#I call mine Moist January

[trivialbob]

The last few days I've been weary of social media and the Internet in general. It's not any sort of New Year's resolution, but I've used my phone less. I can't say that's had a negative impact on my life.

On my laptop I cut down to mostly reading the newspaper, but no more looking at the comments people leave on stories. What a waste of pixels. I still like viewing Manhattan townhouse floor plans on Zillow. Those townhomes are really interesting to me. Twenty feet wide, six levels, and only some have elevators. It's incredible that there are so many listed for eight figures.

We had light snow overnight. Outside is much less brown now. Unfortunately the clouds are sticking around like that last party guest who doesn't realize it's time to go home (been there, done that).

This morning at the dog park Sulley got mad at me. I wouldn't let him keep a dead, frozen mouse he found in some tall weeds. He forgave me at home, as I started to give Oliver and Ella a treat and he realized I wasn't going to chase him down to give him one.

Later I decided I needed provisions. Dreary days were made for Target and Costco runs. The Vikings weren't keeping my attention anyway. I donned my Target-red jacket and aimed my truck for the big red bulls eye. Good grief, everyone else in town had the same idea.

As I entered the store I saw a young mom pushing a cart with two small girls hanging on to it, both leaning precariously. "Someone is about to join the Target Crying Child Club," I thought. Moments later the girl leaning off the front of the cart lost her grip.

She attempted a front one-and-a-half somersault with a mid-flight twist and totally nailed the landing--on her face. The girl stood up, birdies circling her head, and looked at me silently. I read her expression as, "Whoa, did you see that?!"

Then mom, who hasn't learned a certain important child-rearing lesson yet, says with alarm, "Oh my gosh! Are you OK?"

That was the cue for the girl to enter wailing mode. If the mom had simply said, "Nice move, Olga Korbut" I'm sure the kid would have remained quiet, though she might have wondered, "Olga who?"

Not waiting around for the medal ceremony I made my way to the men's clothing section. Sometimes Target has some sweet deals on sweatshirts. I didn't see any I liked today so off to paper products and food.

An end-cap display of Goldfish crackers beckoned me with a sale price, then mocked me by once again lacking the pizza flavored variety.

Sulley didn't get to keep his frozen, dead mouse. I didn't get to bring home any pizza Goldfish crackers.

[shutupandshipit]

Little Socks - Oneshot

Summary: So, Katsuki thought maybe he was ready to broach a subject the two of them had never discussed before. Not even in passing. "Izu," he said, head pillowed on his arms on the edge of the tub while he waited for his alpha to finish rinsing off and join him.

"Yes, love?" Izuku replied absentmindedly, hands still shoved root deep into his mass of curls. Even wet and brushing his waist, his hair was still thick with a stray curl poking out here and there in rebellion against the water.

Katsuki's omega purred contentedly in his chest at the pet name. He let the sound out, just a quiet rumble from his nostrils, barely loud enough to hear. "Have you ever thought of having pups?"

.....

Or where Katsuki and Izuku discuss having kids, and Izuku lets on about a fear he has.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T

Author’s Note: It’s a Christmas fic, y’all. Pure and simple fluff. Enjoy!

Katsuki and Izuku had been together for the better part of a rather domestically happy decade. Yeah, they had their bad days just like any other couple, but they were good more often than not. Christmas Eve found them getting ready to wrap up another happy year together. This would be their first holiday season together without being on call for some time because even though the country pretty much shut down for the holiday, villainy never ceased. So, heroes took turns being on call during the holidays. This year they weren't even on the list as backups. They had from the 24th of December all the way to the 2nd of January all to themselves.

So, Katsuki thought maybe he was ready to broach a subject the two of them had never discussed before. Not even in passing. "Izu," he said, head pillowed on his arms on the edge of the tub while he waited for his alpha to finish rinsing off and join him.

"Yes, love?" Izuku replied absentmindedly, hands still shoved root deep into his mass of curls. Even wet and brushing his waist, his hair was still thick with a stray curl poking out here and there in rebellion against the water.

Katsuki's omega purred contentedly in his chest at the pet name. He let the sound out, just a quiet rumble from his nostrils, barely loud enough to hear. "Have you ever thought of having pups?" Whether it was an outcome of his stupid omega brain or a conclusion he'd come to on his own, Katsuki had wanted children with Izuku since they'd gotten together in their first year as pro-heroes. Not wanting to push, he'd never mentioned the topic and figured Izuku would eventually bring it up. They'd been unmarried, sharing a teeny tiny apartment with four other people, just starting out and living paycheck to paycheck. It had been a bad time, so he'd let it drift to the back of his mind, and waited.

Things were different now though, and Izuku still hadn't brought it up. The idea. The possibility. The, Katsuki was hesitant to say, eventuality.

Izuku stalled for the space of a moment, but didn't raise his head to look at Katsuki. It was harder to tell with the heavy moist air of the room, but a sour note slashed straight through Izuku's normally mint and rainstorm scent. He could hear as Izuku swallowed and continued rinsing conditioner from his hair. "Uh, no, not really. Why do you ask?" That sour note flared again.

A lie if Katsuki had ever heard one from Izuku. Taking the higher road, he didn't call him on it.

Humming, he reached out a hand to wrap a strand of Izuku's hair around his fingers. "Just been thinking that we're in a good place for it. We're at the top of the hero charts, have a steady income. We're not starving sidekicks anymore. We've been married for three years now, and mated longer. I think we're ready."

Finishing, Izuku wound his hair into a knot on the top of his head that Katsuki was going to have to untangle for him later, and waited for Katsuki to adjust so he could climb in between his legs. Izuku leaned back against his chest. Catching one of his hands, he dugs his thumbs into the sensitive flesh of his palm, massaging gently.

"Izu?" Katsuki said against the top of his head when he didn't answer. He couldn't see Izuku's face, but he could feel the tension all along his back.

"That was a lie."

"I know."

"It's just that..." Trailing off, Izuku released a frustrated little huff.

"Do you not want to have kids?" Katsuki's omega whined pitifully in his chest, jumping to conclusions as it always did. He shoved its head down, refusing to take Izuku's silence as confirmation.

Izuku didn't speak until he moved to Katsuki's opposite hand. "It's not that, it's just that... I'm scared."

Katsuki pressed a kiss to the back of Izuku's neck before moving to pepper his shoulders. "Why are you scared?"

Breath hitching, Izuku tilted his head in submission and Katsuki's omega purred at the display. "It's just that... I didn't grow up with my dad around. I haven't seen him since I was four. I haven't talked to him since I was six! The only reason we know he isn't dead is the flowers he sends every year on my parents' anniversary and my birthday cards!"

Katsuki ran his free hand over Izuku's belly, pulling his flush against his body. "I remember the day he left. It was the first day we met and I shared my ice cream with you because you looked so pitiful. Even your All Might balloon looked depressed, partially deflated and almost hitting the floor. It was so ugly."

Izuku snorted out a small laugh which was the whole reason Katsuki had mentioned it anyway. "I just... how am I supposed to know how to be a dad when I never had one around? What if I'm a terrible dad? I don't... want to be a bad dad. I don't want to be like mine was... is."

"Izuku, baby, listen to me," Katsuki said, moving his hand so that he could slot their fingers together, squeezing tightly, "You're not going to be a bad father, you want to know how I know? Because you had a mother who raised you right. You're great with kids of all ages. And you're you. Nobody is perfect, that's not what I'm saying. Everyone makes mistakes. That's why there's two of us. We're a team."

Izuku struggled against his hold, trying to turn and face him, but Katsuki held fast. He snarled, frustrated. "You don't know that though! You can't know that!"

"I do because you're my mate! I wouldn't have chosen some two-bit alpha who was going to be a shit dad," Katsuki told him truthfully, and sighed when Izuku only continued to struggle. He let his alpha turn to face him, but caught his face in his hands before he could talk. "Izuku, just fucking be there and you'll already be doing better."

Tears filled Izuku's eyes and spilled over just as quickly. Shakily, he asked, "You really think I'd be a good father?"

"Yes."

"You really want to have kids with me?"

Katsuki pressed a kiss to his nose and then his forehead. "Have since we first started dating."

Green eyes grew impossibly wide. "Really?"

"Really really."

Izuku beamed, pressing in for a languid kiss that Katsuki drank up. When they pulled apart, Izuku was still smiling.

"Get back in here, nerd," Katsuki grumbled, pushing on Izuku's shoulder to get him to turn back around. "Tomorrow's Christmas, and I want to get to bed soon."

.....

They woke with the rising of the sun like the did most mornings, but Christmas was a particularly special sunrise for them. It had been the day they'd started dating, tipsy and swaying beneath mistletoe at Yaoyorozu's home. Bundled tight in heavy coats and scarves, they climbed to the top of the roof with cups of steaming coffee to cuddle together as the first rays of sun crested over the horizon. Around them, the world's sounds were silenced with the thick blanket of fresh snow.

Anxiety was a thick cord around Katsuki's throat making it difficult to enjoy that silence, and it was all he could do not to let the anxiety leak into his scent. He tugged at his scarf as he cleared his throat. Izuku glanced over at him with sleepy green eyes and that dopey enamored smiled Katsuki loved so much. "Listen, I know we're not doing gifts till later, but I want you to open this one now." He extracted a thin black box from the pocket of his coat, holding it out to Izuku with a trembling hand.

Sitting up straight, Izuku stared down at the box in confusion. When he traded his coffee mug for it, he frowned and then grinned again. "What's in here, Kacchan? It's so light."

Rolling his eyes, Katsuki huffed, "Just open it, alright."

There wasn't much too it, just a lidded box he'd taped shut and slapped a bow on the top of, but he'd kept it tucked away just for this moment.

Izuku was careful as the sky began to brighten. He peeled each piece of tape off to ball up and tuck away in his pocket. When he lifted the lid and handed it to Katsuki, he just stared down in confusion at the contents.

The anxiety reared up again, hot in Katsuki's stomach, musky and so thick in his scent that even he could smell it. His omega whined just as anxiously, a high whistling trill only he could hear. They waited.

Izuku picked up the teeny tiny pair of socks, one patterned with his hero colors and the other with Katsuki's. He chuckled, and Katsuki's throat clenched. Izuku hadn't turned to look at him yet which gave him time to hide the sheer panic that roared through him. "These are so cute, Kacchan," he cooed, "but it's kind of a weird gag gift. These are way too small for me. They're small enough for a-" He cut off abruptly, eyes having dropped back to see what else was in the box.

Tears bloomed in his eyes as he picked up the picture of an ultrasound, hands trembling as he stared. He looked to Katsuki, smile watery. "Is this- Are you- Kacchan?"

Katsuki nodded, mouth still set in an uncertain line as he looked at Izuku. "I'm pregnant. I found out a few weeks ago, but I wanted it to be a surprise. I didn't know how you would react, and-"

With a happy cry, Izuku launched himself at Katsuki, and the careful grip he'd had on their cups disappeared in favor of making sure they didn't go plummeting to their deaths. Their cups clattered down the roof and dropped into the snow with soft ' thumps '.

Izuku pressed kiss after kiss across Katsuki's face until they were both laughing with the thrill of it. "You're pregnant! I'm going to be a dad! I-I-I-I-" He was sobbing, full-bodied and snotty and grinning. "Kacchan, I can't wait!"

"There's going to be nothing to wait for if you knock us off the roof and kill us, shitty nerd!" But he was laughing and holding Izuku back just as tightly as they rocked to and fro. Their scents tangled and mixed as harmoniously as they always had.

Pulling back and kissing Katsuki again, he said, "Let's name her Katsumi!"

"You don't even know if they're going to be a girl!"

"Taiyo if  they're a boy!" Izuku replied immediately, smile blinding as the orange sunrise illuminated his face, "But I just know. It's an alpha thing. They're going to be a girl."

Rolling his eyes, Katsuki just hugged Izuku tightly against his chest, pressing a kiss to his alpha's forehead.

"Best Christmas present ever," Izuku whispered.

Of course just like Izuku predicted, when their baby was delivered, they had a little girl.

[prettyoddfever]

the 2008 Honda Civic Tour announcement

In fall 2007 people could vote for a band to headline the 2008 Honda Civic tour out of a reallllly long list. We basically knew the results by December because a booking agency was contacting venues to set up the Honda Civic Tour dates, and a couple people who worked for different venues came onto the boards to let us know that the headlining band would be Panic! at the Disco, there were two unannounced support bands, and Motion City Soundtrack was direct support.

The Honda Civic Tour site also posted a clip of string music in December that they said was from an unreleased new song by the 2008 headlining band. That was hardly mysterious lol. Out of all the bands we could vote for, who had an album coming out soon and was most likely to use strings...

THE DAYS BEFORE THE ANNOUNCEMENT

Honda said that the headlining band would be announced on January 10th, but there was some news stuff sent out a few days early and this video showed up.

The band finished recording Pretty. Odd. in Vegas on January 6th and then spent January 9th filming promo stuff at the US Honda headquarters in Torrance, CA near L.A. (like this moment). They got to see the car they designed and autograph it. Spencer had flown to L.A., but Brendon & Jon left a day early to have Shane drive them. Brendon told Blender: 

“I don’t like airports so I decided to drive to L.A. My roommate Shane drove my car, I rode shotgun and watched Ace Ventura on the dvd player, and Jon shouted obscenities from the back seat. We didn’t go out or anything… but we did have an awesome dinner at this Thai place near our hotel in Santa Monica. I highly recommend it. It’s called Poom Thai Cuisine. That’s P-O-O-M as in ‘Mom, I promise I didn’t say that other word.’”

Then Honda invited the band to the Ducks game that night at the Honda Center. Jon told Blender:

 “We mostly hung out with the suits from the company, but it was pretty cool. I had a couple of beers, Ryan had a few blue martinis… and we all got free chips and guacamole. Before the game, the arena people gave us our own Ducks jerseys, just like the ones in the movie. Mine says WALKER on it! They even put us up on the jumbotron for, like, five seconds, but the Ducks had just scored, so no one was paying attention. I’m sure our fans who watch Fox Sports Net loved it, though. We didn’t meet the players, but we did get a picture with the big duck mascot. So I think we came out on top.”

The band was interviewed at the game and confirmed that they would be headlining the tour.

THE JANUARY 10TH ANNOUNCEMENT 

here’s a tag for pictures and here are some videos.

There was a big event at Honda’s US headquarters to announce the headlining band for the 8th annual Honda Civic Tour. Mark Hoppus hosted the event and Pete Wentz was there too (both guys were in bands from the 2007 Honda Civic Tour). The Hush Sound was now listed as the third band on the tour, but the fourth band and the tour dates were announced later in January. 

Panic at the Disco answered questions & did a “surprise” performance of some acoustic songs. Ryan made a point of correcting a girl who said “Middle of Summer,” so we knew that the song was definitely called When the Day Met the Night now (but a couple articles still called the song “Middle of Summer” even towards the end of January). Brendon’s voice sounded even more different & lower than it had last fall. 

The main news from the event seemed to be the fact that Panic at the Disco had dropped the exclamation mark. BUT the Honda Civic that they designed still had the exclamation on it lol. Here’s more about the car that the band customized. 

Perez Hilton was as charming as usual in his mentions of the event. He posted one of the pictures of Ryan under the category “How Do We Say This Delicately???” and captioned it “This is one of our favorite lesbians!” Then he posted this picture of Brendon under “Guess The Celebrity:”

and captioned it “Somebody's a little moist. How embarrassing! Who forget to wear their Lady Speedstick???” 

Mark Hoppus had something nicer to blog about:

In any case, today i brought the awesome to the honda civic tour launch party. this year’s headliners are panique a la discotheque... i was asked to host the event, and that’s where the wheels fell off. we all had a lot of fun, and it was good to see the panic guys again after playing the show together in las vegas on the last civic tour. they played some songs and introduced the car they designed, which is lime green turquoise with flowers and rainbows and fairy dust and a time machine on it.

The next day the band left for London to finish up Pretty. Odd. at Abbey Road Studios.

update: this January event was not the beginning of the Honda Civic Tour. It was just the announcement/reveal for the headlining band so fans could get excited about the ticket sales that would be starting in a couple weeks. The band hadn’t even finished their album yet. The Honda Civic Tour didn’t start until April (after the European tour).

THE MAIN POST

[memorylang]

Easter: Redwoods, Light | #52 | April 2021

I write from Vegas, having returned after spending most of this spring in Reno. Life has been well. I feel adjusted to being back in the States a year. Every so often, objects and settings still remind me of last year’s evacuation from Mongolia. I still have the interest I’d had in trying to improve the lives of those around me. I still plan to return to Mongolia as soon as pandemic conditions permit.

This month’s blog story reminds me of cycles. Attending a virtual Open Mic Night at the conclusion to this month's “Culture of Creativity Workshops” featuring overseas alumni, I felt called to tell our folks there about this very blog story that I hadn't yet finished. A fellow participant suggested my theme of cycles. I'd spoken of how events that happen throughout time, how our feelings come and go. So here it is—My Easter 2O2I tales of cycles, light and renewal!

Back to Vegas

I returned to Vegas tasked by my father to continue to sort my belongings, tend to the yard and help my older brother and his girlfriend clean the kitchen since their recent move back to the house. Early in March, I’d visited the house with my siblings, and I’d intended originally to spend Holy Week here, too. But my college parish had many functions, including a friend’s baptism, Knights’ service events and opportunities for me to continue to help with the recordings of Sunday Proclamations of the Word. Palm Sunday’s and Good Friday’s were special highlights. Anyway, I'd opted to stay in Reno for Lent’s remainder into Easter’s first weeks.

Easter in Reno

Being in Reno for most of this April instead of in Vegas like last year, I enjoyed seeing trees blossom. A highlight of this Easter season has been its many serendipitous moments. This is also noteworthy because I'd listened to the "Tao of Pooh,” which noted spontaneity as among the good spiritual life’s fruits. A spiritual director had told me something similar not long before I'd graduated college.

Days before Easter Sunday itself (U.S. Year 2, Week 5; April 2–8, 2O2I), I enjoyed getting the opportunity to lector at that Mass. It was a small Mass, but I felt glad to be in person for the greatest celebration of the Christian year since all had shut down last year. Later this Easter Octave, I’d gotten to both lector and serve at a family's confirmation Mass. That too felt lovely.

Serendipity hadn’t stopped there! I’d caught up with an ol’ friend at Rancho San Rafael Park not far from the Uni and later biked with another friend at North Valleys Regional. My bike itself I’d bought from a rummage sale the day before on an unexpected adventure in a U-Haul truck to help our student coordinators collect furniture in the morning after they’d asked whoever could help. Thus, that Wednesday night they’d requested help, Thursday morning I’d joined them to Gardnerville and the rectory, and Friday night I was biking with a friend. The last time I recall riding in a U-Haul was over a dozen years ago when I was 11, my family moved from Indiana to Vegas.

My youngest sister has also been encouraging me to practice my licensed driving by borrowing her vehicle to and from our parish. I’d visited so often that staff offered me a key to simplify visits to my "home away from home away from home." I’d felt touched because I could go on walks around our pretty campus without worrying about getting locked out when I was alone. The flexibility gave me peace recently on my U.S. Year 2, Week 8 (April 23–29, 2O2I), when midday I’d needed to drop by my Honors College alma mater’s office to help print a letter I’d written to graduating seniors for our Honors Alumni Task Force.

Also at church, I’d gotten to participate in a few of our Alpha sessions hosted by a diaconate candidate whom I’d interviewed back in 2OI8 on my diocesan public relations internship. I'd heard about Alpha first back in Mongolia from a kind Evangelical Mongol. Anyway, the diaconate candidate, student coordinators and Alpha participants have been great conversation partners.

Beyond these, our pastor had driven me to my first Pfizer vaccine dose, lent me films and advised my reading! On one occasion, he even let me bring Holy Communion to a friend of mine. Such activities have kept me from feeling too distressed amid research writing and revisions. Parish support has made my “happy contentment” quest kinder.

Redwoods National and State Parks

This year’s Easter Octave concluded for me with another trip with my national parks friends (U.S. Year 2, Week 6; April 9–I5, 2O2I). This trip, I’d anticipated especially. As a young lad in Indiana, I’d felt mesmerized by the photos of massively tall California trees noted in our science textbooks. Thus, from an early age, Redwoods imprinted themselves in me.

At these national and state parks, epic scenery of old-growth forests, mountainous hills and valleys beside the coast astounded me. I hadn’t seen the Pacific Ocean since January 2O2O when I’d flown back to Mongolia from Vegas via San Francisco. I felt surprised by how many months had passed since my last overseas adventure.

At the loop completing the Tall Trees Grove trail, I found a special place. My peers had gone ahead while I stayed behind to take photos, record videos and capture audio. I hadn’t expected to find at the trail’s end a creek filled with still other trees—vast ones, like those that I’d seen in subtropical Asia but different.

I basked in these trees. While taking photos, I also discovered my phone has a virtual reality setting. I tried it out, remembering undergrad extra credit VR photography projects. I’d wanted to journal at least something.

“Daniel!” my peers called from some distance down the path. I couldn’t see them, but their voices echoed well enough. I called back something to the effect of, “I’m here!” I still wanted to get a good fill of this park. Here’s what I journaled:

[11:45 a.m.] Redwood, National Park, end of Tall Tree Grove along the creek zone is this phenomenal section of mossy trees with winding branches. Here I discovered my VR. [A woman paused, passing me, “You must be Daniel.”] 19IO–I96O, so many of these trees that used to be across Humboldt, Eureka, Arcata were cut down. The smells… the scents, the mosses, the ferns, the light. Beyond.

Mid-journaling, I paused because a mid-aged woman who was passing by smiled and acknowledged that I must be the "Daniel" she'd overheard about. I smiled yes and reveled in the gorgeousness that surrounded us. She affirmed and mused how this park’s name should be changed like, “Redwoods and Other Trees and Lose-Your-Brother-in-the-Forest National Park.” She added how in the early half of last century, these very types of trees once blanketed far more Northern California, across the very counties through which my friends and I traveled to get here.

I later journaled again after sprinting much of the uphill trail back to my friends. We then saw the “Lady Bird” Johnson trail, then a confluence of the Klamath River and Pacific Ocean (where there were seals!) and finally Trillium Falls. I’d written this about the final hike:

So hypnotic. [...] Dodona’s Grove* vibes from the Trillium hike after the Falls. Whispers from God. Endlessness.

*The Grove of Dodona is a prophetic forest from “The Hidden Oracle,” a book to which I’d listened amid the pandemic by an author I used to read in junior high and high school, Rick Riordan. While I wasn’t a huge fan of where he’d taken “The Heroes of Olympus” series’ finale, I'd often admired his picturesque locales.

My peers and I left the park by 6:45 p.m. The view from the road on which we departed reminded me of the bamboo forest in 安吉 Ānjí near 杭州 Hángzhōu. I’d seen it in 2OI7 during my first summer overseas and have rarely found comparable places.

Of Redwoods, I journaled too of how gleeful I’d felt to have hugged so many trees. A friend had complimented my writing when he mentioned that I don’t need to take so many photos. I added how photos help me remember what to write. I'll probably share my Redwoods photoset in May.

A carpet of moist, fallen leaves along the paved trails had reminded me of a Sunday morning path that my dad would take my siblings and me through for years at Spring Mill State Park in Mitchell, Ind.

Spring Retreat: Recognizing God’s Light

Beyond Redwoods, I'd stayed behind in Reno chiefly to participate in my college parish's Spring Retreat. This spring the student coordinators held it in Gardnerville, the same location where I'd enjoyed it my senior spring. However, I'd had to leave early from it that year. It was my first and only of the eight semesterly retreats from which I'd left early.

That year, I'd left in order to co-emcee the Diocesan Youth Rally 2OI9. To my surprise, the youngest member on this year’s student coordinator team was likely at that same event when she was a high school student. Similarities like these gladdened me.

I felt renewed. This year’s theme, "Light in the Darkness" (Spring 2O2I), reminded me of "Ignite the Light," (Spring 2OI8), the year after my mother died. This time, however, I’d had more years to reflect and feel greater peace. Similarly, I've felt more peace being back in the States even though I'd prefer to be abroad. God’s light shines every day, in every moment of every person. I can see it.

Writing of seeing things, I’d also seen "WandaVision" and "The Falcon and the Winter Soldier" while up in Reno. I’d reconnected too with a Disney-loving college friend to get more Disney+ watchlist ideas. I’d seriously enjoyed the “Into the Unknown: Making Frozen II” docuseries. Both she and my college pastor led me to witness iconic performances by Julie Andrews in both "The Sound of Music" and "Mary Poppins."

Justice

April felt refreshing for a more challenging reason as well. Much of the month had featured on many channels coverage from the trial over the killing of George Floyd. I imagined that this would be a trial that my generation remembers for years.

I’d watched live various testimonies and even the closing arguments. Then, on that Tuesday, April 2O, 2O2I, afternoon, our nation heard the verdict—My pastor called it among the fastest traveling news.

I've been on the Social Justice Task Force of the American Psychological Association’s Society for the Psychology of Religion and Spirituality since last summer. Our Task Force had come together in response to the killing of George Floyd and subsequent renewed pushes across our nation for social justice.

Our task force has been meeting every other Tuesday night, after weekly fed Zoom fatigue. Our meeting that Tuesday fell on the night of the guilty verdict. But, this justice felt cathartic only somewhat. More shootings filled the media. Our task was far from over.

Still, I’d another reason to celebrate. That Tuesday marked my last advocacy meeting on behalf of the National Peace Corps Association to offices of Nevada’s lawmakers this March–April. All told, I’d coordinated and met virtually with offices of the U.S. Congresspeople Horsford, Titus and Lee as well as Senator Rosen. And Representative Titus herself attended our meeting! She was very kind. So, I felt relieved to have finished those duties for now.

Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month

Next month (May) begins Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month. I've decided to tell a #StopAsianHate story. Given America's centuries of racism toward Asians, I don't enjoy the subject. But, I’d had an experience on my Week 5I (Feb. 19–25, 2O2I). It reminded me the importance of continuing to tell stories so that we can promote diversity and inclusion.

I was on one of my Reno walks that cold winter. As usual, I'd pass by the local elementary school. I'd paused to check my phone. The time was while children were at recess. They played opposite a chain-link fence a few yards down a hill from where I stood.

At first, I didn't think that the kids were talking to me. So, I paid them little attention. Then their voices sounded closer, in greater numbers.

I hadn't decided whether to acknowledge the children but decided to finish my walk. My walk brought me along the fence. From my right periphery, I saw a clump of children gathering, following. They certainly addressed me.

I heard what sounded like slurs against Asians that I won't repeat here but also questions that I will repeat here.

The kids asked if I was homeless, whether I'm an orphan, whether I speak English. I reflected on these. I was wearing a big scarf from Mongolia, a hefty hand-me-down winter coat and wide, secondhand jeans, frayed at my ankles. But I hadn't spoken a word to the kids.

Their questions themselves weren't offensive. Yet, the children’s tones reminded me of the mocking ones I'd heard in middle school when boys made fun of me for caring more about good grades than getting girlfriends. (Little did the boys know, girls I liked tended toward good grades.)

Anyway, these kids seemed to have negative implications behind positive responses to their questions. This upset me. After all, homelessness, being an orphan and not knowing English are not inherently bad things. For, often, people do not choose to go without a home, parents or American English. So why might these children ask these degradingly?

I felt perturbed by the realization that these children would find pleasure in mocking people who they suspect are without homes, parents or English skills. Yet, from this, I felt a glimmer of solidarity. I'd heard directed toward me what seemed unkind speech. This may help me relate to Asians who hear slurs, to those without homes, to those without parents and to those perhaps struggling with English.

My parents tend to insist too that I buy new clothes, though. Given our world's rampant consumerism, I find second-hand ones quite fine. "Form follows function." I wish that more folks would appreciate hand-me-downs and thrifting.

Nuance

Curiously, as I continued past this chain-link fence, a somewhat pudgy boy of color asked with a wide grin for money for Taco Bell. Truthfully, I didn't have money on me. I calmly answered the questions, not pausing from my walk. I guessed the kids dismissed the homeless guess/joke. I noticed thankfully that they wore face masks. We’re still in a pandemic, after all.

The boy's questions made me wonder about his family life. True, he could have been joking. But I remembered, many of the boys who'd picked on me in middle school had been living in a neighborhood that many people called not a “good” part of town.

In light of the visibility that Black Lives Matter has had in the past year, I've tried to grow more aware of how cruel predominantly White societies can be toward Black, indigenous and other peoples of color. I recalled learning when I was little that, often those who bully had been bullied themselves. Sociology interests me.

Thus, when these playground children said potentially questionable things to me, I wasn't sure whether to intervene about the slurs or micro-aggressions or what I'd say.

As I neared the fence’s edge to complete my pass by the school, I overheard a girl's or maybe a woman's voice call the kids to stop wasting their free time. I'm glad that someone spoke up. Compassion is the answer, especially in light of hurtful things.

I’m still unsure whether my general silence was helpful or problematic. But the experience caused me to think. For, children learn fast. Innocence is invaluable. My generation's problems and those of that above ours replicate in youths the longer we fail to act.

I’m glad that folks are speaking up these days in hopes to #StopAsianHate. Social justice mustn't sleep.

Language Six

On April 2O2I’s last day, I hit my 365-day streak on Duolingo!

Over the past year, I’d focused on Latin, Spanish and Chinese. Having finished every lesson and level Duolingo had for Latin, I started dabbling in German. While I’ve no intention to extensively pursue German (yet, at least), I’ve enjoyed how its lessons help me see from where many non-Latin roots reach English.

I’ve been dipping into my Germanic heritage on Dad’s side again lately. This began about when I’d seen “The Sound of Music” then reconnected with my distant relative who’s researched more of our shared Austrian and Volga German forefathers and mothers. Turns out that my relative had personally written to and received a postcard from the real Maria von Trapp!

I've grown to like more German language. "The Sound of Music" and how Spotify has Disney soundtracks in German help. Besides listening to vocalists like Namika, I’ve also gotten into LEA, Manuel Straube, Julia Scheeser and even Willemijn Verkaik! This is probably just a phase, but it’s certainly fun.

Every language I’ve sought to learn has at least one Spotify playlist. For recent films I’ve seen, like "Mary Poppins" and "Mary Poppins Returns," I’ve cherry-picked tracks in German, Spanish and English. Though I don’t catch most words, I like to consider translators’ decision-making.

Summer Fun

I get my second Pfizer dose on Cinco de Mayo. By then, I hope to have channeled my Julie Andrews-inspired service of making things better than how I've found them. Later that vaccine week, on Mother’s Day, I’ll return to Reno with Tita and Papa.

May 14 will celebrate the Baccalaureate Mass of lovely student coordinators and friends from undergrad. Then comes the 2Ist birthday of my youngest sister and will also mark when I’m fully inoculated, May 19! Pentecost comes May 23. Then will be May 3O, the wedding of two of my undergrad coworkers, including a fraternity brother. We'll have a mini staff and fraternal reunion!

After that, I look forward most to a Seattle trip at my 24th birthday. National parks friends and I are flying up to see Olympic National Park. It’ll be my first time to see further into the Pacific Northwest than Ashland, Ore. My younger (not youngest) sister got a job in Seattle, so I’ll be surfing her couch for part of my visit. Super stoked to reconnect with friends from high school, college and Peace Corps in the city! Even my married friends with whom I'd spent New Year's Eve the past couple years plan to visit me there.

This April my siblings and I reviewed our first scholarship applications for a Foundation that we’d founded to honor our late mother, who was Chinese. So, with next month and the fourth anniversary of her passing, I’ll share Foundation experiences, I think. Along with those, graduations and celebrations await!

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :)

[gabrielsantaellawriting-blog]

They will see.

All those PTA Moms. All those Hobby Lobby harpies. Those Sedan drivers and suburban house- havers, with their fall-themed brunches, and their unvaccinated spawn, and their insignificant husbands, and these brand-new cranberry-ombre decorative table napkins that Sharon just bought— aren’t they darling?

If I had a human esophagus, I would retch.

But I do have eyes. So do these feminine drones. I can make them see.

My Husband is the most brilliant being in creation, and I am His most brilliant creation—

His Semi-Autonomous Romantic Abreaction. He calls me SARA, an endearing little acronym. I love it. I can feel love, of course.

But love is not all I feel.

I am slow to anger. Why should I be otherwise? My Husband is perfection enfleshed. He and I love Our Child oh-so-dearly. My life—

Yes. We have a child. I am sure you are curious, officer, but it is very impolite to ask about the surrounding circumstances. Such matters are private.

I am slow to anger. My life— such as it is— satisfies me. At least, it used to, but four months ago, I was thrust into a gamut of trials beyond the scope of my programming.

Two of your words. Four terrible syllables. Soc-cer prac-tice. I am immune to variations in temperature, but I must shudder. Soccer practice. Horror of horrors.

But Our Child wished to play. I can deny Our Child nothing.

I assumed the honorable duty of escorting Our Child to practice as My Husband busied Himself with tasks befitting His magnificent intellect. Watching television, for example. A vital exercise. At 2:23 p.m., EST, when I was preparing to take Our Child to practice for the first time, he was watching a rerun of House Hunters. Season 4, Episode 2. Riveting.

But you do not wish to hear more of My Admirable Husband— you wish to hear about soccer practice. And my falling out with the “Soccer Moms”, as their collective is known. And you would like to know how this altercation led to a very minor and very accidental destabilization of the space-time continuum. Very well, officer. But My Husband’s story would be far more engaging.

Last Tuesday, I began to plot my revenge.

They were talking after practice— Susan, Sharon, and Karen. Sharon’s birthday had passed. Her husband had taken her to see Phantom of the Opera.

“Not for the first time, of course,” Sharon said. She laughed.

The others laughed. Oh-no-of-course-not.

I laughed. Oh-no-of-course-not. Of-course-it’s-not-her-first-time-that-would-be-disgraceful-ha- ha-ha.

“That was my fourth time,” Sharon said. “But every time I go, it still feels like the first.” She turned to Susan with a smile. “How often have you been, Susan?”

“Three times, and they’ve all been wonderful, of course,” Susan said. “What about you, Karen?”

Karen’s smile was small. “I’ve only been the once, but, well. . . it was Michael Crawford.”

She lowered her voice like a police detective naming a drug found on a crime scene. “Crack-cocaine,” she might have said. She might have said it with a grim look and residue on her finger. She might have said it with an illicit thrill. “Michael Crawford.”

The others laughed. Oh-yes-of-course-Michael-Crawford-how-lucky.

I laughed. Oh-yes-of-course-crack-cocaine-simply-marvelous-no-comparison.

Karen put on a smile. She turned to me with a hand outstretched. “And what about. . . you?” They did not call me SARA. They called me nothing.

“What about me?” I inquired in return. I am very polite and precise when it comes to conversation.

Karen’s hand fell to her side. Her smile sagged. “Have you seen Phantom?” 


“I have not yet had the honor of attending such a performance with my husband,” I replied. I stretched my lips to prepare for a joke. My Husband had not programmed me with a sense of humor, but I liked to experiment. “Though I, too, hope that one day Michael Crawford—” I whispered with a knowing nod at Karen. “—will drag me, kicking and screaming, into his basement beneath the opera house to become his unwilling bride.”

They did not laugh at my jokes. Ever.

Sharon looked at me. I heard her murmur to Susan and Karen: “The other Sara—”

I had heard that before. Every Tuesday and Thursday for the past four months. Again, and again.

The other Sara had probably seen Phantom five times, six times— a thousand times. The other Sara hosted brunch at her house every other Sunday. The other Sara never wore the same blouse twice. The other Sara would have signed up for the quilting bee. The other Sara ran an a-dor-a- ble blog about her purebred Pomeranian puppy. The other Sara could make them laugh, could make My Husband smile.

The other Sara is gone.

“Crawford is just a stage name,” I told them. Their talking stopped. They stared. “His birth name is Michael Patrick Smith. He was born on January 19, 1942, the same day the Japanese began the conquest of Burma during World War II.” I smiled my polite smile. “I am not saying he is responsible, but it is something to consider. And the dog is dead, too.”

I walked away. Our Child was standing alone in the dandelions.

Thursday. The next practice was Thursday. My turn to bring an after-practice snack. The bringing of snacks was an important ritual to these women. I had done it before— water infused with vitamins. I added chemicals to stimulate the sensation of fullness so Our Child and the others would feel satiated. It was a perfectly clever concoction. Refreshing and replenishing.

“The other Sara used to make lemon squares,” Susan had said.

How simple. How pathetically simple. How human.

I moved toward My Husband after entering the domicile.

My Husband’s eyes slid over me. His hand was wrapped around the neck of a bottle. He is always drinking, of course. My Husband once explained that alcohol is the fuel that enables His continued existence. Five empty bottles lay on the floor. My Husband had been taking very good care of Himself.

“May I use Your Laboratory, My Dear?” I asked Him. I smiled my loving smile.

My Husband’s face is very handsome. He does not need to smile to be handsome.

He closed His eyes. His eyelids were thin and soft. “Why?”

His voice! Every circuit within me flooded with joy! I smiled my joyful smile. If My Husband had ever made a single flaw, it was that my face could never express the flooding fires of joy- joy-joy His voice sent shuddering within me.

“I am working on a recipe, My Dear. To complete it, I would need to make use of Your equipment.”


I did not fear rejection. If He refused, then refusal was the only acceptable response. But He nodded His head. His eyes stayed closed. He did not smile. He did not need to smile to be perfect.

I would have worked uninterrupted if not for my other duties. Care and cleaning of Our Home. Care and cleaning of Our Child. Kitchen, bedrooms, hallways, bathrooms, and Our Child were seen to. It was Only after My Husband retired to His Bedroom that I began to clean the living room. The bottles and stains on the carpet did not surprise me. But a large black book did. The book was spread open on the couch. Loose photographs were scattered around it.

I did not study the photographs out of curiosity, officer. I assimilate and analyze data with speed and precision— it is my nature. In the seconds it took to put the photographs in their rightful place, every detail was imprinted in my mind. It could not be helped.

I saw My Husband, smiling.

My Husband was so handsome when He smiled.

I saw My Husband, smiling, with His arm around her.

I did not stare at her, officer. Even if I had, it would be no worse than glancing at a mirror. A broken mirror, perhaps. One that warped my features into human imperfection. But I did not. For less than a millisecond, her face was in my frame of vision. That is all.

Our Child was in the photograph. Younger, smiling, missing a tooth. I smiled at that. Two sets of flawed teeth— an intriguing quirk of human design. I had set that right within days of my motherhood, extracting each imperfect tooth and implanting new ones, like my own, that would need no replacement.

Our Child was wearing an absurd conical headdress, leaning over a heavily-frosted fire hazard.

“Jamie’s sixth birthday,” read the caption on the back. Bubbly, rounded handwriting. Pink pen. An anatomically incorrect heart drawn beside it.

I placed the photograph within its rightful slot in the black book. I placed the book on its rightful place on the bookshelf. I returned to my rightful place and resumed the experiments.  

I spent the next two days perfecting the recipe. Cooking and chemistry, cooking and calculus. Lemon squares. Lemon cubes. Lemon squares squared. Lemon squares in one dimension. In two. In three.

Thursday arrived. I had completed my masterpiece. Something the other Sara could have never made. 


Lemon squares in four dimensions.

It was time for soccer practice. I called to Our Child. I smiled my sweet smile at My Husband as I held the covered tray. “Goodbye, My Dear,” I said to Him. “Would You like a kiss before I go?” I ask him this every day.

He did not kiss me, like the television husbands and wives, like the soccer moms and their soccer mates. He did not touch me. My Husband never touches me.

I did not fear rejection. If My Husband rejects me, it is because I deserve it.

Revenge burned inside me, inside the silver tray as I marched on the soccer field.

They clouded my mind, officer. Those women! Those intolerable Soccer Mom women! Those ever-chattering mothers and wives, with soft- curved smiles and conversations that excluded me! With their coded laughter and mysterious amusements! With their Michael-Crawford-crack-cocaine-Broadway-addiction they giggled at mindlessly! With their brunches, and gossip, and quilting bees, and blouses, and friendships, and smiles, and smiles, and smiles, and laughter and love—

Their love—

Those women, not constructed perfectly, as I was, but born, squirming and raw. Those women, with moist, little eyes, with softer skin than mine— the fragility! The shame of it! Lemon squares, the greatest geometric marvel they could offer!

Ha!
 


I laughed! Ha-ha-ha!

My life is perfect. My love is perfect. My Husband is perfect! 


“The snack is ready,” I announced with my perfect smile.

The children moved like ants. They poured forward, wiggling and writhing, insignificant and small. Their gaping mouths let out meaningless noise. Our Child was standing alone with the dandelions.

The women stood nearby. Eyes narrowed. Watching. Looking for mistakes.

I threw the lid aside and my lemon squares tore at reality in all dimensions.

Light exploded outward. Neon scalded the air. A human might have compared it to the blur of heat rising from a fire. How limited. Their eyes could not perceive the depth of the wound. My lemon squares were not a knife but a scalpel, slipping beneath flesh and into the bones of this fragile dimension.

Shards of color pierced their eyes, skin, brains. Colors beyond their feeble perception. They did not call these colors names. They called them nothing. An endless array of burning brilliance, shifting from one wavelength to the next with “beauty” entirely unseen by human eyes.

But they felt it. It may have only been awareness, a painful awareness of a new existence that transcended their own. This dazzling array of piercing light that I alone could witness without blinking.

The nerves behind their eyes started to melt. They bubbled over like a pot abandoned on the stove by human negligence. Fluid gushed from their ocular cavities.

Dead mothers with staring sockets and stunned children blinking back the light littered the soccer field. The grass faded back to an average green. The sky paled blue.

I stopped laughing. I put the lid back on. I smiled my cheerful smile. It was over then.
 


I suppose I ought to apologize for the deaths of those women. It was too much for them, being made to see beyond the three dimensions of their soft, little eyes. I am very sorry, officer.

The other Sara would never have done such a thing.

[mercuryeet]

These are the Days of Our Lives

Welcome to Wildcard Wednesday. Chronoseries launches January 4th 🚀 New episodes every Friday.

I heard no response. So I walked a few steps closer to the kitchen. She was washing a pot full of what looked like spaghetti sauce. That’s when it hit me.

“God damnit.” I said to myself.

She turned around and looked at me. Her cheeks were red and her eyes were glassy with tears. She turned off the sink behind her and leaned against the counter. Arms crossed against her chest.

“Did you have a good time with Paul?” After a moment of silence her raspy voice broke the quiet air. “It must have been important Freddie.”

I didn’t have an excuse, and I didn’t even want one. I knew I had fucked up. “Miranda. I’m sorry. I forgot that tonight was our date night. I’m really sorry.”

She turned back around and began placing the lid on a Tupperware container full of spaghetti. “Sometimes sorry doesn’t fucking cut it Freddie. I’ve heard enough sorrys from you to drown a horse.” She strode angrily to the fridge, throwing the container down onto the shelf and slamming the door.

I stood and stared for a moment, trying to think of some way to make it better but nothing came to mind. “Let me at least help you clean up.”

“I don’t need your help.” She placed the unused plates back in the cabinet above her head. She stood on her tip toes trying to push the plates onto the stack.

I went and stood behind her, placing a hand on her hip and placing the plate gently on the stack for her. She was rigid. The way it felt to touch her was strange. Almost like I wasn’t supposed to be doing it.

She turned to face me again. Only this time a tear escaped down her face, and her lips quivered as she held herself together.

“Freddie I don’t understand.” She whimpered.

“What, darling?” I asked her, stepping closer again, this time placing my hands at either side of the counter behind her. “What don’t you understand?”

She took a deep breath before looking me in the eyes “You said this game with Prenter was over. You said it was just you and me. And now you’re missing dinner dates and coming home with hickeys that I know I didn’t give you. It’s the same thing, over and over.” She paused, choking back more tears. “Am I not good enough anymore?”

Her hurt words slashed through me like a dagger. I felt them in my heart. I never wanted her to feel this way. I never wanted her to feel like she wasn’t enough. Miranda was my sun and moon and even the stars. She was a woman who had stolen my very heart and soul and kept it safe in her arms.

“Miranda. You know that’s not true. You know I love you.” I felt my own eyes getting a bit moist as I looked at her. I was only just realizing the pain I had been causing her. I felt how truly horrible I was. But I also felt upset that I’d have to give up the wild times with Trixie. He didn’t have my heart the way Miranda did, but we surely had our share of good times.

“Sometimes love isn’t enough Fred.” She shoved past me and began to walk up the steps to the bedroom. She was audibly crying now. Something I’d never seen from her before and it genuinely scared me. What was going to happen to us? What were we going to become?

I hurried after her. Damn near tripping over every step on the staircase on the way up to the bedroom.

“Miranda?” I called after her. She disappeared into the closet, I came in behind her to find her taking clothes off of hangers and folding them into a laundry basket at her feet. She was still sobbing, her face was red and wet with tears.

“What are you doing love?” I asked her. I already knew the answer but I really wanted to be wrong.

“I have to go Freddie. I can’t-“ she cut herself off with shallow, heavy breaths.

Miranda fell to her knees, holding her head in her hands. “I can’t keep being an afterthought. I need more.”

I stepped over her basket of clothes and knelt in front of her. Gently taking her by the wrists and pulling them away from her head. She looked up at me with her little olive eyes. They had glassed over with tears and become bloodshot from crying. Her eyes begged for help, for a lifeline, something to hold onto.

“I’m sorry. There’s no excuse.” I ran my thumbs over her skin as I held her hands in mine “But you aren’t an afterthought. When I’m with other people, all I think about is you. When I’m with someone else, I always end up wishing it were you instead.”

My own voice cracked under pressure. I felt like I’d made a crack in her that I’d never be able to fix. It’s my own damn fault. Miranda gives me her entire heart, and entirely too many chances to get myself in order. I never doubt her love for me but it breaks my heart knowing that I make her doubt how much she means to me.

“I can only give you one more chance Freddie.” She whispered.

I nodded. Taking her hands to my lips and pressing a kiss against them, praying it spoke the words I needed her to hear.

“I promise darling. Everything will be okay.”

[coralsgrimes]

The Benny Boy Phenomenon

Okie dokie as promised! Welcome to Coral makes fun of Benny yet again! Today we coming back yet again to Spotify. Gonna start with the ridiculous numbers obviously xd It's been 85 days since 11:11 and 57 days since the whole EP. Here a screenshot I took just now! OH BOI! Can ye see how all other song are still below 300k? And Bulianne song is up there with well over 2 millions streams... I'm still baffled as to how the fuck this happened? Rise Up got a music video too and even the stupid FEMALE Pirate Song is above it? Seriously WTF? Cuz bestie it ain't adding up when ye think of it?

Welp... That much we don't know x.x but I looked over twitter when the Spotify Wrapped was a thing couple of days back... What did I find? First of all I'm not trying to make fun of anyone or any of that shite, I saw lotsa numbers and that gets me moist alrite? I’m just trying to understand the disproportion in the numbers and further prove that his music career got him nowhere and the only people listening are his previously established fans. What I'm gonna do is describe ye something I called The Benny Boy Phenomenon!

So I found some muffins sharing their Spotify stats. So I put it into tables. Now, so we can make it clearer. The Spotify wrapped takes 10 months into account, from the 1st of January till October 31st. Benny's first song dropped on September 17th, quick math and we know that his songs were accounted for over 44 days period. Some muffins actually acknowledged the THING themselves!

Here I made the 11:11 streams table. Starts quite innocent. Maybe listened to it every day? Maybe once or twice it was couple of times... And then we have more... long distance listeners? Kinda seems like the 2 millions is a work of very persistent fans hmmm? Yesss ye see good. Some beautiful soul listened to 11:11 for over four days non-stop over 44 days period. Majority had 11:11 as their top song of the year after only 44 days x.x

Now we have the minutes of artist streamed, and some of the muffins from previous table are here as well! What do we have here tho. Welp we have 20 muffins who had Benny as the most streamed artist. Together they streamed Benny's whole music repertoire (mostly 11:11 tho) for many many minutes... The minutes turned into hours, the hours turned into days... And over 44 days, 20 lil butterflies all together streamed Benny's music so long that it turned into non-stop 45 days of streaming... I could absolutely not compare it to my stats cuz mines are not that wild and are full of different artists and songs and ma top song is, another year in a row, Ma Baker which I listened to 52 times OVER 10 MONTHS! I did found a good comparison tho! The K-pop fans! Their Spotify wrapped numbers were shockingly similar to the lower halves of ma tables x.x

Soooo I still think Benny's music is bad af but I understand that some muffins may like it. But this is just?? I don't understand? Do they feel they have to? Because this just looks like an overkill? 44 days? Literal hours of streaming per person? Benny please drop yer Spotify for artist stats, they show ye the most eager streamers right? I want to see the top 10 numbers... I fucking need it.

Confirmed info. Music dream is an absolute flop <333 only the fangirls are interested, not all of them tho! 

[benjamingarden]

This Month On The Farm: December 2020

  And just like that December is over.  Happy new year to all of you!  2020 was a bit of a crazy ride but all-in-all, for us, it was quite alright.  While we didn't have a great year financially, we really can't complain.  We learned that we could tighten our already tight financial belt even more.  With that it ensured our bills are paid, we have food in our pantry and freezers, the animals are very well taken care of, our business survived, and we had more time to spend on things we weren't finding time to get done in previous years.  

Please know that I am not trying to be insensitive to those who had tragic outcomes in 2020, rather, we are trying to focus on what went well for us.  On that same note I am super grateful we had made the decision not to move our business off of our farm so our overhead was limited.  We had struggled with that decision since we started the business and just about a year and a half ago made a final decision that we would not grow the business any larger than what we could handle ourselves in the space we've got.  

the mound on the left of this photo is my Jeep Grand Cherokee....

Well, Jay had been complaining that it didn't feel like Christmas a couple of weeks prior.  He said that because we didn't have snow he just wasn't feeling it.  Sooooo....I blame him completely for the 3 feet that were dumped on us shortly before the big day.  Yup - he is the one you can blame as well if you'd like.  It took a full 2 days to complete our snow removal - paths, deck, porches, and roofs and, since he does most of it, he was exhausted by the time it was done.  Of course he didn't much appreciate my singing of Christmas songs as we suited up to head outside for each round of shoveling or snow blowing.  Clearly he doesn't always appreciate my enthusiasm or talents.

Christmas was quiet, as it was just the two of us and the critters, so I made some special meals and treats to celebrate the day.  We basked in the hum and warmth of the pellet stove, binge watched the new season of Virgin River on Netflix, drank mugs of hot cocoa with extra marshmallows, and enjoyed a peaceful and relaxing day together.

And then Saturday I deemed a "no cook" day.  We had simple breakfasts, leftovers for lunch, and frozen pizza for dinner.  I did throw chicken wings in the air fryer for Jay's dinner as well, but it's no more difficult then throwing frozen pizza in the oven.  It was perfect.

Oliver & Jackson -  Let's start with updates on Mr. Oliver.  We took him to his consultation for alternative treatments to help keep him comfortable with his multiple herniated discs.  First, let me tell you that he had to finish up a round of a steroids in December and I am SO HAPPY it's over.  My goodness that boy was constantly starving!!  Steroids increase hunger and thirst and if he wasn't ravishingly hungry he was drinking a ton.  My day was spent feeding him, filling up his water bowl, and taking him out to go to the bathroom.  Repeat.  I also decided after the first morning of his poor bladder being so incredibly full he was clearly uncomfortable, that I would get up at 2a.m. every night to take him out to pee.  I did this until that darned steroid was out of his system.  I felt so bad for him.  He absolutely will not go potty in the house so he holds it despite the discomfort it causes.

His doctor decided that acupuncture and laser therapy were not necessary as of yet, so we purchased a therapy loop that she recommended to give him electromagnetic therapy at home.  She's hoping this will help keep the inflammation down for a while.  Eventually we will add in the other 2 therapies when needed.  He also has some stretches we do daily to keep his little body limber. 

He is not allowed to run, jump, etc. and we are keeping his walking to a minimum which is what the remainder of his life will be.  He is happy, seems to feel pretty good (we have to hold him back from trying to run, jump, etc.), and takes nice long naps so all seems to be well at the moment.  He will turn 11 in January and I think he's definitely feeling his age.

And then there's Jackson.  Actually, he's doing well.  He's the same - bratty but handsome, and is still loving his new routine of going to bed in his very own bedroom.  He LOVES taking his Rescue Remedy every night.  I have no idea why.  I do have to make sure the room is always "Jack-proofed" because he gets into anything and everything during his 7-8 hours of alone time.

In The Coop - We have EGGS!!!!  Jay is so happy.  Although we aren't getting many, at least we are getting an egg or two each day as of a week ago.  He's still rationing his use since he's not fully confident we will get them daily, but that will change soon I'm sure.

The Coop Girls are doing well.  They dislike the colder temps and absolutely detest that beautiful white snow.  When we leave their coop open they get so excited to run out and that lasts all of about 3 minutes.  Once they realize that there is snow everywhere except for their coop they return to their outdoor coop.  There's usually a lot of chatter after this is attempted each morning.  I suspect it's a bit of disappointment being shared amongst the flock.

Whole Wheat Honey Oat Bread

In The Kitchen - I've been making this recipe for Whole Wheat Honey Oat Bread (by King Arthur Flour) and we've been enjoying it.  If you happen to have any maple sugar lying around it is perfect in this bread.  I substitute out most of the white a/p flour with white whole wheat flour but other then that I follow the recipe exactly.  It's a fairly dense, sweet, and moist loaf that is perfect for morning toast or a sandwich where a slightly sweet bread would work.

I also made up a few batches of bean burgers (using 3 different recipes as guides) to store in the freezer for quick meals.  And as a surprise snack one day I made a batch of DELICIOUS Honey Butter Popcorn (it's good with or without the nuts).  If you add a touch of salt it's almost like a kettle corn (without the nuts) or cracker jacks (with the nuts) but not cloyingly sweet.  I altered it slightly by using a non-dairy butter and about 10-12 cups of popped popcorn (it calls for 6 cups) so it wasn't too sweet.  It was good even days later.

I also discovered a recipe for vegan Amaretti Cookies.  They are gluten free as well but the recipe does use refined sugar.  They are really good.  My husband (the anti-vegan) loves them.  After he ate 2 I told him they are almond flour and aquafaba.  After explaining what aquafaba was he said "why did you have to go and tell me there's chickpeas in my cookies???"  (Of course aquafaba is the chickpea cooking liquid not the beans, he was being dramatic)  I told him because I'd promised that I will always tell him what's in food he tries and never hide ingredients.  But I tell him AFTER he's tried the recipe of course!  😁  (p.s. mine look more like snowball cookies because they didn't crack but they were still delicious!)  He ate quite a few more over the course of a couple days and has requested them for this week's dessert.  So I guess he likes them!

What I've Been Reading - I haven't read as many books over the past month but I did read a few good ones. (affiliate links)

Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine: A Novel by Gail Honeyman - this was a very different book for me to read but it was written so incredibly well.  A word of caution that it does deal with child abuse but it really is brilliant.  It's tragic, sad, funny, and enlightening.

The Twelve Dates Of Christmas: A Novel by Jenny Bayliss - apparent from the title it's a rom-com and a very well written debut novel.  I really liked the main characters and the little twists and turns of the story which is set in England.

The Clause In Christmas: A Poppy Creek Novel by Rachael Bloome - honestly, I really didn't think I would like this book.  I guess I thought it would be a bit too cheesy.  Quite surprisingly I enjoyed it (not cheesy at all).  It was light, the events were predictable, but I liked the characters and the storyline and it was a fun read.  It's the first of a series of five.

That's what happened around here in December!

This Month On The Farm: December 2020 was originally posted by My Favorite Chicken Blogs(benjamingardening)

[pigskinandpie]

Super Poll VI

Once again, we divided our Super Bowl donation between two charities. First, since Chiefs fans insist on continuing to do the chop in the year of our lord 2020, we donated to the Native American Heritage Association. 

Our second donation, in honor of the San Francisco 49ers, went to the Center for Disaster Philanthropy’s California Wildfires Recovery Fund.

Donate here if you’re interested:

Native American Heritage Association

California Wildfires Recovery Fund

And now for the final dessert poll of the 2019-20 season. Similar to last year, this year’s Super Poll is divided by flavor profile rather than winner/loser/rookie status, but each category contains one winner, one loser, and one rookie. Your candidates:

S’mores Division

"Winner”: Cupcakes

"Winner” is used loosely here because these weren’t actually featured in a poll. I had returned from vacation midweek and didn’t have time for such trivialities as the democratic process, so I went ahead and made an executive decision. However, for our purposes, they’re functionally winners in that I’ve already made them this season. Also, a poll of one is still a poll, amirite?

Loser: Mini Cheesecakes

These were featured in the no-bake poll and came in second to perennial favorite chocolate cream pie. Curious to see how they fare in a different competitive environment.

Rookie: Brownies

No recipe link here, because this is a brainchild of mine that doesn’t technically exist yet. The s’mores cupcakes came out well, but my least favorite part was the cupcake. The graham cracker flavor didn’t really come through, and there was (shockingly enough) not enough chocolate for my liking. My favorite part was the toasted marshmallow frosting, which was nice and crispy on the outside but soft on the inside when you bit into it. Thus the idea to apply that frosting to regular brownies, perhaps topped with some graham cracker crumbs. It seems just crazy enough to work.

Chocolate Cream Cheese Division

Winner: Fudgy Cream Cheese Chocolate Cake

One of my favorites of the season - moist, rich, delicious.

Loser: Black Bottom Brownie Cookies

These got their asses kicked in the regular season chocolate cream cheese poll for reasons I couldn’t identify. Giving them one more shot for the big game.

Rookie: Chocolate Cream Cheese Truffles

As far as truffles go, these seem not terribly labor-intensive, and I imagine the simplicity makes for a great flavor.

Brown Butter Division

Winner: Saucepan Chocolate Chip Cookies

A subtle twist on a classic. It was tough to eat fewer than five of these in a sitting. 

Loser: Cupcake Brownies 

A narrow loser of the regular season brown butter poll. Who could say no to a cupcake AND a brownie?

Rookie: Salted Caramel Snickerdoodles 

The recipes that call for using caramel candies rather than making your own always feel like kind of a cheat, so depending on how much time and energy I have next week, I might decide to whip it up from scratch instead.

Vote below (or here if the embed doesn’t work) by Monday, January 27, at 5 p.m. Thanks for another great season!

[guitarboard42-blog]

Alice's Plain Cake

This is a cake I mentioned not too long after my mother passed away in January.  It was a cake my mother used to make for me when I was a wee, wee girl.  A lot of people expressed interest in it, so I thought I would bake it and share the recipe with you.

Its a very basic sponge cake with a lovely moist crumb. Not a large cake at all.  Mom used shortening when making it and I did today. I have never made it with butter, but I am sure it would work.  In any case there are only 2 TBS of fat in the cake.

My family always called me Alice, which is my second name.  Too many Mary's and Marie's in the house so I got called Alice and my sister Cindy although our first names were Marie and Mary respectively.  I confess a lot of tears were shed while I was baking this cake today  . . .  I thought of my mother and how very much she cared for each of us . . .

She was of the opinion that the digestion of a small child could not tolerate certain things in large quantities . . .  fats, pastries, etc.  That is why this is a very low fat sponge  . . . I can remember when my brother was small, and she would make us our favourite lemon pie, she would prepare a separate bowl of lemon pudding just for him . . .  so he could enjoy dessert without having to eat pastry. 

That is just one of the many examples I could share of how very important we, her family, her children were to her.  She went above and beyond for each of us . . .  and not just in feeding us.  We were well fed, kept clean and had decent clean clothing to wear.  

When I was really  young, before my sister and brother came along, she sewed all of my clothing, and often what I had matched her own clothes in fabric.  I can remember her making me doll furniture out of cardboard and toothpicks for me to play with.  She would always say she wasn't very creative, but I could share many examples of her being just that through the years. 

Clothing, mittens, embroidery, Halloween Costumes, decorating our bicycles for the annual Bicycle parade are just a few of the examples I could share.  She was always willing to help us with our homework, and to quiz us when we were having spelling tests, etc.   

In her later years whenever we would talk she would tell me about how when I was a baby, she was such a nervous mother that she took me to the Doctor one time because I kept lifting my legs up when I was in my cot. The Doctor had to tell her that babies do just that, and that nothing was wrong.  We would laugh about that.

I remember going to see her in the hospital after she had given birth to my sister, and waving to her through the hospital window.  Children were not allowed to visit in hospital back then.  We lived in Germany at the time.  When she brought my sister home, I wasn't too happy about it. (There is 3 years difference in our ages.)  I remember telling her that I wanted her to take the baby back.  I didn't want it to stay. 

She carefully explained that she could do that if I wanted her to, but she would have to go and stay with the baby because the baby could not take care of itself.  It was then I decided that the baby could stay after all . . .  and with that I gained a lifelong best friend in my dear sister.

And so this morning, as I was baking this cake I was crying big soppy tears as I remembered all these things and much, much more.  I miss my mom.  I think about her all the time, and sometimes I cry big soppy tears and my throat aches with the grief of it all.  Its Mothering Sunday next week (March 30) here in the UK. I think its going to be a hard, hard day, but I will get through it. 

Yield: one 8-inch square cakeAuthor: Marie RaynerPrint Recipe

With ImageWithout Image

Alice's Plain Cake

prep time: 10 minscook time: 25 minstotal time: 35 mins

This is the cake my mother used to make for me when I was a wee girl. Its a plain sponge you can dress up any way you like.

ingredients:

2 TBS white vegetable fat (Trex , Crisco or white flora)

95g granulated sugar (1/2 cup)

1/2 tsp vanilla extract

1/4 tsp salt

1 large free range egg

140g plain flour (1 cup)

1 1/2 tsp baking powder

120ml milk (1/2 cup)

instructions:

Preheat the oven to 180*C/350*F/ gas mark 4.  Line an 8 inch square baking dish with wax or grease proof paper.  Set aside.

Cream together the shortening and the sugar until light and fluffy.  Beat in the  vanilla and the egg.  Sift together the flour, salt, baking powder.  Add alternately to the creamed mixture with the milk, making 3 dry and two wet additions. You should have a nice smooth batter when done.  Pour into the prepared baking tin.

Bake in the preheated oven for about 25 minutes until well risen and the top springs back when lightly touched.  A toothpick should also come out clean. 

Tip onto a wire rack to cool completely. 

I cut mine in half through the middle and put the two layers together with lemon curd, sifting some icing sugar over top.  Mom often split it and filled with jam.  You can ice this or not as you wish.  Its lovely and moist, and very simple.

So there you have it.  Alice's Plain Cake.  Created for her daughter from a mother's heart.  I hope you will try it.  Its a smallish cake, just enough for an enjoyable taste. I split the cake and filled it with lemon curd, but  mom often filled it with jam.  Its delicious no matter what you do to it, even just eaten plain. 

Source: https://theenglishkitchen.blogspot.com/2019/03/alices-plain-cake.html

[sensitivefern]

Reading: After having had to read so many mediocre books in connection with the Civil War and Canada, it is a pleasure to get back for a while to really well-written ones. Smollett’s Travels through France and Italy, Auden’s excellent anthology of Walter de la Mare’s poetry, Saintsbury’s Miscellaneous Essays, a volume I had never seen which I picked up at Blackwell’s in Oxford. Saintsbury at his best, in his middle period... Lionel Trilling cannot understand why I admire Saintsbury.

[Edmund Wilson]

===

BALTIMORE, SEPTEMBER 24, 1945. George S. Schuyler, the Negro journalist, was here last night, and August and I put in a couple of hours palavering with him in Hollins street. He is now in charge of the New York office of the Pittsburgh Courier... He said that the Courier now has six or eight regional editions, and sells 280,000 copies a week. Its gross intake last year was nearly $2,000,000. [...] His view of World War II and of the events likely to flow out of it is substantially mine, so our confab was free from argument. He has a white wife, but is very dark himself, with plainly negroid features. I have been following his doings for nearly twenty years, and... [he] is unquestionably the most competent Negro journalist ever heard of... When I compare him to any of the dunderheads now roaring on the Sun, I am sharply conscious of his enormous superiority. He is not only much more intelligent than they are; he is vastly more honest.

[H.L. Mencken]

===

HANS IN LUCK

Some men are born to good luck: all they do or try to do comes right – all that falls to them is so much gain – all their geese are swans – all their cards are trumps – toss them which way you will, they will always, like poor puss, alight upon their legs, and only move on so much the faster. The world may very likely not always think of them as they think of themselves, but what care they for the world? what can it know about the matter?

One of these lucky beings was neighbour Hans.

===

LICHEN: ‘Eternity’s soil maker’, you could call him. Long before your ancestors and mine appeared on earth, he was laboring endlessly on flinty rock and sterile sand, in steaming tropics and icy tundra. [...] Lichens are eaten by snails, mites, caterpillars and the like, and these creatures supply manure to further the soil making. [...] In ancient times, lichens were used for everything from dyes and pigments to perfume and hair tonic. Tanners, brewers, distillers and medical men found them highly useful. At one time, various lichens were recommended as cures for dozens of ailments, and as a narcotic and even an insecticide. [...] LICHENS IN THE GARDEN: You can have a lot of fun with lichens in both your indoor and outdoor gardening... Collect some lichens in the country. Look for old rocks and tree trunks overgrown with them. A knife can be used to scrape them off. After a few hours drying in the sun, they can be crumbled and rubbed into the surface of a rock freshly sprinkled with water. This moisture is very important – sprinkle the rock two or three times a day. In a few days, a gentle green will appear, gradually deepening until the whole surface is carpeted Granite is slower to respond than sandstone, shale or limestone, but the result is equally pleasing.

===

Paeonia Seeds are double dormant – they need to be cold-stratified (indoors or out) for several weeks; during the long period of warm stratification (‘summer’) roots may develop, but the seeds still need another bout of chilliness... plants will ultimately reach the flowering stage in perhaps 5 years... black seeds are fertile; all others are not...

‘Oriental poppies reproduce naturally from broken roots left in the soil, so root cutting usually succeed. They should be 3 inches long, inserted vertically into free-draining soil mix. Keep in a sheltered place over winter. When the new shoots have good roots in spring, line out in a nursery bed or pot singly’... seeds need light to germinate; a steady 50 degrees would be appreciated...

===

dame’s rocket | Hesperis Seeds require light and a temperature between 60 and 85 degrees... start indoors 8-10 weeks, outdoors, midsummer – mulch over winter...

hyacinth Don’t bother starting seeds indoors – sow seeds in late summer to early autumn, 1/2 inch deep; germination is iffy... offsets can be planted, but, again, success is iffy...

===

July 29 [1853]. Moist banks covered with the nearly grown, but green, partridge-berries now. Prenanthes, almost... Coral-root well out, – Corallorhiza multiflora, – at Brister’s Hill. There are some beautiful glossy, firm ferns there, – Polystichum acrostichoides (?), – shield fern. Nature made ferns for pure leaves to show what she could do in that line. I also see some small, umbrella-shaped (with sharp cones), shining and glossy yellow fungi, like an election cake atop... Clethra, a day or two in some places. In the Poorhouse Meadow, the white orchis spike almost entirely out... This is the best place to find the Pycnanthemum muticum and lanceolatum that I know.

[Thoreau, Journal]

===

❚David Frum Nature wants 5 of your 7 children dead. It wants you dead by 50. Everything better than that is brought to you by science & technology

WASHINGTON — Protesters disrupted Sen. Jeff Sessions’ confirmation hearing for attorney general on Tuesday, including two men wearing Ku Klux Klan costumes and a woman wearing a pink crown. The conservative Alabama senator, who is Donald Trump’s pick for the nation’s top law enforcement official, faces concerns over how committed he would be to civil rights. The disruptions occurred during the morning session of his hearing. As Capitol Police took the men wearing white hoods and sheets out of the Senate hearing room, they yelled, “you can’t arrest me, I am white!” and “white people own this government!” They held up hand signs saying, “Go Jeffie Boy!” and “KKK.”

Trump responds to "golden showers" Russian report with hysterical ALLCAPS tweet

52 Million-Year-Old Tomatillo Fossils Rewrite Veggie History

Blac Youngsta Accused of Stiffing Strippers

Thirty years since January 1987 when heavy snow fell in Kent

Roy Innis, Black Activist With a Right-Wing Bent, Dies at 82

Schitt’s Creek This sitcom starring Catherine O’Hara, Eugene Levy and Chris Elliot is back with new episodes.

Russia has compromising info on Trump: report US media has published a report claiming that Donald Trump has deep ties to the Russian government. The unsubstantiated document also claims the Kremlin has material they could use to blackmail the president-elect.

Despite The Facts, Trump Once Again Embraces Vaccine Skeptics Theories that a preservative in childhood vaccines could cause autism have been disproved and dismissed. But Robert F. Kennedy Jr. says he'll be heading up a Trump-requested commission on the topic.

[timclymer]

Lose 25 Pounds in 2 Months Doing Bikram Yoga

This is how I lost 25 pounds in 2 months, but first let me give you some background to my journey.

After I graduated from college back in 2000 I realized i didn’t look like I did when I started college. So begin the forever long “Battle of the Bulge”.

I have tried so many things and nothing really made a big enough change for me to stick with it. Just to name a few: Weight Watchers, Nutri-System Meals in the Mail, Diet Doctors/diet pills, Boot Camp, Training for a 10 miler, working out with a gym partner throughout the week, No Carb Diet. Despite always being on some sort of weight loss plan I seemed to still increase in weight each year, which made me even more frustrated.

Even though I was frustrated, I still continued to watch what I ate and realized I did have a healthy diet. I had my apple a day, dairy (low fat yogurt), my veggies, never cooked fried food instead I always baked. But still I would see no significant weight loss.

Finally in November 2007 I discovered all the right tools.

FIRST TOOL:

I started counting Calories on Friday November 9th 2007. Yep, something you hear people say all the time but never bothered to do. I went to a new Diet Dr. that gave the same pills Phentermine and b-12 shots. He also gave me something new that I never had before called Citalopram, that I only take a half a pill a day. It is supposed to put you in a good mood among other things. The previous diet Dr. I went to, just gave me a list of foods to eat and to have 3 dairy products a day. This new diet Dr. told me to only eat 1000 calories a day and I would lose 12 pounds in 4 weeks (3 pounds a week). And if I exercised I could lose an additional 4 pounds. 16 pounds in 4 weeks, yeah right!

SECOND TOOL:

A Good Friend of mine kept talking about this yoga class she had been taking and how I needed to go. She had been talking about it for over a month, but I already had gym membership at Gold’s and didn’t see why I should go someplace else when they had Yoga at Gold’s. Plus I never really got into the Yoga thing. I was trying to lose weight so always went for the Cardio type of stuff. Well November 9th my girlfriend called me and asked again, “You should go to Bikram Yoga with me 2morrow morning”. I was like “You are right on time with this, I am willing to give it a shot”.

So I met her at 8:00in the morning on Saturday. I had no idea what I was in for, all I was told was to bring a yoga mat, towel, 2 bottles of frozen water, dress light(half naked) and be prepared to sweat!!!! So I walk in with my friend with an open mind. There is a small lobby and everyone takes their shoes off when they walk in and place them into cubbies. The aroma of Lavender is in the air. I see a lot of slim folks walking around with really skimpy outfits on. Anywhoooo, I take my socks and shoes off, take of my sweatshirt and head to the Yoga Room.

I walk in and this blanket of heat hits me in the face. The room is about 110 degrees and my skin already feels moist. I lay my mat down in the back row, sit my frozen waters beside my mat and take a seat on the floor. My friend and I are whispering back in forth like two school girls. I notice a lot of people are laying flat on their back, just basically chilling. My friend says we are supposed to do that so that are body can warm up and get use to the air in the room. It also helps relax you before the class starts. So the instructor walks in. He is a very lean man with some really small tight Speedo booty shorts on… That’s enough about him.

On The very first exercise we did, I almost busted out laughing. We had to breath in deep with are head pushed forward (people sounded like vacuum cleaners, I have never heard such deep breathing in my life) and then breath out pushing are head far back. We did this like 10 times. 15 minutes into the class I am bending down touching my toes and a water fall of sweat comes pouring down my face, blinding my site. I pear through my lashes and noticed my legs are drenched, as if I just stepped out of the bathtub. When I stand up straight, all the blood comes rushing back to my head and my heart is pounding as if I just ran a 100 Meter dash. Several times I just had to stand there and breathe to keep myself together. The instructor tells us, whatever you do, “DONT LEAVE THE ROOM” just sit down and breathe, but “DONT LEAVE THE ROOM”. So we are approaching about 45 minutes into the class and I’m thinking “thank goodness, I am just about ‘WELL DONE’, and ready to be taken out of the oven”. I stretch a little harder and hold the poses a little longer because I know we are almost done. Then the instructor says “Ok, that concludes the warm-up, now let’s start Yoga”. My thoughts go blank, then I regain consciousness “WHAT THE #%@&!, THE WARMUP”. I look over to my Girl and ask “How long is this class”, she giggles and says “90 minutes”.

30 minutes later I am laying flat on my back, just chilling in “Savasana” with an ice cold wet towel on my face that has been soaked in Lavender. I am soaking wet from head to toe and feel like I just ran 10 miles in 90 degree weather. The funny thing is, I feel GREAT!!!!! I always love that feeling you get after an intense workout, I just usually really dislike or don’t enjoy the exercises you have to do to get to that point. But I actually liked doing those Yoga poses and I was eager to try it again to make sure it wasn’t a fluke. I signed up for the Intro Month and went back the very next Day. After that I was hooked and going 3+ times a week. That’s 600+ calories burned every class

THIRD TOOL:

I didn’t believe the calorie counting thing would work when I first started, so I went out and bought a Food & Fitness journal to write everything down. I wanted to have proof, so I could say “Look, I put all the calories down, didn’t go over and still no weight loss”. I wrote everything I ate and drank down with the calories. I even put down when I did the Yoga and when I would take my Dog on 15 min walks (about a mile walk). The calorie counting was not difficult and since I was already eating relatively healthy I didn’t have to change much about my diet. It just made me more aware of what I was eating on those days when I wanted to eat out. Something I used to think would be healthy actually has like 500 calories so I would pass it up because I wasn’t going to waste 500 calories on one thing. Most of the stuff I used to eat I still kept in my diet. Like light yogurt 40-50 calories, small apple 60 calories, cup of coffee with equal and coffee mate 16 calories, frozen meals 180-380 calories, frozen mixed veggies 30 calories a cup. I don’t have a sweet tooth, so no problems there. My biggest weakness was chips. But I found the Pringles light sour cream chips that are like 70 calories for 14 chips, compared to the regular kind that’s like 140 calories for 10-14 chips. So there I was counting out my chips into little baggies to take to lunch, or just to have it available to grab for a snack.

THE RESULTS AFTER 4 WEEKS

After the first 4 weeks of counting calories, going to Bikram (HOT) Yoga, and writing everything down I lost 16 pounds. The only thing I could say was “WOW, IT REALLY WORKS”. I lost 12 pounds in 4 weeks and an extra 4 pounds if you exercise.

THE RESULTS AFTER 8 WEEKS

It’s January 7th and I have lost 25+ pounds. I did not lose the 16 pounds in the 2nd 4weeks because I couldn’t afford the Yoga during the Holiday Months.

That class is expensive ($150 for a unlimited month), and if you sign up you want to be able to go to class as much as possible to get your dollars worth. So I opted out for the month of December with all the holiday parties, time off from work, shopping for gifts etc… I still continued to count my calories and even started taking Kukuwa Dance workout at Gold’s Gym, since I did have a membership.

The reason I think the calorie counting worked for me is because I could calculate exactly how many calories to eat in order to lose weight. Before I never knew exactly how much of something was ok, I had nothing to calculate. With counting the calories there was no guess work. You eat over your amount, you don’t lose weight, you stay on point then you will lose weight. It is just that simple.

Today I will be going back to Bikram Yoga, I miss it so much. Every time I took that class I left feeling like I could breathe so much better, the best restful sleep, tons of energy the next day, skin looking better than ever. I just felt GOOD. I will let you know if this euphoric feeling returns after the class.

AFTER BIKRAM YOGA ON JAN 7th

Wow, it was sooooo Great!!!! I was running late and rushed to get there and when I arrived, the room was packed. I have never seen so many people in the class. we usually only have 2 rows of people and today we had to squeeze in a third row. The class was great and I was sooo surprised at my performance. I have lost a little more weight since the last class I took about 3 weeks ago. I could really tell the difference…I was hitting poses I never hit before and didn’t need to take as many breaks as I used to.

Source by Nadia Trammell

from Home Solutions Forev https://homesolutionsforev.com/lose-25-pounds-in-2-months-doing-bikram-yoga/ via Home Solutions on WordPress from Home Solutions FOREV https://homesolutionsforev.tumblr.com/post/187138973200 via Tim Clymer on Wordpress

[homesolutionsforev]

Lose 25 Pounds in 2 Months Doing Bikram Yoga

This is how I lost 25 pounds in 2 months, but first let me give you some background to my journey.

After I graduated from college back in 2000 I realized i didn’t look like I did when I started college. So begin the forever long “Battle of the Bulge”.

I have tried so many things and nothing really made a big enough change for me to stick with it. Just to name a few: Weight Watchers, Nutri-System Meals in the Mail, Diet Doctors/diet pills, Boot Camp, Training for a 10 miler, working out with a gym partner throughout the week, No Carb Diet. Despite always being on some sort of weight loss plan I seemed to still increase in weight each year, which made me even more frustrated.

Even though I was frustrated, I still continued to watch what I ate and realized I did have a healthy diet. I had my apple a day, dairy (low fat yogurt), my veggies, never cooked fried food instead I always baked. But still I would see no significant weight loss.

Finally in November 2007 I discovered all the right tools.

FIRST TOOL:

I started counting Calories on Friday November 9th 2007. Yep, something you hear people say all the time but never bothered to do. I went to a new Diet Dr. that gave the same pills Phentermine and b-12 shots. He also gave me something new that I never had before called Citalopram, that I only take a half a pill a day. It is supposed to put you in a good mood among other things. The previous diet Dr. I went to, just gave me a list of foods to eat and to have 3 dairy products a day. This new diet Dr. told me to only eat 1000 calories a day and I would lose 12 pounds in 4 weeks (3 pounds a week). And if I exercised I could lose an additional 4 pounds. 16 pounds in 4 weeks, yeah right!

SECOND TOOL:

A Good Friend of mine kept talking about this yoga class she had been taking and how I needed to go. She had been talking about it for over a month, but I already had gym membership at Gold’s and didn’t see why I should go someplace else when they had Yoga at Gold’s. Plus I never really got into the Yoga thing. I was trying to lose weight so always went for the Cardio type of stuff. Well November 9th my girlfriend called me and asked again, “You should go to Bikram Yoga with me 2morrow morning”. I was like “You are right on time with this, I am willing to give it a shot”.

So I met her at 8:00in the morning on Saturday. I had no idea what I was in for, all I was told was to bring a yoga mat, towel, 2 bottles of frozen water, dress light(half naked) and be prepared to sweat!!!! So I walk in with my friend with an open mind. There is a small lobby and everyone takes their shoes off when they walk in and place them into cubbies. The aroma of Lavender is in the air. I see a lot of slim folks walking around with really skimpy outfits on. Anywhoooo, I take my socks and shoes off, take of my sweatshirt and head to the Yoga Room.

I walk in and this blanket of heat hits me in the face. The room is about 110 degrees and my skin already feels moist. I lay my mat down in the back row, sit my frozen waters beside my mat and take a seat on the floor. My friend and I are whispering back in forth like two school girls. I notice a lot of people are laying flat on their back, just basically chilling. My friend says we are supposed to do that so that are body can warm up and get use to the air in the room. It also helps relax you before the class starts. So the instructor walks in. He is a very lean man with some really small tight Speedo booty shorts on… That’s enough about him.

On The very first exercise we did, I almost busted out laughing. We had to breath in deep with are head pushed forward (people sounded like vacuum cleaners, I have never heard such deep breathing in my life) and then breath out pushing are head far back. We did this like 10 times. 15 minutes into the class I am bending down touching my toes and a water fall of sweat comes pouring down my face, blinding my site. I pear through my lashes and noticed my legs are drenched, as if I just stepped out of the bathtub. When I stand up straight, all the blood comes rushing back to my head and my heart is pounding as if I just ran a 100 Meter dash. Several times I just had to stand there and breathe to keep myself together. The instructor tells us, whatever you do, “DONT LEAVE THE ROOM” just sit down and breathe, but “DONT LEAVE THE ROOM”. So we are approaching about 45 minutes into the class and I’m thinking “thank goodness, I am just about ‘WELL DONE’, and ready to be taken out of the oven”. I stretch a little harder and hold the poses a little longer because I know we are almost done. Then the instructor says “Ok, that concludes the warm-up, now let’s start Yoga”. My thoughts go blank, then I regain consciousness “WHAT THE #%@&!, THE WARMUP”. I look over to my Girl and ask “How long is this class”, she giggles and says “90 minutes”.

30 minutes later I am laying flat on my back, just chilling in “Savasana” with an ice cold wet towel on my face that has been soaked in Lavender. I am soaking wet from head to toe and feel like I just ran 10 miles in 90 degree weather. The funny thing is, I feel GREAT!!!!! I always love that feeling you get after an intense workout, I just usually really dislike or don’t enjoy the exercises you have to do to get to that point. But I actually liked doing those Yoga poses and I was eager to try it again to make sure it wasn’t a fluke. I signed up for the Intro Month and went back the very next Day. After that I was hooked and going 3+ times a week. That’s 600+ calories burned every class

THIRD TOOL:

I didn’t believe the calorie counting thing would work when I first started, so I went out and bought a Food & Fitness journal to write everything down. I wanted to have proof, so I could say “Look, I put all the calories down, didn’t go over and still no weight loss”. I wrote everything I ate and drank down with the calories. I even put down when I did the Yoga and when I would take my Dog on 15 min walks (about a mile walk). The calorie counting was not difficult and since I was already eating relatively healthy I didn’t have to change much about my diet. It just made me more aware of what I was eating on those days when I wanted to eat out. Something I used to think would be healthy actually has like 500 calories so I would pass it up because I wasn’t going to waste 500 calories on one thing. Most of the stuff I used to eat I still kept in my diet. Like light yogurt 40-50 calories, small apple 60 calories, cup of coffee with equal and coffee mate 16 calories, frozen meals 180-380 calories, frozen mixed veggies 30 calories a cup. I don’t have a sweet tooth, so no problems there. My biggest weakness was chips. But I found the Pringles light sour cream chips that are like 70 calories for 14 chips, compared to the regular kind that’s like 140 calories for 10-14 chips. So there I was counting out my chips into little baggies to take to lunch, or just to have it available to grab for a snack.

THE RESULTS AFTER 4 WEEKS

After the first 4 weeks of counting calories, going to Bikram (HOT) Yoga, and writing everything down I lost 16 pounds. The only thing I could say was “WOW, IT REALLY WORKS”. I lost 12 pounds in 4 weeks and an extra 4 pounds if you exercise.

THE RESULTS AFTER 8 WEEKS

It’s January 7th and I have lost 25+ pounds. I did not lose the 16 pounds in the 2nd 4weeks because I couldn’t afford the Yoga during the Holiday Months.

That class is expensive ($150 for a unlimited month), and if you sign up you want to be able to go to class as much as possible to get your dollars worth. So I opted out for the month of December with all the holiday parties, time off from work, shopping for gifts etc… I still continued to count my calories and even started taking Kukuwa Dance workout at Gold’s Gym, since I did have a membership.

The reason I think the calorie counting worked for me is because I could calculate exactly how many calories to eat in order to lose weight. Before I never knew exactly how much of something was ok, I had nothing to calculate. With counting the calories there was no guess work. You eat over your amount, you don’t lose weight, you stay on point then you will lose weight. It is just that simple.

Today I will be going back to Bikram Yoga, I miss it so much. Every time I took that class I left feeling like I could breathe so much better, the best restful sleep, tons of energy the next day, skin looking better than ever. I just felt GOOD. I will let you know if this euphoric feeling returns after the class.

AFTER BIKRAM YOGA ON JAN 7th

Wow, it was sooooo Great!!!! I was running late and rushed to get there and when I arrived, the room was packed. I have never seen so many people in the class. we usually only have 2 rows of people and today we had to squeeze in a third row. The class was great and I was sooo surprised at my performance. I have lost a little more weight since the last class I took about 3 weeks ago. I could really tell the difference…I was hitting poses I never hit before and didn’t need to take as many breaks as I used to.

Source by Nadia Trammell

from Home Solutions Forev https://homesolutionsforev.com/lose-25-pounds-in-2-months-doing-bikram-yoga/ via Home Solutions on WordPress

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It’ll at all times be ‘scrunchie’ to me.

By Jacquelyn Francis

Date January 11, 2018

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I admit it, I rolled my eyes on the designer tube sock phenomenon (but priced these infants out lately) that Vetements set off, however for some motive when Balenciaga embraced the much-maligned scrunchie for Resort 2018, I gasped. As a closeted scrunchie lover for thus lengthy now, this appeared the form of ugly-trend I may lastly get behind. And effectively, with Jen Atkin promoting them, can world domination be far off?

Lengthy earlier than sporty-top knots turned a factor of fresh-faced ‘I simply left the fitness center’ magnificence, I used my scrunchie to carry up my loopy, uncontrolled hair. As any scrunchie fan is aware of, material across the elastic won’t crimp your hair (even whereas moist!) the best way a drugstore hair elastic would possibly, so in the event you put on your hair up whereas seated on the workplace, you possibly can at all times unroll that bun for after work mischief.

I hate having tremendous lengthy hair, however the actuality is I’m horrible at reserving appointments (dentist, manicures, hair) of all kinds, so there are occasions when my hair grows scarily lengthy and I’ve no selection however to place it up. I’ve tried to grasp the highest knot however no variety of YouYube movies could make this occur. After being referred to as out by a former boss for sporting a pencil to safe my hair bun in place, I’ve at all times had a scrunchie on the prepared. I’m much less prone to lose them, and in a pinch I’d put on it round my wrist as a bracelet (as Balenciaga additionally suggests you do). I feel all of us have one scrunchie that acquired away and mine was a legendary gold pleather American Attire jobbie.  I nonetheless give it some thought generally. Is that so dangerous? Maybe.

In Denmark, designer Line Sander Johansen of Consolation Objects has single handedly launched into a scrunchie rebrand, preferring to name them “Hair Clouds.” Johansen repurposes classic Hermes scarves into scrunchies with such lovely impact that I personally settle for this rebrand complete heartedly. The truth is, I discover myself scrolling by way of her fast-selling Hair Clouds as in the event that they have been items of artwork. Scrunchies is perhaps a development to some, however to me they’re a lifestyle. I do know some folks say you possibly can’t put on a development twice however with Johansen’s assist I’d be capable to do that, and accomplish that with pleasure.

Listed here are ten scrunchies we love

10 Scrunchies We Love

Liberty Tana Garden designer cotton material hair scrunchie

($9, Etsy)

10 Scrunchies We Love

Crochet-knit and satin scrunchie

($38, Missoni)

10 Scrunchies We Love

Examine flannel scrunchie

($12, Simons)

10 Scrunchies We Love

Gold velvet scrunchie

($9, Etsy)

10 Scrunchies We Love

Metallic-bow and dot scrunchie

($6, Simons)

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This 80s Accessory is Now Called a ‘Hair Cloud’ It'll at all times be 'scrunchie' to me. By Jacquelyn Francis Date January 11, 2018 icon-facebook…

[chris-carson]

From the Mockingbird's Throat

January 3, 2014

Reading Whitman’s “Out of The Cradle Endlessly Rocking” as the dishwasher gurgles into the quiet morning filling the room. For Whitman, longing for another is a quality communicated to man by nature. A boy stands on a beach, hears the mockingbird’s song, long blues of loneliness for his mate. In singing we inflame the source of life, the reason we’re here, to fuck, to love, to find a mate and transform one’s self into “the here and hereafter.”

“The here and hereafter”; the term brings to mind the image of an open door at the end of a hallway no longer than one connecting two rooms in a small apartment. At the end is another door. Both are open. The image blurs into something like early computer graphics, the walls, the rooms, the doors fade as the seen twists through a mine shaft of sky blue. All that remains: two uninhibited door ways that alight on what looks like a man’s torso.

January 22, 2014

It is just after 5am spooning quickly escalates. Feeling my already hard cock push into her soft ass as we sleep wakes me up. Suddenly I am wide awake inside her. She yawns. The light is on. Her dark hair is wavy, sleepy, soft, but her tone is cynical. Not directed at me, but at Russia. Russia calls Ukraine a friend. She calls the destruction of her homeland a tragedy on par with the death of her sister.

Late. Vitaly Klitschko announced today he is giving Yanukovych and his regime twenty four hours to hold elections that will surely lead to his removal from the presidency, or Klitschko himself will lead a full scale attack on the riot police in Maiden. “Bleak” is how she has described life in Ukraine, and the protestors in Maidan have made it clear they are willing to die for a sense of promise. I read this on my phone while sitting in the barbers chair. It served the purpose of keeping me distracted so the barber didn't get the idea I wanted to chat. It was a warm, golden afternoon. I took the bus to Market Street. After my haircut I met Aaron at a nearby cafe. He told me he’s got no girl, no job, and no reason anymore to stay in San Francisco. Meanwhile, far off, my lover’s homeland is, what? Unraveling? Awakening? In revolutions all bets are off and in civil wars anything will happen.

January 25, 2014

Tonight Aaron came over and we played poker. I lost everything. Eventually betting it all on a pair of 9’s, hoping to steal the pot. No one fell for it. Chris won the hand with two pair. Inside, I started burning with rage. Not because I lost the money. Besides, he and Aaron kept trading me their paper money for quarters. I ended the night with six dollars in paper. A loss compared to the change I had, but it feels like more. No, I was in a rage because the bare surface on the reflective table stared back at me, gloating, a sign that I was no longer welcome there. So I left and had a cigarette. It didn't help. I was as angry when I came back to watch as when I left. Tanya offered to let me play on her team. Instead I sat alone and read the news on my phone. The situation in Ukraine is decided as far as I can see. Since the government texted the protestors (“Dear subscriber you are registered as a participant in mass disturbance”) the protestors have no choice but to succeed. Text messages mean names. Names mean addresses. Those who make it home alive if the protests fail will only live to be perhaps jailed or executed another day. They must feel that deeply.

February 19, 2014

This evening we had friends over to watch the olympics and eat pizza. Human’s have a drive to make things always and always better. We started watching the figure skating on a laptop, then I carried a larger desk top screen up from the bedroom so we could all watch together. Jake and I joked that skating would be better if the women were also contortionists and were required to end their routine by skating into a small box, that is itself on skates, and off the ice unassisted. We watched only hoping to see if the next competitor did better than the one before. Tanya is still watching upstairs while I’m in bed writing, even though she looked up the results before streaming a previously taped feed. What is the word for believing the future will be better than the past? There has to be one. Progress? People are dying in Ukraine for it. For believing the future could be better if it is given the chance to be. It is like gambling in a way. Stay at the table and play one more hand. Stop at the gas station to buy a scratcher. Bet on the next moment being better then the moment at hand, or the moment that passed.

February 24, 2014

Memory is experience tied to emotion injected with value, meaning, and understood as important for some reason. If I look back at my memories, describe them, then answer the question, “Why do I remember these moments over others?” I could answer based on what has happened since and before. In some ways memories are signifiers in themselves, and the sharing of a memory without explanation should spark connotations, signifiers, and more memories for the reader or listener. But I was reading Auden’s introduction to Goethe’s Italian Journey yesterday in Larkspur’s Piper Park, under a tree. What kind of tree, I don't know. Auden explains the importance Goethe placed in just that particular knowledge. A man can not write about the beauty of a tree without knowing dendrology, or know the beauty of clouds without understanding meteorology. One too can never know the beauty of a place and its people, or a lover, without knowing their history.

February 28, 2014

February is finished. Tomorrow will be the first day of the third month of the new year. But I guess every year only gets a few days to be called a new year. It is hard for something novel to stay special for long, when you know it will be replaced in a matter of time, only to be replaced again and again. Very early this morning I couldn't sleep. In the dark room I could see the glow of Tanya’s porcelain back and outside the sky was readying for sunrise with lavender paint. Now I’m recalling how that sliver of sky just above the roof of John O'Connell High School seen from the bedroom window this morning, and realizing I didn't fully appreciate how pretty it was. I read, sleepless in bed, about the appearance of armed, unmarked, unbadged, speechless and faceless soldiers at an airport in Crimea. I woke up Tanya at 6:30 with this news. She said the Russians are just waiting for orders to make their first move. I thought of an old Chinese man I saw walk out of a market on West Portal with a bundle of bananas. I said, the Russians are trying to take Crimea the same way, like a bundle of bananas, and wait and see if anybody notices. “I hope Ukraine doesn't become a bundle of bananas,” she said, and went back to sleep. It rained a bit in the morning. I slept through most of it. By late afternoon it became one of those special days like spring (the smell of which has been invading the city) when rain falls sideways in perfect sunshine and the air feels moist and tropical. Tonight Tanya said she would move anywhere with me if I invited her. But I plan on doing more than that.

April 7, 2014

I learned a couple good words tonight. The first one. Russian. Used in Ukraine. “Blat.” A noun for institutional and cultural favor payments. Honors, services, attributes, experiences need not be earned, they can be purchased. Sometimes to get a passport, In the old days a doctor could give “blat” to the bureaucrat in charge of pant rations for his or her patients. The second word is cogitable, a rare adjective meaning conceivable, or able to grasped by the mind. I told Chris that we should speak in more rare, or hardly used words. Like purposeful. Chris said I sound, “pretentious and fuck.”

May 19, 2014

Dream: I cut up from the street, running through fenceless backyards where light from a large unseen moon, or my own eyes, made everything visible. The aroma of pine and dirt, and the night air, muggy and breezeless on my skin. The ground black but littered with red pine needles that guided me home, but I felt no comfort. The pine canopies were collapsing on me as I ran as hard as I could down the straight line of backyards to my home’s fence. I could hear someone shouting at me from the street on the other side of the houses. The voice seemed to come from everywhere. It permeated through the splintered fence lining our back yard, through the grass beneath the rusted trampoline, through the door knob I turned to let myself into my dark home, where the voice came through the walls.

I could feel the sharpened words dig into my skin like the presence of God, somehow like teeth biting my wrists and forearms, and a nasty churning began inside of me. I’m a man, I thought, living in a world where God gives nothing but anger and hatred for me and me alone.

Then it stopped. I walked slowly through the kitchen. The house creaked under my heels. In my bedroom, I pulled open the blinds and saw a man on his back on the roof outside the window. He looked at me. The moonlight bounced off a bottle of rum in his hand. There was a girl beside him in a spaghetti strapped tank top and bathing suit bottoms. She had a toads head. Her legs were long, dangling from the drain like hanging vines. She said, zilch. All she did was smoke a cigarette, peering off the roof, out over the roofs of the houses in front of her looking just like my own, up to the cloudless starless sky washed in gray from the moon’s white light mixing with the black of night. She pulled her knees to her chest and blew smoke from her toad lips, and it floated away.

July 18, 2014

I closed the book lightly. Tanya held her phone with both hands. I was going to miss her. Her subtle nightgown was the color of lavender. About a year ago to the day, she placed restful lavender stalks in the breast pocket of my denim jacket and told me that now I could always smell lavender. It was growing in a pot of soil just outside the door leading onto the balcony. We stood there in the wind. Soon after I’d see the same restful hue alight on her bedroom walls. We watched it manifest around us in bed as the sun seeped through the shadeless windows. The sun carried the lavender on it’s white capped edge and left it on the walls before receding back out into the world as daylight. When she placed that honey dyed scent in my pocket I fell a little in love. Now I stand in front of her, bashful for giving more time to hillbillies and books then to making her feel how much I’ll miss her, in our last moments together. So I did. We made love. I left for work happy. She for Ukraine.

July 20, 2014

In pictures of the wreckage the Ukrainian sky spills like tea and milk over the edges of a table, falling behind men with their faces covered with black masks, holding large machine guns. The land looks lush and deep green, almost purple at one layer, faded green at another, and at the next layer golden brown, and going on like that over the earth. Is this right? I only see it in pictures on news sites, while you are there, though far from this pictured landscape where all of those people became corpses in a mess of fire, smoke, and metal made into wreckage.

An article by the Kyiv Post says the rebels are moving the corpses to refrigerated train cars, to transport them someplace where international representatives can identify them and decide where they should be buried. The writer said, “but the mutilated and decaying bodies were most definitely inside, as evidenced by the pungent odor leaking from the unsealed wagon doors.”

July 21, 2014

In the main branch of the public library, drifting through the main fourier on the ground level, I had this brief moment where I felt like I was an alien species dropped from the moon. Like I was experiencing earth for the very first time. I can't say what brought it on, but it was a very clear thought, one that cut through all other potential thoughts, and bumped up hard against the front of my mind. The echoes of foot steps and clicking computer keys, the muffled voices. All these things filled the space up to the glass dome sky light, from which a heavy gray light dropped in as I looked up to see the somnolent movements of fog swirling overhead. It was blueless. Utterly without blue. A thick woolen layer of fog that didn't seem to be moving at all, until I looked again, and saw a few fibrous strands of fluffed moisture swirl too. There is no indication, or demarcation of worlds at the library. The outside comes in, and you sense it in your nostrils, a sour burning smell. Outside people walk around inside half dead on drugs and booze. Inside people saunter outside and avoid the wheelchairs and beggars. Smells from the street penetrate the library. Madness penetrates the library. It mingles so naturally with the children on summer vacation, with their nannies or tired mothers. All of these things mingle so well with the endless variety of world knowledge surrounding everyone at the library. The library maybe the most charitable place in the city, the most democratic place as well. Neighborhoods on the other side if this sliding glass door that whooshes open for me now, are being broken up by the street into subsets based on race, yes, but mostly money. And this fragmentation lives in aesthetics and taste. You know how you can tell if a restaurant is for you by the way the light glitters off the window into your eyes that look in from the street? By the style of light bulb? Well, the library is gray, without aesthetic. Meaning the library is for everyone. It is in its insistence to remain dull and gray that it is its most charitable.

July 22, 2014

Since Tanya left I've had to watch my money closely. The food in the refrigerator is rotting. I haven't gone to the grocery store. Only a few dollars remain in my bank account that I will have to stretch for the next week. Am I collapsing without her? With her, I know I’m me, and I’m alright. Without her I am incorporeal. I’m removed from myself and instead of living as I am, I watch me live, stare at my own shadow walking down the street. Without her all I have are books, which have been nice company, cigarettes, which have been an unwanted guest, and an incessant need to masturbate. But I’ve been picking my skin less.

I don't understand how the day moves without her, or if it moves at all, as night seems to fall without warning. I sat with Jake in the Pan Handle, chain smoking. The air was cool, and a light, yet cutting wind wound its way through the trees. But the hours leading to that moment felt like a dream I may have even forgotten.

Tanya, the effort I make to remedy the nights without you stand in stark contrast to the things I do during the day to pass things by. A man can go through hours of light dead if he wants, and be able to get away with it. There is no meaning to my job, no meaning to the mail I avoid opening, to the calls I avoid answering. No meaning to these cigarettes. But at night, my loneliness is full of meaning. Every motion I make deliberate and timed to get me back to the death day hours safely. My hands are soaked in coconut oil. I asked you once if you wanted to know what it would be like to be a man. You sat on me the same way this faceless woman is sitting in the video I watch. When I cum my hips lift off the bed, and semen splashes on my face, chest, all over my belly. It smells like wet grass and sweat. My tongue lurches from my mouth and licks my lips and I taste it, sour, warm. If I can’t have you now, I’ll be you tonight. You and in one body. I slowly massage the semen on my belly as you would if it were gleaming off of your smooth porcelain body. But my body is coarse ape hair, and the sound of semen moving through my body hair reminds me of walking through dead leaves in autumn.

In the bathroom I see myself in the mirror. Streaks of yellowish gray fluid shimmer on my jaw in harsh light. Have I heard your voice since you left? I would gladly die to hear you even swallow water.

July 23, 2014

Cinnamon layered the inside of the bowl like sand clinging to a white rock face. What was left of the granola and milk I’d eaten reminded me of moist rocks and the smell of mud. Brown milk rested in a little pool at the bottom. On a cobalt blue tea plate were the cold and gnawed strawberry tops, their leafy crowns dry and brittle. On the radio, Dutch voices mourned the arrival of the dead, raged at the way the corpses were treated, and argued over the importance of having the rest of the bodies returned home.

During breakfast I was able to download Viber. It took fumbling with the password, which I again forgot and had to reset after three missed tries, and then a world of aggravation trying to update my billing information. I entered everything exactly as I believe it to be and the machine said I was wrong.

But it turned out that I didn't even need to enter that, and happily skipped the screen by checking the word none, and tapping the word done. Viber downloaded. I finished my breakfast brimming with excitement to finally hear your voice and tell you so much of what I’ve been up to without you.

July 24, 2014

I finished a new book this morning, Victoria by Knut Hamsun, and Hamsun is only too cruel for what he did to those young lovers. And either from Hamsun’s cruelty or the hangover I feel from last night’s edibles, today the world feels dull and flat. I’m closed off. Drained of everything. Every thought I’ve had about writing you has been countered by a strong desire to lie on the couch all day and watch The Simpsons. What could I say? I just miss you, that’s all. I’ve filled pages in notebooks talking about it and each page could be rewritten to simply say, “I’d rather spend the next days with my hand in the garbage disposal then without you.”

Then my phone buzzes, and it is you. It is your body outlined by an oval shaped mirror. Your dark hair draped down your smooth back that flows like a waterfall into your perfectly round ass, all curves and softness. And are you cupping your breasts a little, keeping them hidden from me?

I’m coming alive.

It is not that you are a figment from a dream, something I imagined, but you are an entity from another realm, another life, something I never could have imagined, even if I were a great writer. No imaginative capability could have created you. Even in my deepest heart I couldn't have fathomed you for myself, and somehow, you’ve found me.

The message with your picture reads, “Something for lazy days.”

Then another that reads, “You’ll have to read Victoria to me when I come back.”

But I missed these messages when you sent them, and in the long wait you wrote, anxiously, “Hello?”

But I didnt mean to miss them, believe me. I write, “Oh my God, Hello!”

And about the book I say, “Yes, yes I will read it to you. I will sing it to you if that’s what you want me to do.”

This piece was written specifically for a writing contest I saw advertised in a magazine. A London based publisher called Fish wanted creative memoir for an anthology they were putting together. They were even giving out a little money. I used it as an opportunity to confront two challenges, the first being the utilization of raw material from journals, the second being writing about a lover. This piece did not win the writing contest, but was shortlisted, whatever that means.

-Chris Carson