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ladywordsworth · 6 years

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The Wild Hunt: Chapter 1

Gods cross the seas with their folk and start anew in strange lands and skies. just as their people do. When the Irish came over America, they brought with them the Wild Hunt, and in the South, the King found a new people (and perhaps a new queen).

Alma, a runaway slave, finds herself face to face with the King himself.

Alma remembered the sky clear enough that evening so that she could see the gleaming stars shining above her, their dim lights like sprinkles of powdered sugar on a freshly baked cake. And like the sweet aroma of chocolate and vanilla that filled her small quarters whenever her mother would bring her a slice of cake from the kitchen, the scent of pine and earth soothed her as she bolted through the woods.

She would not make it out alive though. It was very much a matter of time.

Time until exhaustion took what little strength she had left; until she was showered in the back with bullets; until the dogs finally caught up to her and tore her to shreds. There was no escaping tonight. Not even with the Northern Star casting it’s light down on her.

With the skills her grandmother had taught her, she’d managed to evade the hunt. But her tricks wouldn’t last forever, and the dogs' noses would see past the false scents she laid down and adjust to hers in no time. She would not see the sun rise again, and her world would end tonight, the dome of stars capped for eternity. There was no heaven for her, not even hell. She never believed in any of them. The promise of the former and the threat of the latter never helped her much, only kept her subservient and made her angry enough to lash out on multiple occasions.

Regardless she refused to go down without a fight, hiking her dress up as high as it would go, refusing to let the torn and tattered fabric trip her. She breathed through her nose-steady and even-just like her grandmother had told her. Bare feet bore into the dry gravel, and rough soles braced themselves as they took on the onslaught of sharp rocks and stray thorns. Nevertheless, she kept her head up, biting her lip to stave off the pain and wiping her tears on her shoulder as she ran further into the night. There was no point in crying over miniscule pain. If she broke now than she’d cower when death took her.

The snarling of the pack of dogs had returned now, and she could hear their paws scraping against the dirt and their ears flapping in the wind as they closed in on her. She knew it was impossible to keep them away forever and had tried to buy as much time as possible with her antics. But it wasn’t enough, and the sound of the men’s voices in the distance, calling at her like she was some wild animal, only nailed the point home. There were familiar voices amongst the hunt, the most prominent being that of her master, Mr. McDaniel. It was his wife’s death that she was being sought after for, so she expected no less. Though what she hadn’t expected was his order to call off the dogs.

That only meant one thing. And it seemed that time had very much abandoned her; it was no longer a matter of time, rather a matter of how much life she could keep within her as her body bled out. For like a whip cracking the air, a gunshot shot erupted, and the bullet flew towards her at inconceivable speeds.

----

She had expected a death so quickly that she wouldn’t even have had the chance to scream. That was her master who’d shot the gun after all, his accent was unmistakable, and his marksmanship was the talk of the town. For Adam McDaniel to miss his shot must have meant the world was ending, or something akin to it. But here she was, ruffled and disoriented as a result of her last-minute dodge, but alive. She’d seemed to be a little aways from the party though, as she could no longer hear the dogs nor the men. Alongside that, the ache in her head told her she must have tripped and fallen somewhere.

When she came to fully, she stood on trembling legs and struggled to lift her body. It seemed heavier than normal like she’d just woken up after a week of being ill. Though she bit her lip in the hopes of ignoring the fatigue and getting on with her journey. Only….she had expected to meet her journey’s end moments ago. She ran knowing she would die, ran knowing that at least her death would take the blame off of another. But she hadn’t died. And stranded in the middle of the deep South, she didn’t know what to do.

In fact, one quick glance at her surroundings told her that she was completely lost. A ghostly mist seemed to seep into the shallow basin of earth she’d fallen into, and visibility more than a few feet ahead seemed impossible. Alma looked up in hopes that the stars would lead her out of this mess but was shocked to find that the trees had been so tall they’d blocked them off.

She hated to admit it, but she was scared. Whereas she’d been preparing herself for an expected death, this seemed altogether unnatural and unfamiliar.

Still, though, she hiked her skirt up once more and made her way up the shallow walls and into the top of the clearing, hoping she’d perhaps find some familiar ground when she was higher. But with fog this thick, at night especially, the hopes of finding anything was squashed. Nevertheless, she began her slow trek through the woods, moving slower than she had before but keeping a reasonable speed.

---

It seemed like it was hours before she actually saw something other than trees and fog, and it came to her in the form of a dim, orange light in the distance. While the sensible part of her, the part that registered she was an escaped slave deep in the south, told her to run, the other part yearned to go towards the light, and free herself of this seemingly endless prison. And again her better judgment, she called out in joy, only to bite her tongue moments later.

Not feet in front of her stood Adrian McDaniel, the look of utter shock plastered on his pale face (at the time, she’d thought it was fury. It wasn’t. It was fear).

She turned and ran, faster than she had before. She ran deep and deep into the fog until not even the trees were visible to her, and the ground turned into smoke underneath her feet. But it was to no avail. Her mother said she would never cheat death. And it seemed that death would come soon, as the ground began to shake furiously with the weight of hooves bearing down into it. It had to have been at least a dozen horses, for their force caused the earth to tremble with fury, and all at once the night sounded as if hundreds of smiths had stricken their anvils repeatedly. An assortment of grunts and neighs from the horse filled her ears, and in the not so far distance the yelps and howls of dogs followed after.

It didn’t take long for the party to catch up to her again, and this time they were so close she could feel the hot breath of the horse on her neck, could feel the gloved hands of the hunter fisting her hair. In the last resort, she threw her hands behind her in an attempt to shove the assailant off. However, she was shocked to find that she was met with absolutely no resistance, only the air and fog behind her.

Yet she could still hear the horse and the dogs and felt the ground moving as if the party was all around her.

But she could see nothing.

She turned her head to and fro frantically, fist clenching at her sides, and heart running a million miles. This wasn’t a matter of the fog obscuring her vision as it had before, there was truly nothing here.

“Are you lost, miss?” A deep, accented voice called behind her

Alma jumped so quick and so high that she thought she’d just walked over hot coals, and the yelp that followed afterward would make anyone think she had. And it certainly was loud, for the birds that slept in the trees above awoke with a flutter of feathers and array of coos. Alma gazed up in alarm though. Where on Earth did they come? She hadn't even heard them when her master had shot at her, and that was loud. Not only that, but they were such a vast array of colors, some not even native to the south. ]

“They’re apart of the hunt, you see.”

Now she turned around, part of her expecting to be met with nothing but the cool, dark mist. But she wasn’t. For in front of her stood a very tall horse, darker than the night itself though adorned with dim spots that had a slight resemblance to the stars. Sitting on the saddle was a man dressed in even darker clothes, his trousers, and jacket so black they seemed to suck up the light around them. His skin was so pale that it was almost translucent, and if Alma looked hard enough she could see the fog right through it as if she were looking at a window. His hair was of the same manner, though it was red like Master McDaniel’s. Alma had almost thought it was him too, given the accent.

At the foot of the horse stood two rather large dogs on either side, their fur a dirty, tumbled grey. They looked like mops that’d been left out in the sun and had tried badly, though their amber eyes were kind and welcoming. And one look at the dark-clad rider showed a similar expression in his blue eyes.

“You’re a mighty brave girl, Alma,” the man spoke, his deep voice soothing as honey, “I’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

“Sir?” She asked, surprised that she had managed to find her strength in light of this strange phenomenon.

“I watched you since you were first born.” He explained, and through his red beard, she could see the beginnings of a smile, “watched you teach yourself to read. Watched you help the others too…”

She cut him off with a confidence she didn’t think she had, certainly not when it came to a man such as himself. But with every second she spent in this world, she found a new sense of strength.

“I don’t understand. How have you been watching me, Sir? This is the first time I’ve seen you.”

“I am the King of the Hunt, and the animals are under my dominion.” He waved his hand as if to exaggerate his point, “that pig you let free was a trusted member of my party. The rabbit you refused to kill as well. I have many animals as my companions, and they go as they choose. But regardless I see all.”

“I have seen what you have done since you’ve been a child, and have seen what you have done tonight.” Now he extended his hand, and through some unexplainable force, Alma was inclined to grab it. The events from that evening played in her mind with such a ferocity that she nearly fell back. Her cousin murdering the mistress for threatening to kill his brother, Alma taking the blame for it in an attempt to save him, and running when her master had doubted whether she’d done it or not. Anything to pin the action on her.

“You took the blame for another, and might have just saved his life.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, “and you have run until you could run no more. Given your life, even.”

Now that was strange. She ran, definitely, especially until she could run no more. But given her life? She was still living. She simply fell.

“Sir, I’m--” He withdrew his hand slowly, making a waving motion in the direction behind her. Alma looked turned, her brow raised in confusion as she looked into the fog. Only this time there was no fog, and for a second she believed she was finally free of the neverending maze of dark and shadows. She moved forward, only to stop midstep when her gaze fell on something before her.

“Is that me?” It was all she could say, all emotion completely gone from her voice. How was one to react when they stood feet away from their dead body, bleeding out on the grass?

“It is.” Spoke the King, waving his hand once more, so that they were thrown back into the eternal darkness.

Alma had expected to meet her end. Death had been the compromise for her cousin's life. She supposed that’s why she wasn’t surprised. If this was truly the afterlife than it was no bother. She had her eternal darkness, just as she had assumed. Though she’d never once heard of a ‘King of the Hunt’ in the afterlife. Certainly not a slave master looking kinda man.

“So if this is the After Life, are you supposed to be...Jesus? You certainly look like how the white people draw him.”

Now the man cackled, his voice bellowing around the forest. It was contagious, and even Alma found herself snickering.

“I am the King of the hunt, as I have said before. And I would be honored if you would join my party.” He extended his gloved hand once more. “Your courage is an admirable trait, and would make an excellent addition to my people.”

Alma took it with little hesitation, for what was one supposed to do when they had died? This was simply the next step, she supposed. And she found it, she did not like eternal darkness. It terrified her.

She probably should have asked questions though, and her mother would have scolded her had she known shed accepted help from a white man she’d never met before. But something was different about this man, something about his world was different. She trusted him in a way she never had before.

The King smiled a gleaming smile, and it seemed all the forest smiled with him.

It happened quickly, a change about her soul. She could only describe it as a passing thought as if she’d closed her eyes and instead of the blacks of her lids, she was met with the appearance of a small, brown rabbit.

“Welcome Alma McDaniel to the Wild Hunt.” He spoke loudly as if speaking to an audience she could not see, “As a member of my party you will walk as both a woman and an animal, changing form when you deem proper, and granting the power to those whom you choose. You will receive dominion over the Earth and all her secrets in time.”

Then he smiled again, the expression reaching his kind eyes.

“May you have the speed of the stars and the grace of the moon. And may you bring into my hunt others with caliber much like your own.”

All at once, the animals of the hunt sounded off for their new sister. And slowly, they drowned out into very lively human voices, their accents, and mannerisms from all walks of life.

---

She woke on the ground, and around her, the sun peeked through the trees and a warm, morning mist filled the air. Alma jerked up with a start, looking around in shock as she searched for the King. She wondered if it all had been a dream, for the land was absent of the fog that had obscured her vision, and all traces of the man and his horse had gone.

Then she felt a pain in her side, and within seconds she noticed a pool of blood next to her and laying in it as clear as day was a silver bullet. She picked up the small metal to examine it, her dark skin staring back at her through the reflection. That’s when she noticed it. Right beside the puddle where small tracks.

Rabbit tracks.

Alma drew herself to full height, hissing at the pain in her side, but realizing it was mainly healed (save for the small mark that marred her ebony skin).

Now she stood, unsure of how to do it. Yet she’d done what she’d done before, so that meant she could do it again. Closing her eyes, she’d visualized the rabbit, just like she’d done in that world.

The world grew larger and her body shrunk. Alma didn’t have to use a mirror to see what she was. The whiskers and the smell was enough.

Now it was time to return to the plantation. He’d called her courageous for a reason, and with her new power, she was only getting started.

She had a family to save.

The Wild Hunt in mythology refers to a hunt of the dead. In fae-lore it might refer to a fae court. Alma is mixed with Irish from her mother, who works in the house because she is light skinned. But Alma herself has incredibly dark skin, and is/was a field hand!

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heartsofstrangers · 6 years

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What is the most challenging thing you’ve experienced or are currently experiencing?

“Wow, there are so many over the course of my lifetime, from being a single parent to freaking out about successfully navigating through single-parenthood in the face of so many challenges that kids face today, especially little boys. But I will probably say the most recent thing that’s been challenging was the death of my friend Linda. She died January 11, 2015. We went through the fire academy together back in 1997 and we became fast friends. We discovered that our kids played together before we even knew each other, because I lived on one street and her mom lived a little bit further up the block across the street, so the kids would run back and forth and play.

“We were in a class in the academy of 55 people, and we were the only two black women, so we immediately bonded and clicked. Then we bonded and clicked with the other two women in the class. From there, Linda went on to be a paramedic. I thought about that road, but it was just too much. It was like two years of class that I wasn’t willing to, at that point, sacrifice for, so we continued our careers together and separately, on the department, because there were times that we’d work together.

“But man, I mean, 17 years of friendship. When she died, it was like—people pass all the time. It’s an eventuality. You expect people to die at some point, but she was cut down in her prime, and that was devastating, especially because we were so close during the academy and the subsequent years 16 years. That was challenging.

“I remember I found out that she died that Sunday morning, and then I had to go to work the next day, and I was dreading it. I wanted to call out, but I didn’t want to get in trouble for calling out, so I just went. My shift was very sensitive—surprisingly, because firefighters are sort of rough and ‘get over it’—but that was the first challenge.

“The next day, Linda’s father called me and asked me if I would plan her funeral service. When her son passed away in 2008, I was talking to them the day after, because he was only 18—again, cut down in his prime—and I asked her what she was going to do. And she was like, ‘About what?’ And I said, ‘Linda, what are you gonna do about Brendan’s service?’ And she looked at me, and a single tear rolled down her cheek, and that’s when I knew, you know what, I need to help her do something. I ended up doing the entire thing, and her family was so appreciative and so grateful, so when her dad called me and asked me to do hers too, I’m like, tough, but okay.

“So that whole week was such a flurry of activity, it was amazing. I mean, calls from the governor’s office, because Senator Blumenthal wanted to come, and please be sure you have a seat in the dignitary section; the Red Cross called. To this day I still have no idea where they got my number from—they set up like a mobile van outside, out in front of the church, and they were passing out coffee, hot chocolate, and tea to people waiting to come into the service. It was amazing. Linda’s family got a police escort pretty much from the time they got up in the morning until after the repass. AMR shadowed them with an ambulance from, like, seven or eight in the morning until after the repass. It was just amazing. It was amazing to see how many people came together, and how many people offered services, help, food, all kinds of stuff which you couldn’t even imagine. It was just crazy.

“And then dealing with the aftermath, because then the news reports came about what the medical examiner had determined Linda’s cause of death was, which I never accepted, because it just didn’t feel right. It didn’t seem right to me. When you know somebody when you know that you know them, and then to be told that, okay, this is what happened—I just didn’t accept it, and I think that’s part of why I’m still unsettled about her death, because you still feel like you don’t have much of a sense of closure.

“It’s still challenging. My grandmother always teaches me that there’s a silver lining in every cloud, things happen for a reason, so since then, I’ve been trying to figure out what the hell the reason is—why? Because it makes no sense.

“I do know that doing this job for this many years sort of desensitizes you a little bit, because you see so much and you compartmentalize so much and you’re taught to not become emotionally involved, which is hard sometimes. I’ve had women who have had stillborn children, I’ve delivered babies—there’s ups and downs, and you’ve got to take the bitter with the sweet. I’m still struggling with why. So far the only thing I can think of is that after I got past the initial hurt and shock of Linda going, I think I got a great deal of sensitivity back, because if you told me, oh, I met somebody and we’re getting married, the me before that would have been like, ‘Oh that’s great, Corey. Congratulations,’ but now I’m like, ‘Oh my God, that’s incredible for you!’ It’s deeper, or more connected. It’s different. Really, really different.

“Dealing with all of that, and work, and because I work in the firehouse that she worked at before she ended up at her last firehouse, there are memories of her everywhere. There’s this wall in the firehouse where there are 8x10 pictures of everybody who’s retired, and they put one up there of Linda, too, so I see her often. That’s probably the most challenging thing recently that I’ve had to navigate through, and I’m still working on it.”

How have you processed the grief of losing her? Were there different stages?

“Well, I think initially, I was so busy planning her funeral that I had to push all that aside. In the week it happened, it was do or die. I had so many things to organize and plan and execute. The calls never stopped. So, between dealing with her family and having the family meetings to find out what they wanted, versus what was in my ability to do, versus what city agencies were offering to do things—it was busy. I remember putting a post on Facebook that actually came up in my memories not long ago, like, listen, I have given so much of myself in these last two weeks, I’m shutting down. Please don’t call me for anything. Don’t ask me for anything. I just can’t right now.

“I think I probably still haven’t dealt with it all the way. I don’t know why, but I guess I feel like if it don’t fit, don’t force it; let things evolve and unfold as they unfold or evolve. Life is busy, and you just feel like you spent all your life being strong; it’s hard to put that down. It’s very hard to put that down and face your own weakness and your own vulnerability. That’s very hard. Very, very difficult. That’s also a struggle right now, an everyday struggle.”

How do you find balance between keeping yourself detached from the trauma and the things you must see and deal with at work and also being human and letting some of that seep in and processing some of that? Is there a way of burying it to absorb some of it to some extent?

“Yeah, I mean, my job isn’t as sensational, like Ladder 49ish or Backdraft-ish, as people sometimes think it is. I blame the media for that, but that’s a whole other story. Most of the time, it’s routine and mundane. It’s basic stuff like, ‘I’m having chest pains, difficulty breathing,’ which doesn’t really affect you. It’s when you see somebody lose everything that you feel bad, or if you see somebody lose their life, or a really bad car accident. I don’t really know what I do to balance it. I would probably say that I pay more attention to myself, because when bad things happen at work, like really, really bad—I would probably say that children dying tops my list. Easy.

“I remember, years ago, Linda and I were working out of the Howard Avenue firehouse, and one of the calls we got around three o’clock that day came in as a fall victim at a school. So we go, and en route we get an update that whoever fell is now unconscious. We get there and it’s a little kid, like seven or eight years old, and, as it turns out, he’s in cardiac arrest. We have the stress of trying to help this little kid combined with the stress of his mom not speaking English combined with the stress of a whole wall of teachers watching me and Linda, plus school buses full of kids because it was dismissal time, watching us do CPR on this poor little boy.

“As it turned out, he had a congenital heart problem, but we didn’t know that. It wouldn’t have changed our protocols or anything, but it’s just stressful, when little kids die. The elderly, it doesn’t affect you as much, because you feel like they’ve lived a full life, however they went, whether it was intentional or not, they’ve lived a full life. But when it’s children, you feel like they have so much promise and potential. It just sucks. It sucks for the parents. This kid, you never know what they could have been. You really never know.

”Those moments are bad for me because you never know how it’s going to manifest or when; I just know that at some point, I’m going to get angry, and I’m going to retreat into myself, and I’m not going to want to be bothered with anything or anybody, and you just have to wait for it to pass. In a weird way, it’s kind of like PMS: you know it’s coming, but you brace yourself, like, okay, it’s coming, it’s coming. I can feel perfectly normal after a pediatric code and then, the next day, a day later, three days later, I feel it coming. I can’t even describe it. It’s like a cloud, a curtain, this crazy mood where you’re just angry, and I’m not gonna say angry for no reason, because you know what the reason is, but why am I angry about this? Why? Just why?

“It’s crazy. It’s a crazy trip to go on, and I don’t know if the rest of my work family is affected like I am, but I think I’d probably be affected even if I didn’t have kids, just because you’re human and, again, the guys are all yeah, it’s gonna be okay, don’t worry about, but I suspect that they probably feel things deeper than they let on, and I’m just not one of those people who will hide it. I’ve actually been sent home after pediatric calls, because my officer was like, ‘Yeah, nope, you’re not fit to work. Chief, Erika is going home. We just had a bad call. Send somebody else.’ At that point, it was close to shift change. We only had another hour, so I’m like, ‘Don’t worry about it, I can just hang out until it’s time to go home.’ But he was like, ‘No, I don’t want you here. I want you to go home and chill.’

“The worst thing about those calls is that people don’t understand. When you have stuff that you’re trying to get across to people and they don’t understand—that’s one of the things we were taught in the academy, that when emotional things happen at work, and you go to try and talk to your mother, father, spouse, whoever, people aren’t gonna understand. That’s one of the truest things we ever learned, because I’ve tried to talk to my mom or somebody close to me, whom you trust—like, ‘listen, Mom, we had a bad call at work today,’ without revealing details because of HIPAA. In general, people whom I’ve talked to have been like, ‘Oh, it’s okay, it’s just one day. Get over it.’ It’s like, you don’t understand what I just went through, and it’s hard to make people understand, and that’s why, I think, that firefighters have such a unique bond over any other profession, because we go through a lot of emotional stuff together, and nobody understands except for another firefighter, because they’ve been there. And if they haven’t been there, they’re going to be there eventually.

“That’s probably the biggest challenge—who do you talk to when you need to get things off your chest? Because if you don’t, you’re gonna implode. You can’t internalize stuff like this, because you’re gonna end up a freaking mass murderer, or lose your mind. It’s really, really tough. I used to not have stress on the job, but after years and years and years, especially when you can’t say what you really want to say to people, when they call you for like the fourth or fifth time in two days with the same nondescript, non-emergency situations, it’s frustrating. It’s very, very frustrating.

“The sad part is that so many people don’t have primary care doctors. So many people don’t have regular healthcare, so we basically become their HMO. You have people go, ‘Oh, well, can you just give me breathing treatment and leave?’ No! We can’t do that. If you have asthma, you need to go to the hospital. We can’t just treat you and leave. That’s crazy! Or, ‘Oh, well I just wanted my blood pressure taken. Can you take my blood pressure and then go?’ No. Because if it’s high, then we need to do something. We can’t just leave you, because you’re leaving yourself open for a heart attack or stroke or any number of things.

“That’s part of, sadly, the human condition, too—that people feel like they don’t have any other alternative than to call an emergency service with routine issues, which is frustrating because we’re taught to deal with emergencies, deal with emergencies, deal with emergencies, and then we get there, and there’s no emergency, it’s like, ‘Okay, my adrenaline is here. Now what do I do with all of it?’ That’s challenging, but I guess you get used to it over the years.”

Do you have outlets outside of your job that help you to release some of that stress, some of the energy that you take in?

“Sometimes. I have my dogs. I adopted Brody the month after Linda died. I actually drove to Brooklyn to get her, because the family that put her up for adoption was moving someplace where they couldn’t have a dog anymore. I ended up with Esmerelda the August after that. They’ve been great therapy.

“I have had therapists in the past, but I don’t know, I feel like maybe it works, maybe it doesn’t, but to sit there and pay your co-pay just to have somebody agree with everything you say? I don’t want that. Like, provoke me. Make me think. Keep me on my toes. Don’t just sit there and agree with me. I could do that anywhere. I’ve also been told that you have to find a therapist where you have chemistry. That’s exhausting. Who has time for that? That’s like dating. Like, ‘Oh I’m gonna date this person and see if they have chemistry. No, next!’ I don’t have that energy. I’d like to be able to do that, but I don’t have the energy for that. I did do counseling through my job. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it; it’s called EAP. I did it through EAP and, again, I just felt like I was sitting there and he was agreeing with everything I said. I went the required amount of time—I think it was like three times—and I just didn’t feel any better or worse for the experience, so I was like eh, whatever.

“Besides my dogs, music is an outlet. I like to sing. Karaoke is a fun thing for me. I don’t get to go all the time because of my work schedule, but when I do, that’s always fun. Other than that, probably reading, because I have a ton of stuff on my Kindle that I haven’t even gotten to yet, but life is busy. The last thing is probably community service. I like working with kids, and I do a lot of fire safety stuff, career days at high schools, even as little as nursey schools, because they’re a lot of fun. That’s pretty much all that comes immediately to mind as far as outlets.”

Has there been anything in your life that has prepared you somehow for the experience of losing your friend or some of the challenges you’ve faced in your job?

“Yeah. I grew up in church. My grandmother, my mom, we grew up in the Christian faith, so probably relying and thinking back to all of those lessons you were taught when you were a kid—like everything happens for a reason, do unto others as you would have them do unto you—and just feeling that whatever happens, if you have faith and pray about it, whatever it is, is going to be okay. Every time I talk to my mom or grandmother: ‘I’m praying for you, I’m praying for you, I’m praying for you.’ And I’m like, listen, I need all the prayers I can get; keep ’em coming. You never know what’s gonna happen, from day to day, shift to shift, call to call, you never know.

“In my first four years on the job, we had a call in Fairhaven Heights, and we pulled up and there was this young guy laying on the ground. He was shot, through his ear. There was another guy—I guess it was his friend—there, and he literally threatened to shoot us if we let his friend die. Stressful. Stressful. When I glanced back, he did have a gun in his waistband. I think that’s why it’s important for me to do community service, and why it’s important that my mom and grandmother pray for me, because a lot of people don’t know why we do what we do, and how we do what we do, because when we first got off the engine, the guy was here, the engine is here, but our equipment is on the opposite side, away from the patient, and he saw us get off the engine and walk away, and he’s cussing and screaming, and we’re like, we have to get our equipment. Give us a second.

“We’re taught in the academy that, if you’re in a rush, you make mistakes faster; if you run, you fall faster. So you take your time and make sure you’re always part of the solution and that you don’t become part of the problem. The community service is big. It’s important because people literally don’t know. I couldn’t even tell you how many times somebody has asked me, ‘Oh, how come there’s an engine and ambulance at so-and-so street?’ After a certain time in the late ’80s, early ’90s, you had to be an EMT, so everybody on the job is either an EMT or a paramedic. It’s a job condition. They help you maintain it over the years with refresher courses and that kind of thing.

“Besides my faith in God and my mother and my grandmother who always pray for me, there are other people who lend their support. It helps to know that people, even though you may not realize it—and that’s the crazy part, you may not realize it—that there are other people who support you, but then you find out in crazy ways. I have a friend who lives in New York, and she’s a paraprofessional, like a teacher. She sent me an inbox on Facebook last week, and she was saying how she had a little boy who was eight years old and he had a bad day. So she pulled him aside and she was trying to get him back to center. She asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, and he said, ‘Oh, I want to be a firefighter.’ So she said, ‘Oh, you do? I know somebody who’s a firefighter, and she’s female.’ And she said his eyes lit up. So she went on Facebook and showed him some pictures of me at work. She inboxed me and it made me feel so good. They live in New York and I’m here, but I can still be a positive influence on some little kid who’s having a bad day, which is awesome. We were actually supposed to video call, because I called her the next day or the day after, and I told her, I said, ‘If you can video call while I’m work, I’ll take him on a virtual tour of the firehouse,’ which would have been awesome except we figured out that her school has interceptors that shut down the wi-fi or interrupt the signal, so nobody at school can go on social media or the web or anything. We’re trying to figure out a way around that. But I was able to talk to him on the phone, and he was excited about that, so we’ll deal with that for now.”

Did 9/11 change your job in any way?

“Absolutely. You know how they say that everybody knows where they were when big things happen? I was actually off that day. All of my kids were in school, and I was talking to somebody on the phone, and I don’t remember who it was, but they were like, ‘Oh my God,’ and they got quiet. So I was like, what? And they said, ‘Erika, turn on the TV.’ So I turn on the TV, and I’m seeing the first plane hit the tower, and I’m like, holy shit, is this real? Is this serious? My first reaction was that I wanted my kids home with me, because nobody knew what was going on or what was going to happen next. Just the uncertainty and the fear of the unknown. So I went to get my kids and brought them home and we talked about it; I made sure they were okay and didn’t have any freakouts or fears, anxiety over what had happened.

“As far as my job, I’m aware that a lot of my coworkers grabbed their gear and went to New York to try to lend their assistance, which is understandable, but eventually all of the area departments got letters from the fire commissioner’s office in New York saying to not come unless we ask for you, because it was hard to keep count of everybody, from an accountability standpoint, when you have random firefighters showing up. It was hard to organize, hard to keep track, hard to delegate and figure out what was what. That was one of the things.

“The other thing was that, after 9/11, we all ended up having identifiers on our gear, because before that, nobody had their name on their coat. From what I understand, one of the problems with 9/11 was that, by the time they found everybody, they were so advanced in decomposition that it was hard to identify who was who, because they didn’t have their names on their coats, either. Accountability is big. We have tags for accountability, so everybody knows these four people are on this engine, these four people are on this truck, these six people are on the squad, these two people are on the emergency unit, that kind of thing.

“We also have continuing education, as far as refresher courses and training. We’re responsible for a certain number of training classes every month. I think those are probably the two biggest ways that 9/11 changed us.”

What about drug overdoses? Is that something that you ever get?

“Absolutely. As a matter of fact, I don’t know if you know this, but the fire department just started a program. We carry Narcan now for heroin/opioid overdoses. I haven’t been aware of a rash of them, recently, but this past summer, it was crazy. There were heroin overdoses everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. It’s really, really unfortunate. It’s sad to see people in that state. I think there’s a news report about a couple who overdosed with a little boy in the back of the car. That stuff is heartbreaking, because the kid didn’t ask for that. Stuff like that is distressing. I’ve had overdoses where the person is literally in traffic, at an intersection, with the car running, in gear, with their foot on the brake. It’s scary. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve opened a door, reached in to put the car in park, and turned the car off, hoping they don’t start beating the crap out of me. It’s kind of like sneaking into the house when you don’t want to wake your parents. First you knock on the window—nothing? Okay. Then you open the door. Hopefully it’s open and you don’t have to break it.

“When people are under the influence, they’re sort of unpredictable. They’re in between conscious and awake, and they see strangers; they don’t know how to react, and that’s not their fault. Everything we do, we try to do with safety in mind. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes people wake up and get violent. Sometimes they don’t regain consciousness until we help them. It’s a crap shoot.”

What would you say the demographic is of calls you’ve responded to for opioid overdoses?

Oh, it’s very varied. All walks of life. Sometimes it comes in forms you don’t expect. I’ve had calls at federal office buildings where an employee was huffing and ended up passing out, so they called 9-1-1, and somebody else pulls me aside and says, ‘Look, they’ve been da-da-da-da,’ and that’s important information, because in order for us to be as effective as we can in treating them, we need to know exactly what happened. If you’re unconscious, we don’t know if it’s just because you fainted, if you had a seizure, if you’re diabetic—there are so many reasons why somebody could be unconscious on the floor. The more information we have, the better it is for them, because then we can target our treatment to the problem rather than guessing and troubleshooting until we figure it out on our own.”

Do you have a hard time shifting from your role as a firefighter to a civilian?

“Yes. But I’ve learned over the years that anonymity, for me, is important. Somebody tagged me in something on Facebook, just last night, and they looked like Chuck Taylors, like runners, and they had this big firefighter emblem on the side—like, I’m a firefighter. No, I don’t want any of that. I don’t wear anything identifying me as a firefighter on my off-time. When you give so much of yourself to the city and to your job—because not only do we do fire stuff, we do EMT stuff, we’re responsible for all of our housekeeping at the firehouse, there are training classes, we’re checking hydrants, there’s all kinds of stuff that’s going on—when I’m in my off time, that’s selfish time for me. You won’t catch me wearing anything. This is the only thing that I’ll wear, my little badge here from the fire department, because other than that, I don’t want to be bothered. I don’t want the questions—except for you, Corey—because people are like, ‘Oh, you’re a firefighter? Do you know this person? Do you know…’ Yeah, I know ’em all, but they still want to name everybody that they know. The unfortunate part of that is that, usually, who they know, ‘oh they’re a good guy,’ but they’re a jerk at work. Then I have to fake it, like, ‘oh, yeah, I know who you’re talking about.’

“But yeah, I enjoy my anonymity because—and I hate to draw this similarity—but it’s almost like being a celebrity, being famous, because when people know what you do, they always want to talk to you. They want to know the worst call you’ve ever been on or the best call, and you feel like you’re under a microscope and you’re being interviewed all the time.

“The other thing is that the transition going from work to a social event—I’m not good at that, at all. It’s very hard for me to leave work after a ten-hour day or fourteen-hour night and transition directly into go home, shower, get dressed in regular clothes, and go out somewhere. That’s extremely difficult for me, and I find that my experience is lessened because of it. I don’t know what has to happen in that time, but there has to be some sort of decompression. I still haven’t figured out what works for me best except for just staying home—not that I have to stay home all night, but going from one to the next to the next to the next with no break doesn’t work for me. I could be more of social introvert or almost have borderline social anxiety just because I need to decompress. I need a few hours. I don’t expect people to understand it, but I do expect people to respect it.”

It sounds like self-care. It’s important maintaining that level of—

“I just feel weird. I feel rushed and weird, and it’s just strange. I don’t even know how to describe it. If you say, ‘Hey, Erika, I have this event at six o’clock,’ I’d say, ‘Listen, Corey, I won’t see you there until eight or nine, if it’s still going on.’ Going at that fast pace, back to back, I can’t. It doesn’t work for me. I tried it. I ended up sitting in the corner, looking around, because people don’t realize how social being a firefighter is. You’re working in your close-knit crew. You’re either working with nine or three people, and my firehouse is not a double house but we do have a paramedic unit, so I’m working with five people. I’m talking to them all day about calls, about work, about whatever, about training, so you’re being so social for ten or fourteen hours, so when you come home, it’s like, I don’t have to be social now; I can just chill.

“Even when I was a 9-1-1 dispatcher, you spend your entire shift talking. Whether you’re talking on the radio to the officers, the firefighters, or you’re talking to administrative staff, or the chiefs are calling in, talking to utility companies, all these different things, when you get home, it’s like, okay cool. When I was a 9-1-1 dispatcher, I wouldn’t talk on the phone when I was home. I didn’t want to be bothered. Texting was awesome. You don’t want to talk. You just want to shut down and be still. It becomes very, very difficult.

“You do become like a family at some point with your coworkers—you fight like family, you make up, you cook together, all that kind of thing—and then you have to be social with the public. Even something as simple as backing the engine into the firehouse—people will come up to you, or honk and wave, or they want to pull over and ask questions, ask to bring their class over. It’s a very, very social job. Sometimes you don’t realize how social it is until you’re home, and it’s quiet. I used to have my children home with me and that was more social, but now that I’m home and living alone—ah, peace and quiet.”

You mentioned in the beginning of this interview that one of your challenges was being a single mom of little boys. What were some of the obstacles, or some of the fears, that you experienced with that?

“Oh wow. Well, when I started the academy, my kids were eight, five, and four, which was tough, because the academy was eight to four, Monday to Friday. We got beat up, big time. We ran five or six miles every morning, and then we did yard work and were climbing ladders; everything was super-duper physical. You come home exhausted, but you still have these three little boys looking at you like, ‘Hey Mom, what’s for dinner?’ That was challenging.

“Balancing them versus the academy, and still making time for my studies, was difficult. We learned hands-on EMT work, hands-on firefighting, but there was also book work. We had tests every week on both so keeping up with studying was tough. I carried my books everywhere. If the boys had a doctor’s appointment, I brought my books with me. I read and studied wherever I was. My mom needed a ride to the grocery store? I’d park and study while she was in the store. That’s how I made it through. That was extremely challenging.

“Doing the best that I could to make sure they grew up to be respectful, productive, and valuable members of society was a stress, but going back to my mom and my grandmother, they helped me a lot. The way they raised me—I passed on to my kids. I was able to raise them to be respectful and polite and gentlemen. When I was a kid, I would look at other little kids in the grocery store, falling out in tantrums and calling their mothers bad words, like, woah, are you kidding me? When my sisters and I grew up, respect and being polite and being dainty little kids were ingrained in us, our entire childhoods. So when I would see little kids acting up and talking back and all that, I was determined; in my mind, I kept saying, ‘When I have kids, that’s never going to be my kids.’

“To this day I get complimented on my sons and how respectful and polite and good they are. That makes me happy, to know that even when I’m not with them, they’re conducting themselves as if I am. That’s the best thing ever. The other thing is that when they’re ready to get married and walk down the aisle, I want to be able to stand there as the mother of the groom and look at them and be like, ‘You know what, she’s marrying a good guy.’ That’s all I want from them. So far, so good.”

What advice would you offer to another mother who may be struggling to juggle her career and her children, or even someone who experiences a lot of stress at their job and is struggling finding balance?

“The first thing I’d probably say is: don’t take yourself too seriously. Those are the people that implode. Those are the people that lose it and can’t handle life at all. Don’t ever take yourself too seriously. You have to learn to laugh at certain situations and move on. Like my aunt used to say, ‘Throw it out of your head.’

“As far as balance, don’t let your life completely, 100% revolve around your kids. You have to do something for you, whether you get a massage once or month, or you get your nails done, or you go out and have wine with the girls, have a girls’ night in, whatever it is, you have to do something just for you, that doesn’t revolve around your kids. I used to be that person where, even when my kids were with my mom or their father or somebody else, and I had free time, I felt guilty about it. My kids were my life. Yeah, they are your life, but they can’t be your entire life. You have to figure out whatever it is that you feel like you want to do. Some people like to rock climb, some people go hiking, some people take personal enrichment classes or whatever it is—you have to find something.

“As far as being a successful parent, I have not cornered the market on that, because nobody’s perfect and everybody makes mistakes, but instill a sense of discipline in your children. If a certain behavior is not okay today, it can’t be okay or allowed or overlooked tomorrow. That’s one thing that was tiring, but, in the end, I got the desired result because it kills me when people say, ‘I can’t make little Johnny go to bed before midnight.’ Wait, what? Are you serious? It grates my nerves, because who’s the parent here? I’m having a nervous breakdown in my mind because my boys had an eight o’clock bedtime, every night, even in the summertime when it was still light out, because that’s the way it is. You’re not going to be in school and be sleepy because I was one of those parents.

“When you raise kids, it comes down to a battle of wills—whose is stronger, yours or theirs? As an adult, yours is always going to be stronger; you just have to be willing to put forth the effort consistently. Effort is nothing without consistency. Eight o’clock bedtime tonight, tonight, tonight. Weekends, you get a little more leeway, but on school nights, eight o’clock bedtime. That’s how I raised them. To this day, I think Taylor and Jared are probably the heaviest sleepers whereas Jeremy likes to sleep but not as much as the other two. They still remember those days fondly—not fondly, but they do.”

Has there been a piece of advice or a quote or something that someone shared with you that resonates with you that you might like to share?

“As far as advice, I would probably say: trust yourself and your instincts. And something I said a few minutes ago: don’t take yourself too seriously. Not everything is that deep.”

Is there anything that your grandmother said to you that stuck with you, that you value a lot?

“Probably the most important thing is something I mentioned before, that she prays for me. She’s one of those people who, when she says she’s praying for you, you know it’s 100% legit. She’s one of those people who know how to get a prayer upstairs. That’s probably the most important thing. She has this saying: lay your heart down. That means that, when you have things that are bothering you, or you have stress, lay your heart down—let it go, set it aside, don’t take it so deeply.

“I tell people all the time that the first rule of life is don’t sweat the small stuff. The second rule is: it’s all small stuff. The addendum to that is you never let them see you sweat. Life is challenging. It’s crazy. It’s up and down. It’s lows and highs, and trauma and happiness. It’s a whole bunch of things, but I feel like it’s how you process it, and how you deal with things, that is ultimately going to make the difference in how you can move forward.

“I’ve had friends who have had bad things happen to them at work, and they hold onto it, and they hold onto it, and they hold onto it, because you’re still hearing about it six months later. Well, what are you doing about it? You can’t complain about x, y, z if you’re not doing anything to change it, fix it, or get rid of it. Otherwise, that’s the definition of insanity—you’re doing the same thing over and over again but you’re expecting a different result. It aggravates me when people complain about the same things, week after week after month after month, and they’re not doing anything to change it. It doesn’t make any sense to me, because I’m not a complainer. If I need to fix something or if something’s bothering me, then I do that and move on. What’s the point otherwise? You’re just talking to hear yourself talk and nobody wants to hear that.”

If you had the opportunity to say something to your dear friend Linda, what would you say to her?

“I would say that she would probably be very proud of her immediate family. Even though she’s not here in the physical, I’m happy that she’s reunited with her son. A handful of our coworkers and I are doing whatever we can to keep her memory alive, up to and including these stickers on all of the apparatuses that she was assigned to that say, ‘In Memory of Linda Cohens’ with her date of birth and death and badge number. All of the apparatuses she was assigned to, even the spare ones, have that sticker on them, just to memorialize her.

“The unfortunate thing with death is that everybody camps around when it first happens, but then you sort of forget—on to the next thing after a month or two. That’s why it’s important to keep in touch with Linda’s family. Either they’ll call me to check on me or I’ll call them to check on them—her mom, her dad, her brother, her nieces and nephews. Her father and her brother refer to me as their guardian angel, which I feel is an extremely lofty, undeserved title, because I didn’t do anything that a friend who loves a friend wouldn’t have done. I graciously and humbly accept it.

“But I really, really miss Linda, when things happen at work. ‘I can’t believe it. I need to—damn, she’s not here.’ Some days it doesn’t even feel real still. Did this really happen? It’s crazy. It’s like a huge mind trip. Other days, you feel the weight of that reality. It varies. Some days it doesn’t feel like it’s real and others it’s like, she’s really not here, especially when I work at her firehouse and work in her place. You look around at where she sat, and where her bed was, and all that kind of thing.

“We have these big gear bags and the last firehouse that she was assigned to was Engine 16 on Lighthouse Road, and they have her gear bag hung up in the wall in memorial. I didn’t know that until the last time I worked there. I glanced up because I saw something out of my sideview, and I stood there for a minute and thought about her and went on about my business. Always challenging. We were supposed to do this career together, get through the academy together—because we both said we’re taking it one time because the national registry is tough. They gave us three hours for 100 questions. It was very tough, but it was doable, and we both passed the first time. And that’s how we said we’d do our careers—one and done. We’re not retaking. We’re not re-mediating. We’re going right through our careers and retiring successfully, as in, no injuries, no anything. It just so happened that she retired a little bit before we were ready, in her own way.”

How did Linda’s presence in your life change you?

“Linda was one of the funniest people ever. Even in the academy we were able to keep each other uplifted, encouraged, that kind of thing, and then, on the fire side, after she became a paramedic, I was more of a support system to her, provided her whatever she needed on-scene, helping her do whatever she needed to do. It was a wild ride. Linda was funny as hell, very passionate, she loved her son. He was her only son, so she loved him so much.

“I remember we were both watching in a Freddy Fixer parade years ago, and we were further down on Dixwell Avenue, way before where the Q House used to be, and the parade ended up stopping. We’re standing there for twenty, thirty minutes, and then we got word from further up in the parade that somebody had been shot. I looked at Linda, she looked at me, and we both snatched out our phones, calling our kids, because my sons used to help their grandfather at the parade because he had a barbecue business, so you always worry that something’s going to happen. You pray that it doesn’t, but somehow you’re semi-prepared for an eventuality, which is sad but true.

“Linda was a great support system. We experienced things on this job with each other that I will definitely take to my grave, and she already has. I have not had a relationship with anybody else on the job like I had with her. It’s not that it’s not possible, but you would have to have been there, 19 years ago when all of this craziness unfolded. You make other friends, good working relationships, but not like that. There was just too much trust. The day that I went home and discovered my sons doing things they shouldn’t have been doing, and Linda was there with me—too much stuff. It almost feels like you’re investing and building a history with somebody, and then they go away. It’s almost like somebody took a great big rubber stamp and voided it—how do you just erase 17 years of friendship?

“Linda and I were so tight that people on the job thought that we were together. I found more about myself through rumors on this job—we were together, and we had this hot steamy love affair, and it didn’t help that she was a lesbian, so that sort of fit, but for me, it’s sad that you can’t show love or affection for somebody of the same gender without people making things up or assuming. Not that it hasn’t happened with men too, whom I’ve been close with, but people are amazing. I can’t plan Linda’s son’s funeral service without people thinking there’s an ulterior motive. She and I couldn’t have been close without an ulterior motive. That part was very unfortunate. I did it because she was my friend. Why is it so hard for people to accept that that’s the only reason? There doesn’t have to be some underhanded, mean, evil, sneaky reason. It was what it was.”

If Linda was here for a moment, if she was sitting here right now, what do you think she would say to you?

“Oh boy, I know what she would say. She would probably say that I gave her a kickass funeral, but she always talked really fast, so she would stutter and I would tease her. I would ask her why she talked so fast, and she’d say I listened too slow. That was our constant argument, so she would probably be happy. Linda was also very hyper, so she would probably be bouncing around telling me what a great job I did, and how proud she was of her family and how everyone came together, and she would probably be very excited about the stickers on the fire apparatus. I also have a jacket that I wear at work. I actually bought it from some store, and I had one of the retired guys do some embroidery on it, so it has the fire department crest, down one arm it has all of my assignments, and then on my left shoulder, in the back, it has her initials and her badge number in her favorite color, orange.

“When people found out that she passed, especially in the EMS world, everyone was wearing the black ribbon, which is customary for EMS and fire and police, but when Linda’s mother found out, she was upset. She was like, ‘No, black isn’t Linda’s spirit. Linda was lively,’ so we actually made 300 orange ribbons for her service to give out. I put a memo on Facebook asking for five or six volunteers, meet me at the firehouse, bring your scissors, and we made them. The problem with ribbons at work is that they come off, they get snagged, so I had her embroidered on my left shoulder because I feel like just like she did in life, she has my back in death, too.

“Somebody actually asked me the other day what the initials meant. It was somebody whom we worked with, who should’ve known, and I think I was probably short with him, or snapped at him: ‘It’s Linda! What are you talking about?’ And I just walked away, because I guess sometimes you just feel like, even though it wasn’t intentional, it was kind of like poking at a sensitive spot. Anybody else who’s seen me knows and understands what it is. Maybe he wasn’t thinking—I don’t hold it against him—but sometimes things just hit you in ways that you don’t expect. The trauma of it all is certain, but you don’t know when it’s going to happen, and it always hits you in ways that you don’t expect.

“I was at the grocery store a couple weeks after Linda died, and I was in the self-checkout line. There was this guy behind me. I was picking up whatever I needed for work, so, unfortunately, I was in my uniform, and this guy behind me goes, ‘Oh, you a New Haven firefighter?’ ‘Yeah.’ I’m still feeling in weird spaces—grief, shock, distress, all these things swelling around. And I’m still checking my stuff out. And he goes, ‘Oh, well, did you know Linda?’ So I say yeah, and he starts telling me about how she was found, and all these things that I already knew, but I was hoping that he would just stop talking, because everything that he was saying was bringing me right back there, and that was some place that I was trying to walk away from. I tried to be as polite as possible, but in my mind, internally, I’m screaming. People, I’m sure, mean well, but they don’t understand how their meaning well is not doing you any good at that moment, for whatever reason.

“One thing I’ve learned is that grief is an entirely personal process. Nobody can tell you or dictate to you how you should grieve. You have to do that and get around it and go through it however you can. And, as a matter of fact, you can’t even get around it because there is no getting around it. That’s one thing that my grandmother does say, is that you have to go through to go through. You can’t crawl under it, you can’t crawl over it, you can’t get around either side; you just have to go through it. Which sucks, but in order to get through to the other side, you just have to go.”

You don’t have to do it alone.

“True story. But you know what? Sometimes it feels like that, and I’ll tell you why. I’m the oldest of four girls, so, as oldest, I got the tag of she’s the dependable one, she’s the strong one, she’s the one that gets things done. When people see that, people pay attention to you more than you realize they do, but when people know that you’re the strong one, the dependable one, the one who gets things done, the one who upholds everybody else, when you need upholding, where do you go? People never think to offer you support because you’re usually the one offering everybody else support. It’s like a tree in the forest—it’s always standing strong—but when the winds are blowing the tree back and forth, who’s there to help that tree?

“I can count on one hand the number of people who actually reached out personally, outside of Facebook, outside of social media, and said hey, if you need anything, let me know—and I really, really appreciate that. You don’t forget that stuff; you really don’t. I think maybe people intend to, but it’s difficult when you’re dealing with somebody suffering a loss of someone who’s close to them, because you feel awkward, you don’t know what to say, whatever you do say sounds stupid or maybe is gonna sound like what everybody else says. How many times have you heard, ‘Oh, so-and-so died? I’m sorry for your loss’ or ‘Condolences’ or ‘Sympathies’—those three basic things? You feel like you want to come up with something more heartfelt, but you don’t want to sound stupid or forced or scripted, so you just don’t say anything, so I think maybe that’s what happened. I don’t know.

“By and large, everybody was pretty good, but when you’re always the strong one, there’s sort of a disconnect when people are like, ‘Oh, well, she’s strong; she’ll be all right.’ I can’t even tell how many days I just felt like throwing up my hands and giving up and saying, ‘You know what? Screw this, I’m done. I’m done with you, I’m done with you, I’m done with you.’ Your tolerance for nonsense disappears, because whenever somebody dies, especially this close to you, it forces you to re-prioritize, and it forces you to look at your own mortality, too, and realize that life is short. The eventuality of death. My grandmother says, ‘The moment that we’re born, we begin to die.’ And she’s right, because that’s ultimately what’s going to happen.

“Linda’s gone. There was so much more she wanted to do in her life, and now that I’m still here, I have a few choices. I can either retreat and not do anything, or I can try to keep her memory honored as much as possible and live. It’s currently January 2017; it probably took me two years to get back to myself. Man, it was hard. I became a recluse. I stayed home—work and home were it for me. Nothing social. I went to the grocery store and I used the self-checkout line so I didn’t have to deal with a cashier, because I recognized that I had social anxiety as a result of Linda dying.

“I don’t even know if how it manifested had to do with her dying, but I guess it was a byproduct of mourning. I knew that I didn’t want to deal with people, especially strangers. Even at the grocery store, it felt somehow inwardly painful. I can’t describe it. You know the feeling of nails on chalkboard? That’s how it felt on the inside, to have to go and deal with people. Oh God, no, I couldn’t do it. So many events that I was invited to that I turned down on Facebook. No. Can’t go. Can’t go. Can’t go. Can’t go. Work and home.

“That’s why it was so great for me to have adopted Brody, my little brat, because she probably was more therapy than therapy was. It gave me focus, something to do other than just be home and looking around the room. Brody’s so funny. She has so much personality for a little, eight-pound dog. She’s my little sweetie. I realized that I worked long hours, it would be nice if I had a sister, and that’s how I ended up with Esmerelda, my little chihuahua. They are great friends, even from the first time they met, because I brought Brody when I went in to adopt Esmerelda to make sure they got along, and it wasn’t like dog cage matches. They got along great.

“They’ve been such great company. Most days I look forward to going home after work because I get to hang out with them. Some days they tire me. Some days it’s a race to see who gets tired first. But, overall, I would probably say that they were the best thing in helping me try to move on and get past Linda’s death. Again, I can’t even explain how something as simple as an animal would help with that, but I don’t even care. All I know is that it worked.”

How has it felt to talk about these feelings and experiences with me today?

“It was an emotional ride through a lot of memories, and a lot of explanation as far as how the last two years have been and how I came to be where I am now, versus where I was then, as far as my sensitivity and all that kind of thing. Not quite as challenging as I’d thought it would be, but not a bad thing.”

Do you think that it’s possible that by sharing your experiences in the way that you have today, you could help someone else out there who may be inspired or touched in some way by what you’ve shared?

“Absolutely. I really, really hope so, because I feel like, when you open yourself up to a certain amount of transparency and vulnerability, there could be somebody who reads it and feels like they’re not alone. Like my grandmother says, when you’re going through your go-through, whatever that is, whether it’s depression or anxiety or alcoholism or whatever, most of the time you feel like you’re alone. It’s only you, in the entire world, and that’s that. I hope that somebody is able to take away this that if you happen to have a really good friend who dies, you are so not alone, and there are so many other people who have probably been through something similar and who share those experiences, and—even beyond that—who would be willing to talk to you or even listen, because sometimes a conversation isn’t about exchanging; sometimes it’s about one person talking and the other person listening.”

#grief #love #resilience #faith #strength #courage #heartsofstrangers

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lonelypond · 6 years

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IDOL PROTECTION PROGRAM: Driving Lessons

Love Live, NicoMaki, 1.1K, 14/?

Idol Nico and Doctor Maki have taken their daughters, the name Kurosawa, and fled Tokyo and fame to raise their family in a quiet seaside resort. Characters not mine, shenanigans are, your mileage may vary.

Summary: Nico's excited about teaching Dia to drive, but Dia seems a bit too calm.

DRIVING LESSONS:

Everyone was home in the Kurosawa household, enjoying a cool Spring afternoon, having tea outside in the garden. Ruby and Maki had their heads bent over a game of backgammon, Nico was curled up on a bench, smiling at her two favorite redheads, and Dia was leaning against her favorite tree reading.

Ruby laughed as she rolled the doubles she needed for the second time in as many turns and Maki groaned theatrically, not fond of losing even with her daughters. Nico wondered if there would be a comeback from her determined wife and turned to their firstborn.

“Now that you’re 17, Dia, we’ll have to start thinking about teaching you to drive. Guess I should take the NicoMobile out and make sure it’s running properly.” The NicoMobile was a Daihatsu Copen mini sportscar with a custom pink paint job and a top of the line stereo system older than both of their daughters ages added together.

Dia froze but didn’t look up from her book. Maki watched curiously as Nico got more excited, up on her feet, organizing things around the tea house. “I remember when I taught Cocoro in it. Every Yazawa has learned how to drive in it, even…” Here Nico bounced behind Maki, “your Mama.”

That got Dia to look up from her book. As Maki rolled her eyes and prepared for the usual “you’re a Nishikino, Nico-chan” rant. But Nico didn’t stop to breathe in her enthusiasm.

“We used to go for drives all the time, when Nico wasn’t on tour and your Mama needed a break from her books. So Maki-chan practiced for her license under my extremely responsible tutelage.” Nico hugged Maki, who muttered something about distractions, saying that sort of thing with a straight face, and misdefining responsible. Nico ignored it all. Dia was still processing. Ruby continued to plot her next moves.

“Really?” Finally Dia spoke, sounding shocked.

“Really.” Nico kissed the top of Maki’s head as the redhead fumbled the dice, “Maki learned a lot in that car.”

Maki blushed at high school memories she was NEVER sharing with her daughters. Cocoro and Cocoa already knew too much thanks to an eavesdropping habit. Time to swerve the conversation out of Nico’s control, “There’s no rush for Dia to learn, Nico-chan. There’s bikes and buses. And I don’t mind driving her around when she needs it.”

Dia closed her book and picked up the tea tray, ready to take it into the main house, “No rush at all, Mom. Isn’t the car in Tokyo, anyway?”

Ruby’s rolls continued their streak and she gleamed happily as she took her last piece off the board, “I win, Mama!”

“I want a rematch.” Maki grumbled as Nico cheered for Ruby, car talk forgotten for a moment.

The next evening, Maki had asked Dia to accompany her on the koto so they could practice a traditional composition she’d been working on. When Dia had decided to learn a Japanese instrument, Maki had decided to trade her Western flute for a shakuhachi so she and Dia could bond over music.

For an hour, the two of them played together, working over the piece, Maki taking Dia’s suggestions on the best way to solve a few of the less smooth sections. When they took a break, Maki stood and stretched. Playing a flute was so different from the piano. Picking it up again was always a challenge. But she treasured the chance to create something together with Dia, while Nico and Ruby were in the kitchen, putting together a family feast for the evening meal. Maki would never get tired of these rare, quiet weekends she and Nico could spend with their girls. Too soon, Dia would be off to college.

“Dia?” Maki sat down next her daughter, fidgeting with her flute.

“What’s wrong, Mama?” Dia picked up on Maki’s hesitancy and wondered what was bothering her.

“Why don’t you really want to learn to drive?” Maki blew a few quick notes, not making eye contact.

Dia played a few notes to match Maki’s.

“I won’t tell your Mom, if you’re worried about that. You can talk to me.” Maki offered, putting an arm around Dia’s shoulders.

Dia paused, then took in a deep breath and turned, looking straight at Maki, “Do I have to learn on the Copen. It’s so tiny and....” Dia frowned, “cutesy.”

Maki snorted, doubling over, her grip on her daughter tightening, Dia being pulled along with the movement. “You don’t...want...to..drive...the Nicomobile?!?!?!”

“Ruby couldn’t talk about anything else last night, how excited she’d be when she was old enough, how ‘adorable’ it was.” Dia leaned into her mother, “And I...I love Mom…”

“I know you do.” Maki smiled, hugging her daughter.

“And I love hearing her stories....and I loved when I was a child and she drove me to Tokyo to fashion shows in it.” Dia fidgeted, beginning to retune the koto.

“But you don’t want to be the next Yazawa to learn in it.” Maki glanced toward the house, wondering how to smooth this over.

“No.” Dia’s answer was muted but firm. “None of my clothes would work.”

Maki didn’t laugh as hard as she would have if Nico had said that. And Nico would have said that...and had, about many things. Just not the NicoMobile. Maki kept her response to a slight grin and a soft chuckle.

Dia glanced up, green eyes worried under her bangs, “Mama?”

“We’ll talk to your grandmother. And maybe Santa-san. Surely we can come up with something.”

“Really?”

Nico’s voice came from the house, perky as ever, “Come on in, you two. We’ve made most of your favorites.”

Which meant Maki was getting some form of pasta and Dia was getting her favorite matcha and chocolate pudding dessert.

Maki stood, pulling her daughter up with her, “I promise. I’ll take care of it. Just humor your Mom for now.”

Dia nodded earnestly and Maki let her lead the way into the house while Maki considered if a nostalgic drive in the Copen would put Nico in a good enough mood that Maki could suggest that her parents wanted to to give Dia a new car for Christmas. She’d have to talk to Rin about hosting a sleepover for Dia, Ruby, and Kaito soon. The children hadn’t gotten together for a few months and that would give her an evening free to persuade Nico.

And with another road trip in Nico’s beloved (and adorable, not that Maki would tell Nico or Dia that) sportscar planned, Maki bounded toward the house, ready for a taste of Nico’s food made with love. And tomatoes.

A/N: I'm about 2K into the next Casual Lunacy chapter, it's too hot, politics here is full of f*c$wits, and I needed something fun. So I wrote this.Vroom ; )

#nicomaki #Idol Protection Program #nishikino maki #yazawa nico #kurosawa dia #kurosawa ruby #family fluff #driving #cars vroom

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lovecharlottedupont · 3 years

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Holiday Dressing

DRESS ted baker zadi fit and flare dress (wearing size 2, more color options here & here) | SHOES stuart weitzman heels(shorter heel height linked) | EARRINGS pearl studs

Day to day, my mother’s nonchalance regarding fashion reigned, but twice a year, my grandmother Dorothea would step in and take me shopping at the fancy, family-owned department stores down on Fourth Avenue in Tara. We would make a day of it, and she would let me pick out three outfits, including a “Christmas dress” and a “spring dress,” often in dainty prints and pastels, with puffed sleeves and smocking. (It would always look great with the orchid or gardenia corsages my dad would get for me, my mom, and my grandmother to wear for Mother’s Day and to Easter parties.) We also bought matching saddle shoes or Mary Janes.

Shopping with Dorothea was a thrill. I came away with perfect, elegant new clothes, and the stores were such a pleasure to shop in. In the weeks leading up to Easter, one department store, called McClure’s, displayed real live bunny rabbits you could pet. During Christmas, it had a model train and served spiced tea and hot chocolate. But I loved those shopping trips most of all because they meant time learning from Dorothea.

My grandmother looked rather like the great classic film actress Barbara Stanwyck, with a strong nose and blond hair. She worked at looking good, too. She loved Life magazine and the Saturday Evening Post, Vogue, and Harper’s Bazaar. She had a natural flair for fashion, which I like to think I inherited from her. Her favorite thing to do was go out to lunch with her girlfriends and then people-watch at the mall.

There was not a single day of the week when she wasn’t beautifully put together from head to toe. She even wore a dress and pearls to garden in (though she’d pair them with cute little sneakers). Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a picture of my grandmother when she wasn’t wearing something that was the exact right thing.

When she took me with her shopping, she taught me what looked good and what didn’t. There on Fourth Avenue with Dorothea is where I learned just about everything I know to this day about flattering silhouettes (you can’t go wrong with fit and flare) and colors (for example, if you’re a brunette like me, you should probably have some deep colors in your closet). Dorothea wore only brightly colored printed clothes; she hated solids. If you had a black dress on, she would ask, “Why are you wearing that? Did somebody die?”

Most of all, I learned from Dorothea that fashion trends are overrated. To look good, a dress doesn’t necessarily have to be up-to-the-minute fashionable. It just has to make you feel good. And you always feel good, I’ve found, when you’re dressed appropriately for whatever activity you’re doing. If you’re riding a horse, you want to wear riding boots. If you’re at a cocktail party, it’s nice to be in a cocktail dress. Dressing for Christmas or Easter was about showing your respect.

Dorothea said that presenting yourself well is a way to show others you care about them. My grandmother did the work of teaching me about clothes and taking me shopping, so she expected me to be dressed appropriately when we went out to see a show. And if you’re a little girl going to The Nutcracker or the symphony with your grandmother, you’d best put on some white tights and white Mary Janes. To this day, I have the voice of my grandma in my head. If I’m going to the theater and am tempted to wear jeans, there she is, saying “But it’s the theater.” And I change.

Although it lacks a pattern I immediately thought of my grandmother when I saw this dress and couldn’t help myself, y’all. This perfect dress by Ted Baker is definitely a splurge, but have you ever seen anything so beautiful? Between the color, the beautiful fabric, the stunning detailing, and the timeless fit, I simply couldn’t say no.

I ordered it in a Ted Baker size 2, which translates to my usual size 0. I didn’t have to touch it in terms of alterations. Perfect through and through!

I actually packed it up and took it to Paris with me, and while I can’t be sure if it was the dress, the city, the beautiful restaurant I wore it to or a combination of it all… I had the most magical night in it. Let me tell you, it is so much fun to wear.

Do y’all have any clothes that remind you of your family?

Love, Charlotte

My grandmother Dorothea, along with Big Papa, and some of her perfect dresses. Photographic evidence I never saw her in pants.

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lastbluetardis · 7 years

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Memories with Sprinkles on Top

This is for @doctorroseprompts‘ 31 Days of Ficmas, for the prompt ‘hot chocolate’.

Ten x Rose AU, kid fic, part of the Perfectly Matched Outtakes

James teaches his girls how to make homemade hot chocolate, which sparks an afternoon full of stories of the person who taught him to make hot chocolate from scratch--his mum.

AO3

“I’m so bored,” Ainsley grumbled, moving her playing piece up three spaces, and up the ladder she encountered.

It was supposed to be a decent day. Cloudy and a little chilly, perhaps, but nothing a coat and hat wouldn’t fix. But when they awoke to pouring rain and temperatures colder than expected, James knew that the playdate at the park would be a no-go.

Rose had already had plans. She and a few friends had a day of manicures, pedicures, and shopping ahead of them. That left James home alone to try and entertain his girls, but it was difficult to find something that would appease a seven-year-old and a four-year-old.

James frowned at Ainsley. Today was supposed to be a fun day with Daddy, and yet all they’d done was play games that were simple enough for Sianin to understand.

When Ainsley slid her playing piece to the end of the game, winning for the third time out of five, James asked, “Right. As fun as this is, how would you girls like to learn how to make hot chocolate? Not the stuff from the little packets, but the real stuff?”

Ainsley’s eyes lit up, and even Sianin seemed agreeable to their next activity, so he marched his daughters into the kitchen and had them collect the ingredients he would need.

“Right, we need some cocoa powder, sugar, salt, vanilla, and some milk,” he said, grabbing a saucepan and setting it on the stove.

Under his careful supervision, he had them take turns measuring out the ingredients and adding them to the pot. He took charge of the stirring as the mixture heated.

“The trick is the milk,” he explained, turning down the heat to keep it from scalding. “Most hot chocolates use water. And that’s great and all—I mean, who’d say no to chocolate?—but the milk makes it creamy and richer. It was my mum, actually, who taught me this recipe. I think I was about your age, Ainsley. I hadn’t realized hot chocolate could be made any other way until a mate of mine came over and tried the hot chocolate and said it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.”

Ainsley and Sianin sat on the countertop as James reminisced. His mum always had a knack for cooking and baking, and James loved spending time in the kitchen with her. Namely so he could show off to Rose, when he eventually met her, and wow her with his cooking skills. But the quality time bonding with his mum had been nice, too.

“Right!” he said. “Who wants hot chocolate?”

“Me!”

“Mememememeeeee!”

James grinned at Sianin’s enthusiasm, and he opened up the cabinet for three mugs, and for the last ingredient.

“Peppermint!” he proclaimed, plopping a stick into each mug. “Aaaaand…”

He went into the fridge for whipped cream, and added a dollop to each of the mugs.

“Can I have sprinkles?” Sianin asked.

“Oh, sure, what’s one more sugar additive to this cavity in a mug?” He grabbed the sprinkles and decorated the cream of Sianin’s mug with color. “Want some, Ains?”

At her nod, he added some to hers, then shrugged and sprinkled some on top of his own hot chocolate.

“Perfect!” he said, and he guided the girls to the table. “Careful, loves, it’s going to be hot. Why don’t we just let it cool for a tick as we load up the dishwasher?”

After the expected whining, James got them to help him clean up the kitchen of the dishes in the sink, then they finally sat down with their drinks.

“Still hot!” Ainsley squeaked after taking a sip.

James grimaced, knowing the annoyance of scalding his mouth, and he stood up from the table and went to the freezer for ice cubes. He dropped them into both of his daughters’ drinks.

“That should help,” he said, sitting back down.

“Can you tell us a story about your Mummy?” Sianin asked, eating the melting whipped cream with her fingers as her drink cooled.

“Hmm? Oh. Sure. Yeah,” he said. “Ehm… Oh! Winter breaks. We always came home to Scotland for Christmas, and I always had terrible jetlag. I mean, my mum and dad must’ve had it too, but they always seemed to fare much better than me. Anyways, I would always sleep like the dead. Hardly woke up ‘til noon, some years. But they let me sleep, no matter what. I think they liked the silence, honestly. But when they head me getting up, they’d start breakfast preparations. Dad would make banana pancakes, Mum would make her special hot chocolate, and I always came downstairs to a hot breakfast and Christmas music. We’d all have a bit of an impromptu—a spur of the moment—singing contest, complete with mouths so full you could barely understand us. Then when the food was gone, we’d all get another cup of hot chocolate and we’d put on the first Christmas film of the year: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. We’d all quote the whole thing as it played, and when it was done, we’d get bundled up and go out for our Christmas tree.”

“That sounds like our Tree Day!” Ainsley said. “Only we watch Rudolph as we decorate.”

James smiled. “When Mummy was growing up, she and her mum watched Rudolph as they decorated their home for Christmas. So Mum and I decided to sort of blend the traditions.”

“Tell us another?” Sianin asked, licking cream from her top lip, even though her chin and cheeks were smeared with it.

They sat at the table long after their hot chocolates were finished, listening as James told various stories about his mum, or his dad, or about growing up in the United States.

The girls were enraptured by stories of the grandmother they never knew. James’s heart ached that his daughters would never know his mum, but he settled in for the afternoon to give them the best replacement for memories—his stories.

#doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #dwfic #31 days of ficmas #doctor who #ten x rose #au #james x rose #perfectly matched series #my fic

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rowan-catsandcoffee · 7 years

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Tag! Can I pretty please get a fic of Zen and MC meeting and being sorted at Hogwarts? :3 ~ snarkymc

Snarky? More like sneaky 😄

That said, sorry it took me a while aaaaand it took a few tries before I was happy with this. The MC in this piece’s name is Mimi and i had to finagle a few things because of the time gap between these events.

This is based off of the Hogwarts Au @snarkymc and I talked about

“Mimi!” She froze at the angry voice.

It was summer. She hadn’t started her third year yet atHogwarts. There was no reason prefectJeong Ryu would be out on Diagon Alley yelling at her, not yet at least. Even Tinsel her familiar seemed to cowerbeneath her, making low threatening noises towards the other student. He was a few years older than her and theywere in the same house together, but unlike everyone else she talked to, heseemed to have some complaints about her being there.

“Jeong! How’s yoursummer going? Everything going… well?” Twirling her hair when she was anxious was abad habit, the other girls had taught her to keep it in a tight braid when theyhung out the common room. She could facethe scrutiny of Headmistress McGonagall but there was still no escaping thesteeling gaze of Jeong. She tugged herbrunette hair over her shoulder, twirling and twisting the end part through herfingers.

“Are you really still playing with dolls?” He sneered down at Tinsel. The calico stuffed animal moved on its ownneeding no prompting from others or continuous incantations. Tinsel was an enchanted stuff toy, and sadlythe reason she knew Jeong.

“Tinsel is my familiar. You know that!” It wasn’t thefirst time they’d had this argument over the years.

“Yes, but I hear that Tinsel isn’t the only thing that hasbeen known to slither out of your trunk when you get into the girls dorm.” The distance between them felt heavy, evenmore as he pressed towards her. “I swearyou’re going to be the reason we lose the house cup one of these days.”

“Jeong, that’s enough.” A nice voice called out from behind him. For the first time Mimi was able to look behind him and see someoneelse. He looked about her age, but Mimifound it hard to look away from him. Hisbrownish eyes that were almost red, and the silky white hair that was a littlebit past his shoulders, he looked strangely familiar. Though she was fairlysure they never had a class together. “Youreally shouldn’t talk to girls like tha- what is what?” He went from defending her to clearpanic. The dirt he kicked up whilebacktracking was mildly impressive, but also made her worry for Tinsel. She looked down ready to pick her up to keepher from getting filthy, as Tinsel was unable to clean herself like other cats,but found she was alone.

“Tinsel?” Lookingaround she could see Tinsel taking a few tentative steps towards the newkid. Her ears faced forward as sheneared him, fully intrigued as Mimi had been. “Tinsel no!” The guy lookedpanicked as he fell to the ground trying to cover his mouth and cower away fromher.

“Tsk.” Jeong lookedbetween the kid and Tinsel with disgust, “this is just a doll.” He stomped down hard, forcing a muffed yowlfrom Tinsel, whose legs gave way leaving her sprawled on the ground under hisboot. “You can’t have an allergic reactionto a doll! It’s not a cat, and not afamiliar.” He turned to sneer at Mimiwho had her phone up, taking pictures of him with a deepening scowl on herface. “What are you doing?”

“Gathering evidence of your animal abuse. Now get off of her before I send these tothat one adopted son of the Headmistress’s. You know how much he loves cats.”

“Fine! Come on Hyun, westill have some errands to run.” Hestarted to look a little flushed as he stepped off of Tinsel, letting herscurry back to Mimi who knelt down to pick her up.

“Actually I think I’d like to talk to her for a bit. If that’s-“

“Whatever. I can movefaster without you anyway. Meet me herein one hour, and try not to catch… whatever she is.” Jeong stomped away, still a little flusteredfrom moments ago. They watched himleave, both of them a little frozen.

Hyun was the first to move, he reached a trembling hand outtowards Tinsel. “Nice kitty.” He murmured, jumping a little when shereached out and gave a fake sniff to his hand before letting him pet her. “First time I’ve met a cat that I don’t haveto worry about… though to be honest looking at her still makes my eyes start towater.”

“Really? Sorry. Comeon Tinsel, in you go.” Mimi opened upher hoodie, momentarily flashing the hidden pocket where Tinsel could hide andcurl up. Even on the hottest day insummer she still could find any over shirt that she could add an extra insidepocket to make transporting Tinsel a little easier.

“Oh you didn’t have to, but… umm… would you like to go get adrink? There’s a little place nearby.”

Mimi nodded and let him show the way, though she had afeeling she knew where he was going. Itwasn’t the first time she’d explored these passages. In fact since learning she was a witch twosummers ago her Grandmother had been more insistent on her exploring more ofthe wizarding world herself. So whenHyun led her to the Glam Dragon it wasn’t that much of a surprise. It was a neat place run by some Witches whowere born from muggles who wanted to bring a little touch of the world theygrew up in to the Witches and Wizards who were, surprisingly, stuck behind thetimes.

“A ‘unicorn hot cocoa’ please! And for you?” He was pulling out his bag looking at hercuriously.

“You don’t have to pay for me.”

“No worries, you can get it next time.” Her chest ached at the stupidly charmingsmile he gave her.

“Okay, a ‘firebolt’?” They were muggle drinks with Wizarding world names put to them, but thewhite chocolate with silvery edible glitter with a dash of blueberry known as ‘unicornhot cocoa’ did seem to earn some double takes from the adults in the wizardingworld. It was one of her favorite placesto visit when she had the opportunity.

“So ever been to a place like this?” Hyun Ryu leaned on his palm watching hercarefully.

“A café? Yep. My mom loves going to places like this, backin the muggle world.”

“Oh you’re… born from muggles?”

“Nope.” If he wantedto know, he would have to ask. It wasn’tsomething she brought up simply because of her Grandmother. She hadn’t known her Grandmother was aliveuntil the day her letter for Hogwarts arrived, and there were some family issuesthat she learned about in a very short amount of time. It had been tough accepting the past two yearsand was still hard to talk about. Hyunscrunched his face in thought for a while before they called his name to pickup his drink.

While he was walking back, her name was called. Even as they passed each other he stilllooked lost in thought. Mimi returnedshortly after, but the concern that he was showing was already gone. “So how do you know my brother?” Hyun asked innocently enough, but stillcaused Mimi to choke on her drink while she tried to keep from laughing.

“You sure you want to know?” He gave her a nod, giving her permission to start into her story.

“What. Is. That?” The words were hissed ather shortly after the door to the compartment that she was sitting in was flownopen.

“That’s Tinsel?”

“Why is it runningaround? You should have it with yourtrunk so it could be brought up to your dorm with the rest of your toys.

“Tinsel isn’t a toy,Tinsel is my familiar! The letter saidcats were allowed.” She held out theletter as if it would protect her, but instead he just scoffed at her.

“Are you seriouslycarrying that around with you? What, doyou really think you need to prove that you belong here? Are you from a muggle family or something?”

“And if I was?” She wasn’t but the way he spat it out madeher shake with anger. He was a biggerkid, but she had her ways of dealing with him. He wore the colors of one of the houses, but she couldn’t recallwhich. Despite Grandma Yvonne trying herhardest to teach her over the summer a crash course in the Wizarding world andHogwarts, she just couldn’t retain all the information. She didn’t even know it existed beforereceiving her letter.

“If you were, I hopeyou don’t end up in my house.” He sneered,triggering her standard response. Itwasn’t one she was proud of, but she couldn’t help as the tears welled up andstarted to flow. Startling him, but frustratingMimi even more.

“That’s not,” shechoked on a sob as she tried to sound angry, “a nice thing to say.”

“Jeez, what a crybaby, sorry okay? Just keep that thingaway from me.” He rolled his eyes ather.

“Tinsel.”

“What?” He gawked at her.

“Her name’s Tinsel.”

“Fine whatever!” He slammed the door as he exited.

“I’m sorry my brother can be a bit of a jerk. “ Hyun finished his drink, giving her a pityinglook, “but that does explain why came back fuming to our compartment. Muttering about tinsel… I was so nervousbecause it was my first year and my family was all rooting for me to get intothe same house as the rest of them! Backthen I thought my brother had been anxious too, and was muttering about goingback home for Yule break. But what is with that crying thing?” He tried to hid his smile as he asked her.

“I wish I could tell you, just sometimes when someone’s up set with me it’s like I can’t help it… I hate it when it happen though.” Mimi pouted a little, trying to change the topic she fidgeted with her drink, “How did your sorting go? Mine was pretty… stressful.”

“Mine too.” Hyunlooked down into his cup.

“You know… I think I remember you! You were the one people were whispering aweird word about… ‘Malfoy’?”

“Wrong family, but I could understand the confusion.”

The sorting hat was positionedon the stool so everyone could hear it’s song as it explained out the fourdifferent houses. They all soundedvaguely familiar from the lessons her Grandmother gave, but still it felt likeit went in one ear and out the other. Despite her Grandmother trying various different ways to try and teach her.

“Hyun Ryu.” The name was called and a strange boy withshort white hair and panicked large red eyes approached. For a moment she wondered if vampires wereallowed into the school, trying to listen to the tables nearby whispering theirquestions about his family and his name.

The hat was on hishead for a while, meantime Hyun Ryu looked more panicked the longer he sat there. Finally his face dropped in defeat as the hatcalled out “Gryffindor!” His brotherJeong stood up and watched as the table of red and gold erupted and stood towelcome him.

There had been a fewmore names before Mimi was called up. Nomatter what she tried she couldn’t stop from trembling. Headmistress McGonagall watched over theproceedings, giving a calm look to all students, no matter what house wascalled. Mimi tried to focus on that and remember to relax when she hearsomething. ‘But why?’ There was a tiny whisper in her head. She tried to think of all her best memories,where she was proud, bringing up her family and how proud her Grandmother hadbeen in the blue and silver as she tried to explain the houses. ‘You’ll do fine no matter the house, don’tworry so much. But there is one whereyou’re truly meant to be.‘ “Slytherin!” The table with green and silver clapped andstood to welcome her. Jeong clapped aswell as she moved to join the same table as him, but the frown he gave her wasmore genuine.

“Okay so you’re Slytherin like my brother.” Hyun nodded, “I guessed as much. How did your family take it?”

“Mom was excited and ordered me a bunch of green stuff tohave in my room or things with snakes on them. She was overcome with house pride. Dad was… pretty confused. Grandmajust sighed but she kind of moved on. What about you? Didn’t you justsay your entire family is one house? Slytherin like your brother? How’dthey handle your house announcement?“

Hyun shrugged, “nothing can be done when a house inannounced.” He gave her a painedsmile.

“Hyun…” Mimi startedin on her concern when his name was also called by a voice behind her.

Jeong called from the doorway, “I’m done sooner than Iexpected. Let’s get going.”

“Okay!” He nodded before reaching out and grabbing Mimi’shand. “Do you think it would be okay ifwe exchanged owls and get to know each other before school starts up?”

“What about emails?”

Hyun glanced back at his brother before giving her asheepish grin. “I think owls would bebetter.”

#hogwarts au #My writing #mystic messenger #mm zen #hyun ryu #MC Mimi #request #snarkymc

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miniaturelovercollectionstuff · 7 years

Text

Margaret Banks, Wife of Myron Herbert Burgess

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MARGARET BANKS BURGESS

I was born on Saturday, March 26, 1921, in my parent's home in Lehi, Utah County, Utah to Junius Crossland Banks and Edna Myrtle Hackett, I was the fifth and last child and the second daughter in the family. It was a cold day, my father telling me that a foot of snow was on the ground, making it miserable. It was the day before Easter Sunday and on that Saturday all of the children took a lunch and went for a long hike and ate their lunch. My father put up a lunch and got my three older brothers ready for the hike They walked through the snow down to the cereal mill (one block away) and then after eating their lunch they came home.

My earliest recollection was one of three incidents. One being when I was two years old. My father was remodeling our home and two leanto bedrooms had been torn down and that summer we slept in the loft of the barn, and I remember sleeping there. The next time, was the same summer, and I remember standing on the small sidewalk that went to the back door and looking up to see my father putting shingles on the roof. The third incident was when I was being pushed in the baby carriage. If one of my brothers was pushing me, I would really let out a yell until mother would take the carriage. This of course made my brothers want to push me all of the time.

I had preschool friends that lived next door to me and we had many good times with each other. One was Selena Peterson, who was being raised by her grandmother, Mary Winn, and the other was Dortha Evans (MoKnight)who was about one month older than I. we three played together everyday but Dortha and I were very close friends. We would have a little quarrel with each other and within minutes we would be best of friends again. One such time, she and I, were arguing over some trivial matter. we were in the lower end of our lot and as we walked up to the house I said, "I'm going into the house and get the nut crackers and hit you over the head with them", when we reached the back door, I did just that and she stood there and waited for me to come back. She immediately, after being hit, pushed me down to the ground and we both went home crying. .Our "never speaking to each other again" lasted about ten minutes.

Everywhere Dortha and I went, strangers would ask us if we were twins because we both had blond hair and lots of freckles. One day, Dortha and I decided that the only way our families knew us was by our clothes, so we decided to exchange clothes. That evening, we went to each other’s home for dinner. No one asked either of us about how come we changed clothes but went right along with us. After dinner, we changed back to our own clothes again. It wasn't until sometime later that we realized that we hadn't fooled anyone.

Selena and I caught whooping cough and in those days, it meant you were quaranteened in the house for six weeks. ,During the day (after all the children had gone to school)Selena and I played at one home or the other taking our big rags to throw up in. Dortha was left out with no one to play with. A little corner of glass was out of Selena's front room window. Dortha asked Selena to cough in her face through this small hole, which she did, and Dortha soon had the whooping cough. Dortha's birthday came at the time we were sick but Dortha wouldn't wait until she was well to have a party so Selena, Grace,(my cousin) and I were all who she could invite.

Helen, my sister, died with pneumonia and whooping cough at the age of two, before I was born, therefore I was raised as an only daughter with my three brothers. I can remember begging mother for a baby sister. All the time mother was having miscarriages, trying to have more babies but I was too young to understand that. I think that would be very trying for my mother to go through. One winter in Lehi, three baby girls (at different times) were left on door steps. Each time I cried and said, "Why wasn't she left on our doorstep? After having two sons of our own, Yvonne was born on June 7, 1946 in Richland Washington. I was very happy to have a daughter. Then Laura Jo came next on May 6, 1949 and my mother said to me, "I know you were really happy when Yvonne was born, but why are you so much happier now that you have Laura Jo?" My answer was, "because Yvonne has a sister." It meant that much to me.

At the age of six, I began my education in the first grade at Lehi Elementary School. My first teacher was Miss Chipman. That year I was taken into the third grade one day, to show off my penmanship. Miss Chipman would give a spelling test and all those who received one hundred per cent would get a treat (about once a month). I remember getting candy on one occasion.

My second grade teacher was Thelma Whitby. That year it was a presidential election in the country and we had a ballet in our school room. I'll never forget how angry Dortha was at me for voting for the republican candidate. Their family voted democratic no matter what. Miss Whitby got married that summer and Dortha and I cried because we wouldn't see her again. However, she married and since she was Myron's cousin, I did get to see her many years later.

My third grade teacher was Carol Procter. I dearly loved her too. One day during recess, Dortha and I took some papers out of the waste basket. We felt guilty doing this because they didn't belong to us even if they were in the garbage. As soon as recess was over and we were in our seats, Miss Proctor called Dortha and I to go with her. As a punishment sometimes a child would have to go and sit in a lower class and we thought that was what was happening to us as we were taken to the first grade. However, it wasn't for punishment but to help the teacher by helping groups of first graders learn how to read.

My eighth birthday came on the Sunday that Lehi Stake regularly did the baptizing. I was looking forward very much to being baptized on my birthday. Also, March 26th that year was Easter Sunday., and when we got to the font, it was not open because it was Easter, and so I had to wait another month. Dortha's birthday was in February and she had waited to be baptized with me, so she had to wait another month also. The next month after we were baptized and confirmed (the same day) my father gave Dortha and me each a nickel to spend any way we wanted to, because we hadn't cried when we got baptized. I still remember buying a-grape and chocolate flavored all day suckers. (they were two for a nickle and so large you couldn't get one into your mouth very well) They truly were all day suckers. Becoming a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints was a most important day of my life and one of the best things that ever happened to me.

One of the very special days of my life was when I had my patriarchal blessing. I was twelve years of age and Brother Able John Evans was the patriarch. When he was through, he said that I had been given a promise that the Lord had not promised through him for a long time. Of course, we all know these promises are only given to us predicated on our living the commandments.

I cannot remember a lot about my brother Merril. I was almost nine when he passed away. I remember receiving letters from him when he was on his mission in Germany. He would write a little letter to each of us kids. I remember the day he came home, surprising us. He took sick in Germany with pneumonia and later developed dropsy and cancer.

When Wallace and Earl would tease me, Merril would always stick up for me and help-me., When he was a Priest, he always blessed the water so I asked him why he didn't ever bless the bread and he told me that the water was best. I loved his fiancee, Caroline Scorup. She very often brought me a little gift when she came to see Merril when he was sick in bed. One time the gift was a celluloid doll and the skirt was made of candy mints. My parents have told me what a special spirit Merril is and that he was needed elsewhere to teach the gospel.

I mentioned that my brothers, Wallace and Earl, teased me a lot but they were good to me too. They each had a bicycle and they would let me ride them. Wallace had the patience to teach me how to ride the bike. He would help me on and I would ride around the block but when I would get on the other side of the block, I would always hit a rut and fall off. I couldn't get back on alone so I would have to walk and push the bicycle back home again.. Wallace also taught me the fundamentals of shifting and driving a car. The boys let me play with them and their friends and tag along with them to a movie and many more things they did for me that was nice.

On long summer evenings, my two brothers, Dortha's two brothers and two of her cousins gathered on the street corner to play games. I'll never know why they let Dortha and me play but they did. We played kick the can, run sheep run, poison, red rover and other games. We really had a lot of fun.

When I was eleven years old, I would go and help my Aunt Maud on Saturdays. She was on crutches and was keeping house for my Grandfather Hackett so I would help clean the house. When my twelth birthday came she had a surprise party for me and my friends. Mother helped her with the party. It really was a big surprise, I shook almost the entire evening. I thought it so nice of her to do that for me.

In my early teens, my knee cap kept slipping out of the socket. All one summer, I had to hot pack it for two hours in the morning and two hours in the afternoon. My knee kept getting worse and some years later I had surgery and had the knee cap removed.

I had been in the 4-H Club since the age of ten, learning how to sew. When I was fourteen, I entered a health contest that the 4~H Club sponsored. I won first place in Lehi and 1st place at the county fair in Provo for Utah County title. I then was given a free trip to Salt Lake City for three days to enter the contest at the state fair. We stayed in the Newhouse Hotel and ate in restaurants. What a rare experience it was for me. A girl in the fashion show and two girls in the cooking demonstration (from Utah Co.) and the 4-H leader for the county were in the hotel with me. The judging was very scrupulous. Ten points were taken from my score for a bunion I was going to have, and forty years later, I still haven't had the bunion. I was given third place in the state of Utah. At an awards banquet, I was

Presented with a copper medallion. What a happy day for me that I was acclaimed to be the third healthiest girl in the state of Utah!

When I was fifteen years old, my brother Wallace was on a mission in Toronto Canada. When he was to be released, Mother,Dad, Earl and I went back east to pick him up. We had a very lovely trip, seeing Niagra Falls, Chicago, Detroit and Toronto to name a few. We stayed all night in the Joseph Smith Sr. home, sleeping in the room where Joseph had his vision. When we were in the Sacred Grove, the spirit testified to the truthfulness of the gospel to me. We also visited the Kirtland Temple, Lincoln Memorial and other great places.

When I was sixteen, I kept having appendicitis attacks so as soon as school was out, I had my appendix removed in the Lehi Hospital. I was the only patient in the hospital and whatever I ordered to eat I got, and I had a doctor, nurse, cook and cleaning lady just for me.

At the age of seventeen, I had a lump growing in the left side of my neck. When it got about as big as an egg, Dr. Cowan, a cancer specialist, removed it in the Lehi Hospital. The operation was very hard on my nerves as the Doctor only gave me a local anesthetic and he said to me "Don't move your head or I'll cut your juggler vein and you will be dead". He sewed me up after all the anesthetic was gone. He touched the nerve to my tongue to show the nurses how my tongue would curl up. I have problems today with my neck and tongue because he did this. My mother watched the operation and she kept telling the doctor to hurry and get the wound closed. We were very thankful that it was not cancer but a bronchial cyst.

In the rest of my school days, I had several teachers in each grade from Lehi Grammar school, Lehi Jr. High and Lehi High school. Some of the teachers I liked the best were Basil Dorton, Margaret Thurman, Vera Conder, Evan Croft, Ernest B. Garrett, Miss Varnock and especially my father, Junius C. Banks. My father taught me Algebra, Chemistry, Plane Geometry and Physics. In each of these classes, I received an A, not because I was his daughter but because he had the natural ability to talk to anyone on their level, be it a child or the most educated person. He could explain anything to anyone so that they could understand it. pHis class discipline was marvelous and he was a very fair teacher but would not tolerate any cheating at all. I enjoyed very much being in his classes.

The year we were seniors, Dortha's father was elected County Sherriff and that meant they had to move to Provo. Dortha did not want to change schools in the middle of her senior year, so she got a room and was going to live alone. After a month or so, Mother told her she could live with us. I was the only child at home and had a double bed and a room to myself. We got along wonderfully well together. It made it easier to discuss yearbook problems. We used to sing "In the Garden", she an alto and I was a second soprano, while we washed and dried the evening dishes. How did my parents ever stand it? I

Dortha and I had both been on the year book staff at the high school and we heard a rumor that either Dortha or I was going to be chosen as the editor. I believe that no matter who had been chosen both of us would have been unhappy. Miss Thurman posted the staff on the bulletin board and to our delight, we were named as co-editors. We got along famously with the year book work. It was during the depression and instead of asking business people to donate money for advertising, we printed our own book, making our own pictures and did our own art work. Each division page had a title with appropriate drawings and we all colored by hand, with colored pencils, each title page for every book. My father was over the taking and printing of the pictures and Miss Thurman was over the editorial part and Margaret Potter over the artwork. Each picture had to be pasted in the right place which the book owners did this. Each sheet had to have a stencil cut for both sides of the page and mimeographed off by hand, What a precious book that became!

After I had been in school a year or two, I made a new friend Beth Fox (Betts). She just lived through the block from us and she also became due of my close friends. In Lehi, the movie theater changed its scheduling three times weekly, the better shows to be shown-on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday, when we were teenagers, we had a genealogical class on Monday Evenings, and M I A on Tuesday evenings. All of my friends in the ward would go to the matinee on Sunday and not get out in time to go to Sacrament Meeting, so I went to church alone because I had been taught that we don't go to movies on Sunday. After some weeks of this, Beth Fox (Betta) came to me and said, "If you can stay home from the movie on Sunday, so can I”, and so she did and she went to Sacrament Meeting with me from then on.

I have to thank my parents for the many things they taught me. When I was big enough to help with the housework, cooking, washing,etc, I was given responsibilities. Saturday was our cleaning day and the day to get ready for Sunday, cooking-pressing-shining shoes and etc. The house was cleaned from stem to stern. The boys had to help clean the house as much as I did for the purpose was to teach us to work as well and to get the work done. From early summer until late fall, canning fruit and vegetables and drying them were worked on by everyone available. My parents did not have a lot of money but both were economical, never wasting a single thing and both worked very hard to make ends meet. Mother knew a lot about nutrition and every meal, though simple, was balanced. We had bottled fruit a lot for desserts, although we did have pudding, cookies, cakes and pies occasionally. One day, when I was small, we were ready for dessert and I piped out, "what are we having for fruit?"

My parents always taught us the principles of the gospel, both by precept and by example. They both studied the scriptures and as far as I know always did what was right regardless of the situation. They accepted calls from the Lord and fulfilled the positions to the best of their ability. I am thankful for the training I had as a child. If ever I needed a gospel question answered, they could answer it and show me the answer in one of the Standard Works of the Church. They taught me to be dependable-do what we said we would, to be honest and pray. They set a good example for the family in having love and unity in the home. Every meal almost, my father would get up from the table, go around back of mother's chair, put his arms around her, kiss her and say, "I love you, that was a very good meal". When Dortha lived with us she said she didn't know people lived that way, which was a wonderful compliment to my parents. They spent many hours helping us and teaching us. They played games of all kinds with us, even jump the rope, jacks and hide the thimble. They always provided materials for us to work with such as paper, paste, wood, cloth, paint or whatever we needed. No matter how many friends or family were at our home at meal time, mother always invited them to eat and many times four or five of my friends would be there. Birthdays were always a special day. Money value was not the most important thing for a birthday but the love and the remembrance that was given. Birthday cakes were important and even

after I was married, I was really thrilled for a birthday cake that mother made for me.

About once a month, on a Saturday, when we were children, the family would drive to Salt Lake City to shop. In those days it took about one and one-half hours to drive the thirty miles each way so we would leave in the dark in the winter and get home in the dark. We would hate to bundle up in the winter because the car did not have a heater in it and only izing glass and imitation leather snap on sides to keep the show and rain out. First we would go into town to Kresses, Grants five and ten cent stores and then to Penneys. In the afternoon, we would shop the specials at about three different grocery stores. I cannot remember what we had for lunch but suppose it to be cheese and crackers or a sandwich brought from home. We looked forward to these trips as it was a real family outing.

We always had a nice Christmas, not extravagant but they were very happy times. We would look in the wish book (Sears catalogue) and pick out things we wanted. Of course, children want almost everything they see. Most of our Christmas gifts were items that either Mother or Father had made themselves, and we were very happy to receive them. We were taught the joy of giving of gifts, especially the ones we had made ourselves.

I want to relate something now and I do it in all humbleness but thought my children would like to know this about their mother. When I was a senior in high school, the chairman of the achievement committee called me in to tell me I had the highest academic achievement of any of the seniors in the graduating class. However, the valedictorian was chosen by academic grades and outside activities. My friend, Zetella Price (Lind) was given the Valedictorian because she was in the opera cast which gave her more points and I was only in the chorus of the opera, thus giving her one more point than me. I was given an opportunity, however, to give an address at our commencement exercises.

At one time in my early life, the spirit whispered to me that the young man that I was to marry had a first name beginning with the letter "M". At that time, I tried to think of all the boys names that began that way. Several years later, I had forgotten about the whispering and I met Myron (I had never heard of the name Myron before) in any unusual way. My friend, Beth Britten (Reimschiissel) had been going with Ernest Reimschiissel from American Fork. Ernest did not have a car and Beth did not have a telephone, so the only way they could get together was for Ernest to just come to Lehi and find Beth. This one evening, Myron brought Ernest to see Beth. I was with her and we were to a band concert at the school. Before Ernest had a chance to introduce me to Myron, I said to Myron, "You are the nephew of Edward Burgess." (I had stayed at my Aunt Marsh's home in Alpine for short vacations and I thought I knew all of the Burgess families, but someway or another, I had never seen Myron although he only lived three houses away from Aunt May). Ernest and Myron wanted to take us to Salt Lake City to see a movie so we went to Beth's home to get permission. Beth said to her mother, "I am going to Salt Lake to a movie with Ernest." That went over really good, so I thought I would try that strategy. My mother said, "What! At this time of night?" I begged and pleaded but to no avail and my brother Wallace and his wife, Ruth pleaded with mother to let me go. Finally, mother said for me to ask them to come in so she could meet them. ( I had already asked them to go in with me and they said they would wait in the car). I told mother I did not want to ask them to come in so she said, "I'll go out to the car then." As a teenager, I died a thousand deaths of embarrassment, but in later years, I can see that mother was right. She was

introduced and when she found out what family Myron came from in Alpine, she let me go. That was our first date and I was afraid it would be our last one. I think that I could say I fell in love almost at first sight, even though at that particular time, I did not remember about the letter "M".

That next Christmas day, December 1958, Myron asked me to marry him. He had a beautiful diamond ring and put it on my finger. It fit perfectly. I turned him down however, because we had only known each other for a very few months and I was still in high school. As it turned out, he told me that the ring was from Kress store (25¢) but he really did want to me to marry him. I have often wondered, if I had accepted the ring right then, what he would have done to get the ring off from my finger so he could give me the real thing.

Myron gave me my real diamond ring before my high school graduation exercises. He came early to take-me to the commencement program so that we would have a little time alone together to present the ring to me but it did not work out that way (Beth Britten Reimschiissel) came to our home to get ready because she didn’t want to walk up through the fields where she lived in her sandals and long dress so Ernest was at our home to pick her up. Of course, Dortha was living with us, so her date was there and her mother was late coming from Provo with her clothes so I was helping her the last minute to get ready. As a result, Myron slipped the ring on my finger as we were walking toward the school. He had asked me and also my father at an earlier occasion. It was an exciting time for me as I was to give my talk in just a few minutes after that and of course, I had to show my ring off to everyone . People in the audience said that it really sparkled.

As soon as I received an engagement ring, Mother and I worked extra hard all summer. She helped me make pillow cases, table cloths, clothing and everything that goes into a trousseau because one could not get married without a trousseau. Also, mother and I canned every kind of fruit, vegetables, jams and pickles there were. She and daddy gave me the labor, the food, sugar, bottles and lids. This really did give us a big lift in getting started in our own household.

We were married in the Salt Lake Temple on September 20, 1959 by President Chipman. After we were married, we drove to Nephi and stayed two nights and a day in a motel. Money was tight as the depression was still on. Myron was building a basement house for us to live in in Alpine, Utah. Mother and Dad figured it would cost about one hundred dollars for a wedding reception and we could either have the money to help on our house or the reception. We chose the cash. Mother and Dad hired the ward Relief Society to cook a dinner in our honor. Myron's and my Aunts and Uncles on both sides were invited, and Wallace and Ruth. (Earl being on a mission in New England at the time) Mother and Dad each wrote Myron and me some advice in the way of some poems:

FATHERLY ADVICE TO MY SON IN LAW

Now, Myron, since you have no dad to counsel you at all,

I thought I'd best assume his place, lest you should take a fall.

I've stood the test of married life the very best I could,

But you'll observe there's not much left of hair upon the wood.

Although I bear a host of scars and other marks of strife,

I've gained some grand experience regarding married life.

And so I'll pass it on to you, with this one fervent wish,

That you'll accept these humble words from just a married fish.

There’ll come a time, alack the day, when you put on a shirt,

And find no buttons on the front to cover up your dirt,

Now take a leaf from my own book. Don't cuss and rave and storm,

‘Twill do no good and may e'en do a vast amount of harm.

Just calm.yourself and think things through, you'll find the best way out

Is not to raise a mighty roar, nor throw the chairs about,

But gently take the button box, and threaded needle too,

And sew the discs in place yourself, as model husbands do.

For fear you may not have the goods, I herewith hand to You

A string of buttons, large and small of every sort of hue.

And here a spool of thread I give, and needle made to match,

Just thank your lucky stars, my son, that you are not a batch.

By Junius Banks

MYRON'S INTRODUCTION TO HIS MOTHER- IN- LAW

When Margaret was recovering from a recent operation,

Myron came to spend the evening, and view the situation;

I escorted him into the room where she was still in bed.

He planked himself beside her on my freshly laundered spread.

I was surprised completely, so I blurted, "Myron, now,

That's one thing that I do not and never will allow.

You get right off that bedspread, this very present minute"

And I pushed a chair beside him and asked him to sit in it.

He didn't budge, just grinned to see which one would be the boss,

What could I do to have him mind? I was surely at a loss.

As I closed the door behind me and stepped into the hall

I heard him faintly whisper, "Do you think she means it all?"

Then Margaret assured him, "I really think so, yes."

Pale Myron quickly answered, "Then I'd better scram, I guess."

Just as he sprang upon his feet, his face still all a grin,

I entered quickly, brandishing a hard wood rolling pin.

"Old boy you’ve saved your bacon," are the very words I said,

"Don't ever let me catch you sitting on my spread."

"Now Margaret, in your married life I think you'll often find

That you'll need some sort of gadget to make your husband mind;

So I present this rolling pin without a single flaw

In memory of the eventful night Myron challeged his mother in law.

I hope you will use it often; swing it low or high, _

For Myron's favorite dessert is homemade pumpkin pie."

By Edna Banks

Our house was ready to move into about three weeks after we were married. However, we did not have a bathroom, no paint or wall paper and had congoleum rugs on the cement floor that only covered the middle of the room. We had a coal range for cooking and heat and hand-me-down furniture but we were happy to have a home of our own. Myron was working for Uncle Orion Burgess, combining wheat and he was generous with us as he paid Myron one dollar a day for a twelve hour day. Many were only getting paid fifty cents a day. Our payments to the hank for the loan for our home was ten dollars a month. Myron also had a small farm and so we had wheat, we took to the mill and traded for flour and Myron was feeding and milking a cow for the milk, butter and cream, and with the fruit and vegetables, Mother and I had put up, we always had plenty to eat.

I got pregnant a couple of weeks after we were married which added to the expense of things but we were both very happy about it. We did not have a refrigerator or washing machine. I washed our garments and diapers out on the board each day and then boiled them on the stove to get Myron’s cotton garments clean. (We did not have enough garments to go a week.) Once a week I would go to Lehi to Mothers and there wash towels, sheets, etc.

We spent a lot of evenings and suppers at Mom and Dad's the next summer. Every other day, Myron would take cucumbers from his farm to American Fork for the cannery and then we would go over to Lehi for the evening. My mother and father were very good to us. They actually were doing double duty for us and our children because Myron's parents had passed away. Mother once said that Myron acted more at home at her house than either Wallace or Earl did. They helped us through tough spots both with money and advice, whichever was needed.

After Myron went to daytime plumbing school, we moved back to Alpine for a short time but Myron was able to get work in Salt Lake city, so we moved there, renting several different places, one of which we lived with Beth and Ernest Reimschiissel on Imperial Street for a few months. Beth, Ernest and Myron each worked away from home and I stayed home, cleaning the house, preparing dinner each night and

Doing the laundry as Allan was about four months old then. We then found a duplex across the street from [where] Myron worked so we moved there. Just before Merril was born, on October 26, 1942, we moved to Lehi, Mom and Myron remodeling their house to make an apartment for us to live in. (Dad had just had surgery and had to remain in bed for three months.) We lived there for some time and during World War Two Merril was born when we were living there. We wanted to buy a house but figured Myron would be called up so we decided to wait. After waiting some months and he wasn't called up for the war, we decided to go ahead. We found an older brick home on first east and seventh north in Lehi and we went to the American Fork Bank to sign the papers. We returned home, Myron’s draft notice was in the mailbox.

Allan Karl Burgess was born in Lehi Utah on July 4, 1940.

In 1940, when Allan was two months old, we were living in an apartment in Salt Lake city and work was quite scarce at that time. If Myron had the opportunity of working five days a week he would receive fourteen dollars. His boss called him one evening and asked him to come to work the following day. We had a problem. We did not have anything of the type that I could make a lunch for Myron and we did not have any milk for Allan. (We had bottled fruit and vegetables so we could get by at home easily) we had a few gallons of gasoline in our car and we were wondering what to do-~to drive to Lehi (30 miles) and borrow a dollar or so from my parents or what else could we do when a knock came on the door and Beth Fox (Betta) was there. I asked her to come in but she said that she couldn't but for me to step out into the hall for a minute, which I did. She handed me a silver dollar and said "You need this." Being embarrassed and not wanting to admit we really did need it I said that we didn't need it. She insisted that I take the dollar. She would not come in and I had not even as much as talked to her on the telephone for months and I don't even know how she knew where we lived for he had not lived there long. Some may say it was a coincidence, but I know that the Lord sent her. The dollar bought all we needed, milk for Allan and food for Myron's lunch. Never again to this writing have we ever been without the food we needed.

when each of my children were born, for some reason, my mother's milk wouldn't produce and we had to bottle feed them all. In Merril's case it became a serious problem. He would drink the milk but was in terrible pain and would scream and cry whether being held, rocked, wheeled or walked the floor with. Our doctor said there was nothing wrong with him, that he was just spoiled (at two weeks?) He screamed twenty~four hours a day except from midnight until two A. M. when he would sleep from pure exhaustion. My mother would stay up with him one night and I would stay up with him the next night, that way taking turns because we just couldn't leave him in his crib screaming. He had very bad diarrhea also. At six weeks, we took him to church to be blessed and of course he was crying and we could just have him blessed and taken right back out of church. A sister sitting next to mother told her the baby was sick and to take him to a Dr. Blood in Salt lake City. The next day we called for an appointment with Dr. Blood and as soon as he saw Merril, he knew he had chronic colic, and could not tolerate the fat in the milk, and of course the diarrhea problem. Dr. Blood wrote down all of his instructions and within two days, Merril's screaming had stopped and he was a very contented baby. He would lie awake and never fuss or cry. Beth Britton (Reimschiissel) told me later that every time they

came to see us, they thought that would be the last time they would see Merril alive. It took Merril ten months to get back to what the doctor said was normal weight for him. We had to boil rice and use the rice water as part of his formula, also using, evaporated skim.milk and three other medications in each

formula. My parents and we felt like Oriental people for we could not afford to throw the rice away and so we all ate rice in every possible way that winter.

Myron had his patriarchal blessing by Brother Andrew Fjeld just before he left for his basic training. I hoped that he would be told that he would return from the war but no mention was made of that. If I hadn't been so disappointed, I would have realized that his blessing did promise him that, for his blessing promised him that he would hold positions of leadership and therefore would return home

from the war. This has been fulfilled and is still being fulfilled as he has been M I A Supt-. Sunday School Superintendent, Sr. Seventy's President, Elders Quorum President and counselors twice, in the Bishopric as first counselor and in the High Council.

When Myron left for the army training, the fellows were being trained for six weeks and were then being sent immediately to Germany to fight the "Battle of the Bulge ", because so many were being lost in that area. When Myron left, my father said to me that he was going to pray that Myron would never be sent overseas. I told him that he would have to go overseas because they were sending everyone, but Dad Just reaffirmed that he was going to continue to pray. Myron never was sent overseas and I feel that it was because of the faith and prayers offered in his behalf.

Six months after Myron went for Basic Training, he was ill and had two operations and the Doctor demanded that he have a convalescent furlough before he could go back to duty. Myron had lost fifty pounds while he was in the hospital and his belt on his pants. literally gathered his pants around his waist. Myron came home on furlough and took me and the two boys back up to Kennewick, Washington

with him. Allan being five and Merril almost three. The army had made ten apartments out of a barracks building and we were able to rent one of these for twenty-seven dollars per month. No wall paper, paint or floor coverings and only minimal furniture. Our living room furniture comprised of one round belly coal heater. We were fortunate though to have that housing because housing was practically impossible to find. Kennewick was about seventeen miles from Myron's duty camp. In April we were able to get an all electric three room bedroom house, completely furnished for the price of five dollars and forty cents per month. Richland was a different type of city to live in. No one was allowed to live in Richland

unless they were army personnel or a worker at the atomic bomb plant. If you had a visitor in your home and they got sick, they would not let them in the hospital there. No one was there that had not been cleared by the F. B. I. People worked at and soldiers guarded a plant and did not even know what was being made there until the first atomic bomb was dropped on Japan. Yvonne was born here

in the Richland, Kedlac Hospital on June 7, 1946. With three children, Myron was to be mustered out and I had to get special permission to stay in Richland for a week, until he got back from Fort Lewis Washington. We then moved back to Utah.

In our front yard in Richland, Washington, there was no grass but beautiful white fine sand. Each morning, we would dampen it with the hose and Allan and Merril had a full city built in the sand such as roads, bridges, buildings, etc. It was war time and no metal toys were available, so Grandpa Banks (Juniuﬁ C.) made jeeps, trucks, soldiers,-guns out of wood for the boys which they played with in this

sand city. Many hours of fun were spent in this area.

After Myron got released from the army in World War II, we moved back t to Salt Lake City and bought an older home at 124 Vidas Avenue, moving there when Yvonne was a few weeks old. The house needed many things done to it. We applied for a government loan. When the appraiser from the bank came to tell us the loan would not go through because of the poor arrangement of the house, we were in the middle of remodeling so he did not tell us the loan was turned down, but came back some months later when the remodeling was completed and told us the loan had gone through. The basement was dug about four feet deep so Myron dug the rest out by pick and shovel with a little help of Leon Davies, a neighbor boy. This he made into a full basement. He completely rewired the house, out in the sewer, city water, sprinkling system, two bathrooms, made fruit room, closets and cellar with painting,

and other misc. items. We thought we were going to live there the rest of our lives and everything he did was with that in mind.

The first few years when our children were small seemed to race by and they all grew up too fast. Allan was always after us to go to California on a vacation. His dad put him off, saying "When you earn enough money to buy a car large enough for our family to go to California, we'll go." Allan said no more. Two or three years later Allan had saved six hundred dollars at about twenty-five cents per hour and he asked his dad to help him pick out a car. Allan kept looking at big cars and Myron kept telling him a small car took less gasoline and was the most economical. However, a Buick was decided upon. The next day at Sunday dinner, Allan pipes up,"Dad, when are we going to California?" Myron said, "We're not."

Allan then reminded him what he had said about a car big enough for our family. We went to California and it was one of the memorable trips we have ever taken.

During our married life, it seems that my health has never been very good. I was quite sick all the time I was pregnant and was confined to bed for five months with the pregnancy of Paul. Paul was born on April 24, 1951., I also, had rheumatic fever six times, two broken ankles, and a broken back twice, ten operations and so on. I have been in bed at times for six or seven months at a time which made it very hard on my family and especially on Myron. It did, however, teach the children to cook, wash, and iron and clean the house. Myron of course was left with the brunt of things and I would like to say at this time that in all times that I have been incapacitated, he waited on me hand and foot, preparing meals, changing the bed and even emptying bed pans and never once did he complain or frown about waiting on me. He must have great love for me to be so good to me all of these years. I have been in a wheel chair, two different times for a total of seven years and he and the children have taken me everywhere

I wanted to go. Myron made a ramp that would go up into our vacation trailer so I could go camping with him and he fixed another one on our little car top boat so that I could go fishing with him. I certainly am blessed and thankful to have a loving and thoughtful and kind husband like Myron. My children did not complain about all the extra work they had to do either and I am also thankful for them.

We love our grandchildren, our children and their mates dearly and we know that life would not be worth living without membership and activity in the church and our family. We are proud of our family., They are all upright citizens, honest and willing to help when needed. I have loved and enjoyed each of my children as they have come along. Some people said, "Wait until they are teenagers, then you won't enjoy them." When they were teenagers, I enjoyed they even more if possible because I could have more companionship with them and they were so good to me. Now they are all adults, I still love and enjoy them, each one being different but kind and good to me. .They are all active in the church, trying to live a good life and be good neighbors. What-more could a mother want?

As a child I was fairly awkward, falling down and skinning my knees and not very apt at running or skating or other games, however, I loved sports of all kinds, and liked to participate as well as be a spectator. I grew up naturally loving basket ball games as my father being a school teacher, got free passes to all of the basketball games and I being the youngest in the family always got taken (no baby sitters in those days). So we went to all of the games in the school district. As l grew older, I then went to High School football games as well as basket ball. The television was invented, and sports were on the screen, I enjoyed watching them and as Allan and Merril came along and played in sports, they took me to games and got me more interested. So it is I and not Myron who is the sportsman in our family.

Myron and I have been active in the church, accepting the many different callings as they have come to us. I have worked as Jr. Sunday School coordinator and Sunday School teacher, I have taught almost every class in Primary as well as being Secretary, counselor and President twice, and I have been an MIA secretary and class leader. I think one of my biggest challenges was to organize a ward library from scratch. I felt very inadequate and lost. I was also in a wheel chair at the time, but the Lord helped me and with a good library staff, we mounted and catalogued over twenty-five hundred pictures, charts and maps.

While I was working as the ward librarian, the spirit whispered to me that I was going to be called into the Relief Society Presidency. I thought at first that I had just got a silly notion into my head, but the spirit kept telling me this. At the time, I wasn't attending Relief Society very often and wondered, why me? I didn't tell anyone about the whispering, not even Myron, but one evening, Bishop Harold W. Schreiber called and asked Myron and Me to go to his office and sure enough that is what he wanted. Now, our ward was just divided at the time, and we got small parts from three other wards to make up our ward. The new president, Gertrude Hertig, told me that she did not know why she had chosen me

for a counselor because she didn't even know me. She was in tune with the Lord. At the same time, I received a letter from Sister Dolly Singleton, who lives in Australia. She sent me four dollars to help buy material to make things for our bazaar. Now it takes a week to get a letter from Australia and I received it the next day after I was sustained. I was to be the work day counselor. The Lord had whispered this to her a week in advance of anyone knowing it here. Coincidence? Not on your life!

I have a hobby that is fun. For special occasions, tributes, and with gifts, I sometimes write a poem to go with it. I am very much an amateur but it is fun and I can say in poetry what is hard to say in prose. One of my friends, Virginia Jones, who is physically unable to work was discouraged and wanted me to write a poem for her because she couldn't do the things for her small son and others that she wanted to do. I tried to put myself in her position as I wrote this.

Thoughts

Sometimes when tears come in my eyes

When I am low-forlorn

I need thy aid my dearest Lord

To help me not to mourn.

With health not good and desires unborn

Please give me strength, I plea,

For all the things I want to do

Are all inside of me.

Help me to do the things I should,

Thy commandments here, to keep,

For I am a mother, still

And have my young to teach

Please give me strength to understand

Why, I, your daughter, here

Must suffer pain and anguish,

Must always persevere.

While others are so thoughtless

Always laughing, fun, and gay,

Never having to suffer

Never trying to go thy way.

Please help me understand my lot,

Be thankful for thy gifts,

Put a prayer upon my lips

To give to me, thy lift.

I wonder when I hear the Master’s voice,

Will I, then worthy be?

To touch His robe, to see His face,

To fall upon my knee?

I thank thee Heavenly Father

For all thou’s giv’n to me

The gospel great, my husband dear,

And friends and family.

I have a testimony that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is true and it is the only true church on this earth. Even as a child, I had this testimony and would express it in fast meeting. Some of my friends chided me and said that I really didn’t know it to be true but only thought it to be true. I

cannot remember a time when I only thought it may be true. Since that time during my lifetime, I have experienced and seen many miracles happen through the use of the holy priesthood and so cannot doubt it for a second.

On August 1, 1976 I got a pain in my upper stomach. It hurt me off and on during the night, waking me each time and lasting for about one and one-half hours at a time. By morning, the pain got more intense. I went to the doctor and he told me what to do but as the day grew on, the pain got worse, so I

had to go to the hospital to have some tests run. I had tests for several days with no conclusive evidence as to the nature of the problem. The next morning they were going to give me another test by putting an iodine dye into my veins and then X-ray my liver and the tube leading to my stomach, thinking the tube had narrowed and not enough digestive juices were getting to my stomach when I ate. On the day before the test, in the middle of the afternoon, I had the spirit tell me to call Myron and have him bring someone toto help him give me a blessing. I thought to myself-get a blessing just to have a test-but the feeling was so strong, I looked at my watch and thought I will have to wait an hour or two until Myron gets home from work. Again the urging was strong so I picked up the phone and called our home and Myron answered it. I told him what I wanted, expecting him to agree with me that it was silly to have a blessing for a test, however, he did not say anything to that effect but called Brother Jaime Astorga, 1st

counselor in the bishopric to come to the hospital with him. Brother Astorga called Bishop John A. Walkenhorst and they both came. I asked the Bishop to give me a special blessing that I would get through this test because I was worried about it. He gave me a beautiful blessing, asking for the Lord's help. I went to the X-ray dept. the next morning and they started an intravenous feeding in my arm. I soon began to get light headed, shaky and weak and so I told technician about it. They hurried and got me lying down on a cart and when I didn’t feel better, she called the Doctor. He took one look at me and immediately started telling everyone what to do and to hurry. My legs from my knees down went stiff as boards and I could not move them. I got a terrible pain in my head and then a terrible pain in my chest and shoulder. I was vomiting, even though I had not eaten. Then I seemed to be out of pain and oblivious of anything going around about me. All of a sudden, I was in the most peaceful place I have ever experienced. Nothing on this earth can compare with it. I did not see anything or anyone but I know that I was either on the other side of the veil or very near it. If heaven is like that, we all would fight to get there. When I came back to reality, I realized that the doctors had been working on me about two and one half hours. I was allergic to the dye and this had caused my blood pressure to drop, this causing a cardiac arrest. Also, I had a blood clot move from my left lower leg and lodge in the wall of my left lung. Either one of these two things could have brought on death. I testify that I am here today because of the power of the priesthood given to me through my Heavenly Father's servants. Had I not followed the urging of the Holy Ghost, I would not be alive today. My greatest desire is to live the gospel and keep the Lord's commandments, to be a good example to my loved ones and finish the work I was sent here to do.

If there is anything I could leave my family when I pass on, it would be that they would have a testimony that this gospel is-true and a great desire to keep God's commandments, so that we can all be together as a family in the Celestial Kingdom.

Written to November, 1976

NOTE: Margaret died 4 ½ years later and was truly a Saint in every sense of the word.

#Margaret Banks #Myron Herbert Burgess #Edna Myrtle Hackett #Junius Crossland Banks #Allan Karl Burgess #Merril Myron Burgess #Yvonne Burgess #Laura Jo Burgess #Paul Leon Burgess #History #Autobiography #Spiritual

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