#Tree Care Toronto

[thatbennybee]

Swap AU - Miss Viva

Forced to become queen when she was 13 due to her father and sister being crushed by a collapsed tunnel when escaping the troll tree, Viva has a lot on her mind.

She was already feeling the pressure as her dad pushed her to learn all the skills she'd need, but it was even harder now that Peppy wasn't there to show her anything at all.

Luckily for her, Clay—her classmate and friend—had a kind family who was willing to help out as much as they could so she didn't have to do it alone. Ms. Rosiepuff and a lot of the other elder trolls had insight abs experience with both King Peppy's leadership and the late Queen Pippi's before him.

They tried to help Viva adjust and secretly took over other tasks that were too much for a kid to handle, but Viva simply couldn't take the pressure. That, on top of having no time to grieve and heal, took a huge toll on her; which led to her forcing herself to remain positive.

Over the next few years, he overwhelming amount of stress and grief caused parts of her body to grey. She covered it up as much as possible, but it only worked so long before Clay, his brothers and grandmother noticed and stepped in to make her take a break.

Rosiepuff, John Dory and Bruce helped take care of most of her duties if they weren't already being done by a different troll (ex. Mags Gumdrop, Sky Toronto, and Moonbloom who were all friends with Peppy).

A few years later, when Viva was 18 and was meant to be officially crowned, she felt as though being queen was something she didn't know if she'd ever be ready for, saying that Rosiepuff and John Dory were doing most of her job just fine without her and thought that perhaps, she should formally step down, and give the position to Rosiepuff instead.

While hesitant to do so, Rosiepuff respected her wishes but noted that the offer is always open for her to take back when she was ready. Viva prefers to be called Miss Viva instead of 'Queen,' as it's what Branch has always called her since he was a baby and she finds it more comfortable.

⭐️🌟⭐️🌟⭐️

Silly Bonus Sketches for those that read till the end!

They're from the Trolls Community Server!!

Viva isn't a big fan of her grey patches, but everyone was saying they were beautiful... i don't think Viva was fond of the sentiment 💀

They were also all fighting over her hand in marriage so uhhh

yeah, Viva has many suitors, i suppose

[toronto-tree-removal]

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[torakowalski]

I'm trying not to say "sorry for the delay!" every time I post because there's only so many times you can say that before a delay becomes... Just the speed at which I post.

Anyway, I started a fancy new job last week and I'm knackered, but luckily so is Steve. So here he is! Finally at his first games!

(part one | part eight)

Seoul is... Wow, Seoul is like nothing Eddie has ever experienced. After roaming the US for two years, he thought he was pretty well travelled, but it turns out that he was a super embarrassingly wrong.

Jonathan Byers loaned Eddie his camera (with strict instructions on how to take care of it) and Eddie has already sent a roll of film home to be developed, despite having only been here three days. He's also sent about a dozen postcards and had one thirty-second phone call with Wayne where he just had time to promise he wasn't dead and wouldn't become dead, before his money ran out.

Now, it's sometime in the evening and he's lying on his bed, pretending that he isn't fully fucked up by the thirteen hour time difference between here and home. He keeps thinking about how it'll be early morning in Hawkins, that he's basically in the future right now. He rolls over, grabs another postcard and addresses it to Dustin.

Greetings from the future. Today's lottery numbers are...

Then he flicks a drop of ink and deliberately smudges it across the paper.

He's busy laughing at his own cleverness, when there's a knock on the door. Expecting the incredibly helpful woman who runs this hotel, Eddie rolls off the bed, and pads barefoot over to the door, opening it with an, "Annyeonghaseyo."

Steve, standing on the other side of the door, smiles at him and says, "Have you learned the whole language yet?"

"I'm not Robin," Eddie tells him, before grabbing his arm and pulling him inside. "What are you doing here?"

Steve shrugs, running a hand through his hair to push it back off his face. It doesn't look like there's any product in it, and he looks tired, standing there in a plain white t-shirt and his red and white Team USA tracksuit pants.

"My roommate brought one of the athletics girls back to our room, so I said I'd give them some space."

It's been two days since they last saw each other and Eddie wants to hug him, or kiss him, or maybe climb him like a tree, but he's not sure what the rules are.

They've barely had a chance to talk about anything since that first kiss three weeks ago. Dustin insisted on coming back to their hotel room with them for a sleepover that night, and then Steve has been training with the Olympic coaches every hour since.

They've kissed four times in total. The last one was four days ago in Toronto Airport before they boarded the longhaul flight to Seoul. Then Steve headed to first class with the rest of the swim team and Eddie to cattle, clutching his brand new passport.

He'd spent eleven hours wedged between an international student and a very chatty Korean grandma. Every time he went to pee, he spied on Steve through the little curtain but only managed to catch his eye a couple times. Steve looked happy, making friends in the team, and being brought complimentary bags of peanuts. He'd looked like he belonged.

"Well, welcome." Eddie gives Steve a bow then wishes he hadn't. That's what he'd do for anyone, and Steve isn't just anyone.

Steve rolls his eyes at him, but hopefully at least kind of fondly.

"Thanks. I'll make myself at home."

He throws himself down onto the bed, stretching out his arms and groaning. Eddie's mouth goes dry watching him, wondering if it'd be okay to follow him down.

Steve closes his eyes for long enough that Eddie thinks maybe he's just come here to nap. Then he blinks up at Eddie, and holds out his hand.

"Lonely?" Eddie asks, stepping close enough that Steve can push his fingers between Eddie's.

"I mean, I wouldn't say no to some company." Steve pulls on Eddie's hand, pulls again. Eddie thinks for a second then rolls up onto the balls of his feet, so the next time Steve tugs, Eddie spills forward and right down on top of him.

Steve wheezes on impact, laughing out, " You shit," when he gets his breath back.

Eddie looks down from about two inches above him. They're almost nose to nose, so close that Steve's eyes are a blur of green and brown. "Sorry, is this not where you wanted me?"

Steve wraps his arms around Eddie's middle, rubs his fingers along the hem of Eddie's shirt. "I guess there are worse places for you to be."

He smiles and Eddie smiles, then Steve lifts his head and Eddie lowers his and they're kissing. Again. Some more. First kiss in Korea, fifth kiss overall. Eddie wonders if they'll ever do enough kisses that he stops counting.

Then he tells himself to stop hoping for a future and focus on right now.

Steve's kisses are slick and measured, so Eddie tries to slow down to match. He shifts a little to the side so he isn't totally squashing Steve but Steve makes a protesting noise and hoicks him back on top.

"I'm too heavy," Eddie protests. He's never laid on top of someone before, but he's gotta be, right? He's a full grown adult man.

"I like it," Steve says, like that's the end of the argument. Then he pulls Eddie back on top of him and kisses him and, well, that is the end of the argument.

"How long can you stay?" Eddie asks once he's kissed every part of Steve's face that looked kissable (all of it) and is thinking of moving on to his neck.

"Curfew's ten and it's -" Steve lifts his arm to check his watch over Eddie's shoulder. " - ten past ten, so I guess... forever?"

"That is the best logic I ever heard, but I don't think time works like that, sweetheart."

Steve's eyes flare, which is kinda interesting. Eddie calls everyone sweetheart, same as his mama called everyone sugar, but if Steve likes it, it's his.

"My roommate will cover for me," Steve says, easily. Of course he's immediately fallen into the whole team aspect of the games. He's a jock all the way down to his DNA and they bond like pack animals. "He thinks he's sent me roaming the streets of Seoul alone, after all."

"Rude," Eddie says. "Banished you out into the night, just so he can get laid."

"Super rude," Steve agrees. He hesitates then adds, "Or like, not actually laid. The guys who were on the team for the LA games think it's bad luck to have sex before a race."

"Like...immediately before or at all?" Eddie asks. Steve's races don't start for another four days and Eddie isn't, okay Eddie isn't expecting anything, but Steve is in his bed right now.

"From the opening ceremony until their races are done," Steve says. He makes a face. "It's just total superstition, obviously."

"Obviously," Eddie agrees.

Steve bites his lip.

"And you're scared to go against it just in case," Eddie fills in for him.

Steve puts a hand over his face and squints at Eddie from between his fingers. God, he's cute. A cute, cute dork. "Sorry."

Stupidly, Eddie feels himself blush. "Sweetheart, I'm not, I wasn't, I'm not... I, uh, I. Shut up."

Steve frowns. "I didn't say anything?"

"I was telling myself to shut up." Eddie groans.

"Ohhh, I can help with that," Steve says. Then he kisses Eddie again, like he thinks he's smooth.

It's actually kind of easier to relax into just kissing now that he knows they're not gonna be doing anything else. He can focus on the warmth of Steve's lips and the spit taste of his mouth. Or, it turns out, on the weird feeling of Steve yawning directly into their next kiss.

"Excuse you," says Eddie.

"Excuse me," Steve agrees, and tries to go back to kissing. But Eddie caught a look at him when they broke apart and he's heavy eyed and very, very sleepy-looking.

This time when Eddie moves to the side, Steve's protest is quieter.

"Tired?" Eddie asks.

"Nah, I'm good." Steve yawns again then looks betrayed by himself.

Eddie strokes his hair back behind his ears for him then runs his finger over Steve's flushes cheekbones. "Wanna have a nap?"

"I should get back," says Steve, while simultaneously snuggling down deeper into Eddie's pillow.

"A short nap, then I'll wake you up," Eddie promises, secure in the knowledge that he hasn't fallen asleep before four any night they've been here yet.

"Just a short one," Steve says, tugging Eddie back so he's hooked under Steve's arm.

Entirely unsure of the protocol, Eddie lays his head on Steve's chest. It's all hard and muscly, not actually all that comfortable to lie on, but it's also Steve's chest so Eddie's gonna give it a whirl, anyway.

"You're coming to watch me, right? Every heat?" Steve asks, fingers twirling in Eddie's hair.

"I mean, there's a lot of other stuff happening. You know they've let tennis back in, this year?" Eddie says, drawing it out. When Steve tugs a little on his hair, he laughs. "Yeah, I'll be there. I haven't watched every other time you swam in the last two years just to miss out on any of this."

Steve hums like he's smiling. They've shared so many hotel rooms by now, spent so many nights talking in the dark, that Eddie can read him without having to see his face.

"Good," Steve says. He plays with Eddie's hair a little longer, before his fingers go slack and his breathing deepens.

Eddie smiles to himself, trapped under Steve's arm and not minding one bit. He might still be second guessing all the new rules of their relationship, but this part is familiar. He absolutely knows how to take care of Steve before a competition.

If there's such a thing as a tour manager for a swimmer, then he has all the experience in the world. He's still pondering whether or not that's a real career when, inevitably, he too falls asleep.

(continued here)

[aliaology]

THE BEST DAY

summary: older hughes sister and her mama ellen hughes ⭐️

pairings: ellen hughes x daughter!hughes!reader

fluff fluff fluff its also lowkey so bad n short

five years old

it was getting cold in toronto. your big coat fell to your knees as you looked up at your mom with a big grin on your face. she held your seven month old brother as your father held quinn’s hands, helping him skate.

you carefully moved around on the ice, scared to fall. you do well for a solid few seconds before falling straight on your butt, causing your mom to laugh.

instead of crying, you look up smiling at her, immediately getting up from the ice. you quickly skate past her before slipping again. another laugh erupts from your mothers throat.

the sky is slowly turning gold as it sets, signaling it was time to go home. you whine as your mom takes your skates off.

your dad holds baby jack now. quinn is sitting beside you, legs kicking back and forth as he waits for help. your mom slides your boots on and immediately you get off the bench, hugging her legs with a whine.

“i dont want to leave yet.” you groaned. your words muffled due to her pants. she just chuckled and helped quinn.

then, on the ride home, you were fast asleep.

when you woke up, you still had five minutes left until you got home, and both quinn and jack were asleep.

you wondered why the trees changed colors over time, watching them as you passed by each and every one.

you also wondered how your mom wasnt scared that your dad was driving, he speeds!

you rub your eyes.

“i had the best day today” you yawned.

thirteen years old

your friends were mean. really mean. they kicked you from the lunch table, stopped inviting you to hangouts. every class you had with them, they’d ignore you or leave you alone during partner projects.

it came to the point where you were crying as you got home. you opened the door, tears falling down your cheeks as you threw your bag to the floor.

upon hearing the sound, your mother rushed towards you. “hey, hey, honey whats wrong?” she asked.

she immediately pulled you into an embrace. you cried on her shoulder, “why are they all so mean mama? im nothing but nice!” you cried.

she sighed and held you tight. when she pulled away, her hands stayed on your shoulders. “lets go for a drive, okay?” she spoke.

you nodded and wiped your tears as she grabbed the keys.

you both drove and drove until you were a few towns away, where no one would know you guys. you talked, and talked, and talked.

you told her everything that had been going on. everything that they were saying and doing to you. after ranting, she took you window shopping until you forgot all of their names.

when you made it home, you got scared. who were you gonna talk to at school? but then you remembered, you still have the laughter when you’re with your mom.

it may take awhile to feel better but,

“i had the best day with you.” you told.

you have an excellent father. one whos strength makes you stronger. one whos smarts may not always be at its peak but hits it every now and then. one whos cared for you to his very core.

you have perfect younger brothers, who you believe are better than you, inside and out. but altogether you guys are a perfect family.

you grew up in a pretty home, one where you had space to run and hide, and call yours. one where you were able to paint your room a bright pink.

and that place, was where you had the best days of your life.

twenty five years old

you were searching through your old stuff. there you found a camera and immediately you got to charging it. you were three, your mother was still pregnant with quinn.

she set up your paint set in the kitchen, knowing it’d be easier to pick up. in the video, she talked to you. asked what you were painting. to which you responded, “a princess!”

it was a bad painting of a princess on a pirate ship, a really bad painting. so bad, you laughed through your tears as you watched it in your lonesome apartment.

the camera zoomed in to your mother, your father obviously being the one to take the video. shes the prettiest lady in the whole wide world.

now you know why the trees change colors. you know your mother was on your side, even when you were wrong, like when you pushed a kid for calling a teacher ‘stupid’ in the fourth grade.

you were grateful for her, for her watching you shine and become who you were today. you dont know if she knows, but, you always had the best days with her.

ynhughes

liked by elblue_06, jackhughes and others

ynhughes you always know how to make me laugh. miss u mama, better visit more

comments have been disabled.

is this like.,, good..,

tags; @slaythehousebootsdown13 , @outrunangelss , @um-mads , @bqbylon , @whoreforthehughesbrothers , @p3nislawd , @queenmendes , @absolutelyhugh3s , @hockeyboysarehot ,

[sunnystrollblog]

IM BACK WITH EVEN MORE IDEAS! Wholesome edition because they deserve nice things

Despite refusing to wear the bracelets, the Borrowers are very happy to participate in Hug Time. It's one of the things they all missed when living in Bergen Town. Caretakers routinely get dog piled by their broods

They really like games like hide and seek and capture the flag. They claim it's for training. Everyone else is just glad that they're having fun.

Smidge gets adopted by the defenders

Poppy makes a whole scrapbook of the best and worst gifts to give a borrower. This scrapbook is affectionately refered to as "The Sacred Texts"

They don't like big loud parties despite this they still stand guard against any predators attracted by the noise.

Aaaaa this is so real!!!

I’d also like to add on to this wholesomeness!

Many broods have a big fear of critters so Milton moss lets the defenders bring them to come see his critter care center to get use to them and even let them hold some!

Smidge definitely gets adopted by the defenders and loves that she has a friend group who can keep up with her workout routine!

Creek and kismet finally get to meet each other which makes branch and poppy go into friend matching mode where they try to set up friend dates for them!

Trickee has a soft spot for broods which also extends to non borrower trollings and boy do kids exploit it

Sky Toronto asks for the help of scavengers and rescuers a lot, for some reason they’re both very good at finding and retrieving rare party items they’re very fast at it too.

Borrowers are known to sleep in packs so it’s not uncommon for other trolls to find branch and kismet snuggled underneath a shaded tree dozing off.

Sometimes poppy will remind defenders that they’re not living in the compound anymore and can join in the parties the offer is usually declined but poppy will still save some cupcakes for them.

AAAHhh I love this au so much!!! Gonna go draw some of these ideas now!!!

[incorrect-murderdrones]

ANDDD WE HAVE A QUOTE MASTERPOST! ALL QUOTES BELONG TOO: @the-island-of-quotes HAVE FUN AND FOLLOW THAT PERSON :D -Mod Kai

N: This is what Victor would look like if he was doctor Seuss.

Uzi: There's a socket in my pocket, maybe this will help me fix my sprocket.

Uzi: It's not a 5, or a 6, or a 10, I have seem to have lost all of those again.

Uzi: And when it comes to wrenches, it seems all of them have disappeared off my fucking work benches.

Uzi: So even though there is a socket in my pocket I can't even use it to fix my fucking sprocket

*Next day*

Uzi: Another tool another day, I dropped some more shit in this fucking engine bay.

Uzi: But it's okay because I bought this car to get from point A to point B.

Uzi: And after one week of ownership I'm kinda hoping this thing gets crushed by a fucking tree.

Uzi: I've wanted to sell this car since week one, but nobody wants to buy it when it has every problem under the sun.

Uzi: This car will just remain broken and collect some dust, and eventually this piece of shit will start collecting rust.

Uzi: But at this point I don't really care! I have the time, nor money or energy to try and repair.

Uzi: I'm just gonna say fuck this, and sell this shit on craigslist to some guy named Chris.

______________________________________________________________

V: I now proudly present, the life and times of earnest Hemingway in aproxamently 3 and a half minutes. GO! Born in Chicago in 1899, son of a physician and a musician, reasonably uneventful childhood, decided to study Journalism. Enlisted with the Red Cross during World War I, got BLOWN up in Milan and spent 6 months in hospital with severe shrapnel wounds in both legs. Fell in love with a nurse, they decided to get married. He came home to prepare, she stayed there and ditched him for an Italian soldier, which initiated a life long pattern of him rejecting women before they had a chance to reject him. Got a job as a foreign correspondent, fell in love with his roommates' sister, married her and moved to Paris. They hung out with Gertrude Stein. They kicked it with Pablo Picasso. He started writing in earnest, no pun intended. Moved to Toronto, had a kid, moved back to Paris, published a couple of books. Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman. Converted to Catholicism... Cut his head open after pulling on a cord thinking he was flushing a toilet and instead ripped a skylight from the roof and smashed it onto HIS FACE! Moved to Kansas City, had another kid, his dad committed suicide, he shot a lot of bears for some reason. Had a car accident, had another kid, went to Africa to kill some wild animals and got dysentery karma! Published another book, moved to Cuba, SHOT HIMSELF IN THE LEG WHILST AIMING AT A SHARK! Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman. Published "For Whom the Bell Tolls," sold half a million copies in a couple of months and got nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman. Became the self appointed leader of a band of village Militia outside of Paris and was subsequently brought up on charges for contravening the Geneva Convention, and GOT AWAY WITH IT LIKE A FUCKING CHAMPION! Got pneumonia, moved back to Cuba and spent most of his spare time on his boat TRACKING NAZI U-BOATS WITH A MACHINE GUN AND A PILE OF HAND GRENADES I AM NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP! Had a few more car accidents, three more concussions, got CLAWED WHILE PLAYING WITH A LION... Got depressed, drank. Got fat, published a couple more books, went back to Africa to shoot some more wild animals, and barely survived two separate plane crashes in the space of 24 hours, winding up with a fractured skull, internal bleeding, cracked spine, ruptured liver, first degree burns, and a paralyzed sphincter muscle karma! Won a Nobel Prize, had a file opened on him by J. Edgar Hoover, left a bunch of shit in a safe in Cuba and moved to Idaho, paranoid that the feds were following him WHICH THEY WERE BECAUSE HE SPENT MOST OF THE 1940S WORKING FOR THE KGB, AGAIN NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP! Suffered from hepatitis, nephritis, hypertension, hemochromatosis, anemia and impotence, karma. Got committed, received way too much electroconvulsive therapy and came out all fucked up, started hinting at suicide so immediately got recommitted, received another couple of months worth of electroconvulsive therapy, got released, put both barrels of his favorite 12-gauge shotgun into his mouth and BLEW HIS FUCKING HEAD OFF! WHAT A GUY!

______________________________________________________________

N: Welcome to applebees! What'll it be? Apples or bees? Congrats, you get bees!!!

______________________________________________________________

Doll: Now that I've added the milk to the cereal tell me, is that milk now a beverage, a broth, or a sauce? Answer carefully Khan, you're wife's life depends on it!

______________________________________________________________

Uzi: If the conspiracies about life being a simulation are true whoever is controlling my Sim I JUST WANNA TALK!!

______________________________________________________________

N: Do you think god stays in heaven because he too fears what he's created? That's a quote from Spy Kids 2 have you ever seen it it's like peak cinema.

______________________________________________________________

Uzi: Who needs sleep when you run on equal parts NyQuil and Methamphetamine?

______________________________________________________________

V: Just remember Uzi people die when they are killed!

______________________________________________________________

V: Ha! You're pointless!

Doll: Thirty nine buried.

*Gunshot*

Doll: Zero found

______________________________________________________________

N: Which one of you was gonna tell me tea tastes different if you put in hot water?

Uzi: Y- you we're putting it in cold water???????

V: N. Answer the question N!

N: Yeah??? I thought for like five years people just put it in hot water to speed up the tea-ification process, didn't realize there was an actual reason.

J: You don't have the patience to microwave water for three minutes??

Doll: Why are you. Putting it in the microwave to boil it?

J: Do you think I have the patience to boil water on the stove?

Doll: It takes less than a minute!

J: Doll is your stove powered by the fucking sun!?

Doll: How long does it take to boil a cup of water on your stove?

J: LIKE SEVEN MINUTES!

Doll: Just stick the mug on top of the stove on medium heat and it boils in two minutes, less if you use a saucepan.

Lizzy: Crying your putting the whole mug on the stove??? On medium heat??? Your stove is enchanted!

Uzi: Every drone in this exoplanet is a fucking idiot.

Cyn: DO NONE OF YOU OWN A FUCKING KETTLE!?!?! REMEMBER TO FOLLOW: @the-island-of-quotes AS THEY OWN THESE QUOTES :D

[all-the-things-2020]

Late Night Talking - Chapter Fifteen

Summary: Dieter and Emily spend Christmas with his brother’s family.

Word count: 7000+

Rating: PG all the way

Notes: I’ve never been to Vermont. The Christmas Market on Church Street in Burlington is real but all I know about it is what I saw on a quick Google search. Logan’s Candy in Ontario, CA is real, and so is the Parent Navel Orange Tree in Riverside. Everything else is made up.

Tag list: @rhoorl @avastrasposts @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @gwendibleywrites @weho2kcmo

Vermont was cold. I’d been to Big Bear during the winter, so I thought I knew what cold was, but I was wrong. California cold, even in the mountains, is nothing compared to New England cold. I huddled in the puffy coat Dieter had ordered for me as I scanned the line of cars in the pick up line at Burlington International. A blue Jeep Cherokee, Dieter had said, but there were so many SUVs and it was snowing lightly, so I had a hard time. Then I saw a familiar face hanging out of a passenger side window. 

“Emily! Over here!” He waved his arm frantically, as if I wouldn’t notice him after he bellowed my name.

He hopped out and opened the back door for me. “Quick, get in out of the cold,” he said, taking my luggage around to the back. I slid into the back seat of the blessedly warm Jeep. 

“You must be Freddy,” I said to the driver.

”And you have to be Emily,” he said with a smile. “Welcome to Vermont.” He was definitely Dieter’s brother; they had the same warm brown eyes and strong nose, but Freddy was clean-shaven, his hair neatly trimmed in a conservative cut, and the only piece of jewelry he wore was a simple gold wedding band. And his care was immaculately clean. Dieter’s car always had a few empty water bottles, Kit Kat wrappers and stray bits of clothing rattling around in it, plus an assortment of scripts and paperwork that he hadn’t gotten around to taking inside yet. 

Dieter slammed the tailgate and dashed back into the car. “I always forget how fucking cold it gets here,” he said as he fumbled with his seatbelt. “You’re insane for living here.”

Freddy shrugged. “You get used to it. You’re just spoiled by that L.A. weather.”

Dieter twisted around in his seat to look at me. “You should have heard him the first winter after they moved here,” he said with a grin. “You look great, by the way.”

”I’m bundled up in this giant coat,” I replied. “You can barely see me.”

“I can see your face,” Dieter said. “And I missed it.”

”I missed you, too.” He’d been away filming most of the time since our Thanksgiving getaway. The shoot was in Toronto and he’d only been able to fly home for one weekend because of some delays on set due to weather and other complications. 

Freddy pulled out into the Christmas Eve morning traffic. The airport was busy but not as crazy as LAX had been. Thank goodness for the airport shuttle, or I would never have made my flight in time. ”I hope I didn’t mess up your holiday plans too much,” I said. “Having to pick someone up at the airport is hassle enough, let alone on Christmas Eve.”

Freddy shrugged again. “Leila and the kids are busy baking, so I usually get banished to the living room anyway. And this one took a cab last night so I didn’t have to make two trips.”

“I am a very thoughtful brother,” Dieter said.

Freddy snorted. “I consider it a Christmas miracle.”

Dieter shoved his arm and Freddy poked him back with his elbow. Yeah, they were definitely brothers.

*********************************************************************

Freddy lived just outside Burlington so it wasn’t a long drive to his house. I couldn’t help but gawk at the snow. Everything looked like a Hallmark card. 

“So we thought we’d take you guys down to Church Street this evening for the Christmas Market,” Freddy said as we turned down his street. “We went last week, but the kids don’t mind going again.” He chuckled. “Anytime they can have hot chocolate and donuts for dinner they’re happy.”

”Hot chocolate sounds amazing,” I said. “I might need an intravenous drip.”

”Don’t worry, babe, I’ll keep you warm,” Dieter said. “Bet you’re glad I bought you that coat now.”  We’d had a bit of an argument over the coat. I’d told him I didn’t need such a fancy one, since I’d only be using it for a few days, but he insisted I’d freeze without it and we compromised by agreeing I could donate it to a women’s shelter before I flew home.

“I am,” I said. “You were right … this time.”

Freddy laughed. “That’s the way, keep his ego in check.”

We pulled up outside a two story middle class house decked out with strings of Christmas lights and a large plastic Santa on the lawn. “Ignore that,” Freddy said, gesturing toward the Santa, which was a bit faded and listing to one side. “He’s been in Leila’s family for ages and the kids won’t let us get rid of it. ‘But Dad, it’s tradition!’”

”I like it,” I said. “He fits in with all the snow. And traditions are important when you’re a kid.”

Dieter and Freddy exchanged a look and I knew I’d touched a nerve. Dieter hadn’t told me a lot about his childhood, but I knew enough to know that their mom hadn’t exactly been June Cleaver. 

Freddy opened the door and we stepped into the house, which smelled like Santa’s workshop. Sugar, cinnamon, and cloves mixed with the scent of the six foot tall fir tree in the living room. My family had never had a real tree; my dad kept repairing the old artificial tree they’d bought when I was a year old and Mom and I had used it until she died, even though by that time it had shed a quarter of its needles and had to be carefully situated to hide the bald spot where one of the branches was missing. 

“Uncle Dieter!” The kids came barreling toward us and collided with Dieter. Derek was twelve and Sasha was almost fourteen. Both were wearing silly aprons with elves on them. 

“Hey, kiddos,” Dieter laughed, trying to hug both of them at the same time. “You just saw me like an hour ago.”

”We know,” Derek said. “But it’s funny.” He had the same glint in his eye that Dieter got when he had one of his “brilliant” ideas. 

“And it’s not like we could run up and hug Emily or anything,” Sasha said. She seemed a bit more reserved than her brother.

”Why not?” Dieter said. “She’s very huggable.” He demonstrated by squeezing me in his arms.

”At least let me take my coat off first,” I managed to say once I could breathe again. “And introduce me properly.”

”Kids, this is Emily,” Dieter said. “Emily, the kids.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “I’m Sasha,” she said, holding out her hand. “And this is Derek.”

I shook their hands. “Very nice to meet you both,” I said. “Your uncle has told me all about you.”

”All we know about you is that Uncle Deet thinks you hung the moon,” Derek said. Sasha swatted at him. “That’s what Dad said,” Derek protested. 

“True, but that doesn’t mean you need to say it in front of her.” Leila came into the room, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. She was about my height and build. It seemed the Bravo brothers had a type. ”I’m Leila, by the way. And we are so happy to finally meet you.” She handed the towel to Sasha and hugged me warmly. “It’s good to see Dieter happy,” she whispered in my ear. “Thank you for that.”

”Now let’s get back to the kitchen before that batch of cookies burns,” Leila said briskly. “And let Emily get settled. We’ll have plenty of time to chat over lunch.”

Dieter carried my bags up the stairs. “We’re in the guest room,” he said. “Which is way better than the couch I used to crash on in that apartment Freddy and Leila had before he got the promotion.”

”You loved that couch,” Freddy called up the stairs. “As I recall, you even named it. Marlene, wasn’t it?”

”He’s full of shit,” Dieter said, shaking his head. “It was Maria. Because it was a problem. Like the song in ‘The Sound of Music.’”

”You are such a theater nerd.”

”I tried out for my high school production but I can’t sing to save my life,” he said. “Ended up being on the stage crew. And after that I vowed I’d never work on another play unless I was in the cast. The crew has to work too hard.”

******************************************************************

The day flew by. After I’d stashed my luggage, I joined Leila and the kids in the kitchen while Dieter and Freddy caught up in front of the TV. “I know it’s a total stereotype but that man is absolutely no use in the kitchen,” Leila told me as she handed me an apron. 

“Dieter’s not much better,” I said. “He can cook if he has to, but he’s lazy about cleaning up after himself.”

”Freddy burned water once,” Leila said. “Put a pot on to boil for pasta, forgot about it and it boiled dry. Scorched the bottom of one of my best pots.”

”Mom banned him from the kitchen after that,” Sasha added. 

I helped the kids decorate the sugar cookies and gingerbread men that had already come out of the oven while Leila finished cutting out and baking the last batch. “We’ve got time for one more kind of cookie before I have to start lunch,” she said. “Is there anything special you’d like to make, Emily? Something from your family? We already did the spritz cookies that my grandma used to make.”

”Do you have walnuts and powdered sugar? My mom always made snowballs. The cookbook calls them Russian tea cakes or Mexican wedding cakes, but her grandma called them snowballs.”

”We have that in our cookbook,” Derek said. “I saw it.” He pulled out a battered old Betty Crocker that looked a lot like the one my mom had used.

”Then snowballs it is,” Leila said. 

While we mixed up the dough, the kids asked questions about my family traditions. They were shocked when I admitted I’d never celebrated a white Christmas or had a real tree. When I told them about the year I’d gotten a sweatsuit and a bunch of nice sweaters and it ended up being 80 degrees on Christmas Day and I had to wear a t-shirt to Grandma’s house, they thought I was teasing.

“No, seriously,” I said as I rolled the dough into balls and passed them to Derek to be placed on the cookie sheets. “I wanted to wear my new clothes so bad but it was too hot. Grandma had to turn the air conditioning on because the house got so warm from roasting the turkey.”

”Well, we’ll show you how to do Christmas the New England way,” Sasha said. “We can build a snowman and go sledding and have a snowball fight.”

”But don’t let Dad and Uncle Deet play,” Derek said. “They get too competitive. Last year I got beaned right in the face and Dad just told me to walk it off.”

When the cookies were ready for the oven, Leila shooed us out of the kitchen. “I won’t let them burn,” she promised. “But I need you all out of my way while I fix some lunch.”

We joined Dieter and Freddy in the living room, where they were watching the “A Christmas Story” marathon. We all squished onto the couch together, with me sandwiched between Dieter and Sasha. 

“You smell delicious,” Dieter said. “Like butter and sugar.” He ventured a kiss on my jawbone, but I elbowed him.

”Not in front of the kids,” I hissed.

Ralphie’s dad had just received the Major Award when Leila called us to the dining room. Lunch was tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, which brought back memories of sick days on the couch watching “The Price is Right” when I was a kid. As I looked around the table, I felt a wave of homesickness. I remembered meals with my parents when I was young, when we laughed and teased each other like Freddy and his kids did. 

Dieter must have sensed my melancholy, because he reached out and squeezed my hand, his eyes concerned. I smiled at him and shook my head slightly to let him know I was okay. He winked and turned back to his soup, but slid his foot closer, tapping his shoe against my boot. He didn’t always know what to do, but he was always tuned into my moods. He claimed it was because the vibrations of our souls were compatible, and I wasn’t sure if he really believed it or was bullshitting me. Either way, it was comforting to know that he was always there for me.

***********************************

After lunch the kids insisted I go outside with them to build a snowman. 

“She’s probably tired from the flight,” Leila said, but Derek starting singing “Do You Want to Build a Snowman��� from Frozen and there was no way I could turn him down.

It was still snowing very lightly and I was so bundled up in my puffy coat and a borrowed beanie and mittens that I could hardly move. My boots weren’t as waterproof as they looked and soon my feet were frozen but I gamely helped the kids roll the snow in the front yard into a ball.

”This is hard work,” I managed to say. My glasses were fogging up from my breath and I couldn’t see very well.

”That’s why we made so many cookies,” Derek said with a grin. “We burn up so many calories out here.”

”Yeah, that’s just your excuse for eating more than your share,” Sasha said. 

They started bickering and I took advantage of the momentary lull in snowman construction to rest a bit. I was out of breath and simultaneously sweating and frozen. It was wonderful.

”Merry Christmas!” A voice rang out and we turned to see a woman in a stylish ski outfit carrying a plate wrapped in foil.

Sasha groaned. “It’s Ms. Baker,” she said. “Our neighbor who mysteriously shows up every time Uncle Dieter’s visiting.”

Derek got that look in his eyes that I recognized all too well from his uncle. “Hey, Ms. Baker,” he called out. “Merry Christmas!”

”You guys making a snowman? How cute! I brought a rum cake for your parents.” She stared at me, clearly trying to figure out if she knew who I was. “Who’s your friend?”

”Oh, this is Aunt Emily, Uncle Dieter’s girlfriend,” Derek said with a cherubic smile. “They just flew in for the holiday. She’s from California and she’s never made a snowman before.”

Ms. Baker’s eyes narrowed. “Nice to meet you,” she said stiffly. “So, your uncle’s here? Good thing I made a big cake. I know how much he likes my rum cake.”

”Oh, but Uncle Dieter’s sober now,” Derek said with mock concern. “He won’t want any rum cake, will he, Aunt Emily?”

It took every fiber of my being to keep from laughing. The kid was good.

”A slice of rum cake isn’t the same as having a drink, though,” Sasha chimed in. 

“Right, Aunt Emily? I mean, Mom and Dad let me have a little sliver last year.”

”We’ll have to ask Deet,” I said, silently thanking Sasha for giving me an extra few seconds to compose myself. “But even if he can’t have any, I can,”

Ms. Baker smiled tightly. “Well, you kids get back to your snowman. I’ll just go inside now.”

As soon as she was inside the house, the kids started giggling. “That was hilarious,” Derek said. “She always shows up and tries to flirt with Deet.”

”The look on her face when we said ‘Aunt Emily,’” said Sasha. “Oh, it was okay that we did that, right? It was just to mess with her. If you don’t want us to …”

”It’s fine,” I assured her. “And did your parents really let you eat rum cake last year?”

”Yeah,” she said, making a face. “It was kind of gross. But that might be because Ms. Baker does not live up to her name.”

Derek laughed so hard he fell over. When he had recovered, we got back to work on the snowman. My feet were blocks of ice but I was happier outside with the kids than going inside and pretending to be nice to Ms. Baker.

******************************************

We finally got the snowman finished and I went inside to get my phone so we could take a picture. Ms. Baker had left in a hurry, hardly speaking to us as she passed. 

“What did you say to her?” I asked Dieter as I headed back outside.

”Who?”

”Ms. Baker.”

Dieter smiled, the same glint in his eye that I’d seen from Derek. “Oh, just mentioned I had a very special gift for you that I wanted to give you surrounded by my family.”

”You’re terrible,” I said. 

“Freddy didn’t help,” Leila chimed in. “Dropping hints about ringing in the New Year in style.”

”I hate her rum cake,” Freddy said. “Tastes like stale pound cake soaked in rubbing alcohol. Maybe if she realizes Dieter’s not interested in her she’ll stop bringing us one every year.”

”Tell the kids they have twenty minutes and then they need to get their butts inside to change,” Leila said. “We’re leaving for the Christmas Market at three so we can get decent parking.”

******************************************************

The Market was amazing, like something out of a Hallmark movie. Lights twinkled, music filled the air and shop windows glowed with charming displays. We stopped at a stall that sold hot chocolate while Freddy fetched a dozen freshly made apple cider donuts from another stall nearby. 

“Best. Dinner. Ever,” Derek declared around a mouthful of donut. 

“Worst. Manners. Ever,” Freddy said, raising an eyebrow.

Sasha and Leila were whispering to each other and stealing glances my way. Dieter was absorbed in his own donut, making those weird little noises he always made when he ate something he really liked. I looked up at the darkening sky and watched the snowflakes spiral down. 

“So …,” Leila said. “Sasha has an idea.”

”Um, I think … Emily should get an ornament for the tree,” Sasha mumbled.

”Yeah!” Derek cried. “She totally should.”

Freddy looked at Dieter, who came slowly back from wherever it was he went when he was savoring something. “What?”

”The kids think Emily should pick out an ornament for the tree,” Freddy said slowly. 

Dieter’s eyes went wide. “You sure?”

”Yeah,” said Freddy. “I think it’s a good idea.”

”What’s going on?” I asked. Everyone seemed to be extremely concerned about the idea of me buying an ornament.

”Everyone has a special ornament that they put on the tree on Christmas Eve,” Dieter said. “Freddy and Leila and Sasha and Derek … and me. I only put mine on when I’m here for Christmas. It’s kind of a family tradition.”

”And you want me to get one, too.”

”Yeah,” said Sasha, biting at her lower lip.

I looked at Dieter, who was making puppy dog eyes at me. “Okay,” I said, feeling like I was agreeing to a lot more than just choosing a bauble for the tree.

Sasha and Derek dragged me to a booth that was hung with hand blown glass ornaments in all kinds of fancy shapes. “I have a soccer ball,” Derek said. “You have to pick something that’s important to you. Deet has a rubber ducky because he says he had one when he was little.”

”Dad wouldn’t let him buy the weed one,” Sasha explained. 

I was fairly certain the rubber duck was not a fond childhood memory, because Dieter had once told me a rather off color story when he was still indulging in alcohol that I wasn’t entirely sure wasn’t true, but I didn’t think the kids needed to know that. I browsed the ornaments before settling on a sparkly orange wedge.

”An orange?” Derek asked. 

“Where I live used to be famous for growing oranges,” I told him. “The original navel orange tree is in a protected enclosure in Riverside. It’s kind of a landmark. And there’s a historical park all about citrus fruits out there, too. Plus my mom said her grandma always told her a story about how her mother got her first orange in a Christmas stocking.”

”That’s pretty cool,” said Sasha, although Derek didn’t seem to agree. I paid for the ornament and the shopkeeper carefully wrapped it in tissue and packed it into a cardboard box with a picture of a reindeer on it.

We rejoined Dieter, Freddy and Leila and continued walking down the street. Suddenly Sasha and Derek started giggling and pointed up. 

“What?,” said Dieter, looking around.

”Mistletoe!,” the kids cried out. Sure enough, there was a big bunch of mistletoe tied to the awning above us.

Dieter winked at me and slid his arms around me, dipping me slightly. “Got to give the kids what they want,” he said before kissing me very thoroughly. Finally, Freddy tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Remember, you’re in public,” he said.

Dieter laughed and although he was wearing mittens, I was pretty sure he flipped his brother the bird as he stepped back from me. “They shouldn’t hang that stuff on the street, then,” he said. “I’m just saying.”

Freddy shook his head. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

****************************************************

By the time we got back to the house, it was snowing steadily. Freddy turned on all the lights in the living room while Leila fetched a green storage container with a red lid. “Okay, time for the ornaments and stockings!,” she said.

Freddy went first, hanging his old school typewriter; then Leila hung up her panda bear. Next came Sasha’s owl and Derek’s soccer ball, followed by Dieter’s rubber duck. Finally, I unpacked my orange slice and found an unobtrusive spot around the side.

Then Leila passed out the stockings, which were bright red felt and appliquéd with snowflakes and little trees. A handwritten tag hung from the loop of each one with the owner’s name in perfect calligraphy — including one that said “Emily.”

”Oh, you didn’t have to,” I protested as I looked at my brand-new stocking. The others were well worn and had clearly seen many Christmases.

”Yes, I did,” Leila said. “How else would Santa know you’re here?” She winked and both kids rolled their eyes.

I hadn’t hung a stocking since I was ten years old, when I’d declared that stockings were for “little kids.” I felt a lump in my throat as I placed mine on the hook next to Dieter’s. 

“And now …” Freddy said, pulling out a box of matches. He carefully lit the candles on the mantel and a few others spaced around the room, then Derek flipped off the lights. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the tree lights and candles. Leila started a playlist of old-school holiday songs on the sound system and we all settled down. Freddy and Leila took the couch, the kids curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace, and Dieter pulled me into the overstuffed armchair to the side. It wasn’t quite big enough for two, so I ended up mostly in his lap.

”Are you sure?” I whispered, nodding toward the kids.

Dieter just tilted his head toward Freddy and Leila, who were snuggled up on the couch, her head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped around her. “It’s tradition,” Dieter whispered back.

We listened to Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra for a few songs, then Freddy started telling a story about the year he was seven and Dieter was five and they found out their next door neighbors were Jewish and the kids got eight nights worth of presents instead of just one morning. Leila followed with the story of how her aunt decided she was going to make Christmas dinner instead of her mom and the turkey wasn’t cooked all the way through and everyone ended up making an excuse to leave early and they all ended up at McDonald’s.

“Tell the one about the air conditioning, Emily,” Derek said when he’d finished his own story about the year he thought he was only getting clothes because Sasha had convinced him that his letter to Santa had gotten lost on the way to the North Pole due to an elvish postal workers’ strike. “Dad didn’t hear it yet.”

Then it was Dieter’s turn. “My story is kind of boring,” he said. “It’s about my best Christmas ever and I’m not sure how it ends because it’s happening right now.” He squeezed me tightly. “I’m one hundred percent sober and I’m surrounded by all my favorite people and it’s snowing. You can’t get more perfect than that.”

”Doesn’t count,” Derek piped up. “You’re supposed to tell a funny one.”

”It just has to be memorable,” Freddy said. “And I think we’re all going to remember this one for a long time.”

”Yeah, it’s the first one with Emily,” said Sasha. 

I felt tears in my eyes for the umpteenth time that day. How was it possible that I felt more at home with these people I’d just met than I ever did with my blood relatives? “Thanks, everyone,” I managed to say. “I’ll definitely remember this Christmas for the rest of my life.”

The clock on the mantel chimed nine and Leila clapped her hands. “Okay, kiddos, time for bed. Pajamas, teeth brushed and ready for tucking in by nine thirty.”

Both kids groaned. “Mom, we’re not five anymore,” Derek said.

”I know, but I need time to play Santa’s helper before I get to bed,” Leila said, “and you know you’ll both be up at the crack of dawn begging us to let you open presents. Besides, it’s tradition.”

Dieter yawned and stretched his arms wide. “I’m kind of tired myself,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

Freddy shook his head. “Oh, get out of here. I know you just want to get out of helping.”

”I’m a guest,” Dieter said primly. “So is Emily.”

”You’re a freeloader,” replied Freddy. “But it’s Christmas. Consider it your present from me.”

Dieter wiggled out from under me and then helped me up. “Come on, let’s get upstairs before he changes his mind.”

As I unpacked my nightshirt, I remembered something. “I’ll be right back,” I said, grabbing a small box out of my luggage and trotting back downstairs. The lights were back on and Leila was already working on the stockings while Freddy was cursing in the hall closet as he pulled out presents from their hiding places.

”Here,” I told Leila, handing her the box. “I almost forgot. You can put these in the stockings. They’re handmade candy canes from a candy shop back home. They make them with real sugar and premium peppermint oil. I got a dozen, so we can each have two.” I didn’t keep up many holiday traditions anymore, but a trip to Logan’s Candy in Ontario was always on my list. Their canes were the best in the world.

”Thank you,” Leila said. “They look delicious!”

”Do you need any help?”

”No, you get back upstairs to Dieter,” she said. “Freddy and I are old hands at this. And I wasn’t joking about the kids being awake at the ass crack of dawn. You’ll be glad we all went to bed early.”

Dieter was already in bed when I got back to our room. I quickly changed into my sleep shirt and dove under the covers. Despite the heater, the house was chilly.

”Your feet are frozen!” Dieter gasped, pulling away from me.

I snuggled closer. “So help me warm them up,” I said. The man was like my own private furnace, which was good at times like this. In the summer, not so much. I tucked my feet between his calves and he pretended to shiver.

”Blocks of ice,” he muttered. “You’re so mean to me.” 

“Then why are you kissing my neck?”

”Because you still smell like cookies,” he said. “And I haven’t seen you in ages.” His hands worked their way underneath my sleep shirt.

”Whoa, hold on,” I said. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s Christmas Eve. And the kids are right down the hall.”

Dieter snorted. “First of all, you aren’t any more religious than I am. And second of all, I’m sure Freddy and Leila do it all the time with the kids in the house.”

”Still, it feels sacrilegious.”

”It feels naughty,” Dieter corrected me. “And I don’t know about you, but the idea of Santa Claus watching us is kind of turning me on.”

”Eww!” 

“He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake, he knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness’ sake,” Dieter crooned off key, followed by a trail of kisses down my throat. “Be good for me, baby. Let me unwrap this gift a little early.”

”Well, you have been a good boy lately,” I said. “Just try to be quiet for once.”

”So you want a silent night?”

”Shut up and kiss me, Dieter.”

**************************************************************

It was still dark when our bedroom door flew open and something large crashed onto our feet. “Merry Christmas!” Derek cried. 

“You are so rude,” Sasha said from the doorway. “Get off them.” We all sat up, blinking at the overhead light that Sasha had flicked on. “What if they were naked?”

“Why would they be naked … ohhh!” Derek scrambled off the bed. “Gross! They’re Mom and Dad’s age.”

”Mom and Dad still do it,” Sasha said. 

Derek made gagging noises. “That is not the image I want in my head on Christmas morning, Sash.”

”Okay, okay, we’re all up,” Freddy yawned from the hallway. “Give us a minute to use the facilities and we’ll go downstairs.”

”Yay!” Derek dashed out of the room while Sasha shook her head. 

“Sorry about him,” she said. “He’s such a little kid sometimes.”

Freddy tousled her hair. “O wise and solemn adult, why don’t you put a robe on over your Hello Kitty pajamas so you don’t freeze?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a dad.”

Dieter was already shrugging into his beloved green bathrobe, which was starting to get bald in spots, but which he refused to replace because it was comfortable. “Yeah, Freddy, don’t be such a dad.”

”You stop talking, or you won’t get any pancakes,” Freddy said.

Dieter mimed zipping his lips and tossed my robe at me. 

After a quick trip to the bathroom and a cursory brushing of teeth, we all trooped down to the living room, where a pile of presents had appeared underneath the tree and our stockings were bulging with treats. 

“You really didn’t have to,” I told Leila as she handed me my stocking.

”And have you sit there without anything while we all dive in? No way.”

My candy canes were at the top, but underneath were chocolates, a tube of hand cream, a glass nail file, and a few other trinkets. “Just some fun girl stuff,” Leila explained. “Sasha’s a bit too old for toys but every woman enjoys a mini spa day.”

“Presents!” Derek said after he’d dumped out the contents of his stocking. “Time for presents!”

I curled up on the couch next to Dieter while the kids tore into their gifts. Dieter had had his shipped straight to the house for Freddy and Leila to wrap, so he was as excited to see them as the kids were.

”No way!” Derek cried as he unwrapped a massive Lego set of the Millenium Falcon. “Thank you, Uncle Deet!”

Sasha squealed as she opened a brand new iPad mini. “This is exactly the one I wanted. Thanks, Uncle Deet!”

Dieter was grinning from ear to ear as both kids danced around. 

“You’re spoiling them,” Freddy said.

”I’m their rich uncle. I’m allowed.”

After the kids finished opening their presents, we all got dressed and Leila made pancakes for breakfast. Mountains of pancakes with real maple syrup. Dieter and Freddy got into a pancake eating contest that ended only when Dieter was forced to concede because Derek had taken the last one and Leila refused to make any more.

“I need to get the turkey in the slow cooker if we want to have dinner tonight,” she said when Dieter tried to wheedle just one more pancake out of her.

”I bet if Freddy needed one more pancake to win you’d make it,” Dieter whined.

”No, she wouldn’t,” Freddy said, carefully cutting up his final — winning — pancake. “But tell you what, since you are my brother and it’s Christmas … you can have half and we’ll call it a tie.” He counted the pieces on his plate and slid exactly half of them onto Dieter’s plate.

”And the winners get to do the dishes!” Leila said as soon as their plates were clean. Both men groaned, but cleared the table with a minimum of grumbling.

”What can I do to help?” I asked. 

“Nothing,” replied Leila. “Which is what I’m going to be doing as soon as I get that bird in the roaster.”

”Help me with my Lego,” Derek said.

”No, help me set up my iPad,” Sasha offered.

”How about if she supervises you both until we get done in the kitchen,” Freddy said. “I want to work on that Lego, too.”

”Me three!” Dieter chimed in.

Soon we were all back in the living room, the boys on the floor sorting Lego pieces and arguing over whether they really needed the directions or not. Leila helped Sasha set up her Apple account, and then we started browsing the App Store. It was cozy, with the tree lights blinking and the scent of maple syrup still lingering in the air. 

“Thank you,” I said to Leila.

”For what?”

”For including me. I know it has to be weird having a stranger in your house at Christmas.”  

“You aren’t any stranger than Dieter,” she quipped. “Seriously, though, you are very, very welcome. Freddy’s told me how different Dieter has been since he met you, and we’re so happy about it. They were pretty close when they were little but things got strained there for a while, especially after their parents divorced. Dieter felt like they had to choose sides and he couldn't understand why Freddy was still talking to their dad. Then when their mom died … Dieter kind of closed himself off from everyone. It’s good to see him connecting again.”

”That’s not just me,” I said. “He’s been on that path for a while, ever since he started rehab the first time.”

”But you’re a big part of it,” Leila insisted. “Freddy said there was a big change after you and Deet started dating. You’re good for him. And I think he’s good for you.”

Dieter looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Are you talking about me?”

”Of course,” Leila said. “Everyone everywhere is always talking about you, Dieter. You’re a celebrity. The world revolves around you. Geez, get over yourself.” She rolled her eyes and when Dieter had turned back to the Lego, we both giggled like kids. 

**************************************************

”I don’t know about this.”

Sasha and Derek had talked me into going to the sledding hill with them that afternoon. Now we stood at the top of a very steep incline with our plastic disks and I watched kids wiping out right and left.

”You’re fine,” Derek said. “It doesn’t hurt when you fall off, anyway.”

”Maybe not if you’re young and bendy,” I said. “But I’m old and stiff.”

”Mr. Gruenberg still sleds,” Sasha said, pointing out an older man with a neatly trimmed white beard who was whooping as loudly as his grandkids were.

”I bet he’s been doing it all his life,” I replied. “I’m from California. I went sledding once, on the side of the road when I was seven and it wasn’t nearly this long or this steep.”

”If you’re gonna be part of this family, you have to learn snow sports,” Derek said. “Sledding is the first one. Next time we’ll get you on skis.”

Sasha shrugged. “You kind of have to learn how to ski and snowshoe and stuff when you live in Vermont,” she said. “Otherwise you’d be stuck indoors half the year.”

I was still stuck on Derek’s offhand remark about being part of the family. I knew that being invited to spend the holidays with someone’s family was a huge step in a relationship, and people would make a lot of assumptions, but it fully hit me at that moment that these kids might just become my niece and nephew someday. That Freddy and Leila could be my brother and sister. For an only child, it was both a dream come true and the weirdest feeling imaginable. 

“Okay, you convinced me,” I said, trying to get my brain back to the present. “So what do I do?”

Derek demonstrated, hopping onto his sled and sliding down the slope with a wild yell. 

“Ready?” Sasha asked. “On the count of three. One … two … three!” She and I jumped onto our sleds and hurtled down the hill. It was disorienting and bumpy and scary and out of control. I loved it.

*************************************************************************

As we were putting our luggage into the back of the Cherokee the next morning, I pulled Freddy aside. “Thank you so much,” I told him. 

“For what?”

”For making me feel like part of the family. I know it must be weird to have your brother bring some strange woman home.”

Freddy held up his hand. “First of all, we should be thanking you for making Deet happy. He’s an asshole sometimes, but he’s my asshole and I love him. And second of all, you are part of the family. Dieter loves you and so do the rest of us. Look, I know Deet’s probably told you I cautioned him not to rush into anything, to take his time with this but … I might have been wrong. Maybe he does know a good thing when he sees it. Maybe his instincts were right. Or maybe he’s an idiot and he just got lucky.” He winked and hugged me. “Take care of him, okay?” 

“I will.”

”You okay?” Dieter asked when he helped me into the car. I might have been sniffling a little.

”Yeah, I’m just … gonna miss them.”

”Me, too,” he said, kissing my forehead. “They’re good people.”

”They’re your people, so of course they are.”

*****************************

Toronto was nothing like Vermont. For one thing, Dieter was back on set at 7:00 am the morning of the 27th and working ten to twelve hour days to make up for the lost time over the holidays. I didn’t see much of him except at night, but it was okay. We were together and I got to see what his life was really like for the first time. 

I spend my days reading or shopping or watching movies on Netflix. Not too much different from how I normally spent Winter Break at home, except for having Dieter next to me every night. 

“Now I know why you always looked so tired when you FaceTimed me,” I told him one evening after dinner. He’d been on set for eight hours already and had to go back for a couple more hours of night shoots on location. 

“Yeah, they’re really pushing us on this one,” he said, rubbing his hand across his face. “The studio wants it in on time and under budget and because of the holidays the director is super stressed out. But he did promise we’ll be done by nine on New Year’s Eve and get all of New Year’s Day off.”

Our hotel was holding a New Year’s Eve party in the ballroom but neither of us was really in the mood when the day rolled around. Dieter was tired and didn’t want to be around all the champagne, while I was lonely and just wanted to spend some time alone with him. So at the last minute we kicked off our shoes and ordered a bottle of sparkling cider sent to our room, along with an assortment of hors d’ouerves, for our own private party.

Our balcony faced the harbor, so we’d have a good view of the city’s fireworks display. It was bitterly cold out there, though, so we stayed inside until just before midnight. It was cozy on the little couch and it was tempting to just ignore the festivities and make some sparks of our own.

”No,” Dieter said. “We have to watch the fireworks. I love fireworks. Besides, this is our very first New Year together. We have to do it right. Make a toast. Kiss at the stroke of midnight.”

So at 11:55 we braved the cold, taking our glasses of cider out onto the balcony with us. We had the TV turned up so we could hear the official countdown. Ten. Dieter leaned against the balcony rail, a gentle smile on his face. Nine. He raised his glass. “To us.” Eight. I clinked the rim of my glass against his. Seven. “To us.” Six. We took a sip. Five. He turned around to face the harbor. Four. I leaned against the railing next to him. Three. He laid his hand against my cheek. Two. I tilted my face up toward him. One. He kissed me. “Happy New Year,” he whispered.

I looked out at the fireworks bursting across the sky. Dieter had his arm around me and I felt warm despite the Canadian winter night. We could hear the cheers and noisemakers from the party downstairs but I knew there was nowhere else in the world I’d rather be at that moment than next to Dieter, toasting the year we’d had and all the years to come.

”Can I ask you something?” I said.

”Of course,” he said, laying his cheek against the top of my head.

”Will you marry me?”

[mjmenvs3000w24]

Blog 1: Connected to Nature

Hello, ENVS*3000 friends! I'm Maia, and I am in my third year of Biological Sciences. Welcome to my first blog :)

I would describe my current connection with nature as a profound yet carefree essence. I come from the city, more precisely, North Toronto; I found myself yearning for nature's embrace from a young age, perhaps triggered by its scarcity in my urban surroundings. Recognizing my affinity, my dad, a nature enthusiast, actively fueled my passion through camping adventures, hiking escapades, and shared moments immersed in captivating David Attenborough documentaries. In the midst of a large Italian family, where the majority remained indifferent to the natural world, I stood out as the quiet one, the nature lover, aspiring Dr.-to-be. Amidst this, my dad became my reliable support, sharing the same passion for the great outdoors. His passion for wildlife and landscape photography became a shared pursuit, complete with my very own camera.

Photo of a male wood duck shot by Dino Melissa

Despite a bustling upbringing as a competitive dancer for 17 years—which is not exactly an outdoor sport—I surrounded myself with nature books, my dad's photographs, and nature documentaries. Unfortunately, while balancing a hectic city life, the opportunities for my dad and I’s outdoor adventures diminished over the years. However, as I am maturing and expanding my knowledge, I continuously discovered new ways to appreciate nature and its interconnected web of life - not mosquitoes though…

In my quest to inspire others to view nature through a similar lens as I do, I spent the past summer at a wildlife hospital, manning the front desk. Handling cases ranging from fallen hawks to orphaned baby raccoons to pigeons with string around their feet, I strived to educate callers about wildlife while debunking misconceptions. Some common ones are that pigeons are dirty and will give us diseases, and snakes are evil - spoiler alert, both are very wrong! While not everyone appreciated or grasped the educational aspect—some mistaking us for pest removal—many left with a newfound understanding of Ontario's wildlife. Small changes, after all, contribute to a broader impact of protecting our native species. This job expanded my knowledge - which I still try to share with anyone who will listen - and played a pivotal role in further evolving my relationship with nature.

Picture of an American Kestrel

One place that has bestowed upon me a profound sense of place is my cottage—a haven of tranquillity like no other. Nestled on about an acre of land, backing onto a forest, it teems with diverse wildlife such as deer, coyotes, foxes, turkeys, grouse, and a plethora of native plants. Whether quietly observing the tree line or engaging in summer activities like kayaking and hiking, the ambient sounds of water, wind, and nature's symphony create a genuine sense of place; whenever I am there I feel as if I belong there. It's here that I yearn to escape city living permanently, trading it for the allure of a rural plot of land to live off of sustainably. 

Picture of the backyard during the winter

The dream of owning a small farm and caring for animals has been a lifelong goal of mine. The charm of sustainable living intertwines with my passion for nature; here is where I hope to coexist in harmony. Through responsible practices and a deep connection with nature, I aim to contribute to the preservation of the natural world, all while feeling a permanent sense of place like no other.

[ardent-heretic]

Movies make war look glorious.

GoPro footage of a Russian and Ukrainian in hand to hand combat came out. Watching that will change your opinion on how cool war can be.

My Grandfather fought with a Russian at the Battle of Stalingrad. Had to use a piece of a blown out door to get the job done. He told me how that one day changed his whole world. He told me a lot about the not so glorious parts of war. How you look at everything around you as a weapon when there are no more bullets, and you don’t want to die in a hell hole. Then someone finds you that wants nothing more than for you to stop existing. You do what you can. Because they will surely do the same to you.

The only reason he came home from WWII was unfortunate luck. He got so ill he was pulled from the Battle. Right before Russians made encirclement moves, capturing pretty much his entire Army Group.

He was in a field hospital for weeks. They learned he spoke 6 languages. So they kept him behind the front, interrogating prisoners. That skill kept him from becoming ground meat. And led to him coming to America. But that was a long story.

He told me though, it is one thing shooting someone with a rifle. But that day he had to stare someone in the eyes while killing him by hand changed his view. You or him, do or die, no rules. He was done with the war that day. Wanted nothing more than to go home.

And after the war, it took a while to find out, his mother, father, six brothers were all dead.

He had an unusual name. Once computers arrived on the scene, I searched hard looking for a relative. Here or Europe, needing to find a bread crumb of hope.

Found a cousin living in Toronto. Met him once years ago.

My Grandfather hated war. He was a farmer before the war. Came to America after hearing Americans talk about hundreds of acres of wheat, corn, grains in places like Kansas, Nebraska.

But he came to New Jersey, and became a construction worker to pay bills.

But every day when warm he raised crops, planted trees, eventually cared for chickens. That brought him peace.

Every once in a while I go on google maps and seek out a massive tree he and I planted in 1979. It towers nowadays. I often think of driving to see it. Over an hour west of Chicago. But it is on a strangers property, and I doubt they want my ass walking on their property. The tree has a story about why we planted it there. And I think of going before I croak and telling Spawnette why we planted it there, and why it grew so fast.

Maybe someday.

[soulscribe786]

MMAC Mental Health Conference 2024

The MMAC Mental Health Conference is an amazing initiative that combines the latest research and findings in mental health and medical sciences research using holistic models. It evaluates and shares new research and findings in the field of mental field in academia in conceptualizing the growing field in mental health. There have been about 4 annual conferences of which I attended ¾ . With each one, I can see knowledge, outreach, and healthcare delivery enhancing. This year’s conference took place in the Medical Science Building at the University of Toronto.

It was a breezy winter day, both warm and cloudy with very light showers. There was a sort of calm and serenity that filled the air. I decided to walk for half an hour in the morning to enjoy the nice weather. The walk was mostly through University Avenue. Probably one of the nicer routes to take anywhere in downtown that is regularly cleaned, renovated and has significant greening initiatives. Considering that this was the road that led directly to the Legislative Assembly of Ontario from Union Station, perhaps this is why it was so well maintained. 

This particular location had many memories for me. This was beside the convocation hall, it was also close to the legislative assembly of Ontario where I had the opportunity of attending three times. One for a tour, for organizing at Queens’ Park with Justice for All, one for a tour of the facility through an internship program, one for the day that the Bill addressing Islamophobia was passed, and today. Aside from these formal occasions, because I used to live in Toronto in childhood, I had also frequently rollerbladed in this very park. Other events included Frosh, publishing my first research journal with a group and tourism. As a kid, I always felt either an ancient sort of presence. The old trees, ancient architecture, and something about the way the squirrels were just casually running around. I don’t think as a child, that I fully understood the role it played. Regardless, for some reason, after many milestones I found myself back here again. 

This is near where the conference took place. The Medical Science Building. A very simplistic interior and old architecture. The conference was in a lecture hall. There were a few breaks in between such as for lunch, networking sessions or prayer. Different organizations were tabled outside the lecture, across the building and the upstairs section had a nice carpeted area which was helpful in creating a prayer space. 

The talks had many insights and prominent speakers and thinkers from across the world trained in the healthcare field, psychology, counseling, medicine and psychotherapy, as well as faith-based leaders. Organizations included Smile Canada which assists children with disabilities, Wellnest focused on culturally based therapy addressing cultural issues, issues related to racism and being spiritually responsive, Sakeena Canada, Ruh care, Naseeha helpline and an organization partnered up with CAS (child aid services) but focused specifically on Muslim children by ensuring cultural issues and language barriers are taken into account, as well as organizations catered to those hard of hearing. Faith-based centers were also present, primarily IIT and ICNA. 

Some key insights from the talk included:

Iceberg analogy 

Using the iceberg analogy the speaker explained how a lot of western Psychology focuses on visible aspects such as cognitions and behavioral inclinations but with Islamic psychology the individual is understood much more deeply including having the ruh (soul), qalb (heart), and also social factors while acknowledging the role of aql (cognitions) and nafs ( behaviour)

The Islamic model is believed to be bi-directional with assessment looking at the entire individual holistically, where most contemporary models focus on observable aspects such as behavior inclinations and cognitions. The Islamic model incorporates emotional and spiritual domains. 

Trauma

Usually, people try not to be provocative (sometimes, they may even try to be salty, rage bait, or be provocative) when they find out about someone's trauma. In most cases, there is a sort of aversion to bringing up difficult feelings or conversations (don't mention it, don't do something hurtful) , but in addressing trauma, careful exposure may actually be crucial to healing

Healing requires alignment 

A prophetic model for healing included archery because it was a holistic intervention as opposed to simply talk therapy. For example, for PTSD, archery helps with stretching, breathing, aiming and a sense of control and a higher internal locus of control and sense of agency, as well as mindfulness. 

Spiritual Abuse

An anonymous question asked ‘what about cases of spiritual abuse?’

Cases of spiritual abuse by family members, religious figures, parenting, spouses and so on can have a lasting impact where faith was used to control, manipulate or inflate one’s own ego. 

MH care professionals integrating Islamic paradigms are not trying to do that and may not even talk about religious aspects unless you want to talk about something. They are just listening and assessing clients. Ultimately addressing issues related to directing the ruh (soul) back in unity with God, the source of mercy. This is not always how one would have understood God to assert one’s own ego or control but through a comprehensive understanding of who God is with divine attributes and approaching God directly. 

Refugees

Experiences of refugees

Risk of violence

Post migration MH including social isolation, discrimination, integration, and cultural and linguistic components

Pre migration MH, peri migration MH, post migration (family and cultural values)

Collectivist culture

Culture shock

Social connectedness

Parenthood

Individual factors

Trans cultural elements and sensitivity which has three levels including

Ontological 

Etiological

Therapeutic 

Cultural humility and safety

Being politically informed about the cause of refugee status in addressing issues where political factors played a huge role

Storytelling 

Conveys power

Dangers of the single story

“So this is how to create a single story show a people as one thing, as only one thing, over and over again, and that is what they become. It is impossible to talk about the single story without talking about power. There is a word, an lgbo word, that I think is about whenever I think about the power structures of the world and it's the nkali, It is a noun that loosely translates to ‘to be greater than another’. Like our economic and political worlds, stories are defined by the principle of nkali. How they are told, who tells them, when they are told, and how many stories are told, are really dependent on power. Power is not just the ability to tell the story of another person, but to make it the definitive story of that person. The Palestinian poet Mouris Marghouti writes that if you want to dispossess a people, the simplest way to do it is to tell their story and start by “secondly, ..” - Chimamanda Ngozi - Adichie

Decolonising our practice

Philosophically and spiritually 

Meeting another requires taming our own vulnerabilities 

Biopsychosocial Model

Biology - genes, MH condition, substance use, neurobiology, trauma and stress and medications. For example, PTSD can actually change biological features so the person is no longer who they used to be). 

Psychological 

Social - networks, community, friend circles, transportation, finances (usually harder to treat)

Psychosomatic Symptoms

It usually has three components. Receptors, processors, and effectors

Receptors (photoreceptors, chemoreceptors, mechanoreceptors, nociceptors, thermoreceptors) related to things like sight, taste, smell, hearing, taste

Processors (the brain)

Effector (muscle and glands)

Our body goes through this process, and after repetitive exposure, like collecting statistical information, it processes and organizes information. The response is then in two main ways. Functional cognitive processors and functional autonomous symptoms

Functional Cognitive Processors - allocate mental energy in understanding stimuli

Functional Autonomous Symptoms which are learned after repetitive or prolonged exposure

This is complicated because instead of stimuli, processing, response the stimuli immediately goes to symptoms automatically on auto pilot and to cure the symptoms requires significant therapy and unpacking. 

Complications include trauma responses and also embodied stress

It is phenomenal to think that all these receptors directly connect to the heart and there is huge potential in healing through prayer. 

Reflections

I found the day and the talk to be pretty phenomenal and healing. It provided lots of valuable insights including psychosomatic symptoms, some gender biases in psychological history, understanding refugees and aspects related to spiritual abuse. 

Three key components that I found fascinating in psychosomatic symptoms were about functional autonomous symptoms, looking at the body and mind holistically and interconnected, and healing through prayer. Autonomous symptoms could be that initially require significant thought and reflection but after repeated stress the body just shuts down and starts producing symptoms automatically. Whether it's nerve damage, heart rate, sweating, shutting down even when there is no significant context well after traumatic incidents. The body just gets wired to react this way and at times, prolonged stress can even lead to cancers and other stress related diseases. I found this very interesting because on a regular basis, perhaps slowly and gradually we continue to drift away from the model of cartesian dualism, the belief that the mind and body are separate. There is more and more research suggesting that the mind and body are extremely interconnected.

I also found the component of healing, alignment and resiliency fascinating because every single receptor is directly connected to the heart and through constant prayer, there is huge healing potential, provided time is taken to fully align ourselves with our higher purpose through spirituality. 

I found it also intriguing that it was in the era of when women faced mental health stereotypes such as female hysteria that many advancements in the field of mental health took place. Gender stereotypes include things like toxic masculinity and female hysteria and are informed by the mental health field and can, at times, have a devastating impact on people’s lives. I believe stereotypes, biases and prejudices are very hazardous and difficult to change once they become established and can have consequences.

The talk on broadly understanding refugee health was also interesting because I had done a research on refugees in 2018 and tried to incorporate the political economy of health, intersectionality and health as a human right. The broader research in the field is wonderful to see. 

All in all, I really enjoyed taking part in this conference and learned a lot of interesting things. It is amazing to join this annual conference every year and broaden my understanding related to mental health. 

[ninja-troll-lover]

Meet the lesbian moms of Willow (OC), Fern (OC), Clover (OC), JD, Spruce, Clay, Branch, Hazel (OC), and AJ (OC)!

Headcanons about them 🏳️‍🌈👩🏾‍❤️‍👩🏾

Blueberry 🫐

Daughter of the deceased couple Rosiepuff and River (OC)

Twin sister to the deceased Raspberry Hazel and oldest sister to the deceased Plumberry Spruce and Goldenberry Clay

Ash's Wife

She doesn't know where her four sons are.

Forgot why the Trolls Tribes Split

Really forgetful ever since her escape from Bergen Town

Most of her scrapbooks aren't filled with glitter

Snores and sneezes VERY LOUDLY.

Sleeps through any noise.

Member of the "Extreme Sleepover Club" (Sky Toronto invited her, and she stayed because it reminded her of her wife)

She has multiple albums of her children's drawings.

Good friends with Peppy, Sky Toronto, Dr. Moonbloom, Mags Gumdrop, Queen Essence, King Quincy, Lownote Jones, Rufus, and Gia Grooves

She went into a coma after a bird attacked her, and after the first troll movie events, she was now awake from her coma.

She and Branch used to communicate by letter.

She can usually be seen with her trollings or the grandchildren she's taking care of.

Night Owl and/or Early Bird just depends

Really fast considering she has to chase trollings on a daily basis.

She can hear a pin drop even if she's asleep.

Sings lullabies and reads stories to trollings so they can sleep peacefully.

Please don't test her patience.

She starts remembering her old memories ever since TWT.

At age 6 she started journaling

In my human au, she's half Nigerian from her mother, Rosiepuff, and half Filipino from her father, River.

When it was revealed that Ash Sr. was actually a rock troll, she still loved her despite her music heritage.

She was mad that Ash Sr. didn't tell her that she left with three of her children; she was hoping that she could surprise her by telling her that they were having another kid. Basically,  Ash Sr. wasn't there when Ash Jr. Was born.

Also, she didn't know that her mom killed someone before she died.

Ash Sr. 💚

Youngest daughter to Falcon & Jasmine

Retired tattoo artist and body piercer.

Has four older brothers and their quintuplets; their names in order are Emerald, Dusty, Cliff, and Basil.

In my human AU, she's Mexican.

During her stay at the Troll Tree, she secretly sings rock songs to her kids at night so they can sleep.

Some Pop Trolls and Peppy didn’t know she was a rock troll because she told them that her pointy ears were just a result of her parents pinching them all the time, and they just believed that.

After Ash Sr. moved back to Trollstopia, some of the pop trolls realized that she was a rock troll.

Moved to Trollstopia to be with her wife and kids again.

Some of her nieces and nephews also moved to Rock Hollow, Trollstopia.

Practicing some pop-troll traditions: gift baskets, scrapbooking, etc

Comes from a long line of the best tattoo artists and body piercers.

Made Croco and several other snuggle toys for all her children.

She thought that the Bergens and Pop trolls were working together, and when a troll gets eaten, she thought it was an execution among pop trolls, so that’s why she lied about her pointy ears, but after witnessing her first Trollstice, she thought of revealing her true music heritage, but didn’t want to risk it; what if Blueberry, some pop trolls, Peppy, or worse, Rosiepuff, her then girlfriend’s mother, finds out? So she decided to hide her music heritage.

Rosiepuff actually knew she was a rock troll from the start and told Ash Sr. her secret was safe with her.

Rosiepuff gave her approval of Ash's relationship with her daughter and a blessing for their marriage after eating her fluffleberry, saying it tasted really good for her.

She did tell Blueberry her music heritage after years of encouragement from Rosiepuff

Her kids call her “Mama”, while they call Blueberry “Ma”

Has made a presentation about her brothers and relatives and their low downs on Blueberry when they actually meet them.

Ash Sr. had to leave the troll tree with her three kids because some troll kept sending her threats that he knew she was a Rock troll and that if she didn't, she would be thrown off the troll tree by that same troll. (I'm not going to name that troll, but let's just say he was eaten by a Bergen.)

That same troll (the one threatening Ash) was later pushed off the troll tree by someone who didn't really like him; hint hint it was probably Rosiepuff.

But sadly, Ash Sr. has already left, not knowing that her wife is having another child.

[toronto-tree-removal]

How to Safely Manage Overhanging Branches in Your Yard

Dealing with overhanging branches can be a tricky situation for any homeowner. Perhaps they’re blocking sunlight from your garden or posing a risk to your roof during stormy weather. Whatever the case may be, managing these pesky limbs is essential for both safety and aesthetics in your yard. But before you grab those pruning shears and head outside, it’s important to take a few steps back and assess the entire scenario.

Understanding what you’re working with will make all the difference between a simple trimming task and an intricate project that requires careful planning. If you have a branch that poses a potential threat to your home or property, it’s best to call a professional tree service to handle the situation. Tree Removal Toronto is ready to help you with all of your tree maintenance needs. Now, let’s dive into how you can safely manage those overhanging branches while keeping your yard looking its best.

Assess the Situation

Understand Local Regulations

Before you grab your tools, it’s essential to familiarize yourself with local regulations regarding tree maintenance. Many communities have specific guidelines on how and when you can prune trees. Check if permits are needed for cutting branches, especially if the tree is large or near property lines. Some areas also protect certain species of trees due to their ecological importance. Visiting your city’s website or contacting local authorities can provide clarity. Don’t forget about homeowners’ association rules as well; they might have additional requirements that could influence your plans. Understanding these regulations helps ensure you’re compliant while keeping both safety and aesthetics in mind.

Gather Necessary Tools

Before tackling any overhanging branches, ensure you have the right tools on hand. This not only makes the job easier but also safer. Start with a sturdy pair of pruning shears for smaller limbs. These come in handy when you’re working close to your body. For thicker branches, a handsaw or lopper is essential; they provide more leverage and power. If you’re dealing with high branches, consider investing in a pole saw. This tool will allow you to reach those elevated areas without climbing a ladder. Safety gear is just as important as the cutting tools.

Learn more : Professional Tree Removal Toronto

[myrirutherford]

#️　　𝙼𝚈𝚁𝙸𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙳　　╭ a   dependent   blog   affiliated  with  @briarridgerp   loved   and taken care of by   j.

❛  SHE WAS HORRID AND ENCHANTING, WITH THAT TENTH - RATE KIND OF CHARM YOU CAN'T HELP BEING TEMPTED BY.  ❜

WELCOME TO BRIAR RIDGE  MYRA HUANG RUTHERFORD !  WHO IS KNOWN AS “ MYRI ” AND WAS RECENTLY SEEN LEAVING HER HOME IN  DOWNTOWN. SHE IS CURRENTLY  THIRTY - THREE YEARS OLD. SHE RESEMBLES  AMANDA OBDAM AND IS  UNEMPLOYED. THEY’RE BEST KNOWN FOR  BEING A COMMERCIAL PRINCESS IN THAILAND AND ALSO ,  MYRA IS SECRETLY A THEATRE KID BUT HATES BEING REFERRED TO AS SUCH. WHAT IS REALLY IMPORTANT TO KNOW ABOUT HER IS THAT SHE'S IN BRIAR RIDGE LOOKING FOR REVENGE.

╰　𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗩𝗜𝗘𝗪.

full  name.　myra  lovisa  huang - rutherford　　aliases.　myri.　　birthdate.　1st  august ( 33 )　　hometown.　toronto,  canada / bangkok, thailand.　　gender  +  pronouns.　cis  woman  +  she / her　　orientation.　asexual.　　zodiac.　leo sun,  gemini moon,  taurus rising.　　occupation.　unemployed.　　positive traits.　bold,  creative,  charismatic,  resourceful.　　negative traits.　grudge - holding,  petty,  ruthless, vengeful.

╰　𝗜𝗡-𝗗𝗘𝗣𝗧𝗛. TW(S): classism, parental illness, racism, internal racism, infidelity.

myra carries the weight of her family's past. she and her mother, lalana, belong to a branch of the family tree that suffered a devastating fall from grace, unfairly ostracized due to events outside their control ( lalana's chinese mother had an affair with a thai man, then lalana married a white man ). this rejection left deep scars, fostering a sense of unworthiness and a belief that they were somehow lesser in the eyes of their more fortunate relatives.

myra's childhood was steeped in this legacy of resentment. her mother, burdened by her own insecurities and bitterness over the family's dysfunctional state, often spoke of her cousins, each whispered anecdote laced with thinly veiled envy and frustration.

witnessing the profound impact of this familial estrangement on her mother, myra became an unwilling confidante and caregiver long before her time. when her mother's health began to fail, myra was forced to shoulder even greater responsibilities, a burden she embraced with a quiet determination.

it was during this difficult period that an unexpected opportunity arose – an olive branch, perhaps, extended by her uncle. he presented myra with a chance, a mission that resonated deeply with her longing for acceptance and validation.

she saw it as a chance to prove that she and her ostracized mother was deserving of recognition, of respect, and of a place within the family fold.

this mission brings her to town, and tangled within its threads is the well-being of her cousin, vanna. myra is determined to "guide" vanna, ensuring she avoids the pitfalls and missteps that could jeopardize their already precarious standing.

before arriving in briar ridge, myra's life had been a far cry from the gilded existence of some of her relatives. she'd briefly dipped her toes into the world of thai commercials, scrambling to earn a living.

that fleeting brush with the limelight offered a tantalizing taste of celebrity, a glimpse of the fame enjoyed by others in her extended family.

however, the experience was short-lived and ultimately more humbling than satisfying, leaving her with a yearning for something more substantial.

despite this, myra possesses an unwavering belief in her inherent right to claim the life she envisions, not just for herself, but for her long-suffering mother. this conviction burns brightly within her, fueling her resolve.

she is unyielding in her determination to pursue any avenue, explore any opportunity, and navigate any obstacle that stands between her and the fulfilled, dignified existence she so desperately desires.

she will stop at almost nothing to achieve her aspirations and finally carve out a lasting place for her family within the larger narrative.

╰　𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦.

myra is dyslexic.

myra is in a lot of debt, and compared to the rest of her family, is very, very poor. she just presents as rich. myri is "rich passing", if you will.

had an affrair with a married coworker while in thailand. she left before anyone on set or news found out.

most of her money comes from commercials she’s done in thailand, but even then those residuals aren't very much to live off of.

to make extra money in a bind, myra gets the money by hacking into people’s online social media accounts and phones to find out information of their family and friends - if they were addicted to something, up to anything sketchy, cheating, etc. this as unintentionally made myra an expert hacker.

swears a fuck ton. like a lot. a lot, a lot.

has a ginger maine coon named sarabi and is really, truly her best friend. whatever money myra has, it goes to sarabi and her well being. 

[aliaology]

HOUSE THAT BUILT ME

summary: reader (older hughes sister) takes a small flight to toronto to say goodbye to the home she grew up in before moving to michigan.

pairings: hughes brothers x older sister!reader

warnings: just angst. part three of my older hughes! sister au so it kinda contradicts never grow up bc i almost made the michigan house be her childhood house with the childhood room line, but the toronto house was her childhood house, i just lowkey forgot they lived in toronto in the first part.

you didn't expect to be here. you didn't expect yourself to take a last minute flight to toronto and stand in the front of the house you used to call home. but you felt drawn to do so, you had to come back one last time. even if people told you you couldn't, you still did.

you felt yourself walking up the stairs. your handprints littered them, along with little quinnys, little jackys, and little little lukeys. the multi-colored handprints were a stark contrast to the white, chipped paint of the porch stairs.

they creaked under you, causing you to step slower. you now stood in front of the screen door that covered the red door. your hand shakily reached up to the doorbell, pressing it. the all-familiar tune played. it wasn't a normal 'ding!' no, your mother made it ring to a beat. one you would tap your foot to every time it was rung.

the door creaked open, revealing a slightly older woman. "can i help you?" she asked, eyes squinted from the sun.

"im so sorry to bother you, i know you dont know me but, i um- i used to live here." you awkwardly laughed. "me and my brothers are actually the kids who did those handprints on the stairs." you informed.

she opened the screen door, stepping out. she had a soft smile on her face and waved you over to the small swing that was on the porch.

you two ended up sitting and talking. "the back bedroom, that was mine. i did my homework on a dainty desk and that room is where i learned to play guitar." you spoke.

a fond smile was on the womans face. "i've never once changed anything in this house since me and my family moved here." she told.

"i couldnt. i actually hoped one of the kids who did those handprints would show up. i like learning of what this place used to be. plus, whoever did that kitchen was amazing." she chuckled.

"my dad helped my mom do that. it was a dream kitchen for her. he helped a lot of her dreams come true with this house." you said.

you looked over the property. the green grass, the live oak, the trees that surrounded the house. you looked back at her.

"do you- do you think i could come in? i just want to look around. i swear as soon as im done, ill leave. i wont take nothing, just my memories." you smiled.

she let you. you found yourself tracing the walls as you walked upstairs. the same texture was there as it used to be. the steps still creaked twice with every step. the air was still cold, as it used to be.

you walked into your old room. the walls were still the dark purple they used to be. it made you remember who you used to be. the happy-go-lucky little girl whos only care in the world were her three younger brothers.

you weren't done looking around, but you already dreaded the idea of leaving. leaving home wasn't what you wanted to do. doing it once was hard enough. you could see yourself, your younger self, sitting at her desk.

feet kicking with a pencil in her hand as she hummed to some random song that she heard on the tv. she would smile every once in awhile as she did her math homework, realizing she understood something.

you could see young jack running in, a water gun in his hand, and shooting you with it, ruining your mood and your homework. you could see little luke rushing in behind him, tackling jack to the ground. little quinn would pin jack down and little you would tickle him as payback. luke and quinn were your little sidekicks.

after awhile, you walked back to the porch. "thank you again, ma'am. this meant a lot to me. it helped being able to see and feel the house again." you told her.

she smiled. "of course dear." you gave her a polite nod and walked down the handprint-filled stairs. you got to see the house that built you, and instead of leaving with tears, you left with a small smile.

tags (perm); @slaythehousebootsdown13 , @um-mads , @outrunangelss

[thatrickmcginnis]

JERZY KOSINSKI, Toronto 1988

I was vaguely aware that Jerzy Kosinski was under a cloud of scandal when I photographed him at the 1988 authors festival, but I didn't know the details and in any case he was the most distinguished writer I photographed in that little alcove off the main lobby of the festival hotel on the lakeshore. The hit Hal Ashby movie version of his third book, Being There, starring Peter Sellers, had made him famous as a celebrity and not just a writer. I'd read his acclaimed first novel The Painted Bird as a student, then subsequent books like Steps, The Devil Tree, Cockpit and Passion Play. He'd been the president of PEN twice and starred in Warren Beaty's film Reds; he was a frequent guest on talk shows, played polo and moved in high society as well as literary circles. It was an incredible success story for a man who had emigrated to the US from communist Poland in 1957, sponsored by a fake foundation he had created, and forging letters from communist officials guaranteeing that he'd return. In retrospect this deception would end up setting the tone for his life decades later.

The rumours about Jerzy Kosinski's work had as much to do with his working methods as allegations of plagiarism or his inspiration. It began with charges that the CIA had sponsored his first two nonfiction, anti-communist books, written under the pseudonym Joseph Novak. It was widely assumed that the nightmarish story of the Jewish boy hiding from Nazis in the Polish countryside told in The Painted Bird was based on Kosinski's own wartime experience, and later attempts to correct this did nothing to dispel suspicion that grew as he became more successful and high profile. Critics in Poland had attacked him when Being There was published, claiming that it was based on a Polish novel famous when Kosinski was a boy. Kosinski was known to have an active and kinky sex life, which no doubt fueled resentment that ended up focusing on his creative methods, which employed multiple editorial assistants - translators and editors and proofreaders. By the time I photographed Kosinski this had turned into a campaign to discredit him, started in earnest by a 1982 Village Voice article, and the book Kosinski was promoting at the authors festival in 1988 was The Hermit of 69th Street, his attempt to address the allegations in a kind of literary fantasy.

The Hermit of 69th Street, the book Jerzy Kosinski was promoting when I photographed him, was a curious attempt to answer his accusers and rebut the allegations made about his creative methods and inspiration. Presented as a collection of papers left to Kosinski by another writer, Norbert Kosky, who had left them behind on a leased fishing boat after his disappearance, Kosky was clearly Kosinski's alter ego, but the book's 529 pages do little to frame a clear self-defense of the writer. It's a maddening book - far less satisfying than anything else he'd written before - and seems like it was meant to taunt both his enemies and supporters. It's full of puerile sexual wordplay and imagery (the frequent use of the number 69, for instance) Kosky/Kosinski writes about the "privately hired, part-time professional literary vulvar cleft, be it a typist, a proofreader, a line editor or even a licensed full-time galley printer - an indispensable tax deductible literary ghost every writer must employ at one time or another." Then goes on to admit that "the very thought of a woman typist excites him. Whether she is black, yellow or white; whether she is nice or nasty, petty or pretty, stubbornly fat or weakened by anorexia nervosa or by typing novels written in Esperanto, he cares not."

Kosinski could not, of course, directly address the creative process by which writers produce their work, fiction or nonfiction - that would have been pulling back the curtain on a profession that was still admired, even revered, back in an age when a man who looked like him could be both regularly on the bestseller lists and infamous as a bit of a sexual satyr. It's a world that seems like a long time ago now, and subsequent scandals in journalism and the publishing world over plagiarism and authenticity (Stephen Glass, James Frey, Jonah Lehrer, Herman Rosenblat, "JT LeRoy", Jayson Blair) have dulled us to just how damaging the charges against Kosinski were to his reputation, despite his high profile defenders at places like the New York Times. I can't claim that I tried to suggest any of this in my brief shoot with Jerzy Kosinski in that little space off that hotel lobby, but the man had a defiance about him that I think I captured in these frames. I put one of these shots in my portfolio where it stayed for many years, until Kosinski's infamy had subsided into the first stages of obscurity, and I got tired of having to explain who he was when showing my book. Jerzy Kosinski committed suicide in his New York apartment three years after I took these photos.