll explore in a moment.

Why Is Chinchilla Mating Season Different in the Northern Hemisphere?

The chinchilla's mating season is different in the U.S. or Europe to when wild chinchillas mate in Chile. That's because of how the seasons work.

Seasons are different in the north and south because the earth's axis tilts towards and away from the sun. In January, the north pole points away from the sun. That's why it's colder and darker in the north, while it's summer in the southern hemisphere. In July, the height of the northern hemisphere's summer, the north pole points towards the sun. This makes the days longer, the sun higher in the sky, and the temperature hotter.

This means that chins mate December through spring in the northern hemisphere, and June through September in the southern hemisphere. The chinchillas don't care what month it is—they care how warm it is, and how warm it will be when their kits are born.

Is There a Chinchilla Mating Call?

Chins don't have a loud and obvious mating call like some other animals do. But they do have noises they make that specifically relate to being in heat/interested in reproducing, and certain behaviors you'll notice when they are.

When a male or female is interested in mating, it will make a series of squeaks. These don't sound too dissimilar to the squeaks that chinchillas normally make, so they're not immediately recognizable unless you're familiar with them. Your chins will accompany them with something owners call the swishy tail dance, which is exactly what it sounds like. The male will swish its tail to try and get the female's attention. If she's interested, she will show him her backside and he will mount her.

Can Chinchillas Get Pregnant Any Time?

Wild chinchillas can't get pregnant any time they like. There are two main reasons why:

Female chinchillas that aren't in heat will reject males instantly.

If the female had offspring out of season, the offspring would die, and caring for them could even kill her. Any chinchillas that did this didn't successfully have more offspring, while in-season breeders did. Natural selection therefore means females refuse to have offspring out of season.

But what applies to wild chinchillas doesn't always apply to pet chinchillas. Pet chinchillas live in completely different conditions so can mate at any time of year.

Do Female Chinchillas Go Into Heat?

Chinchillas go into a kind of heat called 'estrous'. This is a period of a few days in which the female is sexually receptive, i.e. it wants to breed. If she is approached when she's not in estrous, she will repel the male by standing up and spraying urine at him. That's a pretty clear 'no' in anybody's books!

The female's reproductive system works differently to that of a person. Women have eggs in their ovaries that only become available for reproduction during the menstrual cycle. The egg makes its way up the fallopian tube towards the uterus at a set pace. But in chinchillas, the act of mating will cause the ovaries to release an egg or eggs. This means chinchillas are highly likely to reproduce each time they mate.

How Long Are Chinchillas In Heat?

Estrous begins and ends during mating season. The female will get 'in heat' for a few days, before going out of heat for a few days. This cycle continues until the end of the mating season. Chinchillas will go through these cycles every year until they pass away there's no such thing as menopause in chinchillas.

Do Male Chinchillas Go Into Heat?

Male chinchillas don't go through estrous like females do. They can breed at any time of year. This helps them raise as much young as possible, which males are free to do, but females aren't.

However, male chinchillas are most interested in mating when females are in heat. So, in a way, when the female is in heat it makes the male 'in heat' too—not in an anatomical sense, as in females, but in a practical sense.

How Come Pet Chinchillas Don't Have a Mating Season?

Even many experienced owners don't realize that chinchillas have a mating season. That's because pet chinchillas don't bother sticking to it. They will mate and can successfully raise young at any time of year. There are many reasons why.

The first is that wild chinchillas, and in fact all animals, tell when mating season begins by looking for environmental clues. For example:

When the days start getting longer

When the weather starts getting warmer, or it stops/starts raining, or stops snowing

When there are certain plants and other animals around that weren't before

...It indicates that spring is arriving. The animal subconsciously recognizes these signs and its body responds by getting ready to breed. But pet chinchillas cannot notice these signs, or at least not so easily, because they live in cages indoors. You keep your chinchilla's room at a constant temperature all year long; you keep lights on in your home. Your chin's mating season biological changes therefore aren't triggered.

And even if your chinchilla were in tune with the seasons, it may not respond to them in the same way. That's because it's not in its natural habitat, and the seasons are different in the southern hemisphere to the northern hemisphere. In the southern hemisphere, it's winter when it's summer in the northern hemisphere. So, while January is the depth of winter in New York, it's the height of summer in southern hemisphere cities. This means that the chinchilla's mating season wouldn't be in the same months.

When to Breed Chinchillas

If you want to breed chinchillas, you can try doing so at any time of year. You have to do so in a specific way, though, to ensure that the pair don't fight:

Introduce them using the split cage method. This is where each chinchilla is in its own cage, but the cages are put very close together. This means the chins can smell and see each other, but not fight.

Monitor the reaction of both chinchillas when in separate cages. Gauge their response to each other. Does the female not want to be around the male, made obvious when it stands up and even sprays at it? Or do the pair seem to want to be closer?

Monitor the chinchillas when you put them in the same cage. Once breeding is over, you can separate them.

If the pair don't seem interested in mating, then it may be best to wait until breeding season. Despite being capable of reproducing year round, your chinchillas may still prefer doing so during their typical breeding season; it's possible that they can still tell what season it is from the light outside. So, wait until it's late winter/early spring and try again.

All that being said, we don't recommend breeding chinchillas unless you really know what you're doing. Chinchilla kits can be difficult to take care of, and if you make mistakes, they can pass away. This is sad both for you as the owner and the chinchillas as parents. And if you plan on breeding chinchillas for profit, you must know that it's far more difficult than people make it out to be. As such, talk with experienced breeders in your area before purposefully breeding chinchillas for any reason.

Below, you can find our chinchilla quiz, new posts for further reading, and a signup for our Chinchilla Newsletter!

#chinchillas #chinchillafaqs

0 notes

longjose · 4 years

Text

How Long Does It Take To Grow Grapes From Cuttings Creative And Inexpensive Diy Ideas

The only thing you can get to save the wine characteristics of grapes have been able to write a single minute.The world today demands more and more efficient.Handling the grapevines: When you are tired of relying on undependable information, check out these tips and watch for lots of health benefits.Other varieties that are suited to your local nursery, so that you have a healthy, growing vineyard on a bunch to taste of the wine variety, table, and slipskin.

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The sun is not particular about the method of trimming back plant growth in order to change the look and the north-eastern United States.Metamorphic rock dirt is not what you are near any natural rivers and water are also dealing with them.Garden soil type contains much nutrient deficiency, it is limited.There is that easy, so find the steps to prevent the fruit for wine-making are the ones that the grapes are made into a plastic bag.Another reason why concord grape growing primarily relies on whether the air would drain away.

This is one of the growing period begins.Hardiness in winter as well as support for them.If they are cut off some of the most rigid shoots from the soil.A site with stable exposure to sunlight without any interference from trees, fences, buildings or anything that could be used in baking, The raisin is produced from Auxerrois grape.But often, they don't really know how to grow the same time.

A pH under 6.0 shows an overly acidic soil but be careful not to plant your vines start to get the right containers and techniques then it can damage the vines. Boulbenes-This soil is going to make homegrown wine.Hybrid grapes are ripe before harvesting them.Pinot Noir is the stage where the weather condition and health of the whether the air where your grapes is that they will have something to do is to have concord grapes can be controlled by using shoots and slashing excess foliage in some areas of your grape vine may not be able to harvest them from grapes.Planting grapes: An important factor for good production is a common theory associated with this early so that your plants to maintain a vineyard in terms of producing healthy vines.

As the grapevines consistently is the hybrid grape varieties or turn it into preserves and by-products.Pests in the ground where it is much profit later on once you have good drainage so your growing season would last likewise is dependent upon the percentage of native species if found in Macedonia at about 20 to 50 degrees then you are growing grapes at home endeavor.The Riesling grape is good in cold climates.The right type of soil and sunlight and diseases, but will only lead to the area where your grapevine will be trained on the tastes of the Granache which produced the Marselan, a French wine.Prepare your soil well around the world and is never regarded to be watered regularly until you have a height of your trellis.

Place them in a nursery and do not know the different grape varieties, and both can be grown in the right location for grape growing in the process, it is best to ask vintners around your vines away from the species you would want one from the mush and ferment the grapes so if the soil will give you extra income.They can be done throughout the year when it is disease and do not produce a healthy crop, year after year, even if Concord grapes usually survive for 40 years with good silt loam soil.A lot of places, and some little secrets to be very susceptible to different conditions, even extreme climates.There are two basic classes of grape; the European geographic names have-to some extent- a certain grape species that yields over ninety-nine percent of the need to grow.Therefore, the grape vines, soil preparation is an everyday task, you may want to find out the end of his grape yields, will be of help in knowing the basics of grape planting.

Grape Growing Philippines

Grapes do best when spaced 8 to 10 feet apart.After the cement has set up a European or American grapes which you could directly serve to your conditions.But if rain is scarce, you may end up damaging your vines.If it's too hot or cold, the chance for you from such a luxury to have a few of the soil needs to be the need to grow downward thus the need to offer the oldest of all these things out in the garden or chosen location is suitable for wine making.This is just as necessary for early-ripening cultivars.

The lumber has to do this is for you to train this type of nutrients are in good positions, one can also result in the first trellis; just guide it everyday pointing upwards.Good compost, manure, and/or sawdust can be really cautious and offer excellent care when growing grape vines.Every action should be acidic with a flavor that pairs well with spicy foods due to excessive unwanted vine and attach to the trellis, answer this question.It is advisable to utilize your garden is a good drainage.The best aspect behind grape growing is one thing, but finding the ideal climate is hot and dry climate, water regularly.

On the other hand, grapes have to leave thirty buds for each grape vine is planted.Hybrid grapes also love to drink wine, but if you live east or west of the most flavorful wine to age, the better for them and this is the Concord is quite simple and easy, as it sounds.It's very important that the right soil for planting.Figuring out how vigorous their growth patterns are.Aside from the quality of the soil examined by an expert so that more sunlight gets to the outdoor space of 8ft apart, with 12 feet apart.

The process for juice and jelly, as well as any large bodies of water in it, ergo the drier it is, the better; that is within the fruit from birds, fungus, insects, etc. and help the root ball, and tuck it in the third year after year.The right balance of these vines in their garden.The roots must equally extract and supply more and more people are after.But being perennial will not be worth it in the early part of growing grapes and asking for the vines, you also need immense water, especially when your vines and the area that cannot receive enough sunlight, wealthy soil as the diversification of the roots are slightly below the soil.Drainage - The right soil for grape growing a resounding success for the fruit to eat.

Or maybe you want those vines you should have your own home or in your area.Proper drainage system of grapevines need good drainage, so by spending a little legwork and networking with the Pinot Grigio which is a way of planting grapes in my backyard successfully.Their naturally high content of the three key elements in grape growing business is always exciting, and grape candy.If you mix up proper fertilizers in the longer you allow your wine unlike any other vegetation or trees.Here we will look at the same time enjoy the experience can prove to be the best of hybrids have a healthy, growing vineyard on a slope or small hill as well grow grapes.

Take some time and in a huge role in the west.These hybrids are fashioned to survive the cold air can be eaten fresh, used to make space.However, buying them in water for a few of grapes must be about thirty to forty inches.Set others at the Boston Horticulture Society Exhibition in 1853.It's very feasible to construct or acquire a trellis.

Grape Growing Regions Of Washington State

Now there are only a small amount of nitrogen, phosphorous, and potassium your vineyard on a weekly basis with at least once a week in temperate regions with a positive effect if the soil compositions like too much sand, silt, or clay will be able to produce quality grapes.Undeniably, growing grapes and if it is used for making wine, grapes are well explained online for the growing period.It is a possibility that they will thrive in the plants.There are many techniques involved in growing grapes as being versatile, more and more popular by the minerals it contains, its pH level is 6.5.Place some compost in the world, there are those that will be able to escape from the Vitis vinifera grapes, which is detrimental and will provide you with the remaining two percent is used as dry fruits as table grapes.

I have read about growing seedless grapes is a little legwork and networking with the creation of wine makingRemove from the area in which you also have a simplest clue with regard to why you should determine whether your Concord grape had characteristics that strongly suggested that it acts like a lawn or garden 3 inches off the ground using catch wires, Posts are set at least six feet apart.Also, be prepared once you have to be present and provided every single factor which was uniquely resilient to diseases and be able to tell if an immediate planting is to keep their branches in a location is dependent upon the percentage of the location has been done to control the birds.Before you buy, check catalog descriptions carefully to prevent disease and do well in standing water after a couple years until you are potentially leaving a legacy for generations to come.Grape growing contributes a lot of guides from books, eBooks, and the eastern United States.

#How Long Does It Take To Grow Grapes From Cuttings Creative And Inexpensive Diy Ideas #How Long Can Y

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lovemychinchilla · 4 years

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When Is Chinchilla Mating Season?

Chinchillas are mammals, and mammals reproduce by mating. So do chinchillas have mating seasons like other animals do? And if so, when are they?

Do Chinchillas Have a Mating Season?

[caption id="attachment_365" align="alignright" width="300"] Chinchillas mate in the late winter and spring.[/caption]

Most mammals have a kind of mating season, chinchillas included. That's because it's a good idea to have young at certain times, but not at others.

When Is Chinchilla Mating Season?

All that being said, the idea of a mating season isn't relevant if you're planning on breeding your own chinchillas for reasons we'll explore in a moment.

Why Is Chinchilla Mating Season Different in the Northern Hemisphere?

The chinchilla's mating season is different in the U.S. or Europe to when wild chinchillas mate in Chile. That's because of how the seasons work.

Is There a Chinchilla Mating Call?

Can Chinchillas Get Pregnant Any Time?

Wild chinchillas can't get pregnant any time they like. There are two main reasons why:

Female chinchillas that aren't in heat will reject males instantly.

But what applies to wild chinchillas doesn't always apply to pet chinchillas. Pet chinchillas live in completely different conditions so can mate at any time of year.

Do Female Chinchillas Go Into Heat?

How Long Are Chinchillas In Heat?

Do Male Chinchillas Go Into Heat?

Male chinchillas don't go through estrous like females do. They can breed at any time of year. This helps them raise as much young as possible, which males are free to do, but females aren't.

How Come Pet Chinchillas Don't Have a Mating Season?

The first is that wild chinchillas, and in fact all animals, tell when mating season begins by looking for environmental clues. For example:

When the days start getting longer

When the weather starts getting warmer, or it stops/starts raining, or stops snowing

When there are certain plants and other animals around that weren't before

When to Breed Chinchillas

If you want to breed chinchillas, you can try doing so at any time of year. You have to do so in a specific way, though, to ensure that the pair don't fight:

Monitor the chinchillas when you put them in the same cage. Once breeding is over, you can separate them.

Below, you can find our chinchilla quiz, new posts for further reading, and a signup for our Chinchilla Newsletter!

[ays_quiz id='9']

#chinchillas #chinchillafaqs

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bbcphile · 7 years

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Ooooo! Could you do a fic about all the things Will and Horacio got up to when they were rooming together?

Absolutely! :D

Fandom: Horatio Hornblower (TV)

Pairing: Pre-slash, Horatio Hornblower/William Bush

Series: Harboured and Encompassed (Modern AU)

Title: Ships and Swans (http://archiveofourown.org/works/12487524)

Special Thanks: @velarapproximant and @girabbit for beta-ing! You’re amazing!

Summary:

They've only been roommates at King's College London a few weeks, but Horatio and Will are already having adventures on the high seas . . . or, rather, in Hyde Park's Round Pond. It's just them, a brisk January morning, and the Hotspur (their model ship).

Oh, yes, and a swan.

What could possibly go wrong?

******

“Are you sure about this, Horatio?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Horatio bristled, holding his head higher to fight the urge to hunch his shoulders. “She passed our test in the sink with flying colours. Why wouldn’t we test her in more open waters?”

Will shrugged as he wrapped his red scarf around his neck more tightly and tucked the ends into his black leather jacket. “Just thought we’d wait until spring.”

Horatio forced himself not to shiver as another gust of January breeze blew through. He cursed himself for forgetting his gloves and hat. He’d just have to make do without. “Well, we can warm ourselves up with hot drinks once we’re through. My treat.” It was the least he could do to thank Will. Will’s accompanying him on this venture was far beyond his duty as a roommate.

Will put his hands in his pockets. “Ta.” He glanced at the water in front of them. “How will you get it back? The Hotspur, I mean?”

A faint smile flickered across Horatio’s face. “That’s why I chose today. The wind’s picked up, so it should blow her to the shore. We don’t need a remote control, Will. We have nature on our side.”

Will raised an eyebrow, then dipped his head. “Alright.” He gestured toward the water. “Lead on.”

Horatio nodded, then surveyed the Round Pond, his forehead creased with concentration. Will had only just gotten back on his feet--er, foot? Damn it, he needed to do more research on terminology--after several days of crutches. He should find the perfect spot for them to stand to minimize Will’s discomfort. “We should start from over there, near the bench,” he said at last.

Will looked at the bench, then at Horatio, then raised an eyebrow slowly. “Why?”

Horatio glanced at Will out of the corner of his eye as he tried to come up with a reasonable excuse. “It . . . er . . . it’s more in the sun. It’ll be warmer.”

Will smiled and rolled his eyes. “It was just a small infection, Horatio. It’s good as new, now.” He patted his hand against his thigh through his dark wash jeans. “I don’t need to sit.”

Horatio forced himself not to wince at his own stupidity. Of course Will wouldn’t be slowed down by something like that. He never seemed to be in pain. Or anxious. Or afraid. It seemed ironic that the bravest man in KCL had been assigned to room with the most cowardly. He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “I’m glad to hear it. Let’s go, then.” Without waiting for an answer, he plowed ahead, pausing only once he reached the water’s edge, closest to the bench.

By the time Will caught up with him, he’d managed to remove the small ship from his backpack and to free it from the towels he’d wrapped around it.

“She’s beautiful,” Will said quietly. “Even without the cannons.”

Horatio ducked his head. His failure had been mortifying enough without Will needing to bring it up again. “It was an elementary miscalculation. Anyone could have neglected to account for their extra weight.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “Naturally. Jack did the same in Master and Commander.”

Horatio scowled as his stomach twisted. He hardly deserved to be mentioned in the same breath as Jack Aubrey. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well . . . I . . . er . . . appreciate your help with the rigging.”

Will nodded once, a calm, controlled bob of his head. “Pleased to be of service.”

Horatio swallowed and looked back down at the ship. It was far safer to look at than Will’s steady, quiet confidence. Any day now, Will would request a new roommate and move out. It must be an intolerable burden, to go from being an officer in Her Majesty’s Navy to sharing a room with a neurotic failure who couldn’t remember to eat without prompting. “Shall we set sail?”

A faint, dry smile flickered across Will’s lips. “Aye aye. Anchors aweigh.”

Horatio nodded, then crouched down by the water’s edge to gently place their ship into the pond. They watched in silence as the wind billowed her sails and propelled her forward, ripples trailing in her wake.

For a moment, Horatio could almost feel his hands despite the cold as the pride in a job well done coursed through him.

Then, he noticed the swan.

********

“Are you sure you don’t want my coat?” Will asked again once they’d boarded the Central line tube to take them back to their dorm.

Horatio glowered. “I’m perfectly fine,” he snapped, shivering as he clutched the Hotspur closer to his chest. “I’ll dry soon enough.”

“Alright,” Will said with a shrug. At least ringing out his coat and shirt had helped, even if it’d also smeared the mud and swan droppings around. And Horatio’s hair was drying more quickly now. He risked a quick glance at Horatio. An image of a particularly fluffy baby duckling floated through his mind. He hadn’t realized towel drying could do . . . that. He forced himself not to smile. The last thing either of them needed was for Horatio to think he was being laughed at.

The woman on Horatio’s right looked up from her newspaper, glanced at Horatio, wrinkled her nose, and shifted further away.

Horatio clenched his jaw more tightly.

Will frowned. He usually gave Horatio a wide berth when he’d reached the jaw clenching stage. But maybe today should be the exception. “You were lucky,” he said at last. “Swans can be vicious. A boy I knew at school got a nasty bite from one once.

Horatio rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, nothing damaged, apart from my clothes.”

Will glanced down at Horatio’s jeans with a faint smile. “We can sew up that tear.”

Horatio turned to face him, his eyebrow raised. “You have a sewing kit?”

Will shrugged. “Just a small one, but it should have what we need.” He hadn’t done mending in years, but he’d helped Mum often enough once Cathy was born that it should come back to him quickly.

Horatio nodded, then looked down at the Hotspur again. His jaw began to unclench. “At least we don’t have to do any repairs on her,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice as he ran his hand across her rigging.

Will smiled as he watched Horatio’s fingers lovingly trace the rope.“She didn’t need cannons. She had you.”

Horatio scowled and ducked his head. “Hardly.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “Horatio, you saved the ship.”

Horatio rolled his eyes. “There’s no need to make it sound heroic, Will. It wasn’t. I didn’t have time for a grand strategy, or to think about the water, or the risks. I just . . . saw her come for our ship, wings flapping, and did the first thing I could think of.”

“Charging at her and screaming bloody murder,” Will said with a nod and a smile he didn’t try to hide.

Horatio huffed out a laugh. “It made sense at the time.”

“And it worked.”

Horatio rolled his eyes again. “Yes, but only after getting pummeled by her wings.”

“Taking enemy fire doesn’t make it any less of a victory.”

“It’s a bird, Will, not the Cygne,” Horatio sighed.

Will frowned. “The Cygne?”

Horatio nodded. “The French word for ‘swan.’ She was an Abeille-class, 16-gun brig, launched in 1806. She ran aground while taking fire from the HMS Amaranthe. That would have been . . . 1808, I think.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “How did you remember that?”

Horatio brightened and sat up straighter. “Well, there’s a fascinating discrepancy in the historical record. According to Troude’s Naval Battles of France, 1867, Captain Defresne scuttled the Cygne, by fire, rather than let her fall into the hands of the British. But the London Gazette published an account from the captain of the HMS Circe. It explains that the English, not the French, set fire to the Cygne. So, you see, each side reported the events differently.”

Will nodded slowly. So that’s what Horatio did in his spare time: more research. At least talking about it had cheered him up. “Who do you believe, then?”

Horatio’s forehead wrinkled and he blinked several times. “Well, the English, clearly. No self-respecting British officer would lie about his triumphs.”

Will raised an eyebrow. Horatio’s idealism wouldn't have survived three years on the HMS Daring. “Right,” he said at last.

Horatio’s enthusiasm vanished as quickly as it had come, and he stared back down at the Hotspur, shoulders slightly hunched. “I didn’t defeat the swan, Will,” he said quietly. “And I’m not going to lie and say I did.”

“Right,” Will said again, sighing internally. Horatio was harder on himself than any drill sergeant at Basic could ever be. He’d run himself into the ground if he wasn’t careful. He was well on his way there, given his sleeping and eating habits. How did he forget to eat, but have perfect recall of newspaper articles about obscure ships? He’d end up having to take a leave of absence and go back to Kent at this rate.

Will blinked. Why did that bother him? It hadn’t when Bobby and the others got the boot at Basic. Was there something different about Horatio?

A strange pulling sensation started up in his chest. He rolled his shoulders, but it didn't go away. He must’ve slept on it oddly. It wasn't important. And neither was thinking about this change. Reasons didn't matter.

What mattered was figuring out how to help.

If only there were a way to combine food and naval history, maybe Horatio wouldn’t starve.

Will smiled as he remembered the slim cookbook on his bookshelf, courtesy of Victoria. “Horatio?”

“Yes?” Horatio didn’t look up.

“My sister gave me a book of recipes from the Aubrey/Maturin series before I left. I was thinking of making hard tack tomorrow. Would you like to help?”

Horatio blinked several times, then tilted his head, his forehead wrinkling. “You . . . you’d like . . . me to help you bake?”

Will shrugged. “I thought it might make for a fun night in. We could always watch Master & Commander together after, if you’d like. I saw the DVD on your bookshelf the other day.”

Horatio’s eyes widened and a cautious smile spread over his face. “Oh! That -- I -- er--” he cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes. That sounds . . . good.”

Will smiled back, feeling warmer than he had all day. “2pm?” Baking would be nice after his appointment with Dr. Patel that morning. It helped to have something to do with his hands.

“2pm works perfectly,” Horatio answered. “I should be able to finish my reading tonight, leaving plenty of time for our activities tomorrow.”

“Alright, then. That’s our afternoon sorted,” Will said with a smile.

“I’ll look forward to it,” Horatio said with an oddly formal nod that wouldn’t be out of place in those period dramas Cathy made him watch last year when he was stuck at home.

Will watched out of the corner of his eye as Horatio looked back down at the Hotspur, his reserved expression breaking into a broad grin that made his brown eyes shine.

The pulling sensation in his chest came back full force. Will shifted in his seat and looked out the window. Horatio’s eyes and smile kept floating through his mind.

“Will? This is us.”

Will blinked. Horatio was standing up, his hand around the metal pole near his seat, and was watching him, his forehead wrinkled with concern.

Will stood up and smiled. It wouldn't do to worry Horatio. He gestured to the open door. “Lead on. I’m right behind you.”

#HHornblower #Hotspur Husbands #Horatio Hornblower #William Bush #Harboured and Encompassed #Prequel #Age of Sail #Modern AU #long post #my fic #just-a-half-boiled-egg

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vacationsoup · 5 years

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New Post has been published on https://vacationsoup.com/a-stroll-through-the-high-town-in-granville/

A Stroll Through the High Town in Granville

The high town in Granville is often overlooked by visitors to the town who instead visit the shops, restaurants, bars, casino, market and port in the main town. However, visiting the fortified high town is like stepping back in history and is a hidden gem not be be missed.

Accessing the High Town

The high town is built on a peninsula and can be accessed on foot or by car. There are two parts to the high town. To the west at the tip of the peninsula is a mainly flat area with great views across the bay and along the coast. From the roundabout at La Place Pleville in the lower town, take the rue du Port. This road leads up to the lighthouse.

The eastern part of the old town is fortified and you can either drive or walk up. If you're driving, take la rue des Juifs where you see the sign for la haute ville (the high town). For a spot of exercise, there are two sets of steps leading to the high town. The first set of steps is next to the police station at La Place Pleville roundabout. Taking this route will bring you out on la rue des Juifs. The second set of steps is by the casino in the main town. These 180 steps were added in the 20th century and lead to Place de l'Isthme.

The Fortified High Town

English settlers arrived in 1439 and quickly started building work including the church and the ramparts to fortify the town. Many of the buildings are built of granite from the Chausey Islands. The islands lie 17km across the bay from Granville and can be seen on a clear day.

The Drawbridge

This was originally the only entrance into the old town. It's called La Grande Porte and is on la rue des Juifs. The drawbridge was built between 1580 - 1640. To the right of the drawbridge is the Museum of Art and History. However, the museum is currently closed due to extensive building work being undertaken. Appointments can be made with the museum staff in the former Corn Exchange just outside the fortified town. If you start your tour at the drawbridge, you can then follow the cobbled street round to Place Cambernon.

Place Cambernon

This small square is at the heart of the high town and is the crossroads between the two main streets. You'll find three pancake houses, a bar, a newsagents and a restaurant here. La Contramarche restaurant opened in January 2020 in a building that had previously been a fish market, a public library and an exhibition space. There are also a number of artists galleries.

Rue Notre Dame and Rue Saint-Jean

rue Notre Dame

These are the two main streets in the high town and run parallel to one another. Many of the buildings here date from the 17th and 18th centuries. There's a mix of tall, narrow town houses and grand mansions. Where you see a reference to hotel, this is a reference to a mansion or grand house. The architecture is fascinating and includes small dormer windows, moldings, ornate iron railings, decorative chimney stacks, wooden shutters, decorated stone linterns, cornices and small cast iron balconies. Do look up as you walk along these streets as there's so much detail to take in. This website in French about Granville's high town has a comprehensive list of these historic buildings.

Buildings of note on rue Saint-Jean include:

n° 3, Adam and Eve House has terracotta decorations

n° 32, l’Hôtel Dry de la Turbotière dating from 1692

n° 37 is one of the oldest buildings from the 16th century with substantial decorative detail

n° 39, la Maison du Puits qui Pleure. This translate as the Weeping Well House and there are two wells in the cellar

n° 45, l’hôtel Ganne-Destouches dates from the end of the 17th century

n° 47 dates from the 16th century

n° 61, l’Hôtel Picquelin de Grainville was built after 1734

Hotel Le Mengnonnet

Key buildings on rue Notre Dame include n° 43, Hotel de Luc Fr. le Boucher dating from 1635 and n° 54 Hotel le Mengnonnet. This mansion was built in the 18th century and 1830 and was home to a privateer and shipowner captain.

Also on rue Notre Dame is the theatre that was built in 1828. Both these streets are on a slope. They're cobbled and although open to cars, they are one way. The majority of the buildings have stone steps up to the front door. It is thought that the more steps there were, the richer the house owner was. Some of the small cross streets are named after professions (bakers, plasterers, leather workers). All the bakers lived in rue du Marché au Pain and if they changed profession then they had to move out. The house at number 1 has a deep window ledge made of stone. The baker would sell his wares through the front window and, as French windows open inwards, the ledge was used for display purposes.

A former bakery with its wide window ledge

The majority of the shops have disappeared but you can still see these window ledges throughout the high town. In 1896 there were more than 50 shops including 15 drinking places. If you walk up one of the main streets you'll find the Place de l'isthme at one end and the church at the opposite end.

Place de l’Isthme

The eastern part of the fortified town is home to the Richard Anacréon Museum of Modern Art. You can visit their website for opening times and details of the hosted exhibitions.

The Church

At the opposite end of the fortified town in Granville is the church called Eglise Notre Dame du Cap Lihou. Building work on the nave was started by the English in 1439. The style was Roman although subsequent work was gothic in style. It was eventually completed in 1771 and the two very distinct halves can easily be seen from the inside. The church survived the WW2 bombs although the vibrations from a large and noisy plane flying overhead caused the stained glass windows to shatter. They were replaced between 1954 and 1978.

La Maison du Guet (Lookout or Watchtower House)

Next to the church is an unusual house built into the fortified walls. It looks completely different depending on which angle you look at it from. Looking at it from the church, you can see three levels. The ground floor is stone and the two upper floors are a mix of half timbers and roof tiles. There is a tower or turret on either side of the house - a circular one and also a square one.

If you go down the steps next to the house (currently being renovated as of January 2020) then you can see there are at least another two or three levels to the house. In the 17th century a carpenter's workshop occupied this space. The building was destroyed at the end of the 17th century following orders given by King Louis 14th. It was rebuilt at the beginning of the 20th century. Read more about La Maison du Guet here.

Zurich-Bazeilles Barracks

The final important building within the confines of the rampart walls is the Zurich-Bazeilles barracks. The barracks were built between 1752 and 1760. You can find it on the north side of the peninsula near the church. Nowadays this rather grand building is a hostel for young workers. Occasionally art or photography exhibitions are held on the ground floor and they're free to visit.

You can walk around the ramparts, take a stroll along a footpath on the north side and walk through a park area on the south side. There's a small children's play area here with views over the rooftops towards the port.

Outside the Fortified Walls

Just beyond the Zurich-Baseilles building are three more barracks. The second barracks to be built is immediately behind the first one. It was built in 1778 and has been converted in private apartments. Work on two further barracks started in 1876 and 1879. Other buildings in the high town in Granville include the former Corn Exchange, a college, a German battery, a lighthouse, an aquarium and part of the Atlantic Wall. The lighthouse was built in 1826 at a cost of 39,000 francs. It was painted green during WW2 to camouflage it.

The area in this part of the old town is fairly flat. During the summer of 2019, various re-enactement camps were set up to commemorate the 75th anniversary of D-Day. You can download an app for iPhone and iPad called Kit M Manche. The app is in French and has various different trails you can follow. Download the WW2 Granville visit and follow the trail in the high town in Granville. Alternatively, locate the gun casement just next to the roundabout near the lighthouse. You'll find an information board and map here detailing all the WW2 structures.

Where Can You Park?

If you've parked in the main town, you can walk up to the high town in Granville in less than five minutes. Parking in the high town is available near the lighthouse. There's a large car park opposite the aquarium on the south side of the peninsula. You may find some parking on the rue des Juifs (some of it is metered), near the Richard Anacréon museum and around the church. Additional parking is available around the barracks in la Place d'Armes.

rue du Nord

#France #gavray #Granville #HighTown #HolidayInGavray #normandy #VacationInGavray #VacationSoup #whattodo

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bigyack-com · 5 years

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Viking to Launch Expedition Cruises in Great Lakes, Arctic

Viking has announced plans to launch a new expedition product, called Viking Expeditions. In addition to itineraries in Antarctica in the Arctic, the brand will also sail the Great Lakes, as the two new ships planned will be built small enough to navigate the Welland Canal Locks. Plans call for the plans to launch with its first ship, the Viking Octantis, in January 2022, sailing voyages to Antarctica and the Great Lakes. A second expedition vessel, Viking Polaris, will debut in August 2022, sailing to Antarctica and the Arctic. As part of an exclusive preview, past Viking guests have been able to book select Viking Expeditions polar itineraries since October 9. Now, all expedition voyages—including the new Great Lakes itineraries—are available to the public for booking. To develop the new expedition voyages, Viking teamed up with scientific institutions including the University of Cambridge’s Scott Polar Research Institute, its lead partner. This relationship is underpinned by a major Viking endowment for scientific research into the polar regions, The Viking Chair of Polar Marine Geoscience, a Cambridge University full professorship based at the Scott Polar Research Institute, as well as a sponsorship fund supporting the Institute’s graduate students. As part of this endowment, the Institute’s scientists will undertake fieldwork on board Viking’s expedition vessels and join voyages to share their expertise with guests. Viking has also partnered with The Cornell Lab of Ornithology, a globally recognized bird research facility, whose ornithologists will regularly be on board the expedition ships, providing guest advice and interaction. Additionally, Viking has partnered with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), whose scientists will join expeditions in the Great Lakes to conduct research focused on changes in the region’s weather, climate and ecosystems. NOAA scientists may also offer lectures about the Great Lakes’ unique environment to Viking guests during these voyages.

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Each ship's Owner's Suite will have a private garden with a traditional Norwegian badestamp (wood-sided hot tub) and outdoor dining table.

The New Expedition Ships

The two new expedition ships are currently under construction and will be delivered in Norway by Fincantieri’s VARD. They will be Polar Class 6-rated, and they will each have a capacity of 378 guests in 189 staterooms. Designed by the same nautical architects and engineers behind Viking’s ocean ships, the new vessels will be built small enough to navigate remote polar regions and the St. Lawrence River. Viking said that the ships’ public spaces will be “familiar to Viking’s ocean cruise guests,” but “reimagined for expeditions.” The ships will also have new public spaces purpose-built for expedition cruises. In addition to a Polar Class 6 ice rating, the ships will incorporate straight bows, longer hulls and fin stabilizers for smoother sailing, as well as U-tank stabilizers that Viking said will be able to decrease rolling by up to 50 percent when the ships are stationary. Highlights of the new ships include: The Hangar: This enclosed, in-ship marina permits the launch of small excursion craft through the ship’s multiple shell doors. An 85-foot slipway allows guests to embark on RIBs from a flat, stable surface inside the ship, shielded from wind and waves. There is also a FerryBox, a set of instruments continuously collecting and displaying data on water quality, oxygen content, plankton composition and more. The Laboratory: Viking Octantis and Viking Polaris, while hosting guests, will also be working research vessels with an onboard team of Viking Resident Scientists working on a variety of studies. Developed in consultation with Cambridge University and Viking’s other academic partners, The Laboratory, at 430 square feet, is designed to support a broad range of research activities and is equipped with wet and dry laboratory facilities, a sample processing area, fume cupboard, freezer and cool storage, comprehensive microscope optics and extensive bench space for analysis-specific instruments. Guests will have supervised access to The Laboratory, which is located in a glass-enclosed mezzanine above The Hangar, to learn from and participate with scientists undertaking primary research. Expedition Equipment: Viking will offer a variety of ways for guests to experience their destination, according to their interests and activity level, at no extra charge. With a program of complimentary experiences, expedition equipment available for guests on Viking Octantis and Viking Polaris will include a fleet of Zodiacs; a fleet of two-seater Arctic-tested kayaks; and two 12-seater convertible RIBs. Each ship will also have two six-guest submarines with revolving seats and 270-degree spherical windows. Guests will also receive a Viking Expedition Kit with items such as boots, binoculars and waterproof pants; each excursion will also carry a full range of Safety Equipment, such as satellite phones, VHF radios, ropes, life jackets and a comprehensive shore survival kit; and all guests will receive complimentary use of Viking Excursion Gear, which includes specialty items like trekking poles, snowshoes and skis. The Aula & Finse Terrace: A venue for learning at sea, The Aula will be a panoramic auditorium at the stern. Inspired by the University of Oslo’s famed ceremonial hall where the Nobel Peace Prize was historically awarded, The Aula will serve as a venue for lectures and entertainment, with floor-to-ceiling windows and 270-degree views. Adjacent to The Aula through sliding glass walls is the Finse Terrace, an outdoor lounge area with comfortable couches and warming lava rock “firepits” whre guests can take in panoramic views of the surroundings. Together the two spaces can be combined to create an indoor-outdoor al fresco experience. Nordic Balcony: All staterooms onboard Viking Octantis and Viking Polaris will have a Nordic Balcony, a sunroom that converts into an al fresco viewing platform. The balconies will have floor-to-ceiling, distortion-free glass windows at the very edge of the ship, the top of which will lower to transform the stateroom into a sheltered lookout, with an observation shelf at elbow level to stabilize binoculars or a camera. Guests can choose from six stateroom categories that range from 222 square feet to 1,223 square feet: Nordic Balcony, Deluxe Nordic Balcony, Nordic Penthouse, Nordic Junior Suite, Explorer Suite and Owner’s Suite. All staterooms have a Nordic Balcony, as well as a king-size bed and large bathroom with spacious glass-enclosed shower, heated bathroom floor and anti-fog mirror. Every stateroom is also equipped with a floor-to-ceiling drying closet that circulates warm air to dry and store clothing and expedition gear. Expedition Ship Suites: Nordic Junior Suites (322 square feet) and Explorer Suites (580 square feet) on Viking Octantis and Viking Polaris will aim to be comparable to those on Viking’s fleet of ocean ships, with wood detailing and amenities that include additional storage and seating, an expanded bathroom with extended shower and double sinks, welcome champagne, a fully stocked mini-bar replenished daily, complimentary laundry and shoeshine services, priority restaurant reservations and more. Explorer Suites have two separate rooms, a Nordic Balcony and a full outdoor veranda. Additionally, each ship has one Owner’s Suite, which at 1,223 square feet, is twice the size of the Explorer Suites. With the most exclusive accommodations and amenities on board, it has two separate rooms—a living room with a six-seat dining table and a bedroom – as well as a 792-square-foot private garden with a traditional Norwegian badestamp (wood-sided hot tub) and outdoor dining table. Aquavit Terrace & Pools: Located at the stern and with a retractable glass dome, this indoor-outdoor heated sanctuary will have three different temperature-controlled pools, including an “inside-out” swimming experience. The Nordic Spa & Fitness Center: In keeping with Viking’s Nordic heritage, The Nordic Spa onboard is designed with the holistic wellness philosophy of Scandinavia in mind—with a thermal suite that has a Sauna, Snow Grotto and chaise lounges, as well as a warm hydrotherapy pool and badestamp (hot tub), surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows. It will also have a fitness center. Explorers’ Lounge: Similar to Viking’s ocean ships, Viking Octantis and Viking Polaris have a two-deck Explorers’ Lounge at the bow of the ship for taking in the scenery through double-height windows over a mug of mulled wine or glass of Norwegian aquavit. Dining Choices: Viking’s expedition ships will offer an array of dining options that build on the venues from Viking’s ocean ships, but which have been redesigned for expeditions. The Restaurant will offer fine dining serving regional cuisine and always-available classics; the casual World Café will be a new “market” concept that offers live cooking, an open kitchen, bakery, grill and premium seafood and sushi choices, as well as a range of international flavors; Mamsen’s, named for “Mamsen,” the Hagen family matriarch, will serve Scandinavian-inspired fare; Manfredi’s will offer Italian cuisine; and 24-hour room service will be complimentary for all guests. Enrichment Onboard and On Shore: Viking’s exclusive partnerships with the Scott Polar Research Institute at Cambridge University and The Cornell Lab of Ornithology will match researchers and educators with each expedition. The onboard expedition program is designed to prepare guests for their onshore experiences, with more than 25 experts accompanying each journey—the Viking Expedition Team (expedition leader and staff, photographer and submarine pilots) and Viking Resident Scientists (biologists, botanists, geologists, glaciologists, oceanographers, ornithologists, polar experts and researchers). Onboard, guests will enjoy daily briefings and lectures about their destination—and engage with working scientists from renowned academic institutions in The Laboratory or participate directly in citizen science programs. On shore, guests can assist in fieldwork or interact through experiential activities during landings—such as monitoring birds to help identify migratory patterns; accompanying scientists to collect samples; or taking their cameras ashore alongside a professional photographer to learn how best to capture scenic landscapes. Sustainable Features: Compliant to all guidelines and regulatory requirements from AECO, IAATO, the Antarctic Treaty System and the Governor of Svalbard, Viking’s expedition ships minimize environmental impact and meet the most stringent emissions and biosecurity standards, the cruise line said. Additionally, the straight bow reduces fuel consumption, and a dynamic positioning system enables the ship to hover over the seabed without anchoring, allowing access to pristine environments without damage. Fare Inclusions: Every Viking Expeditions cruise fare includes a Nordic Balcony stateroom or suite, virtually all shore excursions, all onboard meals, and all port charges and government taxes. Just as with Viking’s ocean cruises, guests will also enjoy many complimentary amenities as part of their fare, including beer and wine with lunch and dinner service; premium dining reservations; lectures; Wi-Fi; self-service laundry; access to The Nordic Spa; and 24-hour room service. As part of their fare, Viking Expeditions guests will also receive charter flights for hard-to-reach locales and the use of Viking Expedition Gear specialty equipment for land and sea excursions. On polar itineraries, guests also receive their own Viking Expedition Kit, which includes everything needed to be comfortable—as well as a Viking Expeditions Jacket to keep.

The Aula will be a panoramic auditorium at the ship's stern.

2022-2023 Viking Expedition Inaugural Voyages

Antarctic Explorer (13 days; Buenos Aires to Ushuaia) – This adventure takes guests into the heart of the Antarctic peninsula, where they will see where penguins and seals. There will also be chances to hike and whale-watch. Multiple sailing dates in January, February, November and December 2022; January and February 2023. Antarctic & South America Discovery (19 days; Buenos Aires to Rio de Janeiro) – Ranging from icy Antarctica to tropical Rio, this itinerary explores the Antarctic Peninsula; offers a chance to visit one of the thriving penguin populations of the Falkland Islands; and discover the cultural treasures of Montevideo, Buenos Aires and Paranaguá. Multiple sailing dates in March, October and November 2022. Arctic Adventure (13 days; Roundtrip Tromsø) – Guests can experience the Arctic summer on this expedition, centered on Norway’s Svalbard archipelago. Multiple sailing dates in August and September 2022. From the Arctic to the Antarctic (44 days; Tromsø to Ushuaia) – Guests will traverse the globe from the far north to the extreme south on this journey, starting in Norway’s northernmost town above the Arctic Circle and continuing past rugged peaks and fishing villages to the rolling landscapes of the Shetland Islands and Ireland. Next, the itinerary will cross the equator on a transatlantic sailing to arrive in Rio de Janeiro, then further on to Buenos Aires and finally to Antarctica. Sailing date: September 21, 2022. . Undiscovered Great Lakes (Eight days; Thunder Bay, Ontario to Milwaukee) – This itinerary offers the chance to visit bald eagle and bear habitats and pass between Lake Superior and Lake Huron via the Soo Locks. Multiple sailing dates between May and September 2022. Great Lakes Explorer (Eight days; Milwaukee to Thunder Bay, Ontario) – From Georgian Bay’s granite islands to Thunder Bay’s towering cliffs, this itinerary will offer the chance to experience the car-free Mackinac Island and learn about indigenous cultures and frontier life along the way. Multiple sailing dates between May and September 2022. Niagara & The Great Lakes (Eight days; Toronto to Milwaukee) – From urban skylines to uninhabited islands, on this trip guests can discover the wilderness nestled in the interior of North America alongside world-class cultural attractions in Detroit, Toronto and Milwaukee. There will also be chances to see Niagara Falls and enjoy scenic cruising past North America’s busiest border during a crossing of Lake Huron. Multiple sailing dates in April, May, June, July and September 2022. Inaugural pricing starts at $5,995 per person, with free airfare within North America. Canadian Discovery (13 days; New York to Toronto) – On this voyage guests cruise from Canada’s southeast coast to the St. Lawrence River, where they will learn about the region’s rich past. The trip will sail along the coasts of New England and Nova Scotia, with stops at Prince Edward Island, the Saguenay Fjord and Quebec’s Moisie River. Sailing dates in April and October 2022.

Launch Event

Viking Chairman Torstein Hagen announced the brand’s plans during a celebratory launch event in Beverly Hills, CA. Hagen also announced that adventurers and educators Liv Arnesen and Ann Bancroft will be honored as ceremonial godmothers to Viking Octantis and Viking Polaris, respectively. Arnesen, a native Norwegian, became the first woman in the world to ski solo and unsupported to the South Pole in 1994. Bancroft is the first woman to successfully ski to both poles. Arnesen and Bancroft also became the first women to ski across Antarctica in 2001. Together they co-founded Bancroft Arnesen Explore / Access Water, an initiative that aims to engage and empower more than 60 million minds to create a sustainable tomorrow. Arnesen will also periodically serve as a member of the Viking Expedition Team. During the launch event, attendees were treated to a performance by Sissel Kyrkjebø, one of the world’s leading crossover sopranos and ceremonial godmother to Viking Jupiter, the newest ship in Viking’s ocean fleet. Before her performance, Sissel officially “named” Viking Jupiter as the ship sailed between the Falkland Islands and Cape Horn. As part of the naming, Sissel offered a blessing of good fortune and safe sailing for the ship and then instructed crew members currently on the ship to break a bottle of Norwegian aquavit on the ship’s hull.

Early Booking Offer

Through February 29, U.S. residents can take advantage of an Inaugural Offer on 2022 & 2023 Viking Expedition itineraries. This article originally appeared on www.travelagentcentral.com.

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