#I've been reading the wikipedia page and I still don't know what the hell the Civil Service does

[lycanlovingvampyre]

LMAO Every non-British person watching the The Magnus Archives 2 Kickstarter launch stream frantically googling “what is the British Civil Service?”

[pillarsalt]

hi there!!! love your art first of all!! :)

i came across a rb of your cotton cieling/peaking comic (which i also love!) and saw in the notes how tims have scrubbed the tag since then. it made me curious how widespread the knowledge of their rape rhetoric actually is (since we know how happy they are to spew it when they know only lesbians are reading/listening, but we also know how hard they try to pretend to everyone else that they're tooootally not homophobic and toooootally don't have an incel meltdown at the mere thought of a lesbian saying "no" to them)

so i decided to see if wikipedia had an article on the ""cotton cieling"" (god i could go off on one about how these misogynists think "women are not given equal positions/mobility in the workforce" and "men get told 'no' by women they want to have sex with realllllly badly :-(" are at ALL comparable but this ask is long enough already) and guess what!? they DO but it has been NUKED to all hell.

right now? it's got zero citations/links, zero name drops of any Brave And Stunning men who promote it and write theory about it let alone naming the POS who coined it, barely even says what the definition even is... it's THE shortest article i've ever seen on there.

but look at the history tab!!! it used to be a fleshed out piece that was out and proud about claiming "lesbians not wanting to sleep with men is both oppressive and misogynistic" until at some point they realized saying the quiet part out loud where "normies" might see it was not a good idea and quietly scrubbed the article. (but they still keep it up!! as opposed to that female mod who made literal thousands of helpful factual edits, maintaining their site for free: she got banned the moment they found out she wasn't a handmaiden and all her work is theirs now i guess). and all the while, in the background, they've kept on coercing and pressuring lesbians to sleep with them nonstop with zero guilt or shame.

please for the love of god explain to me how they've convinced anyone who pays attention they're ""the most oppressed minority group who ever lived""???

holy shit anon you're right, that edits tab is crazyyy. They have definitely done a 180° on this subject, at least out loud where the average person can read it. The discussion page is another good read, LauraRichards1981 if you ever read this, you are a star and I love you.

Talking to other feminists and others who used to support genderism but "peaked", I would say at least half of them brought up the phenomenon of trans-identified men insisting lesbians have sex with them or be labeled bigots as at least one factor in their new outlook. It's so blatantly homophobic and I think a lot of influential figures in trans activism have realized how bad it looks for them, and have actively tried to memory hole it. I have even seen some claiming that "terfs" invented the term, which is hilarious because, as portrayed in my comic, I saw it with my own eyes being touted absolutely everywhere online as a way to vilify lesbians who wouldn't go along with every desire of the male trans individuals who had parasitized their communities. The DARVO is real.

[iantimony]

didn't poast last week so this is a two-week extravaganza post! con: got roped into DMing dnd pro: none of these fools have read mdzs so i can steal plots from there. hope the party is ready to be lead on a quest by a disembodied arm!

listening: oh shit SO many things. i will not be linking to all of them.

depeche mode: basically just their top songs on spotify, not any specific album. strong shoutout to 'shake the disease' and 'wrong' (which featured in my secret samol post!)

disturbed: ditto

franz ferdinand: albums 'hits to the head' and 'tonight'. throwbacks

phoenix: 'wolfgang amadeus phoenix' ditto throwback

inxs: 'x' DITTO throwback. doesn't hit the same as when i first listened to em years ago unfortunately

streetlight manifesto: album 'somewhere in the between'

boy and bear: 'harlequin dream'

sammy rae: 'let's throw a party', 'the good life', and their 'everybody wants to rule the world' cover

hozier: 'wasteland baby' and 'unreal unearth'

paramore: album 'this is why'

grizzly bear: 'veckatimiest' and 'painted ruins'

haken: their newest album 'fauna' because i'm thinking about whether or not to go to one of their shows in feb (leaning towards yes right now)

my SO's pinecore playlist

shosty symphony no 5 (<3)

and, finally, a lot of borodin symphony no. 1 in e flat and the last two movements of rimsky-korsakov golden cockerel because that's what the youth orchestra i'm volunteering with is playing right now haha

for podcasts, i've listened to the new counter/weight prequel eps! i'm so charmed to see these characters again. i still haven't finished millenium break holiday special because i lost my spot when a bunch of an episode played without sound by accident so i finally went and scrubbed back to the beginning of the episode (it's the second to last part) so by next week i will FINALLY be out of holiday special zone.

reading: finished rereading tgcf lol,,, in loving memory of square checkbox: apparently apple is switching to circle ones? hateful wikipedia page for kessler syndrome my friend @celestialtourguide sent me a dm to ask about a few of the characters in this manuscript and i was immediately charmed by it. it's so pretty, i loved the informational blurbs, just really cool stuff. it was already on waybackmachine but i've gone ahead and updated it.

watching: kurtis conner looksmaxxing. weird little subculture peek. rewatched sideways' why the music in cats 2019 is worse than you thought because my roommate was interested. this led us to the same channel's why avatar has the most ironic soundtrack of all time because roommate misread ironic as iconic and she really likes that movie. no accounting for taste, but aight. much more interesting than i thought it would be. that video then lead us to tony hinnigan's woodwind demos because hell fuckin yes. big-ass panpipes.

i've been keeping up on dunmeshi anime in little watch sessions with my SO, and also am working through kill la kill with him! i've seen it before but he has not so i'm really enjoying that.

playing: fallow.

making: i managed to finish my secret samol gift in time for reveal day!!! comics are fuckin hard dude!!!! i don't know if i'll be doing it again but it was a fun challenge. i decided to use a New App for some reason instead of procreate because procreate has not been hitting right and i wanted comic half tone brushes for this project. app is called sketchbook, it's an orange icon with a pencil on it. shrug! it's fine! i'll probably keep using it for a bit. started working on an english paper piecing project! soliciting tips for that because right now my method is: cut out hexagon using pattern piece i made to be 1/4 in larger all around than the template, gluestick template onto hexagon, baste edges down neatly, whip-stitch right sides together. remove template once all six sides have something attached. i'm sure there's a better way to streamline this process, i'll have to experiment. this will end up as a dice bag i think.

finally, pottery starts again this week! so next week will have some of that in here

eating: ah beans i did not do a good job keeping track of this. uh. made the ground pork & cabbage thing again because my roommate got SO much napa cabbage for making kimchi and we had a shitload left over. napa cabbage isn't as good as a more standard cabbage for this imo, standard cabbage tends to be a little sweeter i think once it's cooked in? idk. had some stage 5 mental illness moments last week trying to cook dinner on a very short time scale with lots of other shit to do, following a recipe because fucking of course my roommate wanted me to cook with a recipe that night. anyways.

misc: like said at the top, somehow i managed to sign up for Another Activity god damn it. so now every saturday evening i run dnd. tl;dr i'm in a group irl that meets biweekly, someone who i give a lift to for that was complaining in the car that their other online group's dm ragequit after his encounter wasn't well-balanced (skill issue) and before thinking about it i just was like oh well i could probably step in if you need! god damn ittttt lol i have missed dming so it should be fun. i vibe checked them for a session 0 last week and they seem chill and honestly shouldn't be too much work on my end, especially if i yoink plots from mdzs ha ha ha. other than that, all is basically well. i've settled back into a schedule, applied for some summer positions (!), and absolutely hate the amount of busy work in one of my two classes. yippee

[melye1981]

To Everyone Who Wants To Know What It's Really Like... To Have Mental Illness... Read this:

Hello, today is Freak out Friday. LOL Um, I am mentally ill, I struggle with it daily, have since I quit having Epileptic seizures around age 10. Didn't know I was mentally ill until I was 27. My parents knew there was SOMETHING wrong, but they couldn't pinpoint it. Sent me to several psychologists when I was a kid and they still couldn't put their finger on it. So, clueless psychologists? Yeah, total quacks. Mental illness is not a joke, not somethin' to ignore when people who are mentally ill, are hitting rock bottom. Be there for them. Even if they say the classic "I'm fine" comment, NO. Stay. You could be the reason they DON'T do any self harm, and I mean something else, y'all know what I mean, I guess we're not allowed to say the "s" word on YouTube now, so gotta be careful, but yeah, your willingness to lend an ear could save a life. Literally. You have no idea what hell mental illness truly is, unless you have it yourself. I'm telling you this from the inside, lookin' out... You're seeing it as from the outside, lookin' in. You only see the cover of the book, but you have to be read the pages, and you won't know the story, unless it's read to you. You get what I mean? Every person is different, every mental illness is different, everyone's way of coping is different. Not one mentally ill person's story is gonna match another's. We can empathize, but we can't be them and their shoes. I only know the miles I've walked in MY shoes. I could try to get you to understand, and you might, a little, but unless you have mental illness yourself, you really have no idea of the hell it brings. I once told someone, this is how I describe my bipolar mind/borderline personality mind: Think of that ride at the fair called The Gravitron. You get in, lean up against the walls, and the ride starts. You get spun really fast one direction, and you stick to the wall, and you could injure yourself if you move the wrong way, then the ride slows a bit, then starts going back the other direction. By the time you get off the ride, you can't walk straight. That's the only way I can describe what that feels like. Wikipedia has great insight if you want to know more, but that is by textbook definition, they're not lying, but it's a general explanation. When you get the information from a mentally ill person themselves, that is the God's honest truth. And it's more brutal than Wikipedia makes it out to be. I take meds every day, but I still have days where I'm just not myself. It is part of who I am, but it does not define me. My mental illness is the result of a careless man who gave me his DNA through my mom, to put it more appropriately, while he was high on H. and so that's what I believe contributed to both my mental illness, learning disabilities, and Epilepsy. But I'm grown now, so I have to just swallow the facts like I drink water. I'm still alive, and there is one thing I find that's special about mentally ill people: The majority of mentally ill people have a high I.Q. and are talented in one way or another. So, I can either cry about being mentally ill, or I can embrace it and say, hey, at least I was blessed with music, art, writing, singing, playing instruments, and speaking and singing in foreign languages as an added blessing to my life. I have talents, many of them, I was blessed in that. Now, trying to keep my mental illness in check while exercising those talents is another thing. It's hit or miss sometimes. It's not easy, but I do it. I get up every morning and I'm here. I am not a victim. No sir. I'm a warrior. That's facts. #AquariusThinkLikeThatTho I am also a survivor of a near-fatal "s" attempt. Been ten years since I tried to end it all, and God wants me here for whatever reason. I wouldn't say I'm a curse. I'm here for a reason. It's never gonna be easy. But I make due with what I've got and the tools God and the world have given me. Now to put them to use and stay focused. It's not easy, but I'm doin' it. Gotta prove the devil wrong

[disaster-vampire]

Umm, transmascs who pass do have male privilege. It’s our job to recognize that and make sure that we don’t enforce toxic masculinity.

bestie that post was specifically about me and my situation, not about every single transmasc that ever existed. and being transmasc does not automatically mean that you're going to transition into cis-passing male, nor is that everyone's goal. being stealth, i might add, is its own form of oppression, because i should not have to hide who i am to be accepted as a person worthy of basic fucking dignity and respect.

that said, i live in a rural island in the middle of the mediterranean, and i'm non-binary, but i will be forced to pretend to be binary trans possibly my entire life because no one fucking knows what being non-binary is here. we don't even have neutral pronouns. i've been advised to move either to a bigger town or straight up out of the island for my own safety. everyone and their nan is gonna know i'm trans, and there will be people who will forcefully misgender me and be misogynistic towards me specifically because i'm trans and i was assigned female at birth. by the logic that "passing=everyone accepts you as your gender" we'd have no fucking transphobia. i know a trans girl who is mid-transitioning and who lives where she lived, worked, went to school pre-transition, and this is a place that is considered a city by local standards, and many people still consider her male, and by that stupid fucking logic she'd also have "male privilege" despite passing perfectly. what she has is people threatening to set her on fire and trying to run her over while she's crossing the street because they know she's trans.

so here's the very first paragraph on the wikipedia page of male privilege:

Male privilege is the system of advantages or rights that are available to men solely on the basis of their sex. A man's access to these benefits may vary depending on how closely they match their society's ideal masculine norm.

mh? advantages or rights in the context of male privilege usually refers to legal shit. i am lumping job contracts under legal shit here btw. legally, i will be considered female for a while still, and i'm not even sure what exactly is needed for me to have the marker changed on my id. i know i need to go to court and a judge and jury has to approve and that is after i go through at least one year of gender therapy and take hormones for at least another year. i'm not sure whether or not surgeries are needed, i know they were in the past but i think that may have changed. and even then, i do not consider myself male, though i'd like to transition to the opposite sex, i'm still non-binary, and i'd rather have an X on my documents.

on top of that read this passage very closely again please:

A man's access to these benefits may vary depending on how closely they match their society's ideal masculine norm.

see that? i dress fruity as hell and i'm not about to change my personality to fit some ideal made up male. i saw a dude contemplate to beat the shit out of me in a clothing store once because i was walking back and forth between the male and female clothing sections and picked a pair of shorts from each side. i half-passed as male as long as i didn't speak but was wearing a glasses chain with one of my tamest outfits. it was like a basic ass tee and knee-length shorts and some sandals. i usually wear high wasited pants and 5 patterns all at once with a color palette to boot. and plenty of dainty jewelry. i don't know exactly why he was looking at me that way, probably a combinantion of not being able to tell if i was male or female and the way i was dressed and me picking clothes from both sections, but i can assure you i was infinitely glad that neither of us was alone and that we were inside a store rather than out on the street.

also fucking toxic masculinity? wikipedia help me again

Toxic masculinity refers to certain male behaviors that are associated with harm to society and men themselves. Traditional stereotypes of men as socially dominant, along with related traits such as misogyny and homophobia, can be considered "toxic" due in part to their promotion of violence, including sexual assault and domestic violence. The violent socialization of boys often normalizes violence, such as in the saying "boys will be boys" about bullying and aggression.

bestie??? do i even have to add anything here?

tl;dr: the "umm, actually, feminism 101!" was not the gotcha you thought it was because passing is not all there is to being trans nor is it all there is to how other people percieve you. i have no idea what kinda privilege y'all think i'm getting from being visibly genderfucky other than death stares and some kids telling me i dress cool. fuck off.

[aizawa-needs-coffee]

Hi!! Could I have a matchup please? I'm 18, pronouns she/her, I'm fine w any gender though I have a preference for males

If its of any relevance, physically I'm about 5'8 tall and on the chubby side, green eyes, brown hair (with blonde streaks) and I wear glasses

If you're into astrology/ mbti, I am a Sagittarius w both moon and rising in Cancer and I'm INFP

So I'm quite emotional lol. Usually very in touch with my emotions and quite perceptive of other's feelings as well. I have a huge saviours complex especially when it comes to feelings (i love helping others figure out their feelings, being a shoulder to cry on or even offering comforting hugs) but I try my best to keep it control cause I don't wanna be suffocating

On the outside I'd say I'm fairly organized, I keep my room clean and all of that, I'm a lil bit of a perfectionist but mentally I'm all over the place. I tend to get carried away by thoughts and emotions and end up procrastinating a lot; anxiety makes it all worse. In short, I suck at time management

To most people I may seem quiet and reserved but I actually really enjoy talking to people; I'm really insecure about not being funny or interesting enough tho. Around my friends I'm more relaxed but still have moments of self doubt

I can also be quite obsessive. If something really catches my interest I won't stop until I search all there is to know about it. For example I watched bnha, read the manga, the spin offs etc all in less than a month and now I'm indulging in fanart and fanfics because I need m o r e c o n t e n t hsbsb. I'm also that kind of person that listens to a new song they like on repeat until they hate it. Speaking of music, I can't say I have a taste lol. My fave genres are rock, pop and indie but I hear smth I like, I listen to it, whether its "high quality" music, basic or weird. Lately I've been listening to a lot of epicore which is literally the type of music thats used in fantasy and sci fi movies askfkdk

I like expressing myself through writing, singing and dancing but I really can't say I'm talented at either of those, it's all in good fun. I also enjoy reading (fiction, non-fic books bore me like hell; my fave genres are fantasy, sci fi and crime) but I haaate literature in school. I'm actually a bit of a math nerd and this year I'm starting uni, studying computer science!! Oh! I've also taken drama classes for 2 years (despite the fear I loved being on stage and plan on starting again once I'm done w the baccalaureate), I love playing D&D and while I woulnd't quite call myself a gamer, I love role playing video games. I'm also almost always down for any kind of multiplayer video games w friends although I have no experience

I'm not a sportive person, I go on walks or do a few exercises every now and then at home but I'm willing to try stuff out like a new sport or going to the gym w an s/o. I do plan on starting self defense classes soon and maybe taking up sword fighting (I love swords hehe)

Tbh I've never been in a relationship so I'm not really sure how I would act w an s/o, nor what I'm exactly looking for. I best express my affection through physical touch tho and that includes my friends so I'd like someone who isn't bothered or can get used to that (s/o would still receive the most hugs/ cuddles etc). I'm not that comfortable w the other love languages for friends and family, but I think I'd be a lot more eager to express my love through them for s/o. If I'm on the receiving end, my weakness is still physical touch :)) but I also need words of affirmation every now and then cause insecurities 🌠 and while I wouldn't ask for anything, especially objects, I am a hoarder and I'd keep any kind of gift like its a national treasure simply bc its from someone I love.

In addition, it doesn't really matter if s/o is more on the emotional or rational side a long as they dont invalidate my feelings; it angers me a lot and makes me feel even more insecure. I tend to isolate when I'm really really upset about something so I need a lil bit of pushing to talk abt it; I'm open to talk abt my feelings but I need the verbal confirmation that they care and wanna help, its not just cause they're being nice

Wow that is a lot of rambling jeez ajsjsjs sorry. Thank you so much if you've read throught that all and ty for the match up!!

Me and my wife literally having a ten minute debate on who we’d pair you with before I made my choice. Thanks for all the details and I hope you enjoy the match up!

I match you with Sero

I feel he’s outgoing and extroverted enough to help you with your anxiety and always reassure you that you are good at things and he does love you, he’s also so chill and laid back that even if you were clingy he’d not mind, he’d embrace it, his chill nature would help balance you. He would help you feel grounded and have a ‘you don’t have to do it all now’ attitude but would happily help you out. You need help going to the store? He remembers the list you wrote, having trouble fitting in lunch while you study? He’ll come to your door with pizza.

He’s determined and outgoing but isn’t aggressively positive and loud either which I think is why I picked him over Kirishima for you.

+++

“Hey babe, whatcha reading?” Sero asked sitting next to you on the sofa, he handed you a soda which you gratefully took, not looking up from your laptop screen.

As soon as he was sat down comfortably your hand grabbed his, clasping your fingers together as you managed to tear your gaze away from the Wikipedia page which was still open. You blinked up at him and shook your head.

“Oh just something I learned about today and wanted to do some.. extra reading” you explained.

He nodded his head and drank his soda watching as your face lit up as you started to ramble about the topic, he didn’t really know much about it but the way you told him about everything, the way you happily expressed your interest towards the topic made him happy. He gave you his big grin when you finished.

“Sorry, I rambled..” You felt bad, you always felt nervous when you info dumped on people.

“Nah, it’s cool, I didn’t mind at all” he brought your hand up to his face and gave it a kiss, your face flushed at the gentle gesture which caused Sero to laugh playfully.

“Well, if your sure… I just wanted something to take my mind off chores”.

“It’s the weekend, you don’t have to rush anyway.. and if you don’t feel better by tomorrow I can help, you can wash the dishes and I’ll dry?” he suggested still peppering kisses on the back of your hand before you set your laptop down and crawled closer to him.

You nodded softly, that sounded a lot more manageable, you felt your anxiety settle down from a raging nagging feeling to something easier to tolerate. He was such a good influence on you. Sero set down his drink and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer to his chest.

“The guys want to come over and say hi later, maybe get pizza… but I can tell them not tonight if you aren’t feeling it… maybe you can play that new game you got? I liked watching you play the other night” He suggested as he nuzzled your head, enjoying how your hair felt on his face.

“Maybe… can I give you an answer later?”

“Yeah, no rush babe”

You smiled softly feeling the lanky boy kiss the side of your head and listened as you carried on talking about the trivia of your current interest.

[thehoneybuzz]

Chasing Baker

My Nana was my greatest adversary.

In an otherwise charmed life, Nana was an immovable force and the only legitimate challenger to my willpower. Not without the warmth one would expect from a grandmother, Nana could be sharp - like a sun-warmed pane of glass. Lesser hearts might have bent to me when I requested accommodation - but not Nana. Nana set a firm bedtime, insisted on efficient tooth brushing, and rather than negotiate with hair tangles, made short work of them in single, swift wrenches when brushing your hair. No nonsense. When you stayed with her - in one of two twin beds in a room made precisely for grandchildren - you often found yourself in bed with the lights out, with no real memory of having gotten there, swept away in the tide of your sheets. Nana was uncompromising, and no arena was more suited to our mutual stubbornness as the dinner table.

I grew up a notoriously picky eater. After a weekend at my Uncle Jerry's, my mom received a hardcover copy of "The Strong-Willed Child" from him as a gift. He had spanked me for not eating chicken nuggets. As evident by its title, the book was meant to coach my mother on parenting strategies for mitigating my innate obstinance. This would not be the only copy of the book my mother received. Though, I think she could have written one by the time I turned 4. I simply refused to eat the things I didn't like, and that was a long list.

A relative once applauded - clapped his hands together in joy- upon learning that I had graduated from having the crusts cut off my bread to full-blown sandwich eating. The peanut butter and honey sandwich was my signature dish and an absolute staple. I'd like to say I've grown out of it - and I've certainly grown having tried llama steak in Peru, lamb heart at the table of a Lebanese family, and Greenland shark in an Icelandic cafe - but it took me a long time to let go of my habits and permit myself to try, and it took some coaxing. My preferences ran deep.

My diet from ages six through eleven included Eggo waffles, peanut butter and honey sandwiches, an assortment of cereals, a handful of specific fruits and vegetables, and the occasional steak when mom thought my iron was low. My mom - on the advice of a pediatrician who told her that if she force-fed me, I'd develop an eating disorder - catered to this preference. Nana did not. They must have been seeing different pediatricians.

Nana took the clear your plate approach - The approach driven by reward and consequence. Finish your plate, cookies delivered. Fail to try, become hungry and hungrier still as dessert passes you by. I took to swallowing food whole, and my mom took to sending me with granola bars on visitations. She'd line the interior of my suitcase like we were smuggling drugs. I'll admit it was an unusual form of contraband, but the measure seemed necessary in a divorced child's duplicitous world. What my mom saw as nourishment, my Dad might see as undermined parenting strategy even under the best of circumstances - which they often weren't. I was hungry, so decided it best to keep things a secret and wrappers out of the trash.

Despite Nana's apparent best efforts, I avoided the eating disorder. Thanks to my mom, I avoided most foods until my early 20s. I don't know who was right. What I know for certain is that I was loved.

When I sat down with Nana after my trip to Mt. Baker, she clutched her heart as she said. "Ally - to think about you as this little girl - and that you would only eat peanut butter and honey sandwiches - to think of you climbing mountains…" she shakes her head, "… well I just can't believe it."

I started to laugh and asked her, "Want to know the best part?"

She nodded, smile in her eyes, full of that sunny warmth - playful and kaleidoscopic.

"I ate peanut butter and honey sandwiches up and down the side of that mountain, Nana," I told her, laughing, and then we laughed together. Growing up is fun, I thought, especially in moments like this.

Laughing with your grandmother is a gift you receive in exchange for time, and it is a beautiful gift indeed. Here is a woman who bathed you, clothed you, fed you - and by the time you're old enough to understand the magnitude of the life she held before all that, she is often gone. I'm lucky to have this time. Nana is 90 years old now, and my mother's mother passed at 74. I never got to have the conversations I wanted to have with my grandmother, who died. To ask her questions like, 'Who were you?' 'What lifetimes made up the love you gave so effortlessly away?'

There is something about mountain climbing that makes you consider those kinds of questions in real-time. There is something about mountain climbing that makes you feel as if you are in the process of 'becoming.' So when, at the parking lot of Grandy Creek Grocery, I met my fellow climbers and our guides - there was a feeling of anticipation and nervousness about who I'd be sharing that story with. Dropping me off, my mom described it like the first day of kindergarten. The first person I met was Sharon.

I had been worried about Sharon. Weeks before, on the pre-trip Zoom call, she stood out from the digital crowd as the most visibly senior person there. Sharon did not look old - she looked undoubtedly the oldest. I think this is an important distinction - particularly to Sharon. I remember thinking - "I hope she is not on my trip because I'm worried she will show me down." A very judgmental thought and the universe saw to its reckoning. Sharon surprised the hell out of me.

She paced the parking lot, and I jumped out of my rig to greet her. We quickly began commiserating. Baker would be her first mountain. I had Mount St. Helens under my belt, but it's not much in the way of experience. We talked about our training plan, recounting long drives to taller places. Sharon was from Wisconsin, and she had to drive 45 minutes to get to peaks at 3,000 - the same as me in Eastern Washington. We had a lot in common. Where I ran, she had been hiking with weight and jogging. Sharon wasn't afraid of hard work. On our drive to the trailhead, I learned that she had just lost 75 pounds last year. I learned later that when Sharon signed up for this climb, she hadn't told anyone in her family she was doing it. She was 62 years old and had never once traveled alone. What on earth possessed her to climb a mountain? I'd be afraid of that question, too.

Sharon eventually fessed up to her family and made the trip official. That's how we found ourselves on the side of a mountain together. I'm embarrassed to have been so fundamentally wrong - but my confession is not without meaning, and I learned an important lesson. Never underestimate a Sharon.

When Melissa, our guide, described Mt. Baker for the first time, she called it by its indigenous name, Komo Kulshan. She then gave us its epithet - "The Great White Watcher." Having now met Kulshan face to face, I can tell you that's precisely how he feels. The summit looms as you navigate through the trees. Stoic in the face of the wilderness that surrounds him. Ice cold, he waits. In the Lummi language, he's called 'white sentinel.' He is persistent, vigilant, and watching.

I focused my nervous energy on preparing to meet this mountain by learning what I could about him. I learned that Mt. Baker is 10,781 feet tall, an active volcano, and the second most glaciated mountain in the continental united states (Rainier's got it beat, and you don't count Alaska). It's a formidable mountain, known - as nearly all alpine environments are - for its quickly changing conditions and the perils of its geology. This all, somehow, frightened me less than the thought of meeting Melissa Arnot-Reid. Her legend loomed not in the Cascades - where only a single peak resides above the threshold of 14,000 feet by which the Rockies measure their formidable "fourteeners." Melissa's legend loomed as large as Everest, on who's summit she has been six times - the only American woman to summit without the use of supplemental oxygen and survive. 29,032 feet. Melissa was someone I wanted to learn from, and I was scared shitless of her by reputation.

Suffering a bit of social awkwardness around celebrities, I prepared to meet Melissa by seeking to learn nothing about her at all. The antithesis of my mountain strategy - I told myself our experience would be what it was when we met on the mountain. My job was to learn - to ask my questions courageously - and be vulnerable and bold in seeking truth. I spent a fair bit of time wondering if she might be an ass hole, too. The age-old adage, "don't meet your heroes," drifted in and out of my mind.

In the last 15 minutes of our drive to Grandy's, my mom started reading Melissa's Wikipedia page aloud to me as I navigated the road, undoing months of my concerted preparation. I let her continue, greedy for information. "It says she trains by depriving herself of things - that she'll go without food and water."

"Probably a good idea if you're ever going to be stuck on the side of a mountain without it," I told her. I braced myself for a response. In the past few months, my mother had a growing sensitivity around topics that might suggest I could die on the side of a mountain. Admitting, so blatantly, that mountain climbing was a dangerous sport left me vulnerable to excessive mothering accompanied by exclamations of "Don't you dare!" Instead, my mom sort of nodded and continued, "I'm surprised her baby came out healthy."

My brow furrowed. I hated my mother for saying it. I had avoided a lecture from the mother of the mountaineer but failed to account for the mother of the daughter aged-almost-thirty. My uterus is a topic of conversation around my mother's table. Apparently, so was Melissas. Not wanting to discuss either, I let my mother's comment go unchecked as she continued to list accomplishments. "This article says she's focused on business, not emotions. That she is an incredible problem-solver." Now her reports felt more like cheating - it felt like an unfair advantage to meet someone armed with publicly available information about them. When you Google "Allyson Tanzer," you won't find much about my disposition under pressure. I told my mom it was time to focus and turned up the music.

When we parked, and I went to introduce myself to Melissa, three things happened. As I introduced myself, she first quickly let me know that she would not be giving out hugs due to the pandemic. Then, taking my hand in a firm grip, Melissa detailed that she and our other guide, Adrienne, had critical guide business to discuss and would be with us in a moment. She reported being thrilled to be meeting us as she quickly dropped my hand. Within thirty seconds, I was apologizing profusely and backing my way into the grocery. What can I say - first time formally climbing mountains, and I wasn't sure of the protocol. I fiddled with a bag of Cheetohs and continued to hope that she wasn't just an ass hole.

I went to the bathroom for something to do and remembered what my mother said. Task-oriented. I figured Melissa probably didn't hate me, after all. Despite my earlier misgivings, I was grateful to know a bit about her character, regardless of how 'honestly' that information was obtained. Thanks, Mom.

Our climb began. We left Grandy's in a caravan and parked near 3000' at the winter routes trailhead. On the first day, you ascend to 6000' and establish camp. You carry about 40 pounds, walking 1 mile and about 1000 vertical feet per hour, stopping for 15-minute breaks in those intervals. Conditions are warm, which means you're doing something the mountaineers call "post-holing" - ramming deep holes (as if for a fence post) into the ground as you step through snow that's washed out underneath. It's slow-going and rigorous. An hour and a half in, Melissa reports that we're standing in the location where she usually takes the first break. Unseasonably warm weather with a heavy snow accumulation has made for an exciting start.

You walk along a canyon ridge formed by a retreating glacier. You realize that time here is not measured in the same cadence that it's known to you. Mountains measure time in millennium, not decades. The formations of rock are carved by years, not minutes. The ground holds a history you can't conceive of - an ancient history of rock and ice. You are constantly struck by feeling small both physically and in your very chronology. I spent the first day happily in awe.

At camp, you maintain - guides (and playfully designated junior guides), boil snow, establish a base, dig a toilet. You assess whether or not you need to poop in a bag and carry it down the mountain with you as you try - for the first time - a rehydrated meal claiming to be chili Mac and cheese. Melissa teaches us how to walk on rope over a glacier. I try to mimic her knots. She redefines your concept of efficiency - breathlessly describing a packing order that accounts for calorie intake, warmth requirements and weight distribution - Every contingency considered. When I win the Ice Ax Rodeo by landing my thrown ax in a particular configuration - all is right in the world. Melissa is a drill sergeant giving instruction. She outlines the next minute - next five minutes - next hour - next day.

Her matter-of-fact nature reminds me of something. When I gave my parents a ride in an airplane for the first time with me as the pilot in command, I provided them near the same briefing as we were parked on the ramp. It ended dramatically with, "And if anything should happen, you have to exit the aircraft first in the following fashion." At which point I launched myself from the plane. I wanted them to be prepared to fight their instincts to protect me. I’m the only pilot on board - and my job is to protect my passengers, no exceptions. They both described a sense of foreboding and peace at the demonstration. It’s precisely how I felt when Melissa explained how she would be rescuing herself from a crevasse. “If you fall, I get you out. If I fall, I get myself out, but I need your help as an anchor to do so.” She took the approach of coaching us in only what we needed for the next challenge. We would learn crevasse rescue on a need to know basis. At Grandy’s, she told us to expect 48 hours of endurance. At camp, we’re at hour 9. She painted a picture of the following day.

"We'll begin between 11, and 2 am. Expect switchbacks up the glacier, a series of flats, and gains over the next hour. In 3.5 miles, we'll gain an additional 2000 feet - meandering a path through the glacier's crevasses, and it will gradually become steeper over time. About 1.5 miles to the summit, we'll hit the Easton glacier culminating in the Roman Wall. Then, because God has a sense of humor, you have a long flat walk to the summit after the steepest portion. All said it will take us between 5-7 hours to the top."

Frankly, it was just about as simple as that.

My eyes opened at 11:50 pm to the sound of movement outside the tent. Melissa had coached us here, too. "You may not be sleeping," she told us as we readied for 'lights out.' Days from the summer solstice, the sun burned brightly above us at 7 pm. "Remember that you don't need sleep; you need rest. That's what you're getting here at camp. You're horizontal; your feet are out of your boots. Close your eyes, and know you're getting what you need." Felt like a lie, but sure enough, with two hours of sleep, I couldn't describe myself as tired.

I did, however, feel cold. Chilly night temperatures had crept into our tent, and dressing for the day was arduous. I knew to keep my clothes in my sleeping bag. It was a trick I learned from a friend made trekking in the Andes for dressing in the cold. I knew to shorten my trekking poles while climbing, thanks to my guide on that same trek. I'd be leaving my trekking poles behind today, though. Ice axes only. We divide into rope teams. The race begins, but there's no starting pistol - only wind.

Fifteen minutes into our climb and we're struggling to find the rhythm. I'm still shaking the bleariness of the cold. The rope between climbers takes on an interesting dynamic. While it connects you to your fellow climber, it also isolates you from them. You have to maintain a certain distance away from one another while maintaining the same pace. It's a dance with crampons on in glacial ice - a delicate dance indeed - and it's where climbing feels like a team sport. You're all in it together.

Voices rang out in sequence like a game of telephone - one of our team would need to climb down. We said short goodbyes and waited as Adrienne (guide) descended with climber to camp. We were lucky - we hadn’t been climbing long which meant Adrienne could climb down and back to rejoin her rope. Guide redundancy is a safety net when groups of climbers work together.

Darkness continued. We continued. As you persist, darkness seems to persist along with you. In the first hour, it grows heavy. Your world begins and ends at the light of your headlamp, and that's where you find it—your rhythm. Crampons crunching, breath steady, and the gentle swish of your layers create a sort of timpani, a medley of percussion sounds. Clink, brush, crunch, and clink, brush, crunch, as ax bites ice, the movement of your clothes, and the toe of your boot kicks crampon into snow propelling you forward. There isn't much to think about in this grinding meditation. You're grounded in tugs from ahead or behind you as you march, slowly up. You can count steps, miles, feet of elevation - whatever keeps you moving. Whatever keeps you going up.

Moments before sunrise, we would lose another on our team. I listened to Melissa coach her. "What we're headed to is going to be harder than what we've just done. If how you are feeling is taking away from your ability to focus on your next step - I can only tell you that it's not going to get easier from here." That's when I saw the decision on her face. Another round of goodbyes - this one a bit more somber. She had worked so hard.

The decision to descend is a difficult one, but it’s one of the most important you can make. There are steep consequences to being in over your head in a place so remote. The summit is a siren, beware. Melissa - aware of the remaining teams intention to summit - advised us to plug our ears as she told the descending climber the Sherpa belief that a mountain won't let you summit for the first time if it likes you. Mountains bring you back. Further, she coached, the decision to go down can lift an entire team's chance of success if you feel you're a liability. Recognizing yourself and your limitations truthfully is a mountain in itself. That's the summit this person made in her decision to descend.

Like a good Agatha Christie novel, our list of characters dwindled. We added layers and continued - five of the original eight. Melissa was right, again. After we lost the second climber, our ascent became a proper climb. From that point forward, if anyone decided to turn around - we would all have to. There was only one remaining guide, and she had to protect all her climbers, no exceptions - me in the cockpit all over again.

She didn't show it, but 62-year-old Sharon was genuinely frightened. She had realized the same thing I did. If she didn't make it - no one would. Sharon kept climbing. Remember when I was worried she would slow me down?

When the sun starts to rise, everything begins to feel possible again. I don't mean to say that things were hopeless, just that with the sun comes energy and a sense of renewal. Color returns to the landscape, and you can begin to be able to measure your progress concretely. The mountain casts a shadow across the earth, stretching miles. You can't believe that you are contained within that shadow, on the face of such a giant who stands so impossibly tall. Melissa stood there, and I took her picture.

She had turned out to be not an ass hole at all. Where I sought to be her student, she aspired to teach - at once brilliant and kind. Her stride - her sport - a work of art. The precise art of what she calls slow, uphill walking. Her shadow and the shadow of the mountain impressed upon me the power of legends.

As the Roman Wall came into view - I knew we had it. We short rope in and make one last push. If Mt. Baker is a joke from God, the ending of the Roman Wall is its punchline.

Atop the incline awaits a long, easy walk to a haystack peak some few hundred yards in the distance. I was bubbling with emotion as my heart rate settled and the view became clear. There wasn't much difference between where we stood and where we were going. We dropped our packs, unroped, and ran up the summit. I was in tears.

Melissa broke her no-hugs-in-the-pandemic rule and celebrated us each in turn. I snapped countless photos and spent each frozen moment smiling. I pulled Melissa and Sharon in close. I had felt something on my heart and only needed a moment's bravery to share it.

I started awkwardly.

"I'd like to say something to you and Sharon," I muttered, barely audible over the wind, as I tugged on Melissa's sleeve. I grabbed Sharon's arm and pulled her in too. I don't remember the exact thing I said or the exact way in which I said it. I remember pausing to make sure I got it right and wondering for a long time if I managed to do so.

I told them that I had come to the mountain expecting to be impressed by one person. Melissa promised an impressive education - on which she delivered. She is of that rare quality - the kind who’s presence improves you. I came to Baker with that expectation, I confessed, I expected Melissa. I paused before telling Sharon, her gloved hand in mine, “You?” I laughed nervously. “I wasn’t expecting. A 62-year-old woman….” I nodded back to Melissa, “And you, the mother of a 3-year-old…” I didn’t want to get this wrong. “You are two people who our society labels and confines. Yet, here you are - on top of a mountain. I have to tell you….” I was choked up in earnest here and struggled to continue.

"It matters.” I said. “What you do matters. It matters to have an example of what is possible. Both of you have provided that example to me and women like me. Thank you." I sobbed. "I am so grateful for it and grateful for you." Melissa smothered me in her jacket as she embraced me, once again, in a hug. Pandemic be damned. My tears froze. While I expected a "There's no crying in mountaineering" a la Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own (it was a climb of mostly women, after all) the admonishment never came.

Sharon grabbed hold of me next and we shared the alpine view. Before I knew it, we were the last two on the summit. The wind howled a steady cheer. Celebrations concluded, it was time to leave. I stayed for just a moment longer, watching Sharon as she left. They don't make anything more beautiful than a mountain, and it's a view worth savoring. I descended, joyfully, to my team.

I didn't bury Jake up there. In Ashes to Ashes, I told the story of taking my old farm dog's remains to the top of my first volcano. He's not so much a good luck charm as he is an omen of protection. I don't need luck as much as I need safety, and he serves his duty well. Jake stayed with me through our descent to camp. I needed a little protection coming down off the Roman Wall, I thought. I wanted him close until we were off the glacier. He lays now at the foot of my tent—a very good place for a very good dog.

There's a natural mindfulness to climbing. I often find myself living in the present step - not thinking about the route that lies below. You forget in moments that the trip up is accompanied by an equally long and perilous journey down. From the summit, your journey is far from over. Yet, time flies by even as you stop to admire the steam vents. The rainbow that surrounds the sun refracts joy and color the same.

You reach camp, celebrate, pack up. Miles and thousands of feet remain even from there. That's when you realize it's ending and when I realized I didn't want it to end.

We spent the next few miles getting to know each other in earnest, savoring time and mountain views, chatting in the way of long-form hikers - about the nature of things and through storytelling. Melissa regaled us with vulnerable truths and comedic parables. We laughed. I kept sipping at the wells of knowledge around me, drinking in the moments. Laughter distracted from hunger, from wet feet, and from the dull and dim realization that all good things must come to an end. We made our way to the bottom of the mountain. Just like that - we say goodbye.

Sharon drove me back to Grandy's. We chitter like school girls - adrenaline and nostalgia collide in our post-climb delirium. We talk about the future. I realize that we are good friends. I am humbled by just how wrong a person can be to believe something about someone for no good reason.

Mom picks me up, and with her embrace my adventure is over. I’ve come full circle - safe and sound, parked in the lot of Grandy Creek Grocery.

Melissa found us there and knocked on our window.

"Your daughter is really special. The MOST special,” my hero and friend told my mom. Mom beamed with a special pride reserved exclusively for mothers of strong-willed daughters. I had been misreading things - the adventure had only just begun.

There are eight years between Melissa and I. I’m not sure I’ll be chasing Everest in that time, but I know I won’t be finished. I’ve got thirty-three years to catch Sharon at 62. In the mountain blink of sixty-one years, I’ll be as old as my Nana and I hope at least half as wise. Good thing there are so many years - for there is so much left to climb.