#Georgian mile

[putoutallthestars]

Sweetest Thing, U2 (1998)

Real men don't cry apologize. It's time to acknowledge the elephant in the room. - Baby Bono apologizing to his wife in the streets of Dublin for forgetting her birthday. - 🍀🇮🇪👨‍🎤❤️

Blue-eyed boy meets a brown-eyed girl. (Oh, the sweetest thing.) You can sew it up, but you still see the tear. (Oh, the sweetest thing.) Baby's got blue skies up ahead But in this, I'm a rain-cloud, Ours is a stormy kind of love. (Oh, the sweetest thing.)

[dgiterart]

Persian Miku!?

In traditional Mazani clothing from persia!  

More info⬇️⬇️

Mazandaran province  is one of the 31 provinces of Iran. Its capital is the city of Sari . Located along the southern coast of the Caspian Sea and in the adjacent Central Alborz mountain range.Mazandaran is a major producer of farmed fish, and aquaculture provides an important economic addition to traditional dominance of agriculture. Another important contributor to the economy is the tourism industry, as people from all of Iran enjoy visiting the area.

Language: The population is overwhelmingly Mazandarani, with a minority of Gilaks, Azerbaijanis, Kurds, Georgians, Armenians, Circassians, Turkmen  and others, Mazandarani people have a background in Tabari ethnicity and speak Mazandarni.

Culture( literature) : In the Persian epic, Shahnameh, Mazandaran is mentioned in two different sections. The first mention is implicit, when Fereydun sets its capital in a city called Tamishe near Amol:

بیاراست گیتی بسان بهشت.................... به جای گیا سرو گلبن بکشت

از آمل گذر سوی تمیشه کرد .............. نشست اندر آن نامور بیشه کرد

And when Manuchehr is returning to Fereydun's capital, Tamisheh in Mazandaran (known as Tabarestan), after his victory over Salm and Tur.

Arash the Archer  is a heroic archer-figure of Iranian mythology. According to Iranian folklore, the boundary between Iran and Turan was set by an arrow launched by Arash, after he put his own life in the arrow's launch. The arrow was traveling for days before finally landing on the other side of the Oxus on the bark of a walnut tree hundreds of miles away from the original launch site atop a mountain

Music and dance:

Music in this region relates to the lifestyle of the inhabitants, and the melodies revolve around issues such as the forests, cultivation or farming activities and herding. The most famous dance of this area is the Shomali dance, not forgetting the stick dance that the men perform. Popular music in the province, known as the Taleb and Zohre, Amiri Khani and Katuli.

Cuisine :

The cuisine of the province is very rich in seafood due to its location by the Caspian Sea, and rice is present in virtually every meal. Mazandarani cuisine is diverse between regions; the cuisine of coastal regions is different from mountainous regions, as people in the Alborz usually use the indigenous herbs and coastal people use the dishes of fish and Caspian Mazandaran rice with vegetables.

[beatrice-otter]

Such an exhibition

I have been thinking about the breakfast scene in Pride & Prejudice. You know the one:

“Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to hide it not doing its office.” ... “You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley; “and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition.” “Certainly not.” “To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! what could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum.”

It strikes me that there are some nuances that people often miss when talking about this. The first is that Miss Bingley attributes this "conceited independence" not to a flaw in Elizabeth personally, but to the difference between the manners of the country gentry (such as the Bennets) and the fashionable people who live in cities (like the Bingleys). In town, fashionable and wealthy people did not walk long distances. Fashionable people either owned horses/carriages, or took cabs. They would walk in parks where it was fashionable to walk. But they rarely walked alone, especially women. A man might walk to his club alone, in the afternoon, but when walking home from his club that evening he would hire a man to walk with him to discourage pickpockets and muggers. Even in posh neighborhoods!

But in the country ... there aren't cabs, and while there were robbers on the highways who would stop carriages to steal from them, they weren't lurking along footpaths such as the one Elizabeth would have taken. Elizabeth didn't ride horses, and her father is of the lower gentry, which means that the same horses which pull the carriage also work in the fields, and thus the carriage is not always available. Even when it is available, she's one of five daughters. If her dad or mom wants it, they get it; if she or her sisters want it, they have to argue over who gets it. And riding in a carriage was jolting and unpleasant (bad roads and no shock absorbers). So Elizabeth, like many members of the country lower gentry, often walks when she wants to go visit her neighbors.

Then there's the "alone" part. Everyone can quote "six inches deep in mud" but we forget that part of what shocks Miss Bingley is that Elizabeth walked by herself. In Regency England, the more wealth and status a woman's family had, the less often she would be alone. And again, big difference between the city and the country. In the city, a woman of Elizabeth's family status would never go anywhere alone. Either she'd have a female relative with her, or a friend or chaperone, or a servant. For protection, and also to vouch for her propriety. In the country ... as long as she's going to visit another woman, or just going out to walk for the exercise, and she's not going too far, nobody bats an eyelash. This is true both at Longbourn and also at Hunsford. If she were wealthier, that would not necessarily be the case; both Georgiana Darcy and Anne de Bourgh have companions who are paid to go where their mistress goes. So it's not just that Elizabeth is walking that shows the difference between town and country manners, it's also that she's walking alone.

Miss Bingley is criticizing Elizabeth in particular, but she is also criticizing her class, as a way of asserting both that the Bingleys have better manners than country gentry (despite their money coming from trade), and by appealing to Mr. Darcy about it she is also positioning herself as closer to his sphere and manners than to anyone else's.

Then we come to the question of how much does Darcy judge Elizabeth's actions. Mr. Darcy says he wouldn't want Georgiana to do what Elizabeth has done (walk three miles alone through muddy fields), but there's a big difference between the upper gentry and the lower gentry. Georgiana probably has her own horse, and she's much less likely to have to worry about whether the carriage horses are needed on the farm, and also she has someone who is literally paid to go with her everywhere. Also, Georgiana is sixteen years old, has already been targeted by a fortune hunter, and is very shy and timid. So the fact that he wouldn't want Georgiana to do it doesn't mean he necessarily sees it as a big deal when Elizabeth (older, not as wealthy*) does it.

*People sometimes claim the Bennets were either poor or middle class. They were at the bottom of the gentry, but that is still quite wealthy. Mr. Bennet has an income of £2,000/year, which is peanuts compared to Darcy. However, let us compare them to other people in their day. William and Dorothy Wordsworth spent the 1790s with an income of about £170-£180/year, with reasonable comfort. P&P was written in 1796-1797, so about the same time.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1935 Duesenberg

Clark Gable and his 1935 Duesenberg

His wife, Carole Lombard, had one too, which is now in a museum in NZ.

HOLLYWOOD, Calif.

Its 420-cubic-inch straight-8 pulled like a train; it was reputed to have a 115-m.p.h. top speed – “right off the showroom floor,” It could exceed 100 m.p.h. in the second of its three gears, boasted E. L. Cord, the company’s president at the time. Its wheelbase of nearly 12 feet gives the car a poised, unflappable ride. And its massive steering wheel guides the wheels straight and true – although its vacuum assisted drum brakes provide the car somewhat uncertain stopping power

Today, the car’s odometer shows 13,416 miles.

It was January 25, 1936 and Clark Gable had a new car to show off – to a new object of his affections. She was actress Carole Lombard, and the hostess of the lavish White Mayfair Ball, a formal Hollywood soiree, to which Gable drove his 1935 Duesenberg Model JN convertible that night.

The suave actor eventually convinced Miss Lombard to “take a spin around town” with him; when he invited her to his suite a few miles away at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, she famously replied, “Who do you think you are? Clark Gable?”

They weren’t exactly strangers; they had already co-starred together in “No Man of Her Own”. After filming wrapped Miss Lombard presented Mr. Gable with a ham – with his picture on it! But their professional relationship went no further at that point; Miss Lombard was then married to William Powell (she divorced him a couple of years later).

Nevertheless, after they re-connected at the White Mayfair Ball, a scandalous affair ensued; Mr. Gable, still married, was often spotted traveling in the Duesenberg with Miss Lombard from her bungalow on Hollywood Blvd. to night spots, restaurants and hotels all over town. One of those places, The Georgian Hotel in nearby Santa Monica, now advertises the couple had trysts there often.

“This is nothing discreet about this car,” Mr. Gooding said as he pulled up in the glowing Duesenberg, in front of The Georgian. Not exactly the type of car for two famous stars to be seen in – when they are trying to downplay their affair!

. The car fairly screams “notice me!”. Even now the Duesenberg, which appeared in a couple of actual movies of its own, is a show-stopper.

“The record for an American car sold at public auction is $10.34 million, for a Duesenberg – the 1931 Whittell Coupe – which we sold last year,” Mr. Gooding said. “In many ways, however Gable’s 1935 JN is an even finer example.” It is undeniably rare; fewer than a dozen JNs were built – only four of which were convertibles. But no other Duesenberg is like this one. (I will update this post Aug. 19 with the sales price!)

And, then there is the consideration of its celebrity provenance. “I’ve never seen a car with a history behind it like this one,” Mr. Gooding said.

Its 420-cubic-inch straight-8 pulled like a train; it was reputed to have a 115-m.p.h. top speed – “right off the showroom floor,” Mr. Gooding said. It could exceed 100 m.p.h. in the second of its three gears, boasted E. L. Cord, the company’s president at the time. Its wheelbase of nearly 12 feet gives the car a poised, unflappable ride. And its massive steering wheel guides the wheels straight and true – although its vacuum assisted drum brakes provide the car somewhat uncertain stopping power.

A work of automotive art!

Of course, that has often been said about many great works of art – sculptures, paintings, and the like – but seldom about automobiles. Many collectors, however, consider the 18-foot-long Duesenberg, with its flamboyant, following lines, the epitome of automotive art.

The Model JN that Mr. Gable bought originally had a body by Rollston. Mr. Gooding noted, “It was a work of art already.” But Mr. Gable decided it wasn’t audacious enough for his tastes.

So he took it to master coachbuilders Bohman & Schwartz, in Pasadena, Calif., for a complete re-working. And besides, the convertible top leaked – which Miss Lombard reportedly thought amusing; Mr. Gable, however, was mortified.

Clark Gable shows off his beloved Duesenberg!

“Not only did Gable sketch out many of the changes he wanted himself,” Mr. Gooding said. “He also got hands-on with it, and worked on it himself. I don’t recall an example where a celebrity got so involved, and essentially helped craft the car.”

The modifications included body-colored radiator cowl and headlamp pods, raked windshield, extended hood with custom air scoops, re-location of the side-mounted spares to a double-deck “continental kit” at the rear, rear fender skirts, chrome side pipe exhausts (with a driver-controlled bypass lever), functional rumble seat, and a stowable convertible top – that no longer leaked!

It was also re-painted from a pale green to a luminous cream color that seems to glow – apropos of any star of stage, screen or even outer space.

Despite the fact Mr. Gable owned a large, discerning collection of other Duesenbergs, Packards, and Mercedes-Benzes, the JN remained the preferred ride of the inseparable lovers.

So public was their romance that Photoplay magazine ran a feature in December 1938 out-ing them as one of “Hollywood’s Unmarried Husbands and Wives.” Mr. Gable had also been linked in recent years with Joan Crawford, Jean Harlow and Loretta Young (with whom he fathered a love child) – among others. Producer David O. Selznick was ready to cast Gary Cooper as Rhett Butler in “Gone With The Wind” unless Mr. Gable cleaned up his personal life. So the studio reportedly helped pay for Mr. Gable’s costly divorce from heiress Ria Langham; he got the part. The rest, as they say, is history.

Gable got the part!

Mr. Gable and Miss Lombard (who lost out in casting for Scarlett O’Hara) eloped in March 1939. In 1941 the happy couple set off in the Duesenberg on an epic vacation – sort of a belated honeymoon – from their ranch in Encino, Calif., up the Pacific Coast to Vancouver, British Columbia. The trip was nearly 1,500 miles, on primitive roads.

It must have been quite a sight: two of Hollywood’s biggest stars pumping their own gas, fixing their own flats, even changing their own oil – the Gables didn’t want anyone else touching this car! – in a car easily worth $35,000 then (Mr. Gable made more than that in one month, in salary, in those years – and Miss Lombard made nearly as much).

“This was at a time you could buy a Ford for a few hundred dollars,” Mr. Gooding noted.

In Vancouver, the couple would see the Duesenberg for the final time. They stored it there, planning to return the next summer to drive it back to California. They took the train home.

Some months later, however, Miss Lombard was killed in a plane crash near Las Vegas, Nev. Gable, devastated, instructed an agent to sell the beloved Duesenberg – with the proviso that he never would see it again. He never did; he died in 1960.

The Duesenberg became a four-wheeled vagabond, crisscrossing the country, changing hands more than a dozen times. It was re-painted at least four different colors. Its engine was replaced in the 1950s. Parts went missing.

But the current owner, Mr. Gooding said, acquired it in 2006 and ordered a no-expense-spared restoration to its Gable-era glory.

Text via John Piazza

Credit: Respective Owner ( DM for credit or removals )

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

December 29, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Dec 30, 2024

Former President Jimmy Carter died today, December 29, 2024, at age 100 after a life characterized by a dedication to human rights. His wife of 77 years, Rosalynn Carter, died on November 19, 2023; she was 96 years old.

James Earl Carter Jr. was born on October 1, 1924, in Plains, in southwestern Georgia, about half an hour from the site of the infamous Andersonville Prison, where United States soldiers died of disease and hunger during the Civil War only sixty years earlier. He was the first U.S. president to be born in a hospital.

Carter’s South was impoverished. He grew up on a dirt road about three miles from Plains, in the tiny, majority-Black village of Archery, where his father owned a farm and the family grew corn, cotton, peanuts, and sugar cane. The young Carters and the children of the village’s Black sharecroppers grew up together as the Depression that crashed down in 1929 drained away what little prosperity there was in Archery.

After undergraduate coursework at Georgia Southwestern College and at the Georgia Institute of Technology, Carter completed his undergraduate degree at the U.S. Naval Academy. In the Navy he rose to the rank of lieutenant, serving on submarines—including early nuclear submarines—in both the Atlantic and Pacific fleets.

In 1946, Carter married Rosalynn Smith, a friend of his sister’s, who grew up in Plains. When his father died in 1953, Carter resigned his naval commission and took his family back to the Carters’ Georgia farm, where he and Rosalynn operated both the farm and a seed and supply company.

Arriving back in Georgia just a year before the U.S. Supreme Court’s Brown v. Board of Education decision declared racial segregation in public schools unconstitutional, Carter quickly became involved in local politics. In 1962 he challenged a fraudulent election for a Georgia state senate seat, and in the runoff, voters elected him. The Carters became supporters of Democratic president John F. Kennedy in a state whose dominant Democratic Party was in turmoil as white supremacists clashed with Georgians eager to leave their past behind. Kennedy had sent troops to desegregate the University of Mississippi.

Carter ran for governor in 1966, the year after Congress passed the Voting Rights Act. He lost the primary, coming in third behind another liberal Democrat and a staunch segregationist Democrat, Lester Maddox, who won it and went on to win the governorship. When Carter ran again in 1970, he emphasized his populism rather than Black rights, appealing to racist whites. He won the Democratic primary with 60% of the vote and, in a state that was still Democrat-dominated, easily won the governorship.

But when Carter took office in 1971, he abandoned his concessions to white racists and took a stand for new race relations in the United States. “I say to you quite frankly that the time for racial discrimination is over,” he told Georgians in his inaugural speech. “No poor, rural, weak, or Black person should ever have to bear the additional burden of being deprived of the opportunity of an education, a job, or simple justice.”

His predecessor, Maddox, had refused to let state workers take the day off to attend services for the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s funeral; Carter pointedly hung a portrait of King—as well as portraits of educator Lucy Craft Laney and Georgia politician and minister Henry McNeal Turner—in the State Capitol.

Carter brought to office a focus not only on civil rights but also on cleaning up and streamlining the state’s government. He consolidated more than 200 government offices into 20 and backed austerity measures to save money while also supporting new social programs, including equalizing aid to poor and wealthy schools, prison reform and early childhood development programs, and community centers for mentally disabled children.

At the time, the state constitution prohibited Carter from reelection, so he built recognition in the national Democratic Party and turned his sights on the presidency. In the wake of the scandals that brought down both President Richard Nixon and Vice President Spiro Agnew, as well as many of their staff, when it seemed to many Americans that all of Washington was corrupt, voters welcomed the newcomer Carter as an outsider who would work for the people.

He seemed a new kind of Democrat, one who could usher in a new, multicultural democracy now that the 1965 Voting Rights Act had brought Black and Brown voters into the American polity. Like many of the other civil rights coalitions in the twentieth century, Carter’s supporters shared music reinforced their politics, and Carter’s deep knowledge of blues, R&B, folk, and especially the gospel music of his youth helped him appeal to that era’s crucially important youth vote. Bob Dylan; Crosby, Stills & Nash, Nile Rodgers, Willie Nelson, and Johnny Cash, as well as the Allman Brothers, all backed Carter, who later said: “I was practically a non-entity, but everyone knew the Allman Brothers. When they endorsed me, all the young people said, ‘Well, if the Allman Brothers like him, we can vote for him.’”

Elected by just over 50% of American voters over Republican candidate Gerald R. Ford’s count of about 48%, Carter’s outsider status and determination to govern based on the will of the people sparked opposition from within Washington—including in the Democratic Party—and stories that he was buffeted about by the breezes of polls. But Carter's domestic policy advisor Stuart Eizenstat once said that Carter believed an elected president should “park politics at the Oval Office door” and try to win election by doing the right thing. He took pride in ignoring political interests—a stance that would hurt his ability to get things done in Washington, D.C.

Carter began by trying to make the government more representative of the American people: Eizenstat recalled that Carter appointed more women, Black Americans, and Jewish Americans to official positions and judgeships “than all 38 of his predecessors combined.”

Carter instituted ethics reforms to reclaim the honor of the presidency after Nixon’s behavior had tarnished it. He put independent inspectors in every department and established that corporations could not bribe foreign officials to get contracts. He expanded education programs, establishing the Department of Education, and tried to relieve the country from reliance on foreign oil by establishing the Department of Energy.

Concerned that the new regulatory agencies that Congress had created since the mid-1960s might be captured by industries and that they were causing prices to rise, Carter began the deregulation movement to increase competition. He began with the airlines and moved to the trucking industry, railroad lines, and long-distance phone service. He also deregulated beer production—his legalization of homebrewing sparked today’s craft brewing industry.

But Carter inherited slow economic growth and the inflation that had plagued presidents since Nixon, and the 1979 drop in oil production after the Iranian revolution exacerbated both. While more than ten million jobs were added to the U.S. economy during his term—almost twice the number Reagan added in his first term, and more than five times the number George H.W. Bush added in his—inflation hit 14% in 1980. To combat that inflation, Carter appointed Paul Volcker to chair the Federal Reserve, knowing he would combat inflation with high interest rates, a policy that brought down inflation during the first term of his successor, Ronald Reagan.

Carter also focused on protecting the environment. He was the first president to undertake the federal cleanup of a hazardous waste site, declaring a federal emergency in the New York neighborhood of Love Canal and using federal disaster money to remediate the chemicals that had been stored underground there.

Carter placed 56 million acres of land in Alaska under federal protection as a national monument, saying: “These areas contain resources of unequaled scientific, historic and cultural value, and include some of the most spectacular scenery and wildlife in the world,” he said. In 1979 he had 32 solar panels installed at the White House to help heat the water for the building and demonstrate that it was possible to curb U.S. dependence on fossil fuels. Just before he left office, Carter signed into law the Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act, protecting more than 100 million acres in Alaska, including additional protections for the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge.

Coming after Nixon’s secret bombing of Cambodia and support for Chile’s right-wing dictator Augusto Pinochet, whose government had systematically tortured and executed his political opponents, Carter’s foreign policy emphasized human rights. Carter echoed the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights established by the United Nations, promising he would promote “human freedom” while protecting “the individual from the arbitrary power of the state.” He was best known for the Camp David Accords that achieved peace between Israel and Egypt after they had fought a series of wars. Those accords, negotiated with Anwar Sadat of Egypt and Menachem Begin of Israel paved the way for others. Carter credited the religious faith of the three men for making the agreement possible.

Carter also built on his predecessor Nixon’s outreach to China, normalizing relations and affording diplomatic recognition of China, enabling the two countries to develop a bilateral relationship. While commenters often credit President Reagan with pressuring the Soviet Union enough to bring about its dissolution, in fact it was Carter who negotiated the nuclear arms treaty that Reagan honored and who, along with his national security advisor Zbigniew Brzezinski, saw the Soviet Invasion of Afghanistan in 1979 as a major breach in international relations. He cut off grain sales to the USSR, ordered a massive defense buildup, and persuaded European leaders to accept nuclear missiles stationed in their countries, which Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev said was a significant factor in the dissolution of the USSR.

To Carter also fell the Iran hostage crisis in which Muslim fundamentalists overran the American embassy in the Iranian capital Tehran, seizing 66 Americans and holding them hostage for 444 days, in return for a promise that the American-backed Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi, whom Carter had admitted to the U.S. for cancer treatment, be returned to Iran for trial. Carter immediately froze Iranian assets and began secret negotiations, while Americans watched on TV as Iranian mobs chanted “Death to America.” A secret mission to rescue the hostages failed when one of the eight helicopters dispatched to rescue the hostages crashed, killing eight soldiers. Before he left office, Carter successfully negotiated for the hostages’ return; they were released the day of Reagan’s inauguration.

Carter left office in January 1981, and the following year, in partnership with Emory University, he and Rosalynn established the Carter Center, an Atlanta-based nongovernmental, not-for-profit organization to advance peace, health, and human rights around the world.

The Carter Center has supervised elections in more than 100 countries, has helped farmers in 15 African countries to double or triple grain production, and has worked to prevent disease in Latin America and Africa. In 1986, when the Carter Center began a program to eradicate infections of the meter-long Guinea worm that emerges painfully from sufferers’ skin and incapacitates them for long periods, 3.5 million people a year in Africa and Asia were infected; in 2022 there were only 13 known infections, in 2023 there were 14. So far in 2024, there have been 7, but those will not be officially confirmed until spring 2025. In a 2015 interview, Carter said he hoped to outlive the last case.

President Carter said, “When I was in the White House, I thought of human rights primarily in terms of political rights, such as rights to free speech and freedom from torture or unjust imprisonment. As I traveled around the world since I was president, I learned there was no way to separate the crucial rights to live in peace, to have adequate food and health care, and to have a voice in choosing one’s political leaders. These human needs and rights are inextricably linked.”

In 2002, Carter received the Nobel Peace Prize “for his decades of untiring effort to find peaceful solutions to international conflicts, to advance democracy and human rights, and to promote economic and social development.” When journalist Katie Couric of The Today Show asked him if the Nobel Peace Prize or being elected president was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him, Carter answered: “When Rosalynn said she’d marry me, I think that’s the most exciting thing.”

In his Farewell Address on January 14, 1981, President Jimmy Carter worried about the direction of the country. He noted that the American people had begun to lose faith in the government’s ability to deal with problems and were turning to “single-issue groups and special interest organizations to ensure that whatever else happens, our own personal views and our own private interests are protected.” This focus on individualism, he warned, distorts the nation’s purpose because “the national interest is not always the sum of all our single or special interests. We are all Americans together, and we must not forget that the common good is our common interest and our individual responsibility.”

Carter urged Americans to protect our “most precious possessions: the air we breathe, the water we drink, and the land which sustains us,” and to advance the basic human rights that had, after all, “invented America.” “Our common vision of a free and just society,” he said, “is our greatest source of cohesion at home and strength abroad, greater even than the bounty of our material blessings.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[scotianostra]

Today is World Heritage Day

Oiginally known as the International Monuments and Sites Da it is a global celebration of this planet’s heritage. It’s all about increasing the awareness of the importance of the diversity of cultural and natural heritage and preserving this heritage for future generations..

In Scotland we’re lucky enough to have no less than six UNESCO World Heritage Sites. they are;

St Kilda.

The remote Hebridean island archipelago is one of only two-dozen global locations with World Heritage Status for both natural and cultural significance.

The archipelago shares this honour with natural and cultural wonders such as the Historic Sanctuary of Machu Picchu in Peru and Mount Athos in Greece.

I'd love to visit, but it is a wee bit too expensive for me.

Edinburgh Old and New Towns.

Some people have asked me which part of Edinburgh is covered by this title, well the simple answer is all of it!

The capital is a city of many eras, and its World Heritage Site comprises both the old and new towns. The Auld Toon has preserved much of its medieval street plan and Reformation-era buildings along the wynds of the Royal Mile.

The (relatively) New town contrasts this perfectly with neoclassical and Georgian architecture in regimented order.

Antonine Wall.

I've explored many parts of the wall. Constructed around 142 AD by the Romans, the Antonine Wall marked the north-west frontier of their empire. Stretching from the Firth of Forth and the Firth of Clyde, the Antonine Wall separated the civilised Romans from the wild Caledonians.

The Heart of Neolithic Orkney

I've not visited The Northen Isles as yet, plans were in the early stages to go this year, but my friend ended up in hospita and is still recuprating, hopefully we can get something sorted when she becomes more able.

The Orkney mainland is synonymous with archaeology. It boasts the mysterious standing stones at the Ring of Brodgar and megaliths at Standing Stones of Stenness, as well as the 5,000-year-old settlement of Skara Brae and chambered cairn and passage grave of Maeshowe. Together these four sites form the heart of Neolithic Orkney, which was given World Heritage status in 1999.

The Forth Bridge

I remember as a bairn drawing and painting the bridge with a steam train going over it, but the train going over the "bumps!"

One of our most iconic and beloved bridges, the Forth Bridge was named a World Heritage Site in 2015 just after its 125th anniversary. The bridge was one of the most ambitious projects of its kind ever attempted at the time. When it opened it had the longest single cantilever bridge span in the world.

New Lanark

The last mill closed in the 1960s but a restoration programme saved the 18th-century village from falling into dilapidation.

It is an early example of utopian socialism in Scotland as well as a planned settlement – making New Lanark an important milestone in the historical development of urban planning. I have never visited, I must say I much prefer my ruined castles and abbeys.

[atlurbanist]

I love this 1927 photo of Maloof Billiards in Downtown Atlanta on Pryor Street! source: GSU Digital Collections.

The second photo shows where on Pryor Street the business used to stand, before MLK Drive was widened and the Underground parking decks were built (thanks to Kyle Kessler for the info).

A&W Maloof Billiards was owned by a Lebanese immigrant named Gibran Maloof -- whose son, Manuel, would open Manuel's Tavern a couple of miles away and which still stands today.

The following is an excerpt from "Politics in Flux: The Georgians Behind the Republicanization of the South," by Mindy J. Farmer.

----------------

"In 1907...Gibran Maloof left Beirut for America with the hope he would be successful enough to bring over the rest of his family so that they might all escape persecution by the Turks."

"...In 1919, Gibran bought the Tip Top Billiards Parlor and moved to Atlanta. In 1920 he married and two years later Manuel was born."

"The Maloof family’s success did not shield them from the prejudice that was a prevalent part of Atlanta’s culture. In one of his most vivid childhood memories, [Manuel] Maloof watched as another successful relative tried to buy a house in an upscale, posh neighborhood. His neighbors petitioned to force him to move out. Rather than endanger his young family, the relative heeded the neighbor’s warning and quickly moved."

"From this episode Maloof learned that:"Being of foreign extraction certainly meant that there were things that you could not participate in. You knew not to go into certain areas of town. You knew not to attempt to join certain clubs. You couldn’t work in certain places.""

-----------------

I've got huge respect for immigrants who settle in Atlanta and set up businesses -- starting a small business is a hard enough task for a native Atlantan. And learning about the discrimination they met here increases my admiration for their achievements. Here's to immigrant-owned businesses!

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 28

Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

I was lying last time. That wasn't a biggun. THIS is a biggun.

'Be careful, Dad.'

'I will, baby.'

I realize the others. 'Oh. And you too, I guess.'

'Real funny,' T-Dog signs, unimpressed.

The strongest of our group spare us no last glances as they turn away, with only five bullets and a handful of bolts between them. I sit next to Lori on the small bench, watching their backs retreat. The Thanton Memorial hospital. There it is, tall and beige like a school, but really more of a Hellbox filled with nasty surprises behind each one of the hundreds of little black windows. Glad it ain't me.

God. Nine miles. Two days. Sharpsburg, East of nowhere. We really made it. I guess I knew we would.

'You know this place.'

Herschel's already looking at me when I turn to him, his moustache curled around a smile.

'Just a feeling,' He adds.

'You're a mind reader,' I decide, regarding him with suspicion.

Herschel Greene; a wizard disguised as a Georgian farmer. I knew there was something up with him.

He doesn't respond, because I guess he don't want his cover blown. That or... Well, he's waiting for an answer.

'My Momma lived in this town.' Is all I supply him with after a time, because it ends the same way most stories do.

'I'm sorry.'

I shrug. It ain't anybody's fault. 'I don't know why I didn't tell nobody.'

'This town means something to you. We don't always share things like that.'

I guess. 'What about your Momma?'

'My Mother died when I was fairly young.' He admits easily, like somebody at peace. 'One day, my brother and I noticed she'd gone out into the rain to water the plants, and things were never quite the same for a long time after that.'

Oh. I've heard of that. People getting old, forgetting where their bedroom is, who their kids are.

It's hard to imagine Herschel as just a boy with a Momma.

Some days, it's even hard to imagine myself as just a girl, even though that's what I still am.

I offer him a lame smile.

'Let's talk about something a little happier,' He suggests, while over his shoulder, a flashlight glares across the inside of one of the second storey windows. 'I'm starting to think it's the end of December. That would mean it's Christmas soon.'

The light disappears.

I ignore it.

If only them pharmacies we checked this morning had anything in them besides rat shit and dust.

'Jesus' birthday party,' I muse.

That gets him to laugh. I think he's tryna distract me. 'Yes. It could even be tomorrow.'

'Really? How do you know?'

'Well, I suppose I don't. Do you like Christmas?'

Everybody likes Christmas. That is, at least, everybody likes presents.

'Yeah. My Meemaw had a really pretty tree.'

'The minute it turned December first, Maggie and Beth would always force everyone to put up ours.'

'Do they believe in Santa Claus?'

'Not anymore, I'm afraid.'

'And you?'

His eyes glint mischievously. 'Of course I do.'

I consider it. 'I don't think I do. I don't believe in the Easter Bunny, neither.'

Or God, but that's a different story.

'They didn't ever come to your house?'

'They came a few times, but I think they forgot about us. My friend Dylan said they're made up. The Christmas after that, I stayed up late to spy on Santa, but I just saw Merle and Dad carrying presents in from the truck. I never told them.'

'I guess Santa was too busy that night.'

'If he is real, I hope he's okay. The Easter bunny has lots of chocolate to eat, but... Santa might be hungry.'

I wonder if the walkers have made it to the North Pole yet. Knowing those assholes, they definitely have.

'You forget; — Santa has magic.'

'That's how he makes the sleigh fly, right?'

'Right. And all those cookies and all that milk... Well. He's got more than enough to last a lifetime.'

'So, you think he's okay?'

'I'm sure of it.'

'I would like some cookies and milk, too.'

The old man only laughs again, giving my knee a gentle pat as Carl leans forward, his mouth moving around some words.

When the boy gestures to me, Herschel translates.

'He asked me what we were talking about. He wants to tell you it's okay; Santa forgot about him too, one year.'

Carl sends me a thumbs up, trusting that the message got across well enough.

It did. I feel my smile widen.

It's wiped away when Lori suddenly lurches forward between us. Her chest wracks, wracks, wracks, a soft wad of phlegm flying past her lips and landing at her feet. My hand goes to her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly, as if that's gonna do anything useful. Her lungs, they must be clogged up like sponges filled with yoghurt, all that sickness and junk coming back up the way it went in.

Herschel's on his feet, bringing his thin hand down on her back, knocking the phlegm out of her.

I glance over my shoulder.

Lights; more of them, swooping over the glass, appearing and disappearing and reappearing.

A gunshot lighting up a window.

Please be okay, I think. Lori won't make it like this.

Facing forward again, Lori's got her hand splayed over the base of her throat, coughing dryly. She takes the water bottle Carol is offering to her, and gulp, gulp, gulps down the last of what's inside, deflating when she's done, cradling her big belly.

Are you okay, I ask aloud as I loosen my grip on her, hoping it sounds how it's supposed to sound.

She smiles at me in the slightest of ways, putting her hand over mine before I can pull it away.

She nods, I'm okay, honey.

I nod back, because that's good. I don't believe her for a second, but that's good.

'There was a gunshot,' Beths signs to me, then.

'I know. I saw.'

She continues signing even as she turns to Herschel, a habit by now. 'That was loud.'

'Don't worry. Anything that heard it will be too slow to make their way over here.'

'I hope so.'

We sit without talking after that, watching the windows of the hospital light up with gunshots every now and then, as if it were a football game on TV. I count them, the flashes. The one I saw while Lori was coughing, that's one. That one there, that's two.

Rick used to talk about the day he woke up in the Grady Memorial Hospital sometimes. Right now, the only parts of the story I can remember are the ones where he'd hesitate to continue, staring at something in the fire the rest of us couldn't see, before he muttered about the way there wasn't one wall in the entire building that wasn't dirtied with blood, not even in the children's ward.

Hospitals just ain't what they used to be, is what I learned from him.

There's definitely more than just rat shit and dust in there.

I glance at Beth, asking her, 'Any noise?'

Her lips crumple into a thin line as she answers, 'Nothing.'

Just when I swear Herschel is about to bow his head and start praying, the front doors swing open.

Mouse perks up, his tail ramrod straight.

That's Dad, T-Dog, and Maggie walking out.

Where's Rick and Glenn?

The three of them are panting, dishevelled, but nobody hurt. Nobody bit. That's always the first thing I look for.

Thing is, though, they're all looking at me like I've won a shitty prize and I just don't know it yet.

What now?, I almost feel like saying, but don't.

The further in we walk, the darker it gets.

Does anybody really like the dark?

The flashlights carve out pockets in the walls and floors around us as we make our way down corridor after corridor. My heart skips a beat each time we pass the body of a patient or a nurse or a person in regular clothing, all with a bolt or a bullet buried somewhere inside them. We sidestep their limp arms in turn, their puddles of blood. I ain't ever been in a horror house before, but I imagine this is worse. I imagine it'd prolly feel a whole lot less like you're being walked to the gallows for execution, and that the blood would be fake.

If I had my locket, it would be clutched between my fingers right now, but the soft spot beneath my throat is completely bare. When I woke up this morning to my empty palm, I knew right away what'd happened. I didn't bother to ask what he did with it.

Passing another body with a bolt skewered through its face, my Dad reaches for it, pulling it out.

Clicking it back onto his bow, he notices me watching him.

'Keep going, baby.' He signs to me, black blood smeared down the side of his neck. 'Not far, now.'

T-Dog comes to a stop in the middle of the corridor a minute later, his flashlight revealing Glenn and Rick standing together just up ahead. Not hurt. Not bit. They look up from what they've been doing, which looks like taking turns kicking the wall.

T-Dog lowers the flashlight to their feet.

There it is.

The Harley-sized hole in the wall.

Now that I'm looking it, I can see what they meant. Nobody else is fitting through that thing, not even Carl.

Still no use, is the sentiment written all over Rick's face.

It looks like they've tried their best to widen the gap, but it's made out of solid brick and we're fresh outta jackhammers.

Will she fit? 

Yeah, I think so, Is the gist of what I can tell they're saying to each other.

We got this piece off here, but it the rest isn't budging. We don't have any bullets left to shoot it.

Maybe... we can do what I said before? Find another pharmacy?

Sure. When you find one within twenty miles of here, you let me know.

You're right. That was dumb. Sorry.

There are no other options. The medicine Lori needs is in that room, and it's like I said. She won't make it, otherwise.

'Listen. There are keys on the desk.' Dad explains to me, his stern expression contoured harshly by the flashlights surrounding us. He takes my wrist, guiding me to crouch with him at the base of the wall, pointing through the cracked bricks. I strain to make out the desk with the keys at the back of the room on the other side, before I meet his gaze again. 'Do you see them?'

'Yeah. I saw them.'

The desk ain't the only thing in there.

'We need you to grab them and unlock the door for us.'

We both know I also saw the walker standing idly in the corner, head bowed to the floor, waiting.

'We'll be able to kill it when the door is open.' He adds when I don't respond, as if he needed permission. 'I can't from here.'

'My heart is beating fast.'

He nods. 'That's a good thing. And this meathead is dumb. Are you dumb?'

I puff my chest out, shaking my head.

'That's right. You don't need to hear them when you're smarter than them. You're always smarter than them. Okay?'

'Okay.'

That's what he's told me ever since I went totally deaf. I don't need to hear them when I'm smarter than them. It's not as if we've had the opportunity to test the theory out, since there's so little walkers that I ain't had to kill one yet, but I trust him.

Twisting around, he gestures for Glenn's flashlight and catches it easily, giving it a few test clicks.

He hands it to me. 'Remember what I taught you?'

I give a nod, feeling the weight of Merle's knife sitting in the sheath on my thigh.

'Good. And be careful of the glass on the floor, okay?'

'Okay. I got this.'

I can do this. I gotta, for Lori and the baby. It'll make for a funny story one day, anyway. I can do it.

'You got this.' He agrees. 'It's gonna smell you, but you're not gonna panic. Easy stuff.'

'Easy stuff. Okay.'

'Okay?'

'Okay.'

With one last look at the group, I take a deep breath and grab onto one of the exposed bricks, contorting myself until my head and one of my arms is through the gap. I pause for a moment, trying not to breathe too much as I watch the walker follow invisible patterns along the floor with its eyes. Once its head is tilted away from me, I brace my hand on the floor, pushing myself through.

Oh, God. What was it I just said? I can do this?

The flashlight blinks on and off as I land on the other side, grabbing it, giving it a shake.

The desk is illuminated in a circle of light, centre stage.

The dead body twitches in the shadows. I slowly get to my feet, silently warning it to stay right where it is if it knows what's good for it. I'm smart. I can read and write now, and my Dad taught me how to stab the thigh first, so the walker will collapse and make it easier for me to reach whatever cavity I can stick my knife in. If this thing gets too close to me, it's gonna get the Dixon treatment.

Uh huh. That's right, I scold it, chin held up. The Dixon treatment. Ain't nobody want that!

The pieces of glass on the floor glint in the light as I tip toe my way through them, stepping up to the desk.

Dad said the keys are here. I saw them. They should be right here amongst these dusty papers — Ugh, God, don't sneeze. Don't. — or maybe even on this folder? What about the shelves above the desk? How could they just disappear?

When I turn the light on the walker, it's looking at me, eyeballs wet, reflecting the light.

It's smelt me.

That's okay. I'm okay. We knew it would.

It starts its slow shuffle towards me as I turn my attention back on the desk, casting about it twice as quickly now, batting the alarm clock, the pen pots, the stethoscope, everything out of my way and following all the pencils and random office supplies down to the floor. Kneeling, I look around, making sure the keys haven't gone down with them or fallen between the desk and the cabinets.

A glint of metal.

I gasp. They have!

I must've accidently knocked them off while I was choking back all that dust in my face.

I stick my hand into the slim gap, but — Ugh. — I can't get it any farther than my knuckles!

I'll have to make it wider.

Abandoning the flashlight, I grab the side of the desk, using all my strength to shove it even just one inch to the side.

Shit, it's heavy. They got bowling balls in here, or what?

The wheelie chair bumps into my ankle. I act on instinct, my hands shooting out, bracing against it. I look up. The walker's slouched over it, reaching for me. My elbows, they buckle. Shit. The seat slams into my shoulder — Ouch! — but you know what. This'll do. This works. I just need these stupid keys. I ignore the walker and its stench of old meat, focused on nothing but the keys.

I'm not gonna panic. It's what I used to do, but I've learnt since then. I'm better!

A couple shoves, and the gap is just wide enough, wide as it's ever gonna be.

Easy stuff. Easy stuff.

The seat suddenly gives way. The body rolls, cracking its cheekbone on the floor. Don't matter. I got the keys. I'm back on my feet and running to the door, feeling out a random key and shoving it in the lock, twisting it. It's the right one. The door opens.

Maggie pulls me out by the arm. It's if there's a fire blazing behind me and I'm about to go up in flames.

That's it. I'm out!

I fall into her stomach, protectively held there.

Thank whoever's still up there. Or maybe, just thank me.

Rick and Dad push past my shoulders, marching into the room and unsheathing their blades, powerfully driving them both into the walker's skull. Blood splatters as they yank them out, droplets landing across the glass cap of the flashlight on the floor. It tints the light and everything it's cast onto a bright red, flickering. Dad picks it up, wipes it on his thigh, and hands it back to Glenn.

Grinning proudly to myself, I hold up the keys up like a trophy head for everyone to see.

Maggie releases me, smiling breathlessly down at me in relief.

'Well done,' T-Dog exclaims with his hands, sharing a high five with me.

Kneeling in front of me, Dad cups my face in his hands. He don't give a damn about the keys. Are you okay?

'I'm okay. The keys were down the side of the desk. I couldn't reach them. I had to—,' Shoving at the air, I enthusiastically mime the struggle, making Maggie chuckle behind her hand. 'The walker was trying to get me through the chair.'

He smiles, wagging his thumbs across my cheeks before lowering his hands. 'I told you. Meatheads. But not you.'

'Not all the time, anyway.'

'You should've come back out when you couldn't find the keys.'

'Sorry.'

'It's alright. There won't be a next time. You did good.'

Then, taking the keys from me, he stands back up and returns to Rick's side in the dark room.

I stay right beside Maggie and Glenn as they make quick work of the storage room door, pushing it open. Their torches illuminate the shelves on either side of them, which to everyone's relief, are completely untouched, lined with all kinds of medicine. It wasn't all for nothing. Without bothering to read many of the labels, they swoop their arms through the masses of bottles, catching everything in their open backpacks and zippering them back up, before nodding to each other and stepping back outta the small room.

Let's go, Rick says as he shoos us forward. We're all eager to get the Hell outta this place.

Stepping through Thanton Memorial's broken glass doors, daylight breaks across my face.

The fresh, cold air floods into my dusty lungs.

When Carl spots me, it's like the bench burns his ass. He's calling my name as he comes running at me, crushing me in a hug that almost sends us both toppling over into the snow. A giggle is squeezed from me as I hug him back, feeling my bones creak under the pressure. Wow. For somebody who ain't eaten anything other than a bit of rabbit for the past two days, he sure is strong.

Pulling away, he holds both my shoulders as he worriedly exclaims something to me.

You're the coolest, bravest person ever, I'm gonna assume is what he's saying, I don't know how you did it!

He pulls me in for another, quicker hug.

When Herschel appears over his shoulder, I get the real story. 'He's telling you we were all very worried.'

Oh. Is that right?

Ow!, The boy scoffs as I land a punch to his shoulder, forcing him offa me.

'Tell him he's talking to Harley Dixon,' I say.

As the sentiment is passed on, Carl rolls his eyes at me, making a retort.

'He wants to remind you of the time he hugged you after you cried from a nightmare.'

Ow!, He complains again when I punch him.

As he rubs sorely at his shoulder, he can't help but giggle along with me.

'Come on,' Herschel interrupts us, herding the two of us back toward the group. 'Very well done, sweetie.'

'I was only a little scared.'

'Of course. This is Harley Dixon I'm speaking to, isn't it?'

Too right. 'Yes, it is!'

Stepping up to the crowd, we gather around the bench as Rick takes a seat next to his wife, uncapping the bottle of water in his lap. Her face looks awful pale-like, paler than the snow packed under our boots. Still, despite the effort it must take, she manages a smile. Her hands shake as she takes the water, watching Rick tap a small bottle of pills against her open palm until two tumble out. 

Being trapped in that room was one of the scariest things I've done. I can say that, now. But as she tips her head back and swallows the pills down with a gulp of water, I'm hit with the feeling that I would do it all over again if I had to.

She sighs, body swaying. We can only hope that it works.

As Rick soothes circles onto her lower back, his gaze accidently meets mine.

'Thank you', He signs, looking like he means every bit of it.

His blue eyes start to water just like they did last night, except there ain't no fire I can blame it on this time.

I only give him a single, shy nod, grabbing onto my Dad's hand. He don't need to thank me. I love Lori, too.

Then to everyone else, he says it again; Thank you.

Carl's hugging me again.

I don't bother punching him this time. I don't wanna do it, anyway.

Being back in Sharpsburg is different to what I thought it would be.

Aside from the old blood smeared across the roads, the way everything seems to have gone through a nightmare and fell back asleep shortly afterward, Sharpsburg is the one place we been that has not bothered to rot away quite yet. There ain't no bombing craters where parks or stores used to stand, no toppled police barricades, army trucks, no bruises from the week everything ended.

Petey's general store is still exactly where it always was, right next door to the news agency, the record store, the locksmith. I don't keep my head down like I planned to. I don't pretend I never knew this place, or the people in it, because I did. I hold my chin up to the light of the setting sun as we walk through the forgotten town, unafraid of the memories I can see behind each and every door.

You know this place. I did. I do. For a long while, it was pretty much the only thing I knew.

Each weekend, I would jump out of Dad's truck the second he pulled up on the handbrake, door slamming as I ran into my Mama's open arms. It would be late afternoon, sometimes twilight. There was no school the next day, no quizzes or beatings to worry about. Not on the good days, not when I was cruising down the sidewalk on my bike with a dollar note in my hand, on my way to Petey's. He would always insist on letting me pick an ice cream out for free, but it never worked. Have-it-her-way-Harley, he always called me, the nickname a hearty chuckle in his mouth. The wind was in my hair on the way home, because I had one back then, dollar note replaced with a fruity-flavored glob of ice cream frozen to a stick. Sugar melting onto my fingers, washed away in the play pool after dark.

I used to do things like that. We all did, I suppose.

As we pass by an empty parking lot, I notice the rainbow streamers of a lonely, fallen bike blowing around in the wind like a white flag. I wanna ride a bike again. Just for a minute. Maybe two, I think, as I hold my gaze on it for as long as I can.

Eventually, we make it to a park. Of course, I recognise this place as well, and so does my Dad.

That's why I can feel him staring at the back of my head.

I never stopped to think about how he knows Sharpsburg, too. He was right there with me on the porch of Petey's store, most the time, smoking cigarettes in the sun with melted ice cream drying out on his collarbones. He remembers it, too.

We used to come to this park all the time; me, Momma, and Dad, on the rare days they got along.

I got to pretend I was a different kid looking in on the three of us and thinking, What a nice family. I wish I was her.

Now, the monkey bars look more like the giant ribcage of an old beast rather than something I'd wanna play on.

A shrivelled walker, curled over the seat of one of the swings, lets the wind brush its fingers along the ground.

Everyone has a Before.

Even that walker.

Even if our Befores were all very different, at least our Afters are all the same. We're all here, sick, hungry, tired.

The park's trees and fences fall away after a while of more walking, making way for a suburban street.

Coming to a stop in the middle of the road, the ache in my feet worsens to a pang, pang, panging.

'Everything alright?' Glenn's asking me as a wave of tiredness suddenly washes over me.

'My feet hurt.' I answer. 'And don't say sorry.'

'I think we're going to stop soon. Don't worry.'

Rick considers the houses lined up in front of us, hands on his hips, as Dad walks up to us. 'What's wrong?'

'Her feet hurt. And are you tired?'

I could fall asleep right here in the snow. 'A little.'

Even when I was lost in the woods outside Herschel's farm, I still don't think I ever walked this much and for this long.

Giving me a regretful look, Dad offers, 'Do you need me to carry you?'

'I'm a big girl,' I tell him, yawning.

'I know. I asked you a question.'

They wait on my answer. I think about fighting it a minute longer, but I just don't have it in me. I'm reaching up for my Dad before I even realize it's what I'm doing, letting him lift me onto his chest as I wrap my arms and legs around him.

I could've definitely handled it. Yeah. It's just that, maybe it's okay if I don't for a while.

I can already feel my eyes drooping shut. I'm gonna fall asleep right here.

It's suddenly a lot easier to feel like just a girl, now.

My chin hooked over his shoulder, I watch through my heavy lids as Rick does a double take on something laying on the ground, turning to pick up what looks like a fallen street sign. The moonlight swells over the clouds, spilling onto the metal.

Brushing the frost off, he reveals the words, Bolton Drive.

Bolton Drive. To me, this was always just Dylan's street.

If we turn left here, there's some bigger houses down the way. I think it's prolly what my Dad's telling the group right now.

We're on the move again right after that, heading further into the suburbs. I'm saved from walking, instead snuggling into my Dad. It's almost impossible to shield my face from the oncoming winds as I peek out over his shoulder, the moon a silver ball in the sky behind us. I bet it's just about the only place left without any walkers, including the North Pole. If I were a bird, maybe I would forget all about Earth and just fly up there. I could look back down on it all like from a faraway window, watching as it slowly spins.

At a harsh gust of wind, I close my eyes, and the moon and all the stars vanish.

Sleep sweeps me up quickly. My mind floods with murky colors, then black, swirling like a shower drain.

When I open my eyes next, we're approaching a house I don't recognise.

'Shhhh,' Dad's soothing me, looking about as exhausted as I feel. 'It's alright. I'm putting you down.'

My feet slowly setting on the ground, Maggie takes my hand before I get the chance to feel the loss of Dad's warmth. We wait shivering at each other's side as the men clear out the house. Rick eventually sticks his head back out, waving us inside.

Climbing the porch, we huddle into the narrow corridor and spread out into the nearest room, the lounge room. Dad's already got a fire going for us as we make ourselves at home on the sofas, the hot breath of the flames quickly starting to melt the frost stuck to my coat. I hug myself, breathing deeply and slowly to try fight off the urge to fall right back asleep. As I notice Carl approaching, I scoot over to make room for him and his Momma, who settles her weight down on the sofa with the help of Maggie and Glenn.

I feel a little bad for being carried, even if I needed it. Lori made it all the way here on foot, deep into a sickness and carrying a baby inside of her. A lotta people might think a lady like her is weak, but they'd be wrong. There's many ways to be strong.

My Dad stands from where he was knelt by the fireplace, peeling off his beanie and sitting beside me.

As I look around the room, all I see are tired faces.

Mouse plops himself between my feet, the poor guy's fur ice-cold beneath my hands as I give him some pats.

We'll be warm soon, buddy, I think.

Everyone's attention is stolen when Rick steps up to the front of the room, fiddling with his beanie in his hands.

He gulps on nothing, nodding to himself. 

'I know we're all very tired,' Herschel translates for me as the words come, even though his arms must feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. 'Been tired for months. But let's just make the most of this and try to relax tonight. We've got a fire. We've got walls. Medicine. It's a Hell of a lot better than those garages back in Newnan. T and I will melt some snow for us to drink, and we got some food we just found in the kitchen. We'll take turns for watch through the night, but there's not much out there. You saw.'

Carol hesitates to raise her hand, shaking her head as she asks a question.

We turn back to Rick. 'I don't know. I don't like staying in one place long, but I'm thinking there's only a few more weeks left until Spring. It's not impossible to think we can tough it out here. There's not many other options right now.'

It looks like we're staying in Sharpsburg for a few more weeks, then. At least until the cold dies down.

There are worse places to end up.

'Try to warm up in the meantime.'

Leaving us to stew in thought, Rick and T-Dog pull their coats on tighter and disappear through the archway.

'You know something?' Beth asks after a minute or two, the only light in the room coming from the fire. It lends her face a pretty, dim glow as she glances at her Dad sitting next to her.  'Daddy thinks it's gonna be Christmas tomorrow.'

Oh, that's right. I'd almost forgotten.

Glenn sends him a, No shit?, sort of look.

'I just figured it would be about that time.' He explains, making Maggie light up. 'I have a sixth sense for it.'

My Dad scoffs, shrugging. 'Well, I don't have a calendar. Why not.'

Wait? Really?

'So, it's Christmas tomorrow?', I ask him, as if we ain't just making all this shit up.

Something so simple, the prospect of waking up on Christmas morning tomorrow even if it ain't in no official way, even if we ain't even got a tree, let alone a star to put on top of it, sparks excitement throughout the room. Yes, it's Christmas tomorrow. From the smiles breaking out on everyone's faces, Maggie giddily gripping onto Glenn to give him a shake, I can tell it's Christmas tomorrow.

Feeling just a little bit more awake than I did a moment ago, I exclaim again, 'It's Christmas tomorrow!'

My Dad seems to find this very amusing, smirking side-long at me.

There ain't much to say in the way of how our Christmases used to go, especially the ones after my second birthday, but I still remember seeing the church all lit up with decorations at night whenever we happened to drive past it. I always liked that.

Carl must exclaim the same thing I did with almost twice the energy, because Lori and Rick laugh.

'I can't believe,' Maggie gushes, 'I forgot about Christmas!'

'It's not your fault,' Glenn jokes, petting her shoulder. 'We've been busy trying not to die.'

'Good point.'

'I'm sure the Lord will forgive you,' Beth says.

'Yeah. He started all this shit, anyway.'

Maggie waves her hand around. 'Hey. A little respect for the Atheists in the room?'

When everyone turns to look at me and Dad, a round of laughter breaks out.

'We're only in it for the presents,' He agrees.

I nod. It's true.

'Me, too,' Glenn says.

'I just wish I we had some,' Beth pouts.

'We're alive,' Herschel argues, looking around at each person in the room. 'There's no present better than that.'

Aww. That cheesy line earns him a funny look from Maggie, who pulls him into a deathly-tight hug.

'I think there actually might be something better.'

Glenn sticks a finger up, standing and disappearing into the kitchen.

When he returns, he's cradling a bunch of shiny wrappers in his arms, dumping them all onto the coffee table. Snack packs. Crackers and cheese, salami and cookies, bread sticks, peanut butter. Those really are snack packs! What a lucky find!

Nobody hesitates. We all grab one, ripping the seals off and huffing the tasty smell that comes out.

'You just found these in there?,' Asks Beth.

'Yeah,' He answers, flopping back onto the sofa. 'They were in the pantry. There's cans, too.'

'I'm in love with whoever lived here.'

Mouse is staring at me as I pick up a piece of salami, so I toss it into his mouth.

I save the next one for myself, groaning at the nostalgic taste of school lunches.

'Better?' Glenn signs to me like a smartass, knowing damn well this is the best thing I ever tasted.

I stick my food-covered tongue out at him.

Blehhh!

Unexpectedly, he does the same thing back. Eugh. Gross!

When Carl notices what we're doing, he sticks his tongue out, too. Even grosser!

'Come on. Enough,' Dad tries to warn me, buts he regrets it a second later when a wet glob of salami lands in his lap.

This is what Rick and T-Dog walk in on as they come through the archway, holding cookware filled with chunks of snow and ice in front of them. My Dad's smacking the salami onto the floor as if it were fresh dog shit, Carl and I trying not to choke on our food, laughing at him. Mouse spinning in circles like a lunatic, spurred on by the chaos, making Carol laugh like she means it. Not that puny, polite little chuckle she does sometimes; a full belly laugh, holding onto Maggie for support. They was only gone a few minutes.

Rick smirks as he shakes his head, deadpanning something to the effect of, I see you found the food.

They set the cookware in front of the fire and join us on the sofas. 

'Why's everyone so happy?', Rick asks as he sits on the ottoman, confused, delighted, because there has to be a reason.

'It's Christmas tomorrow,' I gladly tell him.

'Oh, really?'

T-Dog asks the others, 'Wait, what? How do you know?'

'We don't.' Herschel admits, throwing Mouse a cube of cheese. 'But we deserve a Christmas, don't we?'

Yeah, I see the word slip from Rick's mouth.

'We deserve some eggnog, too,' T-Dog adds, making himself laugh just like he always does.

'Tell me about it.'

'Cover your ears, kids,' Carol tells us, even though she's laughing, too.

I hear that right? As the deaf one outta the two of us, I jokingly gesture to my ears. I can't hear shit, anyway!

As everyone laughs all over again, my Dad reaches out to try and cover my eyes, but I bat him offa me. Nice try.

'You got the card, now, kid.' T-Dog tells me, like it's some secret club I've joined.

'I got the what?'

'The card. I got mine, too. 'Oh, yeah? Is it because I'm black'?'

Carol smacks him. 'Whatever.'

'Next time your Dad gives you in trouble, you can pull the, 'Oh, yeah? Is it because I'm deaf?'

That's silly!

'Don't give her ideas.'

'Too late,' I grin devilishly. 'I got the card, now, Dad.'

He rolls his eyes, trying his best not to laugh, too.

'You can't do that, Harley.' T-Dog mimes. 'Oh, yeah? Is it because I'm deaf?'

'What did I just say?'

Sorry, man, T-Dog chuckles, biting on a tiny bread stick.

What's eggnog, Carl asks his parents curiously, reminding us why we're talking about 'cards' in the first place.

Eggnog is a milky-lookin' drink that got booze in it, which is why Rick and Lori brush off the question. I tried it once, during a party at my Meemaw's, after one of my Uncles shrugged and said, Fuck it. Tasted like garbage sprinkled with cinnamon.

'Let's just stick with what we have,' Herschel suggests. 'There must be some other traditions we can do?'

'Our family used to share a favorite moment from that year,' Beth says. 'Maybe we can do that?'

'That's a great idea, Beth.'

'I got one.' Glenn raises his hand. 'Finding that car in Atlanta.'

'Oh, that was good.'

'Sad we had to leave it.' He agrees. 'I also liked the time I fell into a dumpster after we left the CDC.'

'What?,' Maggie scrunches her nose at him.

'Looking back at it, it was pretty funny.'

God dang, I remember that day. I was sitting off to the side with Sophia, watching the scene unfold together.

'Morales had to grab your ass to pull you out,' I tease him.

Rick tries to hide the fact that he's chuckling, as Maggie asks him what he was doing in a dumpster.

'We'd lost everything. We were searching for supplies, but I saw some yellow boots and I wanted them for Harley.'

Everyone croons, Awwww.

'I remember those boots, actually.' Beths recalls. 'What happened to them?'

'I fed them to the cows,' I shrug, so I don't gotta bring up the farm, where I left them in our tent the night it all burned down.

'Hey. I risked my life for those boots.'

Rick corrects him, 'I think you risked your ass, is what she just said.'

'It's what I said.'

'I got one.' My Dad says, dipping a cracker in some peanut butter. 'The day we put Glenn in the well.'

'Remember how he squealed?,' T-Dog giggles.

'No,' Glenn tries to convince us, doing a very bad job of it. 'I don't remember that. Never happened.'

'That walker was next-level gross.'

Next in the line to share, I decide, 'My favorite moment is when I found Mouse.'

'He loves you, doesn't he?,' Maggie smiles.

I throw him another piece of salami, hoping that the answer would be yes.

Carl tells everyone his favorite moment from this year was sneaking off into the woods with me, but his parents both give him a look, so he wisens up and changes his answer to something a little less totally forbidden; going to shooting practice.

When it's Lori's turn, she mentions a time she pushed Carl on the Greene's swing.

Rick's favorite moment is beating Herschel at checkers, something that the old man lets him get away with sharing.

'Gotta be seeing Daryl wake up after surgery,' T-Dog says after that, startling me with how suddenly sentimental it is.

The firelight flickers back and forth on the rug for a few moments.

My Dad subtly replies, Thanks, man.

'I was gonna say that, too,' I say to be funny.

'Yeah,' Glenn backs me up. 'You totally were. In fact, I change my answer, too. Favorite moment; Meeting Maggie.'

The woman pouts up at him, grabbing his hand, threading their fingers together.

'I change mine, too.' Dad says. 'The moment I found out Harley wasn't bitten.'

'That's mine, too.'

'Me, too,' Just about half the group nod, agreeing.

Then, everyone's coming up with different answers, talking over the top of each other. Bringing Harley back safe from the gas station, is T's second answer, but he also has a third and fourth and a fifth, because he just can't pick one. Making it outta the CDC alive. Finding the farm. Saving Glenn after he gave blood. Herschel's favorite moment is all the moments he's kept his daughters safe, an answer that earns him a big hug from both Maggie and Beth this time, because, I don't know what I'd do without my girls.

Rick and Glenn finding Daddy safe, Beth says, and then Maggie; That's mine, too.

I find myself with a hundred new answers, too. The moment Jacqui and I kicked up all them butterflies outta the grass as we ran to the house, after she told me my Daddy was alive. The morning Maggie made us scrambled eggs and tea for breakfast. All them times I shared a peach with someone while we sat in the sun. Lori making that joke about Maggie and Glenn being in love, and how I gagged at it back then. I can't forget about the time Carl hugged me as I cried, as Dad cut my hair, as I petted a cow's nose or fed a chicken.

All the little things and the big things, but also all the sad things. In a way, I'm grateful for them, too.

If Jacqui was here, or Sophia, or Momma or Meemaw, or my cousins, who could be anywhere by now, dead or alive, or Morales or Eliza or Louis or Miranda, who I ain't sure if I'll ever see again, or even our dog Tank, I like to think they'd be grateful for me, too.

'I told you, didn't I?,' Herschel smiles. 'No better present.'

After that — After Glenn starts to tear up and we all tease him for it — We decide to wrap it up for the night.

'I love you guys,' He blubbers, like we didn't already know, like we haven't almost died for each other a hundred times over.

Okay, buddy, Dad's saying, reaching to pat his shoulder.

'I think it's time to turn in.'

Beth covers her mouth as she yawns. 'Yeah. I'm so tired.'

'Tell me if anybody sees Santa Claus,' T-Dog says non-committedly.

'I'm going to grab the blankets and pillows from upstairs.' Rick announces, standing up. 'Who's on first watch? Me?'

I'll do it, My Dad offers, letting Maggie comfort Glenn, but he's turned down.

He was frostbitten from head to toe only yesterday. I wouldn't let him out there, neither.

I can do it, T-Dog decides, and that's that. 'Maybe it'll be me that sees him.'

No fair, Carl whines.

Rick leaves and brings back down a whole bunch of bedding that he plops on the floor, giving everyone free reign to pick out what they want as T makes himself scarce. I pull out a small pillow and what must be a toddler's blanket, letting Dad help me get settled on the sofa. I lay with my head against one arm rest, Carl resting his against the other. Both our Dads tuck us in.

'Goodnight,' He signs to me, knelt just beside the sofa. 'You still hungry or thirsty?'

I shake my head, yawning. 'Just sleepy.'

'You were very brave today.' He tells me, earnest eyes boring into mine. 'Not many kids would do what you did.'

'I just wanted to help Lori and the baby.'

'I know. They got a better chance, now.'

'Does that mean I get to name the baby?'

He smirks a little bit. 'We'll see.'

I glimpse Beth muttering to Hershel over Dad's shoulder, sharing a big blanket. I sign, 'Would Momma be proud, too?'

His face falls. The words hit him right in the heart, a poisonous bolt. All he says is, 'Yes.'

'Good,' I manage to reply, right before my eyes start to droop closed.

'Goodnight,' He signs again.

Placing a kiss to my cheek, my Dad pulls back and lays his own blanket down on the floor in front of me, laying facing the fire.

Rick was right. This is a Hell of a lot better than those garages back in Newnan.

I would like to help T-Dog spot Santa, I really would, but I just can't stay awake even one moment longer.

I'm being shaken gently.

Groaning, I open my eyes. Dad's face is inches from mine, all the windows behind him filled with grey daylight.

Adjusting the crossbow on his shoulder, he signs, 'Good morning.'

'Good morning.'

Sitting up, I groggily take in the sight of the group still laid out across the room, fast asleep. All except for Dad, and also Rick and Carl. I see them standing in the archway, both dressed for the snow just like Dad is, whispering to each other.

'Get your coat,' Dad says, and before I get the chance to ask what's going on; 'We're going searching for presents.'

We're what?!

After waking Glenn and putting him on watch, the four of us set out into the neighbourhood. The sun slowly rises from behind the falling snow, eclipsing the roofs of the houses around us and washing the morning in a soft, pink and yellow hue. It's quiet, peaceful, just how it always is before the day fully starts. Carl, Mouse, and I are rowdily running down the sidewalk, disturbing it all.

It's Christmas. According to us, it's Christmas, and ain't nobody here to tell us otherwise!

Dad and Rick follow after us until we make it to the park, the two oldies totally left in our dust as we make a beeline for the playground and pounce on the metal merry-go-round. It's been so long since I went on one of these. It feels like we're breaking a rule, a rule that nobody said aloud, but we ain't. Our Dads told us loud and clear that today, we're allowed to do whatever we want.

I'll spin us, Carl's laughing as he pushes on one of the handles, Mouse wisely standing back.

I still remember to hold on tight. Here we go!

Once he's picked up enough speed, he makes a jump for the platform. He skids around like a drunk, landing on his ass. He hugs the closest handle. The world spins into a multi-coloured smear. I just can't stop laughing, not even if I tried.

As the ride slows down, it feels like I'm 'bouta hurl up all that salami I ate last night.

Again!, I shout.

The next time we come to a stop, we round on the sight of Dad and Rick standing off to the side, watching us.

'Wanna get pushed?,' My Dad asks us, nodding to the swings.

I jump off the platform. 'Yes!'

Rick effortlessly peels the dead walker I saw yesterday offa the seat, throwing it aside and helping me on. I'on know how long we swing for, but the warm, pink sun spills and spills between the trees until it's on my face, making me forget the cold.

Spring is right around the corner, now.

This whole nightmare is almost over. I can just tell.

One of these days, the sun will crest the horizon and the snow just won't come.

It doesn't take long for us to make it back to town square.

'Where should we start?', Rick asks.

'I want to look in Petey's,' I answer right away, pointing to the storefront. 'But Carl can't come.'

Obviously, it's because I'm gonna be picking something out for him, which is why he starts giggling when Dad translates.

Rick ruffles the boy's hair, nudging him in the opposite direction. 'It's a plan. We'll search over here.'

'There's a toy store that way,' Dad adds helpfully.

'We'll check it out. Good luck.'

'Good luck. Watch out for elves.'

He laughs a bit as I whistle for Mouse, who runs after us. 'We will.'

Passing barrels of wrinkled flowers, Dad sticks his fingers between the automatic glass doors and forces them open, pulling his crossbow down as they roll apart on the tracks. Out of the darkness, a human-shaped shadow stumbles toward us.

It drops to the floor before it can even open its mouth.

Lowering his crossbow, Dad nods me forward, tugging his bolt outta the walker's wet face.

Look around, He says, wiping the blood off on his thigh.

The first thing I check is the comic section, of course. I'm hoping they got the series Carl likes, the one with the kick-ass astronauts and the evil aliens on the cover that I can't remember the name of. Captain Noel and the Astronauts, or something like that. I read it just the other week while he was dozed off, just to see what all the fuss was about. Weren't hard to see why he likes it.

As I step over a fallen sale sign, Mouse sniffs around the shelves, skulking around the corner.

Approaching the display stand, I skip right over the magazines and check out the comics, flicking through the covers. There's pictures of supervillain scientists, monsters, ninjas in impossible poses, wielding metal stars. They's all dumb-looking, so I'm sure Carl would eat them up like hot cakes for breakfast, but I really want the alien one. He been after the next volume since we met him.

There's a tap on my shoulder.

Hm?

Glancing up at Dad, I watch as he pulls a comic down from the highest rack, holding it out for me to see.

Captain Nate and the Awesome Eight, The quirky logo reads. 

Grabbing it up like it might disappear before my eyes, I feel the pages crinkle under my fingers. This is the one!

Volume Four, It says at the bottom. The final mission.

I hold up three fingers to Dad.

Understanding, he flips through the comics again before handing me the third volume.

I take it, hugging them both to my chest before signing, 'These are for Carl. He loves them.'

'Really? I thought they were for Beth.'

Pssh. He ain't funny. 'Let's keep looking. We need something for her, too!'

He puts the comics in my backpack for me, following me around the store to continue our hunt for the perfect presents.

For Beth, I find a couple bottles of nail polish in the tiny makeup display, throwing in a black tube-thing that reads, Mascara, along with them for Lori, or maybe for Maggie. I ain't sure. I ask Dad what he thinks, but he got even less of a clue than I do.

I decide to throw in a second tube and some eyeshadow thingies just to be safe.

For Rick and Herschel, we decide on a pair of woolly socks for each of them. You just can't go wrong with socks.

When we find some shirts with silly phrases on them, I know instantly that they would be perfect for Glenn and T-Dog.

Lastly, Dad makes us grab a bunch of random things that we need, like canned food and lighters, before we turn into the pet aisle. Mouse is there, nosing a package of tennis balls along the floor. He looks confused when they roll under the shelves. I crouch down, pulling them back out. It looks like he found his own present. He watches me stash them in my bag, pink tongue lolling happily. 

On our way out, I pass by the rack again, stealing a girly magazine off it that I think Carol will like.

Carl and Rick meet us back on the street, both their backpacks suspiciously fatter than they were the last time we saw them.

'How'd it go?'

Good, Rick says, as Carl tries to get a peek inside my bag. 'Want to swap?'

Before the boy gets to close, I fend him off, giggling as he wrestles me.

'Sure.' Dad pulls him offa me. 'Hard to get a present for your kid when they're right beside you.'

'Exactly.' Rick chuckles, offering his hand to me.

I take it, blowing a raspberry at Carl's back as he walks off with my Dad in the opposite direction.

The store Rick and I check out is the record store, Jameson's Jams, just across the way. After he scopes the place out, coming up empty, it's safe for us to go in. The smell of dust and plastic swarms us I look around at the tubs of record sleeves and CDs.

'It used to be tidy in here,' I sign to him, even though he could prolly guess that.

The doors close behind him, shutting the snow out.

' Did you go here often?'

'All the time.' I meander up to the nearest bin. 'My parents loved music.'

As I pick up an edgily-decorated sleeve that catches my eye, Rick steps up to my side.

'Something tells me their music taste clashed,' He jokes. 'Am I right?'

No. 'They both had bad taste.'

Scoffing, I throw the sleeve back, walking around to the other side of the tubs.

Chuckling to himself, he glances down at the record I'd been holding. It fits my Dad to damn T. I don't take it with me, though, because we ain't got no way to play it. It'd just be a waste of space, so I crack open a CD instead, taking out the paper.

Tossing the useless part back in the bin, I look up to see Rick already looking at me.

He's frowning, his brown hair poking out from underneath his beanie, curled over his faint wrinkles.

'What?,' I gesture impatiently.

What's he want?

I hate to admit it, but there's a little stain of bitterness left inside me after what he did to my Momma's photo.

It weren't like it was on purpose, but it didn't have to be.

'I'm sorry,' He signs, the tubs separating us by at least ten feet feeling more like a hundred.

'It's okay,' I brush it off. 'I'm not mad at you.'

'I know. Trust me, I can tell when you're mad at me,' He smiles for a fleeting moment. 'I'm apologising, anyway.'

'That was the only photo I had of her, you know.'

'I know.'

'Her name was Lindsey.'

'I know. Your Dad talks to me about her, sometimes.'

'Why did you throw it?'

He pauses, picking at a sticker on the wood before fessing up, 'Shane makes me angry, honey. I was angry. I threw it.'

'Angry? Not sad?'

'No. Not sad.' He shakes his head. 'We were all past that when we saw the truck leaving the farm.'

'He gave me the locket. My Dad threw it away the night you burned the photo.'

'Yes, I know. He talked to me about that, too.'

'He did?'

'He was going to let you keep it.'

'Why didn't he?'

'You know why.'

Yeah. I do. I don't even know why I asked that. He threw it away for the same reason I'm not allowed to talk about Ronnie.

Rick changes the subject, the tension in his shoulders melting away as he signs, 'Thank you. Again.'

'For the hospital?'

He nods. 'You were brave.'

'Dad said the same thing.'

'It's true. Even I would have been scared, and I'm thirty-four years old.'

'You're never scared.'

'I'm scared all the time.' I'm pretty sure he didn't mean to say that. I wait until he says something else. 'Thank you.'

Hell. He shouldn't make me laugh like that. I'mma breathe in all this dust. 'You're worse than Glenn.'

'What do you mean?'

'You can't stop saying 'Thank you'. He can't stop saying 'Sorry'. Feet hurt. Sorry. My ears ring. Sorry. It's funny.'

'He's sensitive,' Rick agrees fondly.

'I know. He cried last night.'

A muted chuckle. 'That's right. He did.'

As I look off to the side, something on the wall catches my eye.

Guitars. A lot of them.

Abandoning the piece of paper, I run over to them, stepping onto a chair and pulling down an electric guitar.

Rick is eye-level with me when he comes over. 'Your Dad said he knows how to play.'

Nodding, I give the strings a dramatic thrum.

It must be painful, going by the way Rick looks like he's just heard nails going down a chalkboard.

I can't help but laugh, turning to hook it back up. Like the record and the CD, it would just be a waste of space. Electric guitars don't sound so good if you don't got anything to plug them into. Acoustic ones, however, they're perfect anywhere.

Hopping onto to the next chair over, I pull down a classically wooden guitar, cold to the touch. 

When I strum this one, Rick gives a thumbs up. It'll need tuning, but that's a piece of cake.

Jumping down, I have a thought.

'How the Hell do we hide this from him?'

He looks the thing up and down. 'We might have to give it to him now.'

Aw. 'That's not as fun.'

'How about this — You hide behind me. When we see him, you jump out. Is that fun?'

Hmmm. 'Okay. Let's do that!'

Carl's a lot harder to appease than I am, which must be the reason Rick lets out a little sigh of relief. 'Great.'

'It needs a shoulder strap,' I decide, grabbing one from the rack nearby and ripping it outta the plastic. I try to figure it out, turning it over to get a good look, but then I just pass it off to Rick's mittened hands. 'You know how to put it on?'

'Let me try.' He accepts the challenge, kneeling in front of the guitar.

Buttoning each end of the leather strap to the metal attachments, it looks like he's got it.

He hands it back, raising his brows at me. 'Remember to jump out. We have to get him to crap his pants.'

'It's a plan.'

Before we meet back up, we stop by the thrift store next door so that Rick can grab the shirt he'd had in mind for Carl, a simple thing with a superhero he likes on the chest. As we leave through the front doors, Rick herds me in behind his back.

We're only waiting in town square for a minute or two before he signals me that they're coming over.

When I feel the time is right, I jump out!

Rahh!

Dad don't quite crap his pants, but his eyes do widen ever so slightly. In Dixon terms, he's chilled to the bone.

My back-up man watches on, laughing.

I hold out the guitar once the moment's passed, hoping it's obvious that this is his Christmas present.

Woah, breathes Carl as my Dad takes it carefully, Mouse's tail batting around wildly at his ankle.

We watch as he drags his thumb down the strings, remembering what it feels like. Slowly, he starts to smile.

Looking up at me, he seems very, very pleased. 'Thank you. I love it.'

'Merry Christmas!'

'We knew we couldn't hide it from you,' Rick explains, 'So we scared you instead.'

'Did it work?'

Dad nods, frowning as he mouths the word, Terrifying, before kneeling to wrap me in a hug. I kiss his cheek.

'Did you get everything you wanted?'

Nodding again, Dad stands and passes the guitar to Rick, seeing as he's already wearing his crossbow.

Pulling it on, Rick nods in the direction we came from. 'Let's head back, then.'

We make it only five feet before we notice Carl isn't following us.

Looking back at him, he points at the parking lot across the street.

We follow his finger.

Across the street, the lonely bike with the streamers still lays there in the snow, next to a couple other bikes.

We glance between each other, a glint of something cheeky in our eyes.

We're all thinking the same thing, ain't we?

It's a long walk, anyways.

Who the Hell bikes in the snow, is what a sensible person would ask themselves as they saw us race past their house.

We do!, is what I'd shout back at them.

We're zooming down the streets of Sharpsburg like we're late for a wedding, the most ridiculous sight the apocalypse ever did see. Rick, taking the lead just like always, with a guitar bumping around on his back as he pumps the peddles of a pink bike. Carl on the little one, its rainbow streamers blowing out on either side of him without a care in the world. Mouse, sprinting to keep up.

He's going so fast; I think his ears might just fly off and smack me in the face!

It's a challenge to not fall off the handlebars of Dad's bike just from laughing so hard.

I clutch onto it harder as we crest over the top of a hill. Rick goes flying down first, then Carl. Dad wraps an arm around my stomach, hugging me to his chest as we both laugh against each other. We're next. My stomach lurches. My toes go numb. Then we're free-falling, and the tyres are shaking beneath us and the handlebars are jiggling all over the place, the wind racing past us.

Sucking in a deep breath, I let out a shriek of, Wuh-Hooooooo!

My heart's beating outta my chest like when a walker's got me in its grasp, when I feel most alive.

Whatever day I've said is the best day of my life — This is it, now. Hands down.

Rick reaches the bottom first, doing a fancy little skid in the snow and glancing over his shoulder at us to see our reaction.

Carl gives him a thumbs down, making him laugh as he turns back around.

The hill flattens out into more suburbia.

We slow down to a more leisurely pace for the rest of the ride back, and simply enjoy the morning together, trailing the sidewalks like a bunch of kids. The sun is well into the sky now, shining through the frigid air without any clouds to cover it up.

When I spot the house in the distance, I'm almost sad.

As we pull into the driveway, bumping over the curb, Glenn stands from his seat on the porch steps.

Hey, guys, He's laughing, perplexed.

Rick answers him with a few flicks of his bell, braking to a stop.

Where'd you go?, He asks, as I jump down from the handlebars.

Carl dumps his bike on the ground and holds up his backpack, shouting, Presents!

He gawks. No shit?

No shit!, He exclaims, running straight past him and up the porch.

I catch Rick sharing a funny look with my Dad, but he lets the swear word go. It's that type of day.

The adrenaline-high don't leave my body even as I follow everyone inside the house, stepping into the busy lounge room. We're greeted by the rest of our group, who are more than awake by now, hugging us as we come through the archway. They're completely beaming. It's obvious. They've heard the great news — We went out in the early morning to do Santa's bidding, for no other reason than because we managed to live long enough to, and because we deserve it. For once, we can ignore everything else and it'll all be okay.

Shrugging off my backpack, I set it down on the coffee table. Carol and Herschel tidy away the empty snack packs as Dad, Rick, and Carl set theirs down, too. Everybody's eyeing the bags excitedly, tryna see if they can make out the goodies inside.

'You guys are sneaky,' T grins, wide enough to show off the gap between his two front teeth. 'Sneaky!'

'Where did you go?!,' Maggie wants to know.

She lounges back on the sofa, Mouse jumping into her lap.

'Town square.' Rick's looking livelier than he has all Winter; all year, maybe. 'We left while you were all asleep.'

T seems to have an epiphany. 'It's you guys!'

'What?,' He asks.

'You're Santa!'

Realizing the man is pulling our legs, Rick rolls his eyes.

Carl goes on to ramble all about our adventures. By the way he's miming it all out, I can tell he ain't leaving out our visit to the playground. Everyone's watching him with nothing but joy in their eyes, adding comments here and there, laughing.

When Beth notices the guitar, my Dad proudly shows it off to the room.

'Harley found it,' He signs, reigning everyone back in, reminding them to use signs. 'Pretty, ain't it?'

Herschel turns to look at me. 'What a wonderful, wonderful gift.'

'I got more,' I tease, giving my backpack a tempting wiggle. I can't wait to give out the rest of the presents!

'Let's just get right into it then, right?,' Rick suggests. 'Go crazy.'

That's all the permission anyone needs.

As the three of them open their backpacks and start handing out presents left and right, I get to opening mine.

The first things I pull out are the stupid shirts for Glenn and T-Dog, walking over to them and putting them in their hands. Maggie's laughing her ass off as they hold them up to their chests, cluelessly peering down at the text. I step back to admire my work. Sorry I'm late, T's shirt reads, and Hell, it's even funnier than I imaged it would be, I was doing my hair! I think he's laughing something like, You little punk, before he glances over at Glenn's to see the damage. I'm with stupid, His says, except the arrow is pointing at his face.

Aw Hell naw!, T-Dog unabashedly laughs.

'Put them on!,' I demand, taking the fabric in my hands. Glenn helps me out, pulling it over what he's already wearing and straightening it out so the message is on full display. T-Dog does the same thing, even if he does call me a punk again.

'How do we look?,' Glenn asks me and Maggie when they're done, giving a stiff twirl.

'Don't answer that,' T-Dog says.

I give Maggie her gift next, the Mascara. She plants a kiss on my cheek and pulls me in for a tight hug, releasing me so I can head over to the other ladies. Carol gratefully takes the magazine, Lori and Beth Oohing and Aahing over the makeup.

It's no 'Electric Spring Citrus', but Beth still seems very touched by the bottle of yellow polish.

Next, I pull out the tennis balls. Boy, does that get Mouse's attention. I rip off the seal, sending them all bouncing across the living room floor, almost tripping some people over. Mouse darts after this one and that one, chasing them all over the place as I hand the socks to Herschel and Rick. They're both delighted, taking turns giving me a hug. We was right. Ya can't go wrong with socks.

'Carl and your Dad have something for you,' Rick tells me as he pulls away, pointing over to them.

I tap Carl on the shoulder, and when the two of them turn around and realize me, his face lights up.

Harley!, He's exclaiming.

He digs through his bag and holds out my two presents. 

'Thank you!,' I sign, taking them. Oh, wow. A diary and a packet of colored pencils. I don't gotta squeeze my thoughts into the margins, no more. I got fresh, blank pages, enough to prolly last me a whole year. Giving Carl a hug, I hold up a finger; Wait.

Reaching into my backpack and feeling out the comics, I pause just to be dramatic, before I pull them out for him to see. His jaw drops as he snatches them up. All them months hearing him complain, and watching him read the same volume over and over, makes it all the more satisfying to see him flick through the pages, realizing with mounting horror that it's everything he dreamt of.

Thank you, He's shouting, Thank you!

'Wanna see what I got you?,' Dad says next. 'You can both play with it, but it's for you, okay?'

'Okay! Show me!'

Carl and I crouch down with him as he unzippers his backpack. What he pulls out is not like anything I would've expected.

A big, flat white box with a photo on the front of some kids kicking a soccer ball into a little pop-up goal in the sun.

'Can't play soccer without a goal.' He smirks as I take the box in my hands, ready to tear it open with my teeth if I gotta.

They both help me pick the tape off the cardboard, pulling it open and turning the whole thing upside down. The goal slides out. Having finally been broken out of the confines of its box, it immediately springs into shape, almost smacking us all in the face.

Dodging it with a laugh, I exclaim, 'Thank you, Dad!' 

'Do you like it?,' He asks.

'I love it! How do we set it up?'

Looking about, he finds a small baggie of metal stakes that fell out with it, and a page of instructions.

I lean in closer to take a peek as he skims over them, but it all looks simple enough.

'Easy,' He decides. 'We can set it up in the front yard, yeah?'

'Yeah. I'm gonna smoke you both so bad.'

Dad thwacks my arm with the piece of paper. 'Hey. Who said I'm playing?'

'Oh. So, you're scared.' I nod empathetically, feeling smug. 'That's okay. I'm rusty, too.'

'Seriously?'

'I only won three medals when I was in school.'

'I'm old, kid. I'm in my thirties. I'm pretty much dead.'

'Loud and clear. You're scared of losing.'

He rolls his eyes. 'You're a brat. Don't cry when you lose.'

'I've never cried in my life, Dad. Ask Carl.'

As soon as he passes on the question, Carl levels me with the most, Get serious, expression I ever seen in my life.

Whatever. 'I'll still win!'

'We'll see,' He says as I glance at the rest of the group.

'This was so thoughtful of you guys,' Maggie signs from her seat on the sofa, doing that little pout she does.

With all the presents handed out, I take my time looking around the room. T and Glenn are still wearing their t-shirts, of course. If I could have it my way, they wouldn't ever wear anything else. It looks like Rick and Carl gifted Glenn a magazine about race cars, and T-Dog a flashy, gold chain necklace that he manages to make look cool. Lori and Herschel are wearing new matching jackets, the material purple and puffy. They look like father and daughter, sitting there like that, Lori's head resting on the old man's shoulder. Beside them, Carol's blowing air onto Beth's painted nails, while Mouse lays on the floor, gnawing at the tennis ball he must've decided is his favorite.

And Rick. He's not pouring over a map. He's not frowning to himself as he cleans a gun. He's not snapping at one of us to, Stop that, We need to stay focused. He's just smiling faintly next to Glenn, refusing to reveal to anyone this was all his idea.

'I'm just glad there's no wrapping paper to clean up this year,' He chuckles, looking at Lori.

The woman smirks, shaking her head. Bad memories, I guess.

'Every year,' He continues, gesturing to an invisible pile in his lap, 'We would end up with this much.'

'You're not the only ones.' T-Dog scoffs, like this is a lifelong issue he's faced.

'Oh, yeah. You were a garbage man, weren't you?,' Glenn remembers.

'Minimum wage, brother,' He agrees, bringing the pizza-boy in for a bro-hug.

'What have you got there, Harley?,' Maggie asks as they pull apart.

'A soccer goal,' I excitedly answer, before holding up Rick and Carl's presents. 'And a diary and pencils!'

'I don't want you to think it's for schoolwork with Lori,' Rick says. 'Carl just told me he's seen you journalling.'

'I love it,' I shake my head. 'Thank you.'

That bitterness that I'd been feeling toward him, it disappears just as quickly as it came.

'You haven't been writing anything bad about me, have you?,' Glenn asks threateningly.

'Just a little bit,' I shrug.

'She's a brat, isn't she?,' My Dad jokes.

'She's a total brat.'

'Hey! I don't like you, either.'

'Well, Merry Christmas, everyone.' Maggie says to wrap things up. 'Time to take this outside. We got a game to play.'

'Sounds like it,' Rick agrees.

'Come on.' Dad stands back up, grabbing the soccer goal and the stakes.

Jumping up and pulling on Maggie's sleeve, I exclaim up at her, 'We should be on the same team!'

'Girl power,' She agrees, frowning stubbornly as we descend the porch steps.

Mouse goes running out into the snow with his tennis ball. Dad heads over to the fence, setting down the goal and pushing the stakes through the rubber loops to secure it to the ground. I tell him I hope he did a good job of it, because me and Maggie are gonna be making every goal we shoot for. It's Dad and Carl versus us two girls, so the competition is even fiercer. We gotta win!

'We got this,' Maggie goads as T-Dog takes up the goalie position.

Carol pumps her fist in the air. 'Let's go, girls!'

Everyone starts cheering us on as Maggie kicks the ball straight over to me. The game's begun! I stop it with my foot, watching as she skirts around Dad, shouting for me. I boot it back to her at just the right moment, running forwards.

Maggie dukes Dad, left, right, left, before she kicks it right between his feet and back to me.

I stop it again with my foot.

Carl's on me, suddenly. He tries to use his foot to steal the ball away from me, but I don't let him!

Keeping him at arm's length, I line up my shot with the goal. I've done it a million times before. What's one more!

I rear my foot back, and—!

T-Dog's far too big and slow to see it coming. The ball shoots right past him — Goal! — and crashes into the meshing.

'Point for the girls,' Rick announces from the sidelines.

Maggie runs up to me, grabbing my hands and squealing happily, with the boys sulking together in the background.

We end up winning. There's a few close calls here and there, but we're just too quick on our feet for them to really get any smooth moves in. As the winning goal is made by Maggie, Carl stomps his foot into the snow, complaining, Aww, man!

We use every last bit of energy we have left in us to play for the rest of the morning. For once, not just for getting out of bed, or making it through the day. We manage to get a couple more rounds of soccer in before somebody throws a snowball at my Dad while he's trying to kick a goal, and then it all devolves into a snowball fight. There's no teams or rules; just clumps of snow flying across the yard, people falling over, Rick laughing, and Glenn getting dogpiled to the ground until Dad has to come and rescue him from us.

Nobody's really winning, but I don't think anyone's keeping count, anyway. Nobody's losing, either.

Except maybe Carl, when he tanks a snowball directly to the face.

I gasp. Youch!

He wipes it off with a grin, scurrying off to start preparing some returning fire.

I hurry to join him behind the wall of snow, bulking up my snowball before launching it at one of the adults.

It hits Glenn in the jaw. He lurches; falls onto his ass.

Me and Carl share a high five!

To think I was dreading coming back to this town, when it's actually given me one of the best days of my life.

Is it bad I'm happy the world ended?

Probably, but I don't care.

FIVE MONTHS LATER.

I can hear light birdsong in the trees.

We've stopped again, on some highway or other. I'on know. They all look the same to me. Grey road, winding up a hill, flanked on both sides by a strip of dirt and twigs. While the others get outta the cars, slamming their doors shut and grouping together to discuss what's next, I turn my head away from them and gaze out the passenger side window. The sun warms my face. I remember back during the Wintertime; we hardly ever saw the sun. Hell. That was forever ago. Nowadays, we been fending off heatstroke, feels like.

I close my eyes, relishing in the sounds around me. Leaves brushing, idle engines rumbling.

There are a lot of moments like this for me, where I'll just ignore what everyone else is doing and listen. I'll listen to anything. The car radio, if anybody's got it playing, even if it's a song I don't like. A river flowing. A deer trilling. It's the best part of my day.

"We got nowhere else to go," Herschel's suddenly saying, and then I'm opening my eyes again.

The group is gathered around the hood of the car I'm sat up in, splaying a map out for them to study.

"When this herd meets up with this one," Maggie points, "We'll be cut off. We'll never make it South."

"What'd you say it was? About 150 head?" Dad estimates.

"That was last week." Glenn's shaking his head, squinting against the sun. "It could be twice that by now."

I've heard this exact conversation about thirty times over by now.

That herd from last year; It's thawed and split into two, and neither are getting any smaller. The more they walk, the more they pick up. It's how it's always gone. They been following us, and we been running. That's how that's always gone, too.

We had a couple places we holed up for a while. Sharpsburg served us well while it lasted, but we had to move, eventually.

Now, we're back on the run.

"The river could've delayed them," Herschel suggests. "If we move fast, we might have a shot to tear right through here."

"Yeah, but if that group joins with that one, they could spill out this way."

"So, we're blocked."

We're always blocked, I want to tell Maggie. You know this by now.

In moments like these, I think back to the day we had that snowball fight and try to remember what everyone's smiles looked like.

"Only thing to do is double back at 27," Rick says, "And swing back this way."

Rick's different. For Rick, I think back to the bike ride.

T-Dog's getting frustrated. "We picked through that place, already. It's like we spent the past five months going in circles."

"Yeah, I know. I know."

"Is this what we're doing, then?"

When Rick nods, T-Dog asks him, "Is it alright if we head down to the river to fill up on water, then?"

"Sure. Knock yourself out," He says as they disperse, Maggie rolling up the map.

Herschel whispers something to Rick, then, and I can't quite catch it. My hearing aids ain't that good, but I know it's about Lori because they glance over at her in the car behind me. It's probably the, She can't keep doing this, conversation. Like always, Rick's wiping his sweaty forehead, bullshitting his way through an answer, and like always, Herschel is patient with him. They know he's right.

Lori's about to burst, way her stomach's been looking these days. She's gonna give birth any day now.

I'm just glad she got better and stayed better.

That was a nasty sickness.

Herschel leaves Rick to think about what he's said, making an opening for Dad to ask him to go hunting.

I'm surprised when he turns to me. "You wanna come, chicken?"

There's that Southern twang I once forgot the sound of.

'Come hunting with you?,' I sign, just outta habit. Sometimes, my voice is just too loud for me to bare.

"Yeah. You can stretch yer legs a little. How 'bout it?"

Not wanting to spend one more second in this car, I agree by opening the door and jumping onto the tarmac.

He whistles for Mouse, and then we're walking into the treeline.

"Carl says it was blue, but the boy's blind," I ramble to Rick as we walk along the train tracks, keeping an eye out for animals.

"Between the pair'a ya," Dad muses from in front of us. "You almost make a full vegetable."

"Shut up, Daddy. You ain't funny."

He snickers a little before facing forward again, crossbow at the ready. "Sure I ain't."

"Anyway." I sigh as he pushes a leafy branch outta the way. Rick ducks under it, and then me. "Like I's sayin'—"

When I look up, the sight that greets me has all words dying on my tongue. I slowly catch up with Dad and Rick, who have also completely forgotten about the story I was telling. It weren't very interesting, anyway. Something about a frog Carl and I found the other day. The sun beats down on us as we look out over the sheer drop just in front of us, and at the rolling, green hills in the distance.

Well, I'll be goddamned.

That right there is a whole ass prison.

End Notes.

Okay that's it. I cannot edit this chapter any longer. What's done is done!!

WE ARE FINALLY IN SEASON 3 !! It only took a year and 28 chapters.

I'm very glad to be back in canon again, but writing Christmas with the group was so fun. Also very glad to be able to write Daryl's accent and slang properly again haha. It just didn't translate into sign language. I know some of you will also be relieved that we're not using it much anymore.

As always, I really hope you enjoyed!

Thanks for reading! Until next time! 💙 :)

[gardenwalrus]

The view from Wimpole Street, London, 1964 © Paul McCartney

The Ashers’ house in Wimpole Street. A very small attic room with one window. A garret. Perfect for an artist. There wasn’t any room for me to keep my records — many of which had been mailed to me from the US before they were available in the UK — in there. They had to be kept on the landing. But somehow I had a piano in there — a small, sawn-off piano that stood by my bed.

— Paul McCartney, The Lyrics (2021)

+

The [Asher] family lived in a large town house in Wimpole Street in the West End of London. It was a Georgian terrace house with six floors, including a rambling basement. On the top floor, in the old servants' quarters, were Peter's bedroom and a little music room. Sometimes, late at night, Paul would be invited to stay over rather than go back to Green Street. Then one day, in the course of conversation, Jane suggested that he could live at Wimpole Street if he hated the Green Street flat so much. Her mother would let him have the attic room. [...] Paul's room was next to Peter's, in the back of the house, next to the top bathroom. It was a small, square room with a single window overlooking Browning Mews, where horses and carriages were once kept. The view of rooftops and chimneys gave him a sense of living in an artist's garret. A large brown wardrobe and a single bed occupied most of the room. There was a wall shelf with some bric-a-brac in a jumble - a couple of Jean Cocteau Opium drawings, one in a cracked frame, a stack of first editions - while the space under the bed rapidly filled with a haphazard pile of gold records and trophies to which was added his MBE, awarded to the Beatles by the Queen at an investiture at Buckingham Palace on 6 October 1965. There was little to show that the room belonged to anyone much richer than the servants it had been originally designed for, despite Paul's rapidly accumulating wealth. [...] PAUL: 'I eventually got a piano of my own up in the top garret. Very artistic. That was the piano that I fell out of bed and got the chords to "Yesterday" on. I dreamed it when I was staying there. I wrote quite a lot of stuff up in that room actually. "I'm Looking Through You" I seem to remember after an argument with Jane. There were a few of those moments.' [...] When Paul was filming Help! in the spring of 1965, the fans gathered outside the front door in such a mob that Dr Asher devised an escape route out of the back of the building from Paul's attic room.  [...] PAUL: 'I used to go out of the window of my garret bedroom, on to a little parapet. You had to be pretty careful, it wasn't that wide, it was only like a foot or so wide, so you had to have something of a head for heights. You'd go along to the right, which was to the next house in Wimpole Street, number 56, and there was a colonel living there, an old ex-army gentleman. He had this little top-floor flat, and he was very charming, it was quite amazing going through. 'Uh! Coming through, Colonel!' 'Oh, oh, okay, hush-hush and all that!' and he'd see me into the lift and I'd go right downstairs to the basement of that house. There was a young couple living down there and they'd see me out through their kitchen and into the garage. [...] I'd do a left and then I'd be through the archway into New Cavendish Street. I'd have to watch that the fans hadn't noticed, they were just around the corner, then I'd just run down the road. It's quite funny to think now of some of the people I met doing that.'

— Barry Miles, Many Years From Now (1997)

Photos from the 1990s via Richard Porter's Guide To The Beatles In London

[amuseoffyre]

Good Omens Locations - S2 E2

This is gonna be a meaty one :D

Edinburgh Castle - it's the west side of the castle, looking towards the crags (in the right place), but keep an eye on that castle. It goes rogue and moves about depending on the angle. They even acknowledged it in the X-ray that castle ends up places it shouldn't be.

The Edinburgh Graveyard - this was one of the locations filmed in Stirling. I have vague recollections that they used the old cemetery, but as is typical, there are a couple of graveyards on either side of Stirling Castle, so I can't be sure I picked the right one since you can't really googlemap a graveyard.

Old Town Edinburgh - For this one, they used Broad Street in Stirling, not far from the castle, then pasted the Edinburgh castle background in place.

Presumably Newington, where Mr Dalrymple works - Most of Newington hadn't been built then but to make it visibly fancier than Broad Street, they're smack dab in the centre of the Georgian New Town of Edinburgh for this one, on Moray Place.

Mr Dalrymple's Library - This is one of the libraries from Hopetoun House near South Queensferry.

Victoria Street, Edinburgh - represented by... Victoria Street, Edinburgh :D In the Old Town and one of the most photographed streets in the city. Please note the castle playing peekaboo.

The Resurrectionist - A mile and a bit away from the place where Aziraphale parks the Bentley, the Resurrectionist is a functioning pub called The Cask and Barrel on West Preston Street. The Resurrectionist is a far better name, methinks.

The only one I can't pin-point is where they filmed the yellow car sequence. I narrowed it down to several options because it's beside what looks like a lake or reservoir with a wind farm close-by and in sight of a main transit road for heavy goods in proximity, but is not a main public road itself due to the lack of road markings on it.

[ginandoldlace]

The Grade II-listed Potticks House was built in the late 18th century by Samuel Rayner and is a fine example of the Georgian style.

Built of traditional Bath stone and featuring a Welsh slate roof, the 10 acre property is just 6 miles from the city of Bath.

A kitchen garden produces raspberries, blackcurrants, redcurrants, gooseberries, and rhubarb; an orchard on the property grows apples, pears, plums, as well as walnuts, quince, and figs.

Surrounded by formal gardens and grounds with a swimming pool, the elegant Potticks House offers a grand backdrop for living and entertaining, proving to be an idyllic country seat.

[tsunflowers]

I don't intend to become a birder but I'm reading this book about birds and I learned about the motus wildlife tracking system which is soooo cool. they can put tiny tags on flying critters and monitor their location with radio telemetry using a series of radio receivers, mostly in the US and Canada but around the world. they put up one in ann arbor last year and it's detected 14 tagged animals since then including two chimney swifts, a hoary bat, and a monarch butterfly

there's so many different projects tagging and tracking birds but they all use this network and make much of their data public

so I can learn that a bat that was tagged by the apakwaanajiinh mnidoo gamii (bats of georgian bay) project flew several hundred miles around lake huron to get detected by a radio tower in ann arbor. I don't know if that information is relevant or helpful to me but it tickles me. I'm glad to know this

[visions--of--collisions]

"hands" for the fanfiction WIP game? any WIP and any rating <3

ooh, nice choice!

EXCERPT: some of us will never sleep again (hobie/miles; romance, established relationship, sci-fi/fantasy, vampires; rated: m)

Hobie shook his head. "Bit further. C’mon!" He lead them across the water again, using the trees that bordered the canal to clear the distance; the fog had left a film of moisture on the leaves that spattered his trousers and made his boots gleam wetly in the headlights of the traffic, on the other side. Miles sucked in a short breath between his teeth. Swearing under his breath, Hobie caught his arm and webbed them onto the face of an old Georgian townhouse. He nudged Miles ahead of him and they crawled up the narrow space between the tall windows to the roof in single file. Where they stepped, they both left damp footprints on the shingles, but Miles’ clothes stuck to him awkwardly the way a water-tight Suit would never. Hobie chafed his arm and waited for Margo to double back to them, before he pointed Northeast. "S’just this way, yeah? Watch out for the church; ain’t too far. We can circle back and stop in The Punjab after. It’s good stuff," he promised. "Pav-approved." "Cool, alright." Miles bounced on the balls of his feet, his breath misting in front of him. He pulled his sleeves down lower over his hands and took a running start off the roof. "Race you?" he called back.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1935 Duesenberg

Clark Gable and his 1935 Duesenberg

His wife, Carole Lombard, had one too, which is now in a museum in NZ.

HOLLYWOOD, Calif.

Its 420-cubic-inch straight-8 pulled like a train; it was reputed to have a 115-m.p.h. top speed – “right off the showroom floor,” It could exceed 100 m.p.h. in the second of its three gears, boasted E. L. Cord, the company’s president at the time. Its wheelbase of nearly 12 feet gives the car a poised, unflappable ride. And its massive steering wheel guides the wheels straight and true – although its vacuum assisted drum brakes provide the car somewhat uncertain stopping power.

Today, the car’s odometer shows 13,416 miles.

It was January 25, 1936 and Clark Gable had a new car to show off – to a new object of his affections. She was actress Carole Lombard, and the hostess of the lavish White Mayfair Ball, a formal Hollywood soiree, to which Gable drove his 1935 Duesenberg Model JN convertible that night.

The suave actor eventually convinced Miss Lombard to “take a spin around town” with him; when he invited her to his suite a few miles away at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, she famously replied, “Who do you think you are? Clark Gable?”

They weren’t exactly strangers; they had already co-starred together in “No Man of Her Own”. After filming wrapped Miss Lombard presented Mr. Gable with a ham – with his picture on it! But their professional relationship went no further at that point; Miss Lombard was then married to William Powell (she divorced him a couple of years later).

Nevertheless, after they re-connected at the White Mayfair Ball, a scandalous affair ensued; Mr. Gable, still married, was often spotted traveling in the Duesenberg with Miss Lombard from her bungalow on Hollywood Blvd. to night spots, restaurants and hotels all over town. One of those places, The Georgian Hotel in nearby Santa Monica, now advertises the couple had trysts there often.

[xwritingdixonx]

Till Death Do Us Part | Chapter 4 |

––––––––––

series masterlist

Summary: The Georgian group and the Blackwell family have their first interaction together over breakfast.

Warnings: descriptions of a physical fight, death / accidental murder, language

Word count: aprox. 4k

Tags: @fuseburner @catisnotademonn

––––––––––

The gravel underneath your feet crunched as you crouched down behind the brick building. Tommy was close behind you.

You were on your way back to Alexandria when you passed a shopping strip where you decided to grab any more last-minute supplies. There was a pharmacy, a couple sketchy-looking restaurants, and a liquor store.

The plan was to park the trucks a mile or so away, go scavenge the shopping center, then make your way back to the trucks with what you'd found. Henry stayed back with the trucks to make sure they were protected while the rest of you made the walk to the stores. It all went smoothly. Until, when you got back to the trucks, Eddie had forgotten his pack at one of the shops you'd cleared.

After you had a few remarks to say in response, he went back for it. He should've been back within 20 minutes max but when he didn't return, you and Tommy went to look for him. And that's where you had seen Eddie on his knees, hands in the air, a lady with long brown hair pointing a gun at him. Her clothes were raggedy and stained with dirt. She was holding his pack in her other hand. He was trying to reason with her but you were too far to hear what he was saying.

"I'm gonna go around back." You whispered back to Tommy, "Cut through the pharmacy and just grab her." You could see from the look he gave you that he didn't like that idea, "It's one girl, I got this."

You slipped through the back door of the pharmacy, slipping through the aisles to make your way to the front. The sound of glass crunching under your foot makes your body recoil. Fuck. Whatever voices you heard, fell silent. It all happened so fast, she stormed into the pharmacy and you had a choice to hide now, fight later. Or just get it over with.

You grabbed her, pointing the gun to the ceiling. With her free hand, she threw a punch which hit you perfectly in the jaw. It wasn't a hard punch, you'd been hit harder but it was the warm blood you felt on your tongue and the familiar taste that took you a back. You wrestled her for the gun and once you felt your finger slip into the familiarity of the trigger, you pulled.

It was when she fell to the ground, blood pooling beneath her did you realize the small bump of her stomach.

It was as if your feet took a few steps back on their own and your brain stuttered as it tried to process what you did. Your hands trembled, gun still in hand and your ears fell quiet. Only a buzzing noise remains. You understood now, what Eddie was trying to do, he was reasoning with her, he was trying to get her to come back to Alexandria.

You brought your hand up to pull the neck of your shirt off your throat as the nausea rose in your throat. Your hands fell to your knees as your chest heaved with short breaths. Tommy rushed into the pharmacy to makre sure you were okay from the sound of the gunshot. "Y/n, Y/n"

"Y/n?" Daryl came around the corner, wandering into the kitchen looking for you. You looked up from your spot at the counter chopping onions and greeted him with a warm smile and a sweet goodmorning. Stood around the kitchen with you was Cecilia and the boys.

“What are y’all doin’?” Cecilia stood at the kitchen island, kneading a ball of dough, folding it in and out of itself. There was a basket of potatoes, still with dried dirt on them, sitting next to the kitchen sink. Luke was washing them, then passing them off to Jace to be cut into cubes. There was a large pan sitting on the stove, the fire underneath warming the oil within. You used your index finger to clean each side of your knife, the chopped onions that remained on it falling on top of the already existent pile.

“Celia” You spoke wiping your hands from the onion juices onto a kitchen towel, “take this over for me please.” Celia nodded at you and took the cutting board, swiping the onions into the hot pan. “Come” you murmured to Daryl as you walked by, taking him by his hand, leading him down the hall to the large sliding glass doors which led to the back yard. The sun was bright in the baby blue sky, it’s beams radiating warmth on your skin.

The backyard looked radiant in the early morning. The grass was slightly overgrown, random weeds and flowers taking a home there. The porch was a reasonable size. On one end there was a fireplace that looked to be never lit, circled with outdoor seating. The other end bore a small picnic bench, in the middle of it was a picnic basket that was full of bright oranges, dark green leaves still attached. All four corners of the porch held large pots full of flowers.

In the far left corner of the backyard there was a wooden chicken coop. In the right corner, there was a small orange tree, the dark leaves decorated with orange hues. Next to the tree, lining the entire right side fence, was a large garden full of more plants. But not any plants, these were herbs for the kitchen. Daryl could practically smell the lavender and mint from his spot on the porch. Then there was a clothes line, empty at the moment. And lastly four large wooden planter boxes, all flourished with different fruits and veggies. Written on the wood was what grew in them.

Nellie was knelt down at one, gloves covering her hands from the dirt. When she heard the doors slide open she turned to wave and smile, shielding her eyes from the sun as she said good-morning to Daryl and briefly asking him how he slept. “Deanna’s having a little meeting at the church, after we’ll have breakfast. Invite your group.” You instructed Daryl, arms crossed over your chest. He simply nodded at you, catching his bottom lip to gently chew on, “What’s wrong handsome?”

He was anxious. Anxious for you to meet his group, for them to meet you. He hadn’t mentioned you, not once, and to say he felt guilty would be an understatement. It was as if he never claimed you, was never proud of you, which was the farthest from the truth. You were the one thing Daryl was proudest of even if he felt like he never deserved it, always saying you were too good for him, too pretty, too kind. He wasn’t worried about them liking you, there was no way in hell they wouldn’t. He was worried about you liking them. Your opinion mattered most to him but if for some reason your feelings were off, he’d be torn.

But you lived in the same community now. You were no longer thousands of miles away, states away, potentially dead. You were closer than ever, a street over to be exact.

Rick had most likely already told them, considering Daryl didn’t return to the shared house last night.

His shoulders shrugged, mumbling a i don’t know, to you. You smiled at you and nudged him with your elbow, “i’m not mad at you, ya know that ?” You caught his eye, a hint of seriousness there. Daryl furrowed his eyebrows together as if he didn’t know what you were hinting, “For leaving, for not looking, for it being so long, for…..anything.” A heavy sigh escaped your lips, as if you yourself were coming to terms with forgiving him. Daryl didn’t seem to waste a second as he wrapped you softly in his arms, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder. “M’sorry”

You rubbed a hand down his back, “I know.” You could’ve stayed like that, you could’ve fallen asleep like that, almost as if you were swaying in his arms. You gave him a hard pat on the back and slipped away, “Alright go, I got potatoes to get back to”

Daryl slipped his way into the yellow front door of the shared group home. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to do, hide ? Slip past everyone ? “Good-morning” That thick southern drawl disrupted Daryl practically freezing him in his boots. Daryl stood up straight, facing Rick and the rest of the group who all wore knowing yet curious grins on their faces. It felt as if Daryl was a teenager who’d snuck out the night before and was now busted by his parents, “Morning.”

There was a second of awkward silence as no one knew exactly what to say or do. There were a thousand questions that could be asked but the walls Daryl had built still remained and no one wanted to pry. Carol on the other hand, didn't seem to mind "Where is she?" Daryl shifted on his feet "At her place." Carol waited for more than just that, "Okayyy so..." Carol had that typical awaiting smile on her face, poking Daryl more. "There's uh..." Daryl scratched the back of his neck, it was as if he didn't know what to do with himself, "....a meetin' at the church, we're supposed to go."

"Alright," Rick bounced a still sleepy Judith on his hip, "Everyone get ready, leave Daryl alone."

The group got ready, attempting their best to look presentable yet comfortable in their new environment. They weren't sure what they expected from you or your group. Rick had mentioned to them that it looked like you were with a large group, seeing the house size and the other people that had stood with you on the porch the day before. Were you stuck up, clean, and polished like the rest of the Alexandrians? Or were you more like them?

On your walk to the church, you grabbed Tommy to come with you. You refused to go in there alone and whoever you asked to come with you, represented you, represented your family. And who better than the tall, buff, texan man himself? “Ya nervous?” Tommy asked as the small building came into view, you thought to yourself, were you? You weren’t until Tommy mentioned it, realizing you were walking into a room full of strangers. Practically sitting there waiting to judge you for who you were. “Well now I am.”

The wood doors to the small brick building creaked open, distributing whatever Deanna was saying. Both yours and Tommy’s boots were heavy on the wood floor as you walked down the narrow aisle. Eyes were instantly on you. The way your long hair softly flowed with each of your steps, the way your arms fell at your side, the sway in your walk, like you knew where you were going and who you were.

The black jeans you wore hugged your curves perfectly. Your black shirt was fitted to your body, with a completely open back. The angel wings tattooed there on show. And for a second as you were turned around taking those 2 steps up onto the lifted floor, your back and Daryl’s back aligned perfectly and it made sense as to why Daryl picked up that angel winged vest at the beginning.

The silver accents of your jewelry complimented your all black outfit perfectly. Like those rich victorian people who decorated themselves in gold and pearls to show off their wealth. There should've been a crown on your head becasue had royalty existed now, it would be you. The way you carried yourself, the way you stood next to Deanna. Your hands intertwined, your chest broad and proud, paired with your toned arms, and your height. You standing next to Deanna made her look so much smaller than she was, in height and in leadership.

“How’s it going?” Deanna whispered to you, “Good” you replied giving her a reassuring smile and a wink. She smiled at you before turning back to the room, “This is Y/n, Y/n Blackwell…..my right hand.” She said that sentence with pride and maybe a hint of arrogance, your eyes glanced over at Tommy who raised his eyebrows at you with a grin. "And this is Tommy" Tommy threw up a hand to say hello, Deanna continued to speak. “I think we’ve come up with perfect jobs for everyone.” Deanna pulled out one of those little memo pads that she seemed to love so much and flipped it open to a page. “Okay so” Despite Deanna speaking, you could feel the eyes that still lingered on you.

It wasn’t in a judging way. More admirable. In awe.

"Sasha and Rosita you're gonna be joining the watch and gate crew, Tommy's in charge of that."

"Abraham you'll be joining the constrution crew, when you're not doing that you can help out on watch as well" As Deanna spoke you looked at each person she spoke to, remembering names and faces.

"Glenn, Tara, and Noah you'll be joining the run group. My son Aiden helps with that, as does Y/n's brother, Eddie"

"Carol's gonna help out in the pantry" An act. You had looked at Carol for a second and that's all you saw. The sweet smile, clean clothes, and wave she gave you. At this point she was topping the normal Alexandrian's.

"Maggie you'll be working with Y/n and I. When you're not, you'll be helping Y/n's sister, Nellie, with the farming.

"And lastly, Rick and Michonne. We're gonna call you 'patrol'. Henry, Tommy's brother, has been doing it himself. You make sure everything's safe, everyone's safe. If something happens, you bring it to myself or Y/n."

There was a commom theme in the jobs that Deanna assigned. Each person who helped, ran, controlled something within Alexandria all connected to you. There was no way it was a coincedence and Rick took note.

Your eyes met Daryls, who sat in the front row next to Tommy. He could see the way the corners of your lips almost formed a smile but you caught yourself before it could. Daryl looked at you deeply, eyes soft, returning your same smile. "Y/n, anything you wanna add?" Deanna snapped you from your gaze, as if she had caught you standing there gawking at your husband. "Uhm, we've prepared a breakfast over at the gazebo if anyone would like to join." You hoped you sounded as welcoming as you intended to.

"You can get back to it you need to, I'll finish up here and send them your way." Deanna reassured you, you gladly accepted her offer. Nudging your head at Tommy to come with you. When you walked passed Daryl you brushed your hand over his shoulder, it was a subtle touch but it didn't go unnoticed by some, especially not Daryl.

As the group approached the large wooden gazebo, Daryl in lead, the sight before them could only be described as magical. The greenery and sunshine added to the affect. Four wooden picnic tables were pushed together and aligned to create one large table. There were 2 extra wooden chairs put at the heads of the table to complete the “dining table”. Pushed to the edge of the gazebo was a small wood table that held 2 coffee pots. One had hot black coffee, the other held steaming hot water. As well as a rectangular wicker basket that was piled up with random coffee cups. And three large mason jars lined up in a row. One was full of honey, the other full of sugar, and the last was full of random tea bags.

The long picnic table was full of plates, utensils, and glasses. The benches all had a different blanket that was folded long ways for extra cushion against the rough wood. Daryl watched you laugh at whatever Celia and Nellie had said to you, wide smiles on their faces as well. You and Nellie’s smiles were both wide, joyful, and lit up your whole face. Daryl watched you put down 2 glass pitchers, one full of plain water and the other full of what looked to be orange juice.

Your eyes caught Daryl’s and you waved him over, the rest of his group following. “You think this is gonna go okay?” Celia asked, hopping down from where she sat on top of the table. “Sure as shit hope so” Tommy muttered.

Nellie greeted the group with a high-pitched ‘Hi’ and a wide smile on her face. “Carl” Jace said happily as he trotted up to the boy, Luke close behind. It made you happy. To see them have a friend beside each other, to see them so happily greet their new friend and begin talking with smiles on their faces. They had tried to become friends with the kids already in Alexandria but the other parents always pulled their children away. Tommy had gone over to Carl and Rick to say hello, introducing himself as Jace and Luke’s father. The 3 boys looked like 3 peas in a pod. All paler completions, brown shaggy hair, though Jace and Luke’s was much curlier than Carl’s. They hadn’t known each other for long, 4 days at most, but they already seemed to have formed a bond.

"Hey" Daryl greeted you, "Hi" You took a step closer to him, standing closer to him than anyone ever has. "Deanna didn't give me no job" Daryl almost seemed disappointed as if he had been left out, "I got a job for you" For a second Daryl thought you were talking about yourself with the way you softly put your hand on his upper arm, but you roughly patted his arm, "Have breakfast with your family." He scoffed as he followed you, "Bout lunch time now"

He could hear you chuckle as you walked over to your seat. Almost everyone had already picked seats, besides a few others that were checking out the table with tea and coffee. You took one of the wooden chairs at the head of the table, before you could seat yourself, Daryl was behind the chair. Pulling it out and pushing it in for you before taking a seat on the bench to the right of you.

It seemed as if everyone was too intimated to take anything from the table in front of them. As if they were scared to even touch the pitcher of water. "You can take whatever you want, there's enough for everyone." Nellie reassured, adding things to her own plate. Despite the hesitation still being there, they began to fill their plates with food. "Is that bacon?" Carl abruptly said, maybe a tad bit louder than he meant for it to be. You couldn't help but laugh a little, "Yeah, Tommy found a pig a little big ago and we've kept most of it in the freezer"

None of you were exactly butchers, resulting in the bacon being poorly cut unlike how it used to be in the grocery stores. But it smelled like bacon, tasted like bacon, so bacon was bacon.

"There's some eggs in that one there but not too many, the chickens didn't lay shit this season" You motioned to the small red dutch oven that still had its lid on. The whole meal that laid out on the table was nothing short of shocking, regardless if there was enough scrambled eggs for everyone. There was a large white platter with floral designs around the edge, piled high with biscuits. Two large mason jars sat near them, one full of what looked to be strawberry jam. The other was a deep reddish purple, made from wildberries.

Your jam and your biscuits were always Daryl's favorite so you weren't surprised when he had 3 of them, smothered in jam on his plate.

There was another large pot full of well-seasoned, perfectly cooked, breakfast potatoes. And lastly there was the wicker basket, that had what remained of the oranges, after you had made orange juice.

Once everyone's hesitation wore off, conversations stemming from all different directions filled the air. You talked to Daryl and Tommy who sat on either side of you. "I hate to be the one to do it" Everyone's conversation was cut short by a femnine voice, Carol. You adverted your attention to her as you heard Daryl mutter a, please don't, under his breath. "But, how did you two meet?" For what felt like the fifth time today, eyes were once again on you.

You always hated that question. You weren't sure how people would react, you had heard your fair share of insults and questionable looks from people before. "Uhm, it's a little complicated I guess? D was Eddie's best friend growing up so we kinda grew up together." It wasn't too difficult to notice you and Daryl's age gap, which is why people turned an eye.

Your mom raised Daryl as if he was her own. Daryl never minded it, he actually preferred it, needing an escape from his abusive home. So Daryl was always there. But he was always there six years ahead of you.

"My mom moved us from Georgia to Virginia when I was fourteen and when I was twenty-one I went back to Georgia...that's where we met up again."

-

After breakfast, Maggie was the only one who stayed behind offering to help you clean up. There wasn't a plate left on the table that wasn't practically licked clean. Everyone else had separated into groups, going about their day with their full tummies, taking a tour of their new jobs and responsibilities. Daryl stayed back to help as well. But at the moment he was already on his way back to your home with as many dishes as he could carry.

You could tell Maggie was trying the most out of anyone in the new group. Especially with you. "The food was amazing" Maggie commented picking up all the silverware and tossing them into a basket. You had always been complimented on your cooking but that didn't mean you didn't appreciate some attention here and there. "Did you go to school for it?"

You shook your head at her and sighed, "Daryl always told me to. But I just always felt like if I did it as a job, I'd end up hatin' it." Maggie nodded at you with an understanding look in her eyes.

"The biscuits and jam were the best I ever had. I think they were better than my mama's" You couldn't help but allow a smile to form on your lips, "I've heard that more times than you'd think" You filled an old plastic laundry basket with the dirty dishes to haul back to your home, it was far easier to carry that way. "I can give you a jar of jam if you'd like." You offered, you could see Maggie begin to protest and you waved a hand at her. "I have more than enough in my pantry, won't starve without just one."

A silence settled over the two of you as you continued to clean but you could see the small smirk that lingered on Maggie's face. "Ya know" Maggie stopped cleaning and stood up straight, balancing the basket on her hip causing you to do the same. "You seem like a really good person." You movements stopped at her words. You knew deep down, you weren't. Sure you were kind and generous sometimes but after the things you did, how could you be considered a good person? You shook your head at her, "You don't know me."

"I don't need to."

[scotianostra]

St John's Kirk Perth.

The oldest church in the Fair City started life back in the early I lth century. This was about 200 years before the town was granted the status of royal burgh in 1208. St John's Toun would go on to give it's name the their football team, St Johnstone.

The church was largely rebuilt in 1448 and just over a hundred years later John Knox preached here kindling the Protestant Reformation in Scotland.

The burgh's graveyard surrounded the kirk until it became completely full in 1580. Five hundred years of burials raised the ground, that's why you have to step down into the kirk, you wonder how many bodies lie beneath your feet as you walk around the perimeter.

St John's Kirk was first mentioned in 1126 and it's first incarnation completed in 1241.

A new choir was added to the building in 1440 and more improvements up to about 1448.

During the Reformation, the angry congregation destroyed all forty altars to saints in the kirk and the 4 monasteries around Perth, more on the Monasteries to come!

After the Reformation, St John's was partitioned when the parish was split into three congregations. The kirk was remodelled in 1923.

What you see today was reestored by Sir Robert Lorimer, who also designed the Thistle Chapel in St Giles on The Royal Mile, which I posted pics of a few days ago, and the Scottish National War Memorial, which I posted about yesterday in Scottish & Proud, as it was officially opened on July 14th 1927.

Part of the old church was torn down to improve traffic flow as the City flourished during the Georgian era.

It's a fine church, but my favourite item in the building is in the fourth pic, it's a collection box. Called a 'Sanct Eloys Offerand Stok" it would once have sat on the altar of The Hammer men Incorporation for donations to be received for the poor.

The "Stok" was mentioned in The Hammermen Incorporation minutes as early as the Year 1518, but is thought to be about a hundred years older, so this simple wee box survived the reformation and the centuries since.

Much more photies to come!