#colorado siding repair | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wexhappyxfew · 3 months

Note

hi shannon!! marianne is calling my name so... can i request "it's 4am. you need sleep." with her? 😁 hope you're having an AMAZING day!!

HI BLUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!! you already are very aware of my excitement towards this prompt because i have not talked as much as i have wanted about my queen marianne salinger, resident tail-gunner of silver bullets who loves three things in this world (1) the silver bullets crew, (2) frank sinatra and (3) her orange cat, frank. AND OF COURSE -- i took this opportunity to talk a bit more about co-pilot of silver bullets, francis montez - co-pilots are just....they're so interesting. there is so much depth to them, especially what their relationship is with the pilot, and we dig into that here. also -- we get some birdie faulkner mentions! my queen (lost but not forgotten)!! francis montez, my tragic hero, i am HUGGING YOU!!!!! please enjoy this look into life before annie bradshaw became replacement command pilot for silver bullets! it is such an interesting space to work in, especially considering what we already know about life with annie bradshaw as the pilot!!!

we all lost birdie

(a/n): marianne salinger POV of the limbo time in between the command of birdie faulkner and annie bradshaw as francis montez struggles with the weight of leadership in a time like this. let's just say....she's not coping well, but the silver bullets crew is there to help with that. also -- marianne is just a gem for real, like observant, chaotic af, non-smoker but is the 'do it because my friends did it' person tbh she's great LMAO! please enjoy!!! (and thank you blu for this....i sincerely hope you enjoy!!!) <3333333 co-pilots my beloved!!

Birdie Faulkner had been on levels even some men would never get to in their lifetime. Highly respected, rather decorated and equally intelligent as any man flying a B-17 as anyone. It’s probably what made Silver Bullets so reliable.

The first she picked was her co-pilot.

Francis Montez - a good Californian, who had top marks in school and a knack for opening up her mouth when prompted, she was an easy choice for co-pilot, a second in command, another leader who would undoubtedly be useful in unforeseen circumstances.

The navigator and bombardier came next: Bessie Carlisle and Carrie Achterberg or Bergie, of Queens and Brooklyn, New York, respectively, from two sides of the same town. Damn good at their jobs, efficient, the glue to the crew and the ones with the brains. Necessary investments.

Then came the flight engineer. Not only must she know all she can about the B-17 but how to fix it on the ground or in the air if needed. Marjorie Harlowe - or Margie - from Michigan, took up that role with ease. A smile, a flick of the finger, an easy-going and competent nature - it wasn’t any surprise that if you flew with Margie Harlowe, you were safe.

Radio ops was next - Paulina Stagliano of Philly was one to talk. Loud mouth and an even louder mind, she got her point across in short question and answer scenarios for her crew, and was always of the opportune to play music when the morale was low.

Then - her turret gunners.

Waist gunners were first - Kennedy Farley hailed from Boston, a rather passionate, raging Red Sox fan, who was a fierce and loyal protector and friend. And a damn-good gunner - she knew that gun inside and out and if you needed a hand with repairs, she'd show up with a smoke, a screwdriver and a small frown and get it done in 5 minutes.

Vivian Ratcliffe from Colorado had grown up with a father teaching her the ropes in mechanic garages - and it was no wonder she was so used to the cold up in that open-air belly - nights and mornings spent skiing in the Rockies, gaining rough-and-tumble love from nature, from the air to the sea. The best of the group, truly.

Then she went for the ball turret gunner - they had to be pretty small, reliable, quick-witted, and no doubt, Birdie wanted someone with a funny personality - Judy Rybinski was practically over-qualified for the role. Showing up with a grin on her face, offering Birdie a bouquet of wildflowers hand-picked, shaking hands and talking about how quickly she could blow a target from the sky seemed to sell Birdie and the rest of the crew immediately. She was a peach.

Then there was herself; Marianne Salinger.

Tail gunner.

Sort of oddly lanky, but not super tail, slightly scrutinizing of others that weren't her crew, painter and animal lover when the war wasn't on, and a Frank Sinatra fan that even if his mother showed up, Marianne would've professed her love greater onward than that. She even found a stray orange tabby named Frank to join her.

She was a lot of things in ways, but very observant. Incredibly observant. Overly observant. And sometimes - to be like that hurt.

Because right now, Birdie was dead.

And the Silver Bullets crew was pilotless - the vacant spot staring the 90% crew in the face, the empty cot where Birdie's things had been like a sore bruise on the body - aching, but almost gone.

In moments like this, Marianne always admired Lieutenant Montez.

Probably since she was first brought into Silver Bullets and introduced to the Silver Bullets co-pilot; Lieutenant Francis Montez.

The good-hearted Californian.

Called you five different nicknames before sticking with one.

Keeping the brave face on in front of the rest of the Silver Bullets crew after Captain Faulkner's death.

Especially when she'd been right next to her when it happened.

So, in shifting herself to the left side in her cot, yawning widely and letting out an overdramatic 'hmph' as she snuggled into her pillow, hearing a rather distressed and choked cry leave someone's lips sent her sitting straight up in her cot. The quick movement made her heart pound, a pressure building behind her eyes and the sudden realization, from a quick glance at her watch, that it was only 0400 with the moonlight still peaking through.

Marianne swiveled her head around the barracks, squinting in the darkness, attempting to seek out who it was. Truth be told, after losing Birdie, nightmares became a normal thing - and some nights, no one slept. It'd been a tense and uneasy atmosphere for nearly a week and with no new pilot, things were even more worrisome and weary.

The only person holding them together was co-pilot Francis Montez. And currently, she was the one breaking down. Marianne could tell because it came from the far corner of the bunk room, closest to the door. And Francis didn't ever let it on that inside she was hurting. It's probably what hurt Marianne the most to see.

At dinners and lunches and breakfast - Francis would be sat, that blank look in her eyes, that ache buried deep inside, barely eating and trying to laugh it off seconds later.

Slowly standing to her feet, and nearly tripping over Frank's little pillow on the ground that he'd taken to, she picked her way down the rows of the crew towards Francis.

Deep-down, she probably should've stayed in her cot, kept her mouth shut and let Francis deal with her emotions. But a sudden urge to protect her and hold Francis through a moment like this was all she wanted to do.

Marianne approached the outlined form on the cot, bathed in a sprinkle of moonlight and held her breath, debating if she should turn around now.

"Lieutenant Montez?" Marianne whispered, her voice causing Francis' form to freeze-up entirely, turning to look over her shoulder towards Marianne stood there, as if a ghost had appeared - Marianne almost choked out her words, "I just heard something and wanted to make sure you were okay and then I saw you were awake and-"

"Salinger." Francis said, voice slightly hoarse, silencing her rambling, "I'm fine. Just, some fucking nightmare. But, it's fine. I'm going out for a smoke anyway. Take the edge off." Marianne stood, cheeks heated red in the darkness, as Francis stood to her rather tall height and picked up her A2, throwing it on roughly, before grabbing her smokes' box and heading towards the door. Marianne's heart hammered in her chest before she wiped at her nose and cleared her throat.

"Need a buddy?" Oh, God, now how awkward do you sound? Francis turned and looked at Marianne and she balked. "Uh, need a buddy. Ma'am." Francis stared at her in the darkness and Marianne swore that she could've died on the spot if it was possible.

"Sure." Francis said and then turned to the door stepping outside. Marianne skittered to follow her out, slowly shutting the door behind herself and settling down on the stoop in front of the barracks beside Marianne.

Outside, with the moonlight, Marianne could get a better look at Francis' face and saw the dark circles under her eyes, the fading scar from the incident on that fateful day and the blankness of her eyes all at once. Her heart ached.

"Want one, Salinger?" Francis said, placing one on her own lip before offering the box. Marianne - resident and very adamant non-smoker in the group - stared at the box before looking at Francis again. Francis usually never offered because she knew Marianne didn't smoke, but Francis seemed on a whole different planet right now. And something made Marianne want to take one.

"Yes. Yes, ma'am." Marianne said, reaching forward to pluck one out of the box and place it on her own lip - the paper taste wasn't nice. Francis chuckled slightly.

"You don't have to keep calling me ma'am or….or Lieutenant. It's fine, seriously." Francis said, glancing at her, "Here." Francis leaned forward and gently lit the edge of Marianne's cigarette before leaning back to light her own. Marianne's warm cheeks failed to dissipate and she couldn't help but watch as Francis clicked the lighter closed and then popped the cigarette off her lip and blew out a drag of smoke. She didn't realize her staring until Francis looked to her and waved a hand.

"You there, Salinger?" It didn't take long for Marianne to blink herself out of it, before inhaling the cigarette chemicals too fast, breathing it in and hacking up a lung, loud and noisily, before gasping for breath, the cigarette forgotten between her fingers.

"Sorry," Marianne croaked out as Francis gently tapped her back, clearing her airways, "I don't smoke."

"I forgot about that," Francis said, sounding slightly defeated and guilty, "just not with it right now."

Marianne recovered her bearings and slight moment of embarrassment and looked to Francis sat beside her, staring out towards the airfield at night, planes silhouetted in darkness. It was an eerie feeling - knowing she had died on that plane, after getting up into it thinking there'd be many more times after. Knowing that cockpit would remain empty until the replacement showed up.

Knowing that plane was still sitting out there, soaked in that feeling, those memories, that moment.

"Probably because it's 4 am. And you need sleep." Marianne said quietly, looking over at the co-pilot, "Brain won't work and wire itself right without it."

"Can't sleep most nights anyway so," Francis said, popping the cigarette on her lip and clenching her jaw, "if I do, the nightmares come so, prefer not to if I can."

"Of Birdie?" Marianne asked. Francis grew quiet and continued staring out, blank-eyed. It grew quiet and Marianne wasn't going to push her - fresh in the mind, only four days ago - she almost regretted saying Birdie's name, but she knew Francis needed to get it into her mind what was going on. She needed to be able to talk instead of bottling it inside.

"Yeah." Francis said quietly, pulling the cigarette from her lip, "It replays in my mind. Every night since it's happened." Marianne watched as Francis looked towards her, tears in her eyes. She watched as Francis shook her head, biting back her lip and looking towards her again.

"It was our second mission. We just got out here. And….and she's already gone." Francis whispered quietly before looking out at the darkness again, "They won't allow us to fly until they've got someone new in here, and…I don't know, going up there again and she's not next to me. I….I don't know." Marianne glanced sidelong at Francis again and watched as the co-pilot reached up to angrily wipe at some tears in her eyes and sigh.

"I gotta get myself together - there's some pilot from San Diego coming in tomorrow anyway - Atchinson….something or other. I gotta…." Francis let a hand linger lightly over her body, a display of dissatisfaction on her force, "I know I won't go back to sleep so. Don't want to keep you awake. I'll be fine." Marianne watched Francis - did she actually think Marianne would leave her sit out here alone and suffer in silence? In the darkness?

"I can stay." Marianne said, her cheeks growing warm uncontrollably. Francis looked over at her, slightly surprised. Marianne stuttered. "I mean, I can stay and we can talk. So you're not alone. I don't mind. Mind being here with you. With…" Marianne watched as Francis looked towards her a small smile on her face, dark eyes watching Marianne with mirth.

"When in doubt, Mari Salinger's gonna make sure you're not alone," Francis said, her eyes never leaving Francis' as she reached out and gave her shoulder a squeeze, "thanks, Mari."

Marianne sat there, incredibly aware of the feel of Francis' hand on her shoulder, the warmth from the co-pilot's hand now infiltrating her body, along with the look in Francis' eyes that simply only watched Marianne in this endless darkness. It took a matter of seconds, but then Francis was pulling her hand back, unflinching, and removing her cigarette from her lips again and nodding to her.

Clearly, she wasn't unchanged, but Marianne felt like her entire world had shifted on its axis and suddenly, she wasn't sure if she knew how to breathe right or if her lungs were working.

"So, you hear anything about this Atchinson?" Francis asked her cooly, waving around her cigarette between her fingers and rubbing her temple, "You always got the scoop on this sorta stuff, so." Marianne cleared her throat and looked at Francis.

"I…I must say it's the first time that I really don't know much to anything about her. Just that's she's a pilot. From San Diego. Captain ranking I believe. Nothing more." Marianne said quietly with a shrug, focusing on a spot of dirt on the ground and attempting to pull herself together, "Say, Francis…what happens if this doesn't work out?" Francis glanced at her and raised a brow.

"Come again?" Marianne balked and cleared her throat.

"Atchinson. Uh, Captain Atchinson. What happens if the fit isn't….the right one?" Marianne asked her, "You heard Harding. He said 'We gotta make it the right fit.', the hell is that supposed to mean?" Francis watched her and offered her an upturn of a smile.

"They don't just want anyone up there, Salinger." Francis said to her with a nod, "Birdie was more qualified than any of us. Best of the best. And she hand-picked the group of us. Now. We're down our command pilot and the spot's vacant. They're not just throwing names in a hat and picking out the first piece of paper they touch." Francis smirked.

"Which, I'll give 'em credit, they're looking out for us," Francis said and Marianne's cheeks warmed as Francis smirked at her wider this time, "but that don't mean much, I gotta say. Until that replacement's in the sky with us, until you really know what they're like….I don't know. May not know the right fit until they come back after a mission and know what it's really like." Marianne slowly nodded and glanced back at Francis.

"You think Atchinson's gonna work out?" Marianne asked her, her mind thinking, if Birdie were here tomorrow, to meet her, would she like her? Francis shrugged.

"You can only hope," Francis said quietly, "I don't know though." Francis sighed and scratched at the back of her head for a moment, her dark hair tied into a bun that rested gently on her neck, where the scars of that final flight for Birdie had occurred. They both fell quiet, Francis smoking her cigarette, Marianne trying to get a wrangle on her head and her heart.

"Hey, Francis?" Marianne asked quietly, watching as the co-pilot turned to look towards her. Francis' eyes were always dark and consumed with something no one could ever quite distinguish, but for the first time in what seemed like a while, they were clear and quiet. That chaos, that storm inside was calmed for once.

"What's up?" Francis asked her, as Marianne watched her.

"If you ever need to talk to someone in the future, whatever it is, I'm here. We all here." Marianne said quietly, tapping her fingers against her up-bent knees against her chest on the stoop, the warm night breeze running over her bare legs, "We all lost Birdie." Francis watched Marianne and slowly nodded, tears forming in her gaze. It was those few seconds in between recognition and having a breakdown that Marianne caught as Francis squeezed her eyes shut and bit back her quivering lip.

"I just don't want you all to think this is it for Silver Bullets, for all of us," Francis whispered quietly, her voice breaking, "that without Birdie, we're done for. We all worked to get here, you know. We all deserve to be here, sticking out necks out, dealing with all the shit from everyone else. We're all here because we earned it. And I just….I don't want to show that in front of everyone. That it fucking sucks trying to keep it together, trying to cooperate with a replacement that won't ever be like Birdie. Knowing Birdie won't be coming back." Marianne watched her, tears welling in her own eyes. Her throat tightened as she tried to speak.

"You're not alone, Francis," Marianne said quietly, "Birdie's always gonna be up there, alright? Watching over us." Marianne pointed to the sky. Francis managed a stifled cry and wiped at her tears and sighed.

"I know." Francis whispered.

"Birdie would want us to keep going, too," Marianne said quietly, "remember when Birdie told Judy that one time about how years from now, when people think about this war, our names are gonna be apart of that. Silver Bullets is, too. Even if there's a replacement. Birdie's name is gonna be sticking in that, too. She'll always be here."

Marianne wasn't sure what happened, but in a span of a few seconds, Francis had scooted over and wrapped Marianne in a hug, holding her close, a few silent trembling cries somewhere near her right ear.

Slowly, Marianne wrapped her arms around Francis, holding her there, and letting her feel those emotions for a moment where the only thing watching was the cloudy moon. Francis wasn't a heavily emotional person, so when she pulled back after 30 seconds, Marianne wasn't surprised that she was clearing up and nodding herself back to life.

"Sorry, Mari," Francis said, patting her arm and sighing, "just, thanks for that. Just needed to hear it from someone else, ya know?" Marianne nodded with a small smile, for the first time seeing their co-pilot come a bit more to life, especially in the past week more than anything.

"We're always here." Marianne said, with a small smile, "We are a 10-woman crew. Not a 1-man." Francis chuckled wetly, wiping a few more tears from her eyes as she smiled again.

"I know it's barely 5 am, but they might have coffee out. Wanna join me?" Marianne watched Francis and it only took about a millisecond for her brain to respond.

"Of course." Marianne said with a smile, following Francis to the mess hall for a cup of coffee. A cup of coffee at 5 am to ponder the horrors of the week was all one needed to ready themselves for another day, another mission, another breath of air. It's all Francis needed and something Marianne needed to. It's what they all needed.

#BRB CRYING!!!!!!!!#listen despite the topic discussed this was SUPER FUN!!!!#i loved digging into the emotions and feelings here #showcasing the limbo of it all with no birdie and no annie #francis trying to pull the crew together #like FRANCIS #YOU ARE SO STRONG!!! NEVER CHANGE!!!! YOU ARE SO LOVED!!!!#yeah i was eating this up as i was writing like PLZ!!! FRANCIS!!!!#also through mari's perpspective was hella fun #a fresh POV i haven't done yet and i really liked the angle #the way mari looks at things #definitely have to do more with her! and with francis!#THANK YOU BLU!!!!! I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!!#i have a francis montez solo piece in the works as well so....no doubt that will dig more into francis in this time period as well #the pre-annie and post-birdie era was depressing to say the least #ANYWAY #marianne salinger #francis montez #silver bullets #mota writings #mota #masters of the air #masters of the air fic

11 notes · View notes

usafphantom2 · 6 months

Text

17 years after a USAF F-15 crashed due to cracks in the jet’s longeron the same issue appeared on 90 F-16 fighters across the entire service inventory

Cracks in canopy sill longeron appeared on 90 USAF F-16 fighters

The Colorado Air National Guard’s 140th Maintenance Group (MXG) at Buckley Air Force Base recently had two of their own F-16s grounded simultaneously due to cracked canopy sill longerons (CSLs).

As the airframe has aged, it required these airmen to incorporate new and innovative maintenance practices to remain at the forefront of discovering new means of increasing airpower efficiency to ensure the fighter jets remain mission capable and ready to defend the nation 24/7.

US Air Force (USAF) Staff Sgt. Danielle M. Morgan and Tech. Sgt. Taylar M. Reilly, led one of these new practices as they repaired canopy sill longerons. The CSLs run the full length of the cockpit and support the structure between the frame and skin of the aircraft, preventing tension and bending of the fuselage.

“The aircraft is immediately grounded when the canopies crack,” Reilly said to Staff Sgt. Luccario Lovato, 140th Wing Public Affairs, for the article Colorado Air National Guard Maintenance Group creates innovative solution to aging F-16. “A crack can spread, and if both sides break, the whole nose could fall off.”

17 years after a USAF F-15 crashed due to cracks in the jet's longeron the same issue appeared on 90 F-16 fighters across the entire service inventory

A US Air Force (USAF) F-16C Fighting Falcon, 120th Fighter Squadron (FS), 140th Fighter Wing (FW), Colorado Air National Guard (COANG).

Cracks in F-16 canopy sill longeron can become a fleet-wide issue

Canopy sill longeron cracking has already appeared in 90 aircraft across the USAF inventory of F-16s within the past year.

The F-16 can fly at twice the speed of sound, pulling up to 9-G turns (9 times the earth’s gravitational force) to accomplish air-to-air and air-to-ground missions, applying significant strain to an aging aircraft. While structural concerns are not new, structural maintenance is usually done at a depot facility.

“While this isn’t the first time we’ve done this specific task, this is the first time that we’ve had two aircraft with this issue at the same time,” Reilly said.

Reilly also explained that the structural integrity of the longeron is getting worse, and suspects it’ll become a fleet-wide issue.

Noteworthy, according to Alert 5, similar cracking issues plagued the USAF F-15 Eagle fleet in the past. In 2007 an F-15C suffered an in-flight break-up because of a defective longeron supplied by Boeing. The mishap, that took place during a training mission, resulted in a significant grounding event.

Similar cracking issues plagued the USAF F-15 Eagle fleet in the past

Wild Weasel F-16C print

This print is available in multiple sizes from AircraftProfilePrints.com – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS. F-16CM Fighting Falcon – Wild Weasel 50th Anniversary, 2015

The Eagle destroyed in that incident was from the 131st Fighter Wing of the Missouri Air National Guard. On Nov. 2, 2007 the aircraft departed on a standard training sortie. The F-15C, flown by Maj. Stephen Stilwell, experienced a violent shudder in its forward fuselage approximately 20 minutes after departing from an airfield near St. Louis. Then the aircraft broke up at an altitude of 18,000 feet above the ground. Major Stilwell managed to eject safely (despite sustaining a dislocated left shoulder and a fractured left arm) just before the aircraft broke apart, scattering debris across the Missouri countryside.

As reported by The Seattle Times, investigators traced the cause of the accident to the jet’s longeron. The investigation revealed that the longeron in question exhibited a non-uniform thickness, failing to meet the 0.10-inch (0.25 centimeter) specification outlined in the Boeing contract. The measured thickness ranged between 0.039 and 0.073 inches, a significant deviation that compromised the structural integrity of the longeron.

A comprehensive inspection program for all F-15 A-D models in the USAF followed the investigation into the crash of the F-15C. As a result, all 441 of the F-15 fighter interceptors were temporarily sidelined. The inspections revealed that a concerning number, a total of 182 aircraft, had longerons that didn’t meet original manufacturing specifications.

After undergoing additional inspections as the investigation was completed, most of the grounded F-15s were cleared to return to flight by February 2008.

F-15 model

This model is available from AirModels – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS.

Photo credit: SMSGT JOHN P. ROHRER / U.S. Air Force

Dario Leone

Dario Leone is an aviation, defense and military writer. He is the Founder and Editor of “The Aviation Geek Club” one of the world’s most read military aviation blogs. His writing has appeared in The National Interest and other news media. He has reported from Europe and flown Super Puma and Cougar helicopters with the Swiss Air Force.

@TAGC17 via X

#f16 fighter jet #usaf

11 notes · View notes

chickensarentcheap · 9 months

Note

:D I think I put too many, answer whatever you want lol

1, 3, 4 6, 7 9, 13, 14, 16, 17, 20, 21, 22

How do they celebrate their birthday?

Tyler always makes sure that Esme is spoiled! Mind you, not just on her birthday, but he tends to go even more overboard then lol. If it falls during the week, they wait until the weekend and start it off with the kids making her breakfast in bed and giving her a spa morning/afternoon. So a facial, massage and cupping, pedi and mani, sometimes something done with her hair. They will have friends over like Esme's sister and sister's girlfriend, Koen, Clover and Andy. So just a lot of relaxing and hanging around outdoors, dinner on the beach, cooked over an open fire. Her favourite cupcakes and a cake made by the kids. And he always takes her on a birthday trip, a week to one week away :)

3. What do they wear when they're just hanging out at home?

Esme is a lover of comfy things! Yoga pants or leggings if it's cooler outside, yoga shorts or denim shorts if it's hot as balls lol. A baggy t-shirt always. She adds a hoodie of Tyler's if it's chilly. And she ALWAYS wears a pair of her many Crocs outside lol.

4. What is their house like?

After all the renovations and additions, it's a modern farmhouse. Seven bedrooms, six bathrooms, a handful of out buildings, a small pool/house. A mix of elements really: wood, stone, siding on the outside, high ceilings with aged wood beams, granite counter tops. Something like this but with fieldstone mixed in:

6. What will always make them smile?

Definitely Tyler and his teasing, the way he'll ruffle her hair and sneak a kiss to her cheek or pat her bum when walking by her. And the kids' laughter and Addie's giggles and incessant chattering.

7. What will always make them cry?

Talking about the moments on the bridge in Dhaka or the baby she and Tyler lost in the third trimester. Between the twins and Declan.

9. Favourite book

She has so many she loves! Her fave of all time for sentimental reasons is Bridge to Terabithia.

13. Tattoos:

She has more than most people realize lol. She has a large peacock tattoo where the head is between the breasts and it goes down her stomach a bit and then onto her left cage and ending with a fanned out tail on her back. She has a little fox behind her left ear. A dragonfly on the side of her left ankle, a seahorse on the back of her right calf, and her and Tyler's initials and birthdates on the inner right bicep.

14. What was their first kiss like?

It was when she was fourteen and an older girl at school (just two years older) that was crushing on her, approached her in the hallway and just sort of pinned her against the lockers and kissed her. Totally consensual, mind you.

16. They find a genie and are granted three wishes. What would they wish for and why?

For all her children to happy and healthy for their entire lives. To take away the physical pain that Tyler struggles with every day, and the take away his mental health issues.

17. They're stranded on an island and can only bring four items and one companion. Who and what do they bring?

A good book to read, her journal and pen, a bottle of her favourite rose, a comfy blanket. And she'd choose Tyler over everyone and anyone :)

20. What kind of accent do they have?

I've never thought about it. Do people from Colorado have an accent? I suppose in the main series she may have picked up a slight Aussie accent.

21. What is their most prized possession?

Definitely that cheap leather bracelet Tyler bought her in the Dhaka. That thing has been through a lot and he's had to repair it several times and she refuses to part with it

22. Have they ever stolen anything?

Other than a few hearts along the way? ;). when she started her period as a pre-teen, she stole tampons and pads from a drug store because her mother was completely useless

7 notes · View notes

wytfut · 3 months

Text

Aluminum siding....

I think as a kid who grew up in the 60's, we remember the hard core salesmen that bang on your door... vacuum cleaners, spices, aluminum siding, brushes. .... all humorous in a way today. There has even been movies made about this type of life.

My Pop... way back in the 60's bit the bullet and bought aluminum siding. The guy sold him the goods, and he bit hook line and sinker. The company had their contractor put it up..... Pop wanted his crushed rock roof strauss built home, to be pink for eternity. And so it was....

It was shortly after... maybe a year or 2 later, we had a historic Nebraski hail storm. And just beat the shit out of the siding. I'd say that this aluminum siding was much softer than todays products...

Anything exposed under the eaves of the house on the west and south side took the beating.

Pop about cried and tried to make a claim on his damaged siding, and of course his insurance company didn't recognize aluminum siding as a standard house siding. .... nada... nothing.

The siding remained on for I'd say at least a couple of decades, all dinged up. Finally in the late 90's Mom and Pop were financially comfortable, Pop had the dinged siding removed and covererd with red brick as a wainscoting about 6' up on all sides of the house. I wont critique the color combination, but Mom and Pop were happy. The aluminum siding higher up remained, and looked good until the house was sold.

Now I bring this humorous story up, as that most likely wasn't Pop's only upside down event in his life. And as I grew up there, I know I have picked up this behavior up.... and have applied it many times thru the years.

Examples:

I just had to have a diesel car. After the 70's embargo, it only made sense to me. So I left my brand (Ford at that time didn't quite yet have a diesel model), and ordered a brand new buick diesel.

Probably the prettiest car I have ever owned to this day. Within 6000 miles, the motor blew up. And we were without a car for close to 3 months.

Within a couple of years, the transmission went. Basically I ordered from Detroit the grand GM double joke.

Sounds innocent enough.... but if a person were to stand back and take a good look at this story or the many others, including my Pop's.... he and I get an idea in our heads, and the blinders come on. No changing of the minds here mind you. And admittedly, it is a weakness or a curse.

Not that we both would fall for salesmen....no no.... but the fact that once we get an idea, we just can't let it go.

Pop I'm sure was told by all his chronie State Troopers...."don't do it!!" ...Just I was told by many folks not to buy a GM diesel.

Here's my latest blinders mistake.

A few years ago, I was using a product called "ride on" on my motorcycle tires. It claimed to reduce flat tires substantially, and would also balance your tires. It was a gooie substance, and for all the years I had used it, I was very happy with it.

I found another company selling a "tire sealer" years ago, a friend used on his farm truck. He had tires with multiple nails in all of his tires with no flats to report.

Thru the years, I had heard that tire repair shops hated these products. Some of the earlier products were impossible to remove. Which made fixing a simple flat tire impossible.

Come up to date now.... to about 4 weeks ago.

My hunny said we were not going to drive to colorado on the tires on her car... especially the one with a double plug (being a tightwad, I fix our own tires, right or wrong, I do). Ok. So I rounded up some very nice almost new tires on facebook market place. Got them for a song.... extremely cheap.

My thoughts.... put berryman's tire sealer in them. Josh, Luke, and myself mounted each..... life was good.

I was still under the impression, that berrymans tire sealer would also balance these tires. As that was "Ride On" claim.

We got about 250 miles into the trip, and holy shit... the tires took off. Shaking the Patti's car like no tomorrow. Many miles of trying to figure out how to avoid the shaking... I determined that if I stayed under 70, it wasn't too bad or very often. It'd still do it a bit here and there.... but no way over 70.

Made it to our destination. And as the week went on I contacted several tire shops. One said he'd try to balance them.... and he couldn't. Another in Estes, said yup he'd fix the issue, but it would cost.

Being a tourist in Estes.... I was guessing $400+. I cringed, Patti said do it....

The tire shop fixed all 4 tires (cleaned the goo out and balanced)..... $160, plus 2 days.

We were ecstatic. No way .... he could of taken huge advantage to our situation, but he didn't. God bless this man.

When I went to pick up the car.... this very same guy was in the parking lot helping a much older gentleman clean fresh asphalt off of his tires. The guy drove thru fresh asphalt (no barricades).... And his tires looked like huge donuts. I talked to the old guy. He was amazed that the guy was helping him, at no charge. Attacking the tires with pry bars....

Back to the point. Folks that know me.... know I do this. My boys, friends, etc. I get the blinders on, and it is the goal to achieve, hell or high water, it'll be done. They all just roll their eyes, and shake their heads

You'd think after years of this nonsense, I'd learn, or someone would just shake the shit out of me, to get my attention.

My next odd ball mission is to drop some ajax/comet down the carburetor of our 36 ford. lolololol I've already heard murmurings from some folks not directly. ...

3 notes · View notes

ancaporado · 1 year

Text

Love the contrast of living in Colorado to moving to Wyoming. Gone from "homeless drug addicts harass you everywhere" to "they are repairing too many roads simultaneously and it's causing congestion on the side streets."

City people literally have some kind of brainrot to hand-wave the obvious decay.

21 notes · View notes

woodsdyke · 2 months

Text

hi. forgot i posted this on ao3 so here it is cross-posted (u can read it there or below the cut).

She spends the quiet, calm mornings on the trail, untangling the messy web of her thoughts like she’s repairing a barbwire fence. It bites and draws blood like a cornered animal, holds fast and stubborn as you try to force it to behave, like you ever had a chance, like it would ever stop fighting.

She thinks about the town in North Dakota that disappeared overnight more than she probably should. She thinks about a herd of deer she’d seen up in the mountains last week, eyes shining pink in the dark, too many pinpricks of light against the flickering red and orange of her campfire.

She thinks about the man with his face on fire, standing in a prairie burn scar and looking at her with eyes long melted out of his skull like wax down the side of a candle.

It’s been a few years since she decided to leave Illinois for good. The city was never for her, the streets of Chicago too narrow, constricting, the factories and warehouses taking over the fields and forests like a sickness that can’t be treated nor cured. At first, she kept coming back, took trips west and north until the trail brought her back one way or another. She fell in love with Montana, quiet, rolling fields and sharp, jagged peaks on the horizon. Rushing rivers the wild horses drank from when she sat really quiet on the bank in the early hours of the morning.

She used to head back to rest up, catch up with the few folks in town she found herself missing, and then she was off again. After her parents die, heading home doesn’t feel important anymore, like the obligation to do so died with them. It’s not like she and her brother ever saw eye-to-eye, and even now, Arden meets the city halfway like an old friend, arms outstretched, while Dani turns and runs from it like a rabbit chased by a pack of dogs with fresh blood on their tongues.

So, one day she leaves and knows she’ll never be back.

A pristine estate in the suburbs of Chicago isn’t home – never was, when she stops to think about it, stop seeing home as the place you grew up rather than the places and the people you love. Home is the mountains, the prairies, the red sand and hot sun and those big sandstone arches in the Utah desert that cast long, strange shadows. Home is a little farm in the woods in western Colorado that she’ll make it back to if it’s the last thing she does, come hell or high water.

---

She stands in her camp at the edge of a stream and watches the sunrise turn the Wyoming peaks a split of orange and muted purple, the line slowly descending as the sun climbs higher into the dusky sky. It’s a sort of beauty that can’t be described, only experienced.

A deep sense of grief soaks into her bones like melting frost. It’s an ache that spreads out from a central point like a barely healed burn or a puncture wound. She feels it in her chest and behind her eyes like those first few moments waking up from an accidental nap. It’s always there, at the back of her mind, unobtrusive, like that little twinge in her hip she’s had as long as she can remember, right up until it isn’t.

Maybe it’s always been there, but now she’s let it loose.

She’s not sure what she’s grieving. She hasn’t put in the time to think about it much.

But she lets herself feel it, something she’s never done before. She lets it pull her down with its weight, because she’s always needed something to ground her. Any port in a storm.

---

Sometimes, when she can’t sleep, she looks up at the stars and thinks about graves in the woods.

Maybe she buried her grief and it dug its way out. Maybe that’s what happens when you ignore things and hope they go away. They go bitter, like a cup of tea steeped too long, like the crab apples left under trees, their sickly-sweet scent of rot hanging in the air –

- Like the tongue of a woman who hasn’t gotten the peace promised to her, since it might as well have bled to death on that expensive carpet, too.

There’s an empty hole in the dirt somewhere in the woods that she can’t stop thinking about and maybe that’s a sign that she knows she should be in it. People die and they stay dead and here she is, grappling with the weight of survivors’ guilt when she didn’t even have the decency to survive.

She tosses some more logs on the fire and watches as sparks spiral away overhead into the inky dark sky.

If nothing else, she’s a dead woman who can still feel the warmth of a campfire. She’s a dead woman who still has that twinge in her hip, still has a few wayward streaks of gray in her hair and the first stages of arthritis in her hands that she only feels on a crisp winter morning. She’s a dead woman who got that boot hill burial she always joked about, shook the dirt from her shoes, then clawed her way out of the grave and kept walking.

---

Dani remembers the voice in the woods, that day. It had sounded so sad.

Oh, little witch, what have you done? it had said, in a tone that seemed to pull her into a soft embrace, as Dani took off her ruined coat and held it in trembling hands, dried blood and dirt caked under her fingernails, seeped into her skin like cigarette stains,

this was supposed to be your final resting place.

#forest writes #original fiction #oc: dani lovelace

2 notes · View notes