#I gather they were sort of not allowed to mention kennedy but you know that makes sense in-universe.

[lurking-latinist]

.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Rookie || DBD! Leon Kennedy

A/n: It's been forever since I've seen gameplay or played DBD, so I apologize for the mistakes. This suggestion was made by @wildest-dreams-at-midnight. Thank you.

Warning(s): public sex (sort of), noir Leon, zombies, mentions of death, DBD lore, short one-shot, gn reader.

No Minors Allowed!!

"You can't be serious," you state beneath your breath, staring at Leon in utter disbelief.

He rolls his toothpick to the corner of his mouth and grins sheepishly. 

"I don't see why not."

If he wasn't so cute, dressed in a vest and tie, then you would have immediately shut him down. Sex is the last thing either of you needs on your minds, especially with a 7-foot-tall Bio-weapon - coined by a survivor named Jill - hunting you for the sole purpose of ending your life. 

It's not like there's ever a time for intimacy inside the Entity's realms, a strange and dangerous playing field with no clear escape, so you reckon Leon is right to an extent. The only freedom given is when a campaign is won and the Entity allows you a moment to breathe. Not even dying in the hands of one of its 31 killers grants a moment of rest. 

But this didn't stop you from getting to know Leon Kennedy bit by bit, a survivor of a zombie-ridden realm known as Raccoon City.

You had met him at Midwich Elementary School and even though you didn't see him much after, an eventual romance had ensued; strong and sexual, spurred by a need to maintain some sort of normalcy.

So when the desire to fuck arose, albeit nervous about being caught, you were always inclined to accept. 

"Are we safe here?" You ask. 

Leon peeks around the corner of the abandoned police station on the west wing and sinks back into the shadows in the break room. 

"It looks like it."

You grin and reach for the button on your pants. 

"Best be quick then, rookie."

Leon snorts. 

"Can't say I'm much of a rookie anymore."

He has a point. However, the death count is high you assume. Some of the killers are hard to survive; the Spirit for example. You've been slain by her katana more times than you can count but every time you wake back up in the shadows. 

Once your pants and underclothes are down, Leon saunters over and eases you around, pressing you against the wall. You aren't too keen on this position considering you can't keep your eye on the door, but it's fine. 

The worst that can happen is that I die a terrible death again. 

You shiver in protest, trying to ignore the pending doom in the air, focusing solely on the man stretching you open. His thick cock prods at your entrance before he slides into you. A relieved sigh leaves your mouth and quickly Leon sets up a steady and relentless pace. 

It doesn't take long for the pleasure to wash over you, starting from your core and shooting down into your toes. You arch your hips, silently begging for more; an action that earns you a laugh from the blond.

"Leon–"

An inhuman gargle fills the air and the sound of shuffled footsteps follows. Your body tenses in fear. It's not the Nemesis you hear, but something equally as frightening. One of the two spawning zombies is nearby. 

One single noise and it's game over. 

What spurs you on more is the fact Leon's pace doesn't falter. He is brave to continue wrecking you while danger is literally outside the room, or he trusts the fact you won't make a noise despite the delicious sensations rolling through you. A thin sweat gathers across your brow as you fight not to make a noise. 

You aren't sure how the creature doesn't hear the lewd noises coming from you as Leon shoves his cock deep into your eager hole, but it stays oblivious, wandering the hall almost robotically.

The sensation continues to grow, nearly consuming you. In your head you plead to come undone, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts until at last an intense pleasure washes over you in waves. You tighten your jaw, turning up your eyes in bliss. A low whimper escapes your mouth, but luckily the noise is drowned out by the sudden scream of a survivor. One of the generators must have been damaged.

It means you don't have much time. The Nemesis is coming. 

As the zombie shuffles down the hall toward the noise, Leon groans and pulls from your exhausted body, spraying cum on your ass and thighs. 

Sadly, there's no moment to rest. 

"We need to move," Leon states. He spits the broken toothpick from his mouth and pulls up his pants. "It probably sensed us."

"The Entity needs to put functioning bathrooms in these realms," you mention. 

A look of unease crosses your face as you pull up your clothes, feeling the cum sink into the fabric. 

Leon snorts. 

"I guess I could have aimed for the ground."

"Such a rookie move," you joke. 

He grins and grabs your hand, dragging you from the break room as the guttural voice of the Nemesis breaks the silence and fills your body with dread. 

[tominicholland]

Time of Your Life

Pairing: Harry Holland x Protagonist (brief, planned), Tom Holland x Protagonist (main, planned)

Synopsis: Jacob Batalon’s youngest cousin (Protagonist) is now – as of August – 18 years old. At the nearly-ripe age of 17, she accompanied her cousin to the Spider-Man: Homecoming premiere where she grows acquainted with the younger crowd of the star-studded cast and – most importantly – piques the interest of two Holland boys, Harry (who’s the same age) and Tom (who’s three years her senior).

Author’s Note: TOM HOLLAND AND HARRISON OSTERFIELD FINALLY MAKE THEIR WAY INTO THIS STORY WOOOOOO HOOOOOOO. In other news, this is kind of lengthy because it goes into a whole story about the protagonist’s school crush, Jake, and how much of an ass he is and how the Holy Trinity helps her forget the douche, and yeah. Such excitement!1!!!!! If you like stories about girls getting over fuckbois, read this!!!!! 

Trigger Warnings: Protagonist has somewhat of a breakdown, there’s mentions of suicide but they’re brief (not even central to the plot) 

Word Count: 2,992 

Part I // Part II //Part III: The Holy Trinities   In which the protagonist learns of the two holiest trinities out there: Intellectualism, False Hope, and Loneliness; Tom Holland, Jacob Batalon and Harrison Osterfield. 

My role in student government (ASB) was plain and simple as the Attorney General. Like the Attorney General of the United States, I basically represent the ASB in conflicts and preside over the “legal” aspects of clubs, such as the drafting of their charters and other procedural duties. Each day I’d be allowed to leave Study Period fifteen minutes early to assume my position at the front desk of the Student Government office and consume my lunch before parents, staff and students came barging in with worthless questions and futile threats. Study Period was with Vicky, Sam, Imani and Carlos in Mr. Rosenblatt’s class that day, and we noticed that he was unusually irked with us. Normally, he’d pull up a sixth chair whenever First Period classes served as Study Period homeroom and openly prattle on with his favourite students, but that he didn’t seem quite in the mood. Neither did I, after Third Period, in between.

I’d already had a whole block period – two hours – of the four of my friends jabbering about how, technically, if the premiere was going to supplant my prom experience, Harry Holland could be my “date,” and I’d grown sick of it. On top of that, during Third Period AP Calculus, I’d dozed off after the sugar in the Slurpee wore on me. Jake was in the class with me and, just like in Mr. Rosenblatt’s class, he sat across the room from me. Instead of ignoring me, his chair was perfectly positioned to give him a spectacular view of my drool dripping onto my textbook and the scaly calculator imprint on my cheek when I finally woke up from that glorious slumber.

Jake had somewhat of a laugh and a smirk and a snigger, with dark coiffure of John F. Kennedy, Jr. volume. His lips were thin and his eyebrows the polar opposite, but somehow the lines of hair above his eyes remained symmetrical and tame. When he turned to the side, his profile was perfectly chiselled – his jaw and cheekbones formed a perfect triangle-like dip when he would suck his cheeks in, and his nose was big but not too big. And he had light brown skin, the perfect mixture of his father’s and mother’s. It was miraculous that this was what my mental capacities generated with a lack of sleep, and even more of a blessing that Jake was laughing more to himself that to his friends who were perplexed by rotations problems.

This reel of Jake’s amusement from my struggle to stay awake replayed and replayed in my head as I was fighting my anxiety to saunter towards Mr. Rosenblatt. Jake sat in the chair closest to his desk and the wall, so he had a perfect view of Mr. Rosenblatt on his desktop and anyone who came up to ask him questions.

As I approached Mr. Rosenblatt I saw Jake’s head perk up a little. His phony attentiveness became clear as his eyes skimmed lines of Shakespeare and averted to me. The brown circles rested on the left corners of his eyes as his smirk curled on the right side of his mouth. Indubitable eavesdropping done by the prettiest boy in school, and it was on my conversation.

I cleared my throat: “Mr. Rosenblatt?”

“Yes, Ms. Maja,” he scrunched up his nose like a little mole rat. Mr. Rosenblatt kind of looked like one but no one scrutinized his looks because we all knew he had breast cancer, and for our class, he’d missed the most days for chemotherapy. It fell under some cardinal sin to give him shit because he was dying.  

“I just wanted to ask if I could go to the ASB right now instead of later,” I prefaced. “I finished part of the CRQ’s in class but I wasn’t feeling well in calculus –”

Jake deadass cackled.

“Uhm, Jake?” Mr. Rosenblatt inquired. “Do you have anything to contribute to this bilateral conversation?”

“I’ll make it trilateral by letting you know that Maja did indeed fall into a deep slumber in calculus and I watched it from an admirer’s distance,” Jake’s charmingly apprised our teacher and caused Mr. Rosenblatt to chuckle along with him.

“Well, if that’s the case Ms. Maja, I’ll let you go to the ASB. It must be quieter there,” Mr. Rosenblatt was right. Everyone was still in Study Period and no parents, staff nor students could pester those in the office until lunch.

I felt all heat escape from my face as I turned a pale colour and dragged myself back to my seat to get my things. I reached for my backpack as Vicky asked, “Hey, where are you going?” 

“The ASB,” I said. I yanked my bag from the back of my chair and tossed it over my shoulder. My right hand shoved the door open when she exclaimed that all of them would join me; I used my foot as a door prop and said in a stern tone, “No. I’m gonna take a nap in the beanbag in the back office. I can’t talk.” I didn’t even have to fake being tired. A yawn escaped me at the perfect time.

“Oh… ok,” she said, taken aback. Somehow she and the others couldn’t put two and two together, that I was stressed above all things about this even though it was a month away, and if I really thought about it, it a few weeks away, and if I really, really, really wanted to torture myself, I’d realize that it was three school weeks away, right after exams.

Study Period was only about thirty-five minutes, so I had twenty minutes of napping time in total. Ideally I’d use the fifteen minutes to gather lunch, but seeing as I’d stopped by 7-11 earlier I bought myself some Hot Cheetos and a Caesar Salad to serve for my afternoon meal. I did, however, trot to the vending machine outside the office to get a blue Gatorade.

When I came back I popped my salad open and ripped the chip bag and dug in. The bell rang and I heard all the eager underclassmen literally racing each other to the lunch lines. I rolled my eyes and disturbed the desktop in front of me, launched Google Chrome and opened Twitter, hoping to find some interesting articles.  

The door swung open after a good ten minutes, while I was enjoying a New Yorker article by Jia Tolentino, who disparaged some book by Ivanka Trump. Lo and behold, it was Jake; lo and behold, I was stupid and almost choked on my salad.

“Oooh,” he teased. “Just the Attorney General I wanted to see.”

“I’m the only Attorney General,” I sassed.

“I know, I know,” he knew then that he’d be more circumspect in his statements. “I’m in the same AP Government class with you in Preston’s room. I gotta know how this shit works, right?”

He slammed his hands on the counter in front of me, stood on the tips of his toes and peered down at my screen. “God, you’re such a nerd,” he poked. “Always reading some dumb shit that’s not so dumb.”

He let the balls of feet drop back to the ground, placed his elbows on the counter, crossed them, and then let his chin rest on the formative lump of his hands. Jake was a south paw and his left hand overlapped his right. Always.

“Is there anything you’d like me to help you with?” I questioned.

“Yeah,” he had that smirk again, which oozed of a sort of brazenness and insolence that made me cower behind my laptop. “I want to take Sami to Prom.”

Everything by my eyes were completely frozen, and they gave him an icy glare.  

“Not your Sam,” this was a gratuitous reply. “Sami the soccer player.” I

 knew her – she was just as tall as I was (5’8), a bit more fit than I was (she was a tri-sport athlete, I merely did swim), was blonde (I could never compete there), and popular.

“And?” I’d no idea why he needed to tell me this.

“I just felt like I needed to tell you,” he teased.

Contrary to the strong woman I believed to myself to be in that moment, I was on the verge of tears. This was kind of brutal.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he went back on the tip of his toes again and looked at me over the screen. This time he was sterner and his rosy cheeks of douchebaggery faded into the pallor of a self-aware asshole. “I was just shitting around. Don’t cry. This is like sophomore year all over again when I sat next to you. I don’t want to get in trouble with the ASB Dean for making the Attorney General cry so just.. j-just..” he started laughing to himself again, as one would laugh in a surreal situation.

I swiveled farther away from him. Thank god for swivel chairs.

“Look, I’m trying not to be an asshole here, okay? I’ve been meaning to tell you this since last week. I figured Sam’d already told you because she was right behind me when I said it –”

My nostrils flared and my pupils shrank.

“Yeah, I know she knew and I know you know. I was only entertaining the thought of asking you, even went so far and thinking what it’d be like to have you as a date. You can fill in the rest. But I didn’t not ask you because I was judging your friends. I didn’t ask you because I don’t want to be the asshole who leads you on.”

As intense and painful as this moment was for me, I did my best to relive it just to clarify to myself that there was no yelling, no melodrama. Jake said this to me in hushed tones in a span of ten minutes and left.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Fifth period AP Chem was just god-awful. Carlos was there with me and I didn’t feel like filling him in on Jake or letting him copy my quiz on poly-atomic ions, so I walked up to the front of the class while our teacher, Ms. Romualdez, was lecturing and moaned to her about how I had to go to the nurse. I was a depressed, sobbing mess and needed to go home no matter what. She understood, and all twelve other kids in the class understood in respectful silence. And even though I was annoyed with him, Carlos was gracious enough to walk me to the front office, where Nurse Kelly was.

Nurse Kelly was the most neglectful nurse to ever make a cameo in my life. She dutifully attended to students who had more tangible sicknesses, but when a mentally distraught child came in, she was notorious for simply calling their parents and asking if they were stable enough to walk home. Granted, though she wasn’t a therapist or psychologist, she could have at least done more to help people who were sick of high school, as most people should for the sake of the youth. However, on this specific day, I wasn’t having it. I needed her sloppy caretaking to get me a pass off the premises of Hell and back into my bed. And she happily obliged.

When I got home, my mom was so concerned about me. She cupped my face in her hands and screamed at me, “Don’t tell me you tried to kill yourself, please, not like that one girl we read about when you were in middle school!” “Phoebe King? What? Mom, mom no!” I ripped myself from her grip and started marching up the stairs. “Mom, just leave me alone, I started crying because I didn’t get any sleep last night and I don’t understand Chemistry and equivocation in Macbeth!” I was already in my room when I screamed this last part: “I’M SO STUPID I HAVE TO USE NO FEAR SHAKESPEARE ON SPARKNOTES BECAUSE I HATE THE FOOTNOTES!”

My face sank into my pillow and my body relaxed as I fell into an effortless nap – a nap where you can’t forge an entire plotline in your dreams and can only remember the climax of whatever your soul told you mind to project. I felt like I was enjoying it until my phone rang. It was a Facetime video call from Jacob.

“Hey, Cuz, he greeted me. His face was at the center of the screen and I could tell he was looking down at his phone. I didn’t think he was at his house because I didn’t recognize the color and texture of the ceiling. “How ya doing? Tita (Aunt) told me that you had a shitty day.”

“Oh yeah,” I rolled my eyes and sniffled a little. I saw my face in the little screen thing and saw that my eyes were ridiculously puffy and red. “I just told her I had a shit time at school.”

“Hey, man you know me, I dropped out of college and now you’re our only hope. Ya gotta become a doctor or something,” he joked, “because if anyone had a brain like yours and didn’t do anything with it, that’d be a waste.”

I smiled. Jacob always lifted me up when I felt like I wasn’t enough for the world academically, so he had a bunch of canned pep talks that would get me to cheer up no matter how incompatible they were with the situation I was in. My self-deprecation was, to Jacob, the root of all evil, so everything could be cured if he tried to talk that down. I had to stop him here, though, because this wasn’t an academic struggle or an inadequacy. I felt heartbroken because of a boy.

“It’s not because of school being hard or anything, it’s just that Jake pulled an asshole move on me today,” and so I went through the motions of everything, with Jacob barely making any interjections like “daaaaaammmmnnn” like he does in interviews. He’s an all-around attentive person.

“So it’s because you’re too smart for him,” this wasn’t a question he was asking, it was a fact.

“I guess. If you want to put it that way. He made fun of me from the get-go about me being bookish. Always thought I was an undercover college student,” I chuckled and sniffled at the same time. “But like, I feel like I’m experiencing the Holy Trinity that all the nerd girls go through in high school: intellectualism, false hope and loneliness.”

“Aw,” I heard a voice say from the background.

“Wait – am I on speaker?” I asked.

“Uhhhhh….” Jacob was collecting details to build a story as to why we weren’t talking in confidence.

“Kuya (brother, older male cousin)!” I screamed. “Who is that?”

“Listen, Maja, I’m so sorry but my Beats ran out of battery and your mom really pressed me to call you, and you know you’re like a sister to me and I thought you tried pulling some weird shit in school so I called you and –” Jacob’s phone was snatched from his hand. It flipped onto the faces of two white guys – one shirtless with a killer jaw and brown eyes and the other in a black v-neck shirt, blond hair and powdery blue eyes.

“Hey, Maja,” the one on the right with the blond hair greeted me with an awkward wave. He had a deep voice that rung out in an English accent, and he pronounced my name with the stress in the first syllable: “Maaw-huh.”

“Hey,” the other one waved shyly.

“This is Harrison, but you can call me Haz,” the blond one smiled.

“And I’m Tom, and you can call me Tom,” he laughed lightly at his joke before he realized the gravity of the situation as Jacob walked into the shot from behind them.

Jacob placed his arms around Tom and Haz and sighed. “You said you experienced the ‘Holy Trinity’ of high school, but we’re the Holy Trinity from Spider-Man and we’re here for you.”

“Yeah,” Harrison – I mean Haz – added. “We hope you don’t mind that Jacob’s been talking to us about you, and all that’s been happening regarding your attendance at the premiere.”

“But – but we didn’t know about all this stuff about this other Jake until now, darling” Tom interrupted. “That wasn’t at all expected and we’re sorry. Jake’s Beats did die and we were in the hotel room with him and we can’t go out because there’s a mob of fans trying to take a peek at the Spider-Man suit –”

“Shut up, Tom, she doesn’t want to hear this!” Haz exclaimed.

Tom. As in Tom Holland.

Harrison. As in Harrison Osterfield.

Spider-Man and his lovely assistant were joining forces with my cousin to cheer me up.

“Well, the point is, darling, is that we’re excited to finally meet you at the premiere and we’re going to do our best to make sure you have a damn good time that you can rub in that arsehole Jake’s face.”

“Yeah,” Jacob nodded along. “And Tom, you can cuss, you know.” Tom looked quizzically at Jacob.

“It’s just weird hearing you say ‘arse.’ You’re not a euphemistic kind of guy in hotel rooms, usually,” Jacob giggled.

“Jacob, I’m talking to a lady. More importantly, your little cousin,” Tom explained.

After a few awkward exchanges of excitement and anticipation, we ended the video chat (well, I did, because Tom had the phone in his hands and didn’t know how to end the call).

“Dammit, how do I turn it off?” he yelled as Jacob, Haz and I laughed.

“Bye!” I waved at the camera and hit the red button. Back to my home screen. All I could think about was how stupid I was for not screenshotting the video call for proof that I’d spoken with Tom and Haz.

[ruminativerabbi]

Great Leaps Forward

Every generation has its “you know where you were when” moments. My dad used to say that there simply weren’t any Americans his age who didn’t know where they were when they heard about Pearl Harbor or where they were and what they were doing when they heard that FDR had died. In a different age, that same comment would have been true with respect to Fort Sumter and Lincoln. But for people of my generation, the two “where you were and what you were doing” moments are definitely the assassination of John F. Kennedy and the precise moment Neil Armstrong walked on the moon.

I was ten years old when President Kennedy was assassinated. It was half past noon in Dallas when the shots rang out, so still early afternoon in New York. I was in Mrs. D’Antona’s fifth grade classroom on the second floor of P.S. 196 when our principal, Mr. Tauschner, came into our classroom and whispered the bad news to our teacher, who promptly burst into tears. Having no choice, the principal himself told us what had happened. And then someone brought a television into our classroom and we were allowed to spend the rest of the school day watching the news.

When Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, I was sixteen. I was lying on my back on a blanket on the lawn behind the dorm at the University of Vermont in Burlington in which they housed participants in the special music program for high school students they used to run there each summer. Lying at right angles to my head was Lily Goodman, normally of Wilmington, Delaware, but that summer also spending her summer on the UVM campus in the same program I was in (and being much more talented a singer than I was a pianist). Between our heads lay my red transistor radio tuned to some local news station with the volume up as loud as it could go. We listened patiently to endless replays of the great man’s words of earlier that day: “Houston, Tranquility Base here; the Eagle has landed.” And then, just few minutes before eleven PM, we heard the man, now speaking from the lunar surface, say that he was taking one single step as a man, but that that step was simultaneously a giant leap forward for all mankind. And it was my memory of that specific experience that came right back to me last week when I read that Beresheet, a 1290-pound spacecraft owned and operated by Israel Aerospace Industries, had successfully lifted off on its lunar mission last Friday atop a Falcon 9 rocket owned and operated by Elon Musk’s SpaceX company. The plan is for Beresheet (appropriately, “Genesis”) to orbit the earth for a while, then to depart for the moon under its own steam and then, after a journey of about seven weeks, to touch down on the moon on April 11.

It’s a pretty exclusive club, the one to which belong nations who have done this: only Russia, China, and our own country have managed successfully to land spacecrafts on the moon. But the club is expanding: India is expected to become its fifth member later this spring, as is Japan within a couple of years. Still, it won’t be that big a club even after India and Japan join. And Beresheet’s, once it lands on the lunar surface, has another distinction worth mentioning because it will be the first private-sector landing on the lunar surface in history.

It’s not hard to understand why this club has so few members. For one thing, it’s a really long ways off—the moon is about 239,000 miles away from the earth. And it’s a journey fraught with dangers and difficulties. And it costs a fortune to undertake a project like this—the price tag for the Beresheet mission is a cool $100 million, and that is the least amount ever spent to send a landing craft to the moon. (Could that detail be related to the fact that this will be the first lunar landing not paid for by a government spending money it prints up itself? I wonder!) Of special interest to me personally, though, is the list of digitized items Beresheet is going to leave on the moon for future visitors—perhaps even some eventually not from Earth—to ponder: details about the spacecraft and the crew that built it, an Israeli flag, a copy of Israel’s Declaration of Independence, dictionaries in 27 languages and all of Wikipedia, the memoirs of a Shoah survivor, a Hebrew-language Bible, recordings of the most popular Israeli songs, and some children’s drawings inspired by the mission. Just thinking about someone from a distant galaxy coming across this one day and trying to puzzle through all that data is intoxicating!

Things seem to be going well; the spacecraft sent home its first selfie just the other day, looking over its own shoulder at itself and the earth behind it from a distance of about 37,600 miles. (If you look carefully, you can see the outlines of South America and Australia.)

But all of this excitement regarding Beresheet has awakened another set of emotions in me as well. This summer will be the fiftieth anniversary of Neil Armstrong’s walk on the moon. Last December marked the fiftieth anniversary of Apollo 8, in the course of which the first picture of “earthrise” was snapped when Frank Borman, James Lovell, and William Anders became the first human beings to leave low earth orbit, reach the moon, orbit it, and then return to earth safely. There’s a “Beresheet” moment in this story as well: Apollo 8 orbited the moon ten times, in the course of which they made their memorable recording of the first verses in Genesis and Astronaut Anders took his now famous picture of the earth rising out of the black of space.

What happened to our need to discover? The incredible successes of the mid-twentieth century, which included Project Mercury, which sent the first American into space; Project Gemini, which first brought astronauts into space for an extended period of time; the Apollo program, which brought astronauts to the moon and back; the Skylab program, which put our nation’s first space station into orbit; the Space Shuttle program, which endured two terrible tragedies but nonetheless succeeded in bringing reusable spacecrafts into the picture—all of these were enormous scientific, intellectual, and cultural achievements. But somewhere along the way, we seem to have to lose our way.

NASA still exists, of course. We continue to play a leadership role in the International Space Station, although our astronauts travel there and back on Russian Soyuz spacecraft. There are all sorts of research missions underway to Mars and beyond. But the idea of human-led exploration itself—the principled willingness to send people to go where no one has ever gone and to do things that no one has ever done, thus to make more great leaps forward for humankind in the Armstrongian sense—that feels as though it has somehow vanished from the American psyche. The last American to stand on the moon, Eugene A. Cernan, was mission commander of Apollo 17, which went to the moon and returned in 1972. Apollo 18, 19, and 20 were cancelled due to budget cuts.

Mentioning the Space Shuttle program makes me rethink my comment above about the “where we were and what we were doing” moments in our lives, because I remember—and clearly—where I was in and what I was doing in 1986 when Challenger broke apart just seconds after take-off and all seven crew members died and where I was on February 1, 2003, when Columbia disintegrated upon re-entering the earth’s atmosphere, which disaster took the life of all seven of its crew members as well. (There’s an Israel connection there too, of course, because the sole non-American on board was Colonel Ilan Ramon, the first Israeli astronaut.)

But those disasters only made us more eager to succeed and, indeed the Space Shuttle program continued until 2011, by the end flying off on 133 successful missions involving 833 crew members (including the fourteen who died on the Challenger and the Columbia). And then we lost interest. Or it feels as though we have. And that is why the launch of Beresheet, for all it excites me, also unnerves me a bit by forcing me to wonder where our American sense of pioneering, of derring-do, of courage in the face of incredible obstacles, of exploration of the unknown, where all that went to? I suppose lots of people can think of lots of better uses for all that money—and the expenses involved were, to use the term literally for once, astronomical. But what price tag can or should we put on the sense that we are actively engaged in setting out on new paths, including ones on which no human being has ever travelled? Or that we are not wrapping up the search for knowledge in the universe, but only beginning to fathom what it is we don’t know about…everything? Underlying the need to explore, after all, is a foundation of humility born of the conviction that knowing how little we know can and should energize us to step further into the seductive unknown rather than retreat into blissful unknowing like timid children.

On one of the Saturday nights after the appearance of the new moon in the nighttime sky each month, we at Shelter Rock gather outside to recite the ancient prayer called Kiddush Levanah, the Sanctification of the Moon. Taking the moon as the embodiment of the unattainable, we use the sight of its return to the nighttime sky as an opportunity to renew our commitment to seeking to know the Creator through the contemplation of Creation. As I look up at the sliver of moon in the dark, I occasionally think of that night long ago in Vermont when I lay on a blanket and looked up at the moon as the first man in history took some first tentative steps onto its surface. It’s that precise sense of courage mixed with awe and, yes, humility, that I wish we could summon up again in our American psyche to remind us that there really is no upper limit to what we can dream of doing. 

[kartiavelino]

Democratic Candidates Sort out Racism On Third Debate Stage

The highest Democratic presidential candidates hit the identical debate stage collectively for the primary time on Thursday (Sept. 12) evening.  Whereas they targeted largely on gun management, commerce and healthcare, the hopefuls knew the place they have been: Texas Southern College, solely the second HBCU to host a presidential debate.  Forward of the talk, Texas Southern College college students were asked what they wished to listen to about most from the candidates, and pupil mortgage debt was a excessive precedence, adopted by different points like crime and local weather change.  Whereas crime and student-loan debt have been touched upon, local weather change was not largely mentioned. On student-loan debt, Sanders stated, “…we are going to make public faculties and universities and HBCUs debt-free. And what we are going to all the time additionally do, as a result of that is an unimaginable burden on tens of millions and tens of millions of younger individuals who did nothing unsuitable besides attempt to get the training they want, we’re going to cancel all pupil debt on this nation.” Nonetheless, a difficulty thought-about “extraordinarily vital” to 77 % of Black voters, inexpensive well being care, according to Politico, was mentioned. Black individuals vote 90 % Democratic, according to the Pew Research Center, so throughout Thursday evening’s debate, a number of candidates boasted about their assist of the previous POTUS, and first Black president, whereas additionally making an attempt to show they have been the very best Dem to beat Trump. “I’m with Barack,” former Vice President Joe Biden, the present Democratic frontrunner, stated after stating that Massachusetts Senator Elizabeth Warren “says she’s for Bernie” because it pertains to changing Obamacare with Medicare for All.   Nonetheless, Warren boasted about Obama’s legacy when it got here to well being care, saying, “All of us owe an enormous debt to President Obama, who essentially remodeled well being care in America and dedicated this nation to well being care for each human being.”  Julian Castro, the former Mayor of San Antonio who served as the 16th United States Secretary of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) from 2014 to 2017 and was the youngest member of Obama’s Cupboard, made positive he aligned himself with the 44th president, too, and squared off straight with Biden on that time.  “In case you misplaced your job, as an illustration, his well being care plan wouldn’t mechanically enroll you. You would need to decide in,” Castro stated about Biden. “My well being care plan would. That’s a giant distinction. I’m fulfilling the legacy of Barack Obama, and also you’re not.”   Castro kicked off the talk with the legacy he intends to create, saying, “However first, we’ve to win. And which means thrilling a younger, various coalition of People who’re prepared for a daring future. That’s what Kennedy did, it’s what Carter did, it’s what Clinton did, it’s what Barack Obama did, and it’s what I can do on this race.”  One factor all of the candidates appeared to agree on is how Trump has divided the nation within the wake of the racially motivated assault on Latinos that happened in August in El Paso, claiming the lives of 22. When requested who the very best candidate was to handle the rising racial divide, neither Warren nor Sanders answered the query straight. However O’Rourke, a local of El Paso, blamed Trump for uplifting the mass capturing final month.   “Racism in America is endemic. It’s foundational,” he stated. “We are able to mark the creation of this nation not on the fourth of July, 1774 however August 20, 1619, when the primary kidnapped African was dropped at this nation towards his will and in bondage and as a slave, constructed the greatness and the success and the wealth that neither he nor his descendants would ever have the ability to totally take part in and revel in.”  He went on to say, “We now have to have the ability to reply this problem. And it’s present in our training system the place in Texas a 5-year-old little one in kindergarten is 5 occasions as prone to be disciplined or suspended or expelled based mostly on the colour of their pores and skin,” and on the difficulty of racism in well being care added, “In our well being care system the place there’s a maternal mortality disaster 3 times as lethal for individuals of colour or the truth that there’s 10 occasions the wealth in White America than there’s in Black America.” The previous Texas Rep. reasserted his description of Trump as a white supremacist and referred to as for reparations for the descendants of slaves, saying, “We may even name out the truth that we’ve a white supremacist within the White Home, and he poses a mortal risk to individuals of colour all throughout this nation.” O’Rourke stated he’d enact Rep. Sheila Jackson-Lee’s proposal to study how the redistribution of wealth should be carried out. The Texan was the one candidate to say something about reparations throughout Thursday’s debate. “We all know Donald Trump’s a racist, however there is no such thing as a purple badge of braveness for calling him that. Racism exists. The query is not who is not a racist, it is who’s and is not doing one thing about racism. And this isn’t simply a difficulty that began yesterday,” Senator Cory Booker stated.  And on the subject of reparations for slavery, Booker additionally addressed mass incarceration, including, “We now have systemic racism that’s eroding our nation from well being care to the felony justice system. And it is good to return to slavery, however pricey God, we’ve a felony justice system that’s so racially biased, we’ve extra African-People below felony supervision immediately than all of the slaves in 1850.” Booker continued, stating how, if elected, he’d create a particular workplace within the White Home to cope with white supremacy and hate crimes: “We are going to ensure that systemic racism is handled in substantive plans from felony justice reform to the disparities in well being care, to even one which we don’t discuss sufficient, which is the racism that we see in environmental injustice and communities of colour throughout this nation.”  Castro, who’s Mexican-American, plans to concentrate on police reform to fight racism.  “Just a few weeks in the past, a shooter drove 10 hours impressed by this president to kill individuals who appear like me and individuals who appear like my household,” Castro stated, additionally itemizing a number of Black women and men who’ve died by the hands of White cops.  “White supremacy is a rising risk to this nation, and we’ve to root it out,” he stated. South Bend, Indiana, Mayor Pete Buttigieg stated, “We all know that the generational theft of the descendants of slaves is part of why all the things from housing to training to well being to employment principally places us in two completely different international locations. I’ve proposed probably the most complete imaginative and prescient to sort out systemic racism in each one in all these areas.”  Amongst his options to fixing the problems of racial divide, one is “elevating to 25% the goal for the federal authorities to do enterprise with minority-owned companies” and “investing in HBCUs which might be coaching and educating the following technology of entrepreneurs.”  Senator Amy Klobuchar, a former Minnesota prosecutor, stated, “Once I was there, the way in which we dealt with these police shootings, I truly took a stand to verify exterior investigators dealt with them. I took on our main police chief in Minneapolis. However within the prosecutor’s workplace they have been dealt with with the grand jury. That’s how they have been dealt with throughout our state. I now imagine it’s higher for accountability if the prosecutor handles them and makes these selections herself. “What change did we make? Go after white collar crimes in a giant approach. Diversify the workplace in a giant approach. Work with the Innocence Challenge to verify we do a lot better with eyewitness I.D.,” she continued.   “…as your president, I’ll ensure that we don’t simply do step one act relating to felony sentencing, that we transfer to the second step act, which suggests the 90% of individuals which might be incarcerated in native and state jails, let’s scale back these sentences for nonviolent offenders and let’s give them jobs and allow them to vote once they get out of jail.”  On the difficulty of race Biden stated, “we ought to be speaking about rehabilitation.” “No one ought to be in jail for a nonviolent crime. No one ought to be in jail for a drug downside,” Biden continued, including, that individuals who have been despatched to jail for marijuana “ought to be out and their document ought to be expunged,” as a result of the cost ought to be a misdemeanor.   Biden was additionally requested how he’d restore the legacy of slavery on this nation, since in 1975 he told a reporter, “I don’t really feel accountable for the sins of my father and grandfather.”  “Look, there’s institutional segregation on this nation, and from the time I bought concerned, I began coping with that,” Biden stated Thursday evening. “Whenever you discuss training, I suggest that what we take is these very poor faculties, the title one faculties, triple the amount of cash we spend from $15 to $45 billion a yr, give each single trainer a increase to get out of the $60,000 stage.”  Former prosecutor Senator Kamala Harris straight addressed Trump’s divisiveness through the debate, saying, “…we all know that the overwhelming majority of us have a lot extra in widespread than what separates us, no matter our race, the place we reside, or the social gathering with which we’re registered to vote.” The California senator detailed how her plan is to concentrate on our nation’s widespread points, hopes and wishes as a approach of unity.  “And now, President Trump, you may return to watching Fox Information,” Harris added.  Later within the debate, Senator Harris was hit was a direct query from ABC debate moderator Linsey Davis, who called her out on contradicting her prior positions on criminal justice reform and asking, “Whenever you had the ability, why didn’t you attempt to impact change then?” the presidential hopeful responded.  “Let me be very clear. I decided to develop into a prosecutor for 2 causes. One, I’ve all the time wished to guard individuals and maintain them protected,” Harris stated. “And second, I used to be born understanding about how this felony justice system in America has labored in a approach that has been knowledgeable by racial bias.” Harris went on to say she created an initiative that grew to become a nationwide mannequin round individuals who have been arrested for medicine and getting them jobs.  She added how she was the primary to provoke that officers of a state legislation enforcement company must put on physique cameras and maintain them on full-time in addition to the primary to create coaching for cops on the difficulty of racial bias and the necessity to reform the system.   “Was I in a position to get sufficient performed? Completely not,” she stated. “However my plan has been described by activists as being a daring and complete plan that’s about ending mass incarceration, about taking the revenue out of the felony justice system. I plan on shutting down for-profit prisons on day one.” She added, “As president of the USA, understanding the system from the within, I’ll have the flexibility to be an efficient chief and get this job full.”  http://feeds.guess.com/~r/AllBetcom/~3/g8jZdSSPJIE/democratic-candidates-tackle-racism-on-third-debate-stage-held-a.html The post Democratic Candidates Sort out Racism On Third Debate Stage appeared first on Kartia Velino. https://kartiavelino.com/democratic-candidates-tackle-racism-on-third-debate-stage/

[nyflowerguy]

Interview with Florence Kennedy of Petalon, Author of the New Book ‘Flowers Every Day’

Today I’m delighted to feature an exclusive interview with Florence Kennedy of London-based florist Petalon, where she shares her inspiration behind her new book, ‘Flowers Every Day’.

Who did you have in mind as being the ‘ideal reader’ when you wrote ‘Flowers Every Day’?

I used my friends really. I have so many who like to entertain friends and family, who like to have gatherings and who like to have a go at doing things yourself. I think it’s a really positive spin on being “house-proud” that we’re going for, where it’s not about showing off but making an effort for people that shows how much you appreciate them.

What is your favourite floral design in the book?

It has to be the staircase we dressed. My husband James whispering “Jumanji” as we did it. We designed it with that particular house and style in mind, using less obvious flowers like seed pods and cow parsley, the sort of thing that you can find in your garden growing wild. It gave a really lovely feel of something that interacted with the building it was in.

You mention in the book that you’re not classically trained. How did you learn how to make your very first bouquets?

Trial and error! But with guidance from some trusted books. That’s what I hope this book will be for other people too – a safe base from which to experiment and develop their own style. I try not to be too prescriptive about what to use but be explicit about a technique that would work to lay the groundwork. I want people to be able to let go of their worries of doing it the “right way” and just have a go.

How would you define your current floristry style?

I try to let flowers dictate the arrangements they’re in. You’ve got to show off the flowers’ natural beauty however is best in the situation. It isn’t a manicured style, though I certainly appreciate the beauty of that style in other people’s work.

What has been the impact of social media on your business?

Enormous. Instagram is our main connection to the world. Twitter and Facebook have less of an impact though I recognise their value. When we were starting out, the visual basis of Instagram allowed us to have a voice in the world without spending a fortune on marketing. As we’ve grown, it remains a key way that we interact with the world and I don’t know what we’d do without it.

Looking back to when your floral journey started in 2013, what advice would you have given yourself?

Be patient. Relax. Have fun. Stop crying. I think I needed the confidence to step back from a rigid expectation of the future and enjoy the fact that the company will find its way and that that may change as you go. Also the value of good systems. But that’s a bit boring.

What are your plans for the next five years with Petalon?

Keep growing in a controlled way without outside influence. Maintain our personality and the intimacy of our relationship with our customers. Try new things and most of all, to enjoy it.

What advice would you give to someone who is thinking of a career change and becoming a florist?

Be realistic about what hard work it is and that there are much more financially rewarding professions out there. Florists work hard, but that also shows you what a great job it is that they still want to do it. Don’t spend a fortune on training, pick styles you like and try to learn from the people who create them. But always bear in mind that conventional training is an excellent way of learning to do things a conventional way.

Published by Pavilion, ‘Flowers Every Day’ is available online from Amazon.  For more information about Florence’s beautiful floral creations, please visit the Petalon website. Social media wise, you can find the company on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter.

(Images : India Hobson)

from Flowerona http://ift.tt/2qBa5Jr via IFTTT

[persuadedproject-blog]

Chapter Two

“I had to trim back some of the recommendations,” Mrs. Russell warned Anne as they took their seats. Mrs. Russell had come armed with a folder of spreadsheets and charts meant to help argue her case. To put them together, she had done what nobody else in the Elliot world had thought to do: she consulted Anne. From the information she had gathered, Anne thought it was best to cut off absolutely all unnecessary spending. Mrs. Russell, on the other hand, did not think they could win that war. Since she had been born and bred amongst the Washington elite, she had a healthy (or maybe more than healthy) respect for the position of senators, even retired ones. As evidenced by the spreadsheets stacked neatly on the long dining room table, she had a much less abrupt plan that would allow the Senator to keep up many of the trappings of his status while gradually paying off his debts. There were certainly changes to be made, but Mrs. Russell was concerned that to turn the senator’s entire world upside down would send the him running into the arms of bankruptcy, or old habits.

     Senator Walter had settled into his seat at the head of the table. At the opposite end (almost like a chief secretary of internal affairs) sat Mrs. Russell, with Anne and Shep on either side. Liz was draped across an overstuffed chair behind Senator Walter, and just before they got started, a new addition sat down beside him. This addition was Liz’s friend, Penny. A savvy woman in the PR industry, she had been spending a lot of her time with staying Liz (and therefore the entire Elliott family). Although her looks weren’t alluring per se she herself was young and interesting, almost enticing. Having grown up in a world dominated by looks and finding herself lacking in that department, she had mastered the art of being pleasing to particular people - and recently no one had been more pleased than Senator Walter. The senator and Liz were happy to have her sit in on the decision making, and all of the people at the other end of the table were appalled. However, she was there to stay, and so Mrs. Russell called the meeting to order by saying,

      “First of all, I think we need to make the goal of our little gathering clear. Shep and I are here to help further your best interests, Senator. Some of the steps we have outlined may seem uncomfortable, but it is only to transition your family to greener pastures, for good this time. We are hoping that with this plan, you can get out of debt in about fifteen years.” Mrs. Russell was the sort of woman who was somehow in charge of everything. Soup kitchen schedules, church potlucks, fundraisers, she made all of these things happen. It was natural to everyone in the room that she would lead the charge.

    Senator Walter accepted her terms with a nod and an uncomfortably light-hearted exclamation, “Let’s see the numbers! Hopefully they won’t turn my hair any greyer than it already is.” Anne took copies of Mrs. Russell’s sheets down to Liz and Senator Walter, then returned to her seat to await the inevitable protests. Within a minute, Senator Walter began rumbling. “Sell Liz’s car? No golf? Oh good, there’s more -” he perused the rest of the page for the offending proposals, “Cut off Carlos [the senator’s stylist], use a home gym, lose caterers for our parties, only travel once for summer vacation. A budget for coffee. A limit on credit cards.” To Mrs. Russell’s end of the table all of these ideas seemed reasonable, so they waited for a follow up from the senator. “You do realize you’ve banned every comfort of a decent life, don’t you? Every representative who has worked as hard as I have gets to enjoy at least some of the fruits of his labor. I would just as soon leave the Kellynch House than live here with these conditions, and have my neighbors watch me decline like this!” The Kellynch House was a point of pride for the Elliotts. Since it was old and had been owned by one of the few Virginian representatives who had supported abolition, it was granted a historic plaque by the town of Alexandria which read “Kellynch House, built 1848 by Congressman Thomas Kellynch”. Senator Walter thought it spoke to their political heritage, and refused to call it anything else after the plaque went up. Senator Walter said again for emphasis, “Yes, if we are going to implement all of these changes, I may as well leave the Kellynch House!” It was Shep’s opinion that if any financial progress was going to be made, the Elliots had to leave Kellynch. Seeing a tiny sliver of hope and opportunity, he jumped at it and hung on tightly.

      “Well, since you mentioned it, Senator, I think you are one hundred percent right. Leaving Kellynch is the only option. Solid judgement on your part, sir. A new place would mean that you can start over, and set the standard at whatever level you like without anyone knowing the difference or judging you.” A little shocked at his own nerve and unusually long string of words, he let Mrs. Russell do most of the talking from there on out, lending vehement nods and maybe a word or two when necessary.

      “If we left Kellynch, I don’t have any idea where we would go,” Senator Walter protested. “And we can’t go anywhere far, because (as Anne will not stop saying) the whole point of staying out of bankruptcy is to save the Elliott Consulting employees.”

       “I had the idea that maybe you could rent out the Kellynch House, and stay in a cottage near Martha’s Vineyard for the summer,” Mrs. Russell said gently. As Senator Walter sat back sputtering in his seat, she persisted, “That way you could continue your consulting, from the location where some of your key clients will be vacationing. You can manage the D.C. office remotely, and have the advantage of distance for the first adjustments. A cottage by the ocean is quaint, not small, and if it had a nice outdoor area you can still have people over without feeling crowded.” Shockingly, Senator Walter heard her out as she explained the advantages of renting a smaller property. For the next ten minutes she expounded the virtues of low utility costs, distance from the D.C. rumor mill, an outdoor entertaining strategy that would involve more burgers and less caviar. The more she talked, the more obvious it became: life on the Cape meant that the Elliots could still be important without being as extravagant.

      “I have heard about some properties in Hyannis that might work well for your family,” Mrs. Russell reasoned further.

       “Hyannis is not Martha’s Vineyard,” Senator Walter pointed out.

      “Which is why it is perfect. You are in the area, only a ferry ride away from everything there, but not at the center where living is so pricey. I’m going to be getting a place a little further away myself this year. And the Kennedys still have homes in Hyannis, you know. It would be like you are recuperating in Camelot.” This was a bit of a stretch, but she was starting to effectively convince the senator.

      Like so many times before, Anne watched her future being arranged without a great affinity for the plans. She was happy with the idea of debts being paid off, of course - but she had never liked Martha’s Vineyard area, a dislike which had been reinforced by her mother’s death there over fifteen years before. Mrs. Russell was aware of Anne’s reluctance to return to the islands before crafting her plan, and did not like to arrange something so entirely opposed to Anne’s preferences, but was sure that she could be brought to like some aspects of living there. Since Mrs. Russell thought of her own times off the Massachusetts coast as some of the happiest and best times of her life, she could not imagine anyone could continually dislike it. Mrs. Russell was also convinced that Anne needed to get out more, and that the vacationing society will be a breath of fresh air - Anne thought it was the extension of wealthy Washington, but that was really part of why they were to move there in the first place.  

      Once Senator Walter had been convinced that neither renting out his grand home nor living in the stomping ground of the Kennedys was too bourgeois, he made it known that he did not want his beloved Kellynch House to be advertised.

     “Especially if we are renting it out as a furnished house, I don’t want just anyone staying here. To see it lived in by someone else will be a test in and of itself.” After a long sigh and a short pause he said, “But I’m sure I can make it through. I didn’t come from a long line of soldiers just to buckle now.” Senator Walter had used the soldier story on a regular basis for his entire political career. In high school Anne had done an ancestry project and discovered that he had exactly two military ancestors: one Confederate soldier, and one who fought under Andrew Jackson to stay out of debtor’s prison. This did not stop the senator from touting his lineage.

      “I might just have someone to continue the military legacy for the Kellynch House,” Mrs. Russell soothed. “Last night I was at a benefit with an Admiral Croft who was moving to the area for work with the Pentagon. He said he was looking for a big house after so many years cooped up in tight quarters. I asked for his card, and I think I could manage to show him and his wife the house tomorrow.” Besides the financial situation, Mrs. Russell had another reason for being aggressively efficient with the Elliott’s arrangements. The rather urgent and very blonde reason was at that very moment leaning over the senator’s shoulder to look at the figures. Liz had stubbornly held onto her relationship with Penny despite Mrs. Russell’s vocal misgivings, and was so entirely dismissive that it appeared only a geographical separation would do the trick.

      “A Navy man would feel lucky to get a place like the Kellynch House. Best reward he could ask for, don’t you think?” Senator Walter queried.

     “Mrs. Russell says he is a discrete man with no children. I’ve already checked into his credit history, and it is perfect. They sound like ideal tenants,” Shep offered.

       “If we were to rent, I don’t know what rights I would give them. Would they get access to all of the house? Our membership at the club? I don’t want to give too much way to a tenant, especially if I am going to be away for the whole summer. I don’t care if he’s in the Army, Navy, Airforce or Marines,” Senator Walter stated. Now Anne spoke up.

     “I think they have done so much for us, at their own cost. Servicemen deserve at least equal to what civilians see, if not better. They have worked harder than most of us for their comforts, I think.” Shep made a soft noise in his throat denoting his agreement.

      “The profession has its use,” Senator Walter admitted, “But I would not like to see a real friend of mine in it.” The three people on Mrs. Russell’s side of the table were taken aback by this statement, all of them wondering how he possibly could have made it as a senator with opinions like these. Sensing something amiss, Senator Walter tried to explain. “All of the military branches provide people with status they never could have achieved otherwise.” A different person might have said this in an admiring tone, but it was obvious that the senator found this to be detrimental. “And it robs men of their youth. You should see the white heads, the human wrinkles walking around the Washington. And the sagging skin!” He laughed partly out of amusement, and partly in wonder at such unpardonable disfigurement. Liz laughed along with him, while the three just looked on. Penny decided it was time to put her oar in, saying with a playful swat,

      “All professions have their risks. Don’t be too hard on the Navy!” Senator Walter wanted to move on from the Navy in general to the admiral in specific.

      “Well, who is this Croft, anyways? What’s he like?” Mrs. Russell replied,

       “He is married, but has no children. I think his wife is more of a shrewd businessperson than the admiral.” It was actually Mrs. Croft’s smart investment of the Admiral’s earnings that gave them the funds for renting a place like the Kellynch House. “When we were talking over the cost of living in Alexandria, it turned out she actually has a local connection; a gentleman who lived downtown, actually.” Eager to figure out the connection, Senator Walter asked,

    “Where downtown?”

     “Oh, I think it was that sweet brick colonial in downtown, near the old church?” Mrs. Russell said off-handedly. “I can’t for the life of me remember his name.”

      “That house hasn’t been lived in for years,” Liz contributed. “It’s a boutique now. I can picture the last man that lived there, but I couldn’t tell you his name”

      “I think it was Mr. Wentworth,” Anne said hesitantly.

      “Yes, that was him!” Mrs. Russell said, with a quick glance at Anne. “You remember him, don’t you, Senator? He was the pastor of the church right across the way.”

       “Oh!” recognition flooded Senator Walter’s face. “You called him a gentleman, that’s what threw me off. I was picturing either an older man or someone, well...not a preacher. They all seem to be very homespun sort of people, don’t you think?”

      “Well, it isn’t Pastor Wentworth who wants to rent, it is Admiral Croft,” said Shep, fearing they were getting too far afield for a positive outcome from the senator.

      “What is his background?” Senator Walter wanted to know.

      “He was the commander of the Pacific fleet for many years. They saw some action off the west coast of Africa, and did a lot of work with NATO. He has been stationed all over.” Everyone looked up in surprise at Anne, who had supplied all of this information. She had no phone in her hand, so she could not have Googled him. She hastily explained, “Congressman Forrest needed someone from the firm to look him up last week. He was working on a speech for a veteran fundraiser.” Everyone but Mrs. Russell was satisfied with that explanation, and moved on to rental arrangements.

   Senator Walter was convinced to let Shep show the house. He was still confident that a sailor should feel privileged to rent the Kellynch House, but who was he to stand in the way of progress? Liz, who could have put a stop to it all if she wanted to, did not utter a word of protest. She was already mentally mapping out a new blog series on simplifying and putting together her vintage inspired summer-on-the-Cape look. With her dark hair and a red scarf, she could easily pull off variation of Rosie the Riveter. Shep was empowered to make all of the arrangements, and he slipped away from the gathering immediately to start making phone calls. Time was of the essence if they were to get a tax break on this rental, and he was determined to do his bit. Mrs. Russell also hurried away to call the Admiral and start searching for her own house near Hyannis. Once the meeting was dissolved, Anne cleared her plate, grabbed her spreadsheets, and fairly bolted upstairs. Needing privacy, she paced the library (which had also been her mother’s office once upon a time) without fear of being disturbed. No one ever spent time in that room of the house except Anne. While running her fingers over the cool backs of her beloved books, she could not help but think of something which caused her to linger a little while longer in the library. ‘In a matter of weeks, he could be here.’

Dun dun dun...I thought Jane’s semi-dramatic ending for this segment was fitting. :) Thanks to my small but merry band of readers for following along.

Chapter 3: http://bit.ly/2uEv5NG