#joan jabbers

[joan-of-arceus]

Rika is so handsome... This is targeted. I'm being targeted by Rika specifically

[winged-lights-and-krill-frights]

It's been 1 month since I started this blog, holy cow!

Because of this blog I've made many amazing friends, been creatively fulfilled and inspired, found a little purpose, and enjoyed playing Sky now more than ever.

I've learned a lot over the past month on how I want to run this space. At first I wasn't going to reblog anything, because this blog was purely a game log and I wanted to keep it clutter free. Now, however, I feel like there's a small community surrounding it. I want to be supportive of fellow Sky players and I want to cultivate this community. Friendship and fellowship is a main theme in Sky, after all! And I cherish being part of something. So I'm going to start reblogging others' Sky stuff, hooray! That'll all be under #reblog

(I've also figured out a lot about how I want to tag my posts and that's nice too! The other main reason I started this blog was to organize my screenshots and videos to be able to find them quickly, and the tagging system is perfect for this.)

I'm so grateful for this creative outlet and everyone who has interacted and gotten involved. It's something I can really sink my teeth into, which I haven't had in a long time. It makes me feel good about myself and the world <3 It's so fun to run this blog! To plan posts and pick the perfect screenshot and sometimes stage the perfect screenshot. To schedule posts and queue posts and line posts up all nice and neat. To write funny captions and reference memes and share silly pictures. To see you guys like it, that I'm making your day brighter. ^^

Thank you so much @starsandscarfs for reaching out to me and inviting me to your Sky discord server. It means more to me than I can say that you took the risk and welcomed me as your friend. <3 @blue-eridanus and @starlightlamplighter it has been a true delight to befriend you as well! I look forward to playing more with all of you in the future, as well as all the other friends I've made.

Less than week after I started this blog I suffered the loss of a dear and close loved one. Playing Sky and running this blog was and still is one of the few things that helps keep me afloat in my grief and changing life. So thank you everyone who has been a part of @winged-lights-and-krill-frights. Your involvement means more than you'll ever know <3

[muraenide]

I tripped and fell a few days ago and obtained a huge lesion on my knee while jogging which drew the attention of 50 people who stared but didn't comment. Yesterday I put my foot in the wrong slippers which ended up giving me even more cuts on my feet. :/ The universe really said "Joan stop going out and touching grass, sit home and do nothing, or just RP."

Optimistically, if I've had so much bad luck in the last few weeks maybe something good is waiting for me just around the corner in the future.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Hi!! I loved your post about Leo's sons sneaking out lol! I'd love to see how the other brothers would react to their kids!!

Children Of Raphael (Fluff)

Bayverse!Raphael x reader

A/N: My nap did wonders, and I managed to write this! Anyway, I’m glad you liked it❤️ This time it’s Raph’s turn! Joan, Minerva and Ragnar out trouble making behind you and Raph’s backs❤️

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Warnings: Spelling, you and Raphael’s kids being sneaky and cute❤️

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It had been Joan and Minerva’s idea, because of course it had. Who else would come with an idea that surely their mother and father wouldn’t like. And little unsure Ragnar did not like what he overheard his sisters talk about. They would go topside without their father and mother knowing, and see the city of New York for themselves, and maybe even get some pizza. Something you and Raph’s two oldest kids always had wanted to do. But not your youngest. He was so young and did not like it. The thought of his sisters leaving the lair without his parent’s knowledge, made him jump uneasily on the spot. To 6 year old Ragnar, everything outside the lair was big and dangerous, and therefore the world above was a scary place. But his sisters had made their minds up. They were leaving tonight when you and Raph had gone to bed, whether or not Ragnar was coming along.

So that night, after Raph had gone out on patrol and you had tucked Ragnar into bed and kissed him goodnight, the young boy did something he never had done before. He changed the time on his alarm clock, just like he had heard his sisters say that they would do. And just to be sure, he added an extra alarm, should he accidentally sleep over the first one.

A few hours later, Ragner woke up to the sound of his first alarm, quickly turning it off before you would be able to hear it. He quickly gets into his clothes, before hurrying out into the big open living area, where both Joan and Mini stood, waiting just to see if their little brother would come along.

“Great”, 13 year Joan said, uncrossing her arms and letting them rest on her hips. “Now that we’re all here, let’s go”.

Mini jumped with a smile at her sister’s words, skipping towards the exit. But Ragnar on the other hand, still wasn’t too sure about their plan.

“I still don’t know if it’s a good idea”, Ragnar said, playing with the hem of his oversized sweatshirt.

Joan sighed loudly and frustrated, exercising her oldest sibling's power to the fullest. “Did you just wake up only to tell us that?”

“No…”, the small boy muttered.

“Then shut it, and let’s go”, she said, turning towards the exit. But Ragnar did not shut it, like his sister had told him to.

“But what if mom and dad notice we’re gone?...”

“You see this?”, Joan said, turning towards her little brother in a sharp swing, one hand in the air, moving like a mouth, the other pointing to the moving hand. “This is your mouth, and it keeps jabbering. Now shut up and get moving, or keep it jabbering and stay here”.

Joan turned and started walking toward the exit once more. Ragnar placed his hands on his hips, crossed his eyes, and moved his lips in an animated way, mucking his big sister’s words. Mini saw this and giggled.

“You coming?”, Mini asked, reaching out a hand. Ragnar nodded at her, still somewhat unsure of the whole situation. So his took his sister’s hand and followed Joan out of the exit, finding her waiting with a soft smile just beyond the doorway. Sure, she could be harsh on her siblings sometimes, but she would always come around, making sure that they were okay.

The three half human, half turtle kids wandered through the tunnels of the sewer, following the path their father had taken so many times, before he had the uncles would start their patrol. Mini led the way, remembering the route for all the times you had brought her to wave goodbye to Raph, hoping that it would calm her childhood temper tantrums down whenever Raph left.

Ragnar now clung to the arm of Joan, watching every shadow around him with worried eyes. In his young mind, they all looked like monsters lurking in the shadows, ready to jump at them at a moment's notice. Ragnar thought of his father taking this route to the topside almost everyday, and how brave he had to be to do so. There was no doubt in Ragnar’s mind. His dad was one of the bravest men alive.

Finally, the three kids of you and Raphael came to the ladder that led to the world above. To Ragnar, it had seemed like several hours through the dark sewers, but in actuality, it may have taken less than a few minutes. But with all those shadows and monsters that continuously caught Ragnar’s attention, it felt like forever.

“It is this way", Mini said, pointing up the ladder. “I’ve seen dad go this way each time”.

Ragnar stared up the ladder, feeling a new fear wash over him. “That’s a long way up”, he said, mouth agape.

“It’s not that far”, Joan said, sending her brother over to Mini, before grabbing a hold on the ladder steps in order to start climbing.

As Joan climbed to the top of the ladder, pushing the cover of the manhole off, Ragnar stood uneasily and looked around. It was like watching something he wasn’t allowed to see. And even as Mini wrapped an arm around him, he still didn't feel fully safe.

Once the cover was off, Joan called down to Mini, asking her to send Ragnar up first, not wishing for him to be alone in the sewer. Though Joan sometimes found her siblings to be whiny, she did not like to make them feel more unsafe than necessary, which was the reason why she stood over the hole, smiling at Ragnar as he made his way upwards, Mini following closely behind.

Once at the surface, Ragnar looked around with wide eyes. He had never been in an alleyway before, nor had he ever heard the constant noise of the city at night. The blaring sirens somewhere beyond the low rise apartment buildings, and the occasional hunk of a car horn. For a moment Ragnar wondered if this was how his father felt whenever he crawled to the surface, in order to help the NYPD catch the many criminals Ragnar so often heard about. But it was the thought of his father that suddenly caused the boy to look around in fear.

“What if dad sees us?”, Ragnar asked as Joan pulled the cover back over the manhole.

“He’s on patrol for the next few hours”, Joan said, dusting off her hands. “The city is big, so the chances of him being around are less than small. We will be home before him and before mom wakes up. They won’t notice a thing”.

“But dad is a policeman”, Ragnar muttered. “He will notice”.

“Dad is not a policeman”, Mini said, giving Ragnar a sudden nuggie over his bald head. “He’s a ninja. That’s different”.

“Doesn’t matter”, Joan said. “We’re not here to discuss dad’s profession but to see the city. Come on!”

The three kids hurried to the mouth of the alley, watching the street from a hiding spot in the shadows. They watched people walk up and down the street. Business men and women on their phones, walking with hurried steps, stressed over the conversation about money. Teenagers was laughing on the street corner, and a couple stood under the street light with their arms around each other. Mini wondered if that was what you and Raph used to do before you had kids. Just standing out in the open or on the roof with your arms around each other, looking deeply into each other.

“Where do you think dad is?”, Mini suddenly asked, looking up towards the roof at the thought of you and him in your young years.

“Right here”.

Joan almost pushed over a trash can at the sound of her father’s voice. Mini felt her soul leave her body and a shiver run down her spine. But Ragnar felt relief, running to his father with his arms open, hugging the lower half of his torso, even if Raph looked furious.

“Daddy!”, the young boy shrieked, hiding his face against Raph’s hip. Raph placed a hand on his son’s head in a comforting gesture, but his expression did not change, his other hand on his hip.

“How did you know we were out?”, Joan asked almost in disbelief.

“Your mother texted me”, Raph said. “Someone forgot to turn off their second alarm. It kept beeping until she went in to turn it off”.

Ragnar’s eyes widened. He looked up to find his father looking down at him, his sisters realizing what Raph had just said. The sound of Joan’s facepalm echoed in the alley.

“Ups”, Ragnar smiled sheepishly.

“Ups indeed”, Raph said.

Mini moved some dirt on the pavement with her foot, playing nervously with her hands. “Are we in trouble, dad?”

“Oh, yes you are”, Raph said. “All of you are grounded”.

Mini and Joan complained loudly, asking their father if he was serious. Ragnar, still too young to feel or understand the frustration of being grounded, continued to bury his face against Raph, a content smile spreading over his face.

“No complaining. Masks, now”, Raph said, holding out his hand. With a sigh the girls relented, handing their bandanas to their father. Ragnar, who was still glued to Raph’s side, did not fight nor complain when Raph took his bandana off.

Lifting Ragnar up in his arms, letting the boy hug him around his neck, Raph went to the manhole and pulled over the cover with one hand, turning to the two girls as he pointed down the black hole with a snap of his fingers. “Lair”, he said, watching as Joan and Mini dragged themselves towards the ladder, knowing fully well that you were waiting back home. Ragnar on the other hand was happy. He was going home to his mother while being carried in his father’s arms, and nothing bad had happened. At least nothing bad in Ragnar’s eyes.

[froglegsz]

hello daddy hello mom im your ch ch all of the things we're taking cause we are young and we're ashamed send us to perfect places

[birdkeeperklink]

Okay, Joan's turn for "The Red Team" thoughts.

I. Love her part in this. I always love her, of course, but here we really see how well she understands Sherlock already. She is so perceptive, and it's also a great contrast with how little she seems to understand her own feelings.

But okay, this episode is full of people telling Joan to give up on Sherlock - Gregson tells her Sherlock is broken, and her therapist tells her that she has no obligation to Sherlock. Granted, Gregson is rightfully pissed off at Sherlock currently, and Joan's therapist is concerned with what she believes is best for Joan's mental health, not Sherlock's, and what seems to her to be a growing attachment to someone who should only be a former client, so one is biased and the other lacks complete information, but Joan rebuffs both of them. She speaks to Gregson on Sherlock's behalf anyway, and encourages Sherlock to apologise to him, trying to help Sherlock preserve that relationship. She tells the therapist that she has to make sure Sherlock has this before she can leave, but it seems to be more to get the therapist to stop harping on the subject of her leaving Sherlock, as she only says it after the therapist pushes.

And Joan doesn't acknowledge Sherlock's defence mechanism. He goes full-bore arrogant to ward her off from talking about an emotional topic, and he claims she's uncomfortable with that - she is not. She's annoyed with it, but she drops it. She doesn't believe or acknowledge a word he just said - it's bullshit, and she knows it means he's not ready to talk about it, so she drops it. Sherlock doesn't even realise that she's worked this out about him and is no longer offended by it, unlike Gregson, who's known Sherlock longer, but who gets angrier with every word of it that Sherlock utters, because he takes it at face value. It fits what Gregson believes about Sherlock, so unlike Joan, he doesn't see beyond it.

In the end, she asks Sherlock if he wants to talk about what happened with Gregson in a more gentle and sincere way, responding to the upset he's failing miserably at hiding, and she respects his "no" just as much as she respected his smokescreen refusal earlier.

Anyway, I have a lot more thoughts because this episode is chock full of subtle moments and expressions, but I think I've jabbered about it plenty 😂 This was one of my least favourite season 1 episodes the first time around, but now I think it's one of my favourites.

[thepointoftheneedle]

Paul Engle of the Writer’s Workshop

@sullypants was kind enough to point out that the Writer’s Workshop is the postgrad writing programme at the University of Iowa.  It seemed like an excuse to share this essay about poetry by Paul Engle who ran the course for years.  It is such a great piece about poetry and I thought some folks might like to read it.    It appeared originally in the NYTimes in 1957.

Poetry is ordinary language raised to the Nth power

by PAUL ENGLE 

POETRY is the only one of the arts which comes literally from inside the body a thing secreted as well as made. It is not so much written as it is breathed onto the page. It is possible because in our mortal oddness, we have a jointed jaw which waggles the sounds of love and rage and gloom in the daily air.

Of course all arts come naturally into our life.  Painting is possible because our eyes find color and movement in the world, and our arms can swing through space in many motions.  Music is possible because we have marvelous curled ears that listen every day to multitudes of sounds and we can order them into harmony. Theatre is simply an extension of our yammering, arguing, gossiping, conflicts and love. 

But the materials of these other arts are artificial. Painting uses canvas, brushes, oils. Sculpture has its wood, stone, wires and welding helmet. Music has its manufactured strings, shaped wood and brass. But the materials of poetry are the same common words we use for buying food, complaining about the weather, talking on the telephone, asking our friends on the street, “have you heard this one?” These puffs of meaningful sound, warmed by our heart and lungs are shaped into moving utterances and we call it poetry. 300 years ago Michael Drayton said, “And innocence is closing up his eyes.” The recent English poet Wilfred Owen wrote of an innocent doomed soldier “for his teeth seem for laughing round an apple.” These words are the plain speech of men ordered into art.

The Frenchman in the play was astonished to find he had been speaking prose but he would've been more amazed to find that, like all of us, he had been speaking the materials of poetry. "It hit me like a ton of bricks,” says the startled boy using the manner of poetry. We all raise and lower our voices for emphasis and if that sound could be stained it would have a visible pattern in the air from which meter would come. In one of his energetic, pounding lines Marlowe wrote of Cassandra that the soldiers “Swung her howling through the empty air,” and Othello in his agony to express his hard life's lack of tears said that he was seldom in a “melting mood.” 

This ordinariness of its medium is crucial to the nature and intent of poetry which always wants to make emotion orderly and to make ideas flame. Poetry is hyacinths and biscuits said Carl Sandberg. It is imaginary gardens with real toads said Marianne Moore. The glory and the grit of life join together make poetry, and only language can join them. Not the heart alone. Not the brain alone, for the heart is not deep enough, and the brain is not lively enough. As TS Eliot argued the poet is more civilised as well as more primitive than his contemporaries. It is language which allows him to combine intellectual subtlety with the sensuous touch in the fingertips. "A green thought in a green shade,” wrote Andrew Marvell.  “Green I love you green,” cried the Spaniard Lorca. The great expression of the power that ordered language possesses to combine the extremes of human experience occurs in Wallace Stevens where he says of poetry that it is “an abstraction blooded.” Thought in poetry should beat like an artery a thumb feels in the neck. The poet has his original shock of experience but to tell another person about it he has only words tripping over a page. Yet those words must try to make the feet reader feel, by the intensity with which they are put together, the intensity of the living event. Hence the ruthless obscurity of some poetry, as the poet struggles to make poor words carry the weight of his lucid and complex meaning. Elliot has said that often poems will begin with no words at all but with an undefined rhythm in the mind to which gradually write words and true feelings come. The process is a tough one he writes for “words strain, crack and sometimes break under the burden. Under the tension, slip, slide, perish. Decay with imprecision, will not stay still.” Yet it is that feeble medium in which was written “Cover her face. Mine eyes dazzle. She died young.” So language becomes illumination, the deep dredged motive quivers in the hard air as if “a Magic Lantern threw the nerves in patterns on the screen.”

Shakespeare candidly said “While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.” He did not call her pretty or blonde or willing although she may well have been all of these but used rather the blunt expressive word. So Sandberg called a woman in love a pot rassler, a 20th century Joan. Lady Macbeth described the men she stupefied with drink “spongy officers.” Hamlet cried out “that skull had a tongue in it and could sing once; now the knave jowls it to the ground.”

Archibald MacLeish called the ocean “that endless silence edged with unending sound” and Hart Crane spoke of it as “this great whisk of eternity.” At the news of the death of Yeats, wrote Auden “the mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.” The Queen appealed to Hamlet “cast thy knighted colour off.” Of Cicero a character commented that he “Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes" Thus language works its rugged way. Reading it one should feel as Dante did when he said to Virgil, “Hardly a drop of blood in my body does not shudder.” Here we are on the colourful Earth held in the rough arms of history jabbering under trees and roofs. Then we suddenly read what Bishop King wrote a long time ago “But heark! My pulse like a soft drum beats my approach tells thee I come,” and after that what e.e. cummings said a few years back “when skies are hanged and oceans drowned, the single secret will still be man.” So it is that words become not an escape from life although some ecstatic moments will always be that but a force and nourishment which return is more deeply to the middle of life more aware of that rough and noble human scene of which poetry is a part. “I have wiped away moonlight like mud,” said Wallace Stevens proving again that poetry is ordinary language raised to the nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate tough skin of words.

[curlypie]

Joan Jabber Junes is a cute merperson :)

A reward drawing for one of my patrons.

[styleatacertainage]

It’s that time of year when it’s out with the old in with the new. So why not set up some time for a closet overhaul? If you find yourself claiming “you’ve nothing to wear” an unorganized overflowing closet just might be the culprit. Or if you’re like me it’s time for a closet refresh. This is when I ruthlessly go through my closet item-by-item and purge. Whichever scenario you find yourself in I have a tried-and-true method for a closet edit. Are you ready?

First step, you ask, for a clean sweep? Dedicate an afternoon to your busy schedule to assess your closet and go through every item in your wardrobe. I know, I know, there are a million other priorities competing for space on your ever-expanding to-do list rather than sorting through pencil skirts, cardigans, and that swoon-worthy dress found on the final sale rack. But, I promise, devoting an afternoon to properly sort through your clothes is time well spent. If you are like me, you’ll discover that fashion mistakes have been made over the course of a season, weight gained, (even better, lost – let’s face it ladies weight fluctuates, it’s a fact of life) or maybe, just maybe, it’s finally time to retire that beloved go-to blazer. You know the one, it has a shiny sheen on the elbows due to years of love, but you’re still loath to part ways? It isn’t easy to rid your closet of items that no longer fit or have sentimental value, especially when you’ve shelled out major cashola for the purchase in the first place. But keep calm and carry on. Which is why, through the years, I have devised a tried-and-true method to purge my burgeoning closet and in the process make room for that drool-worthy new puffer vest.

Since I am a bit of an organization addict (I’m a Virgo by birth and have a strong penchant towards planning and systematizing) I wanted to share my method for a wardrobe detox.  First off, when sorting through my clothes I put on a great playlist – still loving the seventies, nothing sounds better to me than the Doobie Brothers or Steely Dan – then pour a glass of wine, and ask these three questions:

1.Does this fit?

2.Have I followed the ‘one year rule’? If I haven’t worn it in a year, it’s time to let it go. Ruthless, I know.

3. Is this item damaged, e.g., moth holes, broken zippers, pilling or missing buttons? Or can it be repaired? Having a great seamstress and shoe cobbler is a must.

If the answer is ‘no’ to any of the above questions, then it’s time to part ways. Divide your clothes into three piles. Sell, donate, and trash.

Sell

The items that make it to your sell pile are the ones that are either currently in style or gently used. It could even be a pair of brand new, to-die-for jeans that were bought with the promise of losing five pounds. Sigh. But take heart, these clothing items have the potential of making you a profit with little effort thanks to an emerging online marketplace for buying and selling clothes. There are several to choose from which have a streamlined experience that makes it possible to list my items, ship them out, and earn money or credit toward on-site purchases, all while sipping my coffee in my pin-striped pajamas. As a matter-of-fact, I don’t even have to leave the comfort of my house. How’s that for convenience? Check out thredUP.

Charity

If by chance some of your unwanted items are still in good condition, please consider donating them to a good cause. Of course, Goodwill Industries and Salvation Army are always good choices for your orphaned clothes and are reputable if that is one of your concerns. But there are other organizations that deserve and appreciate your contributions as well. Personally, I love and support Dress for Success – a non-profit organization that addresses and fulfills the needs of low-income women who have left welfare and are interfacing with the challenges of the workforce. But consider local homeless shelters or even better ones that specifically cater to battered women. In recent months, blogger The Midlife Fashionista opened a non-profit in the greater Boston area, Uncommon Threads, with a mission to empower women. Trust me on this; somehow it’s easier to let go of clothing when you know it is going to someone in need.

Rubbish

Now onto the hard part, those items that can’t be repaired or have significant wear-and-tear must be tossed into the rubbish bin. I know it’s hard to say goodbye to your beloved LBD, or your favorite graphic tee worn on countless occasions, but don’t let your emotions get the better of you. It must be thrown away. I repeat, the item must be thrown away.

It might take more than one try to get into the swing of downsizing your wardrobe, but the reward is a streamlined closet that makes getting dressed in the morning just that much easier, and maybe even fun. But you have to know what you own is working for you.

Happy cleaning!

It’s time for a tour of my closet/office. Yes, this is where you will find me on any given day editing my daily post or planning my next outfit. Notice how the shelves don’t have doors. This one feature lets me utilize every square inch of space. Nothing hides from me behind closed doors. There’s never a time when I have to squeeze in and fish something out from a dark corner. A nice design trick would be to install curtains in front of the shelves. But for now, I’m happy with an exposed workspace. The shelving unit is ALGOT from IKEA that we’ve had since our Shanghai, China days.

When we moved to Georgia last year, I knew the first re-do in our home would be my closet. Here’s what happened after we finally found a contractor. Which took several months… They kept disappearing on us. Who can relate? Originally, this room opened to the adjoining bedroom. The first step to enclose the room was drywall. Then a few coats of paint in Dove Gray by Benjamin Moore. For many years, I’ve been a big fan of neutrals in bedrooms – they’re sooooo soothing. But gray paint is currently on-trend in home decorating so it’s safe to say this room is ‘in.’

A Possini Flower Chandelier replaced the original light fixture to give the room a modern look. After it arrived, Mr. Style thought it might be too big. But once it was installed he changed his mind. What do you think?

In keeping with a light and airy space, I chose a contemporary glass desk from World Market that sits on a chrome sawhorse base. But when we created our YouTube room we exchanged the glass desk for a white desk. Anyone else moves furniture from room-to-room? The desk chair is chrome and white leather. It’s very simple and practical. Tucked underneath is a turtle stepstool that I rest my feet on when working. Sometimes, I pull it out if I need to reach something on the top shelf.

Last year I purchased an orange egg chair and glass table for my office/closet. But, again, those items were repurposed to the YouTube room. After our new kitten, Ollie arrived and decided to use the wool chair as her scratching post the egg chair found a new home in our guest room. The good thing is I’ve used a cohesive color scheme throughout the house which allows me flexibility. And that egg chair (which is a favorite of mine) has been repurposed several times over. Sheesh! Recently, I ordered a modern hot pink chair that will sit in front of the desk. At first, I thought I could get away without having an extra chair in the room but when my children visit they always drag a chair in from the other room then plop down so they can jabber away. Mr. Style does the same thing. Point taken! Directly across from the desk are three inexpensive white bookcases that house my shoe collection.

How about some closet organization tips? Here we go.

Organize by category.

Organize clothes by category – skirts, pants, sweaters, blouses, jeans – arrange pieces by item and color so you can see exactly what you own. The same holds true for shoes. Hang sleeveless dresses or shirts first, short sleeves then long sleeves.

Stack foldables.

Jeans, sweaters, scarves, lingerie are all items that I fold then stack on the shelf. Arrange cedar strips or mothballs on your shelves to prevent moths from snacking on your cashmere or wool sweaters. Jeans are folded lengthwise and layered one on top of the other. Chinos and leather leggings too.

Lingerie is organized by color, size, and type. These are folded and tucked inside lingerie storage units. Place a linen sachet inside for a special treat.

Upgrade your hangers.

Who else remembers the movie line “No wire hangers!” Well, we don’t have to be quite as obsessed as Joan Crawford but I would advise upgrading your closet hangers. It’s a simple style trick that will extend the life of your clothes. And it gives uniformity. Whether you prefer thin velvet hangers, Joy Mangano huggable hangers, or wood hangers, there is a hanger for you. Don’t forget space-saving stackable skirt or pant hangers.

Shoes, scarves, hats, and handbags.

Store your shoes and handbags where you can see them. Use clear shoeboxes or better yet store them on closet shelves or a bookcase. Right toe out left toe in is a space-saving technique. I like my handbags out of their dustbags and visible. Out of sight out of mind happens if I don’t! Hatboxes are perfect for storing hats with the larger ones resting on top. Scarves are color-coded, folded and stacked.

[laoisem17]

The most amazing man I know... My inspiration

My Grandad, formally known as ‘Gdad’ is 88 come April 19th 2017. He battled cancer, on the verge of passing, having been in ICU for months, losing a lot of muscle mass and the use of his legs, at 82 he was more determined than ever.... to get back on the tennis court. 

Yes, the tennis court. He didn’t just want to survive his ordeal to live an ordinary life, no, he fought through so that at 86 he could go on to be Ireland’s over 80′s doubles champion in tennis, 2015. He plays tennis at least twice a week in rain, hail or snow. 

Now, watching an over 80′s tennis match isn’t extremely exciting, it’s like watching it in slow motion. Gdad even said himself after a league match that took place in torrential rain, he was asked why they continued playing while all other matches paused to step inside to resume after it had passed,

He explained: “If we were to remove ourselves from the court, we’d use most of our energy, we’d never get to finish the match”

Although gdad takes his tennis VERY serious, he is very quick with witty/comedic answers. 

Unfortunately, gmom slowly started to lose her mind and soon enough was diagnosed with dementia. Gmom hallucinated different scenarios, went back in time to when she was a child and started to hide things. Although dementia is an illness that, when it takes over, is upsetting for all those around, gdad always managed to see the comedic side of things. 

One day gmom was attending the kitchen for a cup of tea, where gdad was enjoying the paper. Gmom conversed with gdad explaining that there was someone living in her bathroom (not something anybody would appreciate),

Gdad answered: ”Well I hope they’re paying rent”

Another day Aunty Joan, my great aunt (mom’s sister) who happens to be a nun - therefore refer to her as ‘sister’ - who also happens to have dementia, rang the house to speak to gmom. Gdad tells how the conversation is always very short and consists of,

“Yes, sister” 

“Thank you, sister”

As if this nun has rang just to wish gmom well, when in actual fact it’s her actual sister. They converse and don’t take notice of what the other one is saying or understand why they are saying what they are, they don’t even know who’s on the other end of the phone. 

It strikes me as if putting 2 babies, who can’t string words, together and they natter away to each other, but more-so to themselves, and they jabber at each other simultaneously, then separately, then not at all and they may mimick each other, but they don’t really understand what’s going on. 

As well as comedic and witty, gdad keeps up-to-date with every aspect of living. He has his iPhone which contains snapchat, whatsapp, instagram and different apps (he loved car surfer). He has his iPad which he face times us on, reads the paper, watches mass and sometimes (when he’s out of the house) Netflix, but he has his apple TV for Netflix at home. 

Gdad loves Netflix. Keeping up-to-date with all the war series and films that are on it, but also taking interest in the new shows. Gdad exceeds expectations everyday, some days you remember he’s 88 but conversing with him you realise he's a 14 year old in an 88 year old’s body - he’s Benjamin Button, but going the opposite way.

We were out for dinner at the Eden, like we do every sunday, and we always discuss new and exciting Netflix programmes. Gdad starts talking about this programme he started watching that is so depressing, these 5 people in small clear boxes, together, kill themselves over-and-over again and it’s not going anywhere after several episodes. I had realised I had finished something similar recently - The OA. 

Yes, gdad had watched up to episode 6 of The OA. 

Another one he discussed which had a lot of vindictive behaviour and sexual content, Shameless. He shared the insides of the show with me that relayed to something along the lines of ‘Gossip Girl’ meets ‘Pretty Little Liars’, but mainly he shared this with me because he was afraid that he would get recommended shows with a lot of sexual content in them, which he had said a few appeared subsequent to watching this already, and I pay for the Netflix.It wasn’t out of interest, it was for the point that I may go onto his Netflix and think “what the hell has he been watching...”.

In the mean time he attempted to watch ‘Narcos’, but he doesn’t like subtitles, he finished the OA and we conversed about the disappointing and controversial ending, ‘The Crown’, gdad liked, Richard only just recommended ‘Peaky Blinders’, so that could be the next discussion. I tried to get him to watch ‘Sons of Anarchy’, but he didn’t like the sound of that. 

Gdad has been to loads of countries - Italy, Germany, the UK, France, Portugal, Spain and then Ireland of course - but he would love to go to Russia. He refuses to get no a flight because he believes it’s too long, but asks us to kindly bring him back photos in the mean time. We wish we could bring him, that and to Wimbledon. 

Richard and I are going to Rome in May 2017, so I asked Gdad had he ever been, and of course he had. He went with Jennifer and gmom. They saw a lot of monuments such as the Trevi Fountain, The colosseum, The Spanish Steps,  and a few other places. He met the pope essentially, in the Vatican City. He explained its beauty, architecture and that the food is devine (even though he only likes steak - burnt - and chips). I couldn’t wait to go.

Gdad filled me in about what it was like to live after the 1916 rising, and during World War II, smuggling bread and stockings down from the North of Ireland. He explained how a friend of his, their family home was partly on ROI territory and partly NI territory, so they made a business out of smuggling. He explained the rashens everyone was given in ROI compared to NI during this time. Gdad says he finds war films and books interesting because he lived through it and enjoys reading how people depict it or if they use the correct facts. 

Gdad is an extremely knowledgeable man and someone you could talk to about anything and have an enjoyable conversation. At the Eden we discuss cities, Netflix, history, life etc. etc. 

But sometimes, Gdad gets bored or just for fun plays pranks. When in the Eden before mum and I started chatting to Terry Kennedy. I look around and dad is nowhere to be seen, so I explain I would go open the car for him, presuming he was waiting outside. I travel outside and there is no sign of him, I arrive back in not able to see him anywhere. I see a wave of a hat, and there he is. Gdad decided to hide on me.... 

I don’t think any other 88 year old is as cool and entertaining as gdad, he provides the entertainment.

[joan-of-arceus]

My special little bapby

[winged-lights-and-krill-frights]

Bruh taking pictures on mobile even gets rid of the realm names 😭 These were all supposed to have their titles in the picture! 😤

And even the instrument notes... 😞

I like that it doesn't capture all the other stuff but come on!

[joan-of-arceus]

Designing a Pokesona is so rough because Ceruledge has so many details.... I should see what I can do about simplifying the design for convenience

[winged-lights-and-krill-frights]

*deep breath*

HOOOOOO 😅

I'm back, baby! My account was "deactivated" for a few weeks and I was TERRIFIED that they wouldn't give it back to me. ( And not just this, but my main account too!) But I am alive again ^^

Hooray! 🎉

Anyway, I started an Instagram during my forced hiatus so follow me there for pretty pictures and occasional gameplay updates @/joandoesntplay: