#Well. we keep our shoes in the living room near the under the stairs cupboard

[somegrumpynerd]

a mud room is an area in american? homes ( idk i have one ) where you can take your jacket and shoes off usually with extra storage

Ooooo I think I understand! That's interesting, thank you! :D

[unsettlingshortstories]

The Cat and the Coffee Drinkers

Max Steele (1963)

Only the five-year-old children who were sent to the kindergarten of Miss Effie Barr had any idea what they were learning in that one-room schoolhouse, and they seldom told anyone, and certainly not grown people.

My father was sent to her when he was five years old, and thirty years later when no one had much money, I was sent to her. Even though ours was no longer a small Southern town, and even though she was already in her seventies the first time I saw her, Miss Effie had known all the children in her school a year, and often longer, before they appeared before her for lessons. My mother, with proper gloves and hat, began taking me to call on her when I was four. It was a good place to visit. The house was a large gray one with elegant white columns, and it was set well back from the same street we lived on. Until the Depression the Barrs had owned the entire block and theirs was the only house on it.

There were mossy brick steps leading up from the hitching post to the gravel walk which curved between overgrown boxwoods to the low porch with its twelve slender columns. There in the summer in the shade of the water oaks Miss Effie, dressed in black, would be sitting, knitting or embroidering while her big gray cat sat at, and sometimes on, her feet. Slow uncertain music would be coming through the open windows from the music room, where her older sister, Miss Hattie, gave piano lessons.

Miss Effie never seemed to watch a child on such visits, or offer him anything like cookies or lemonade, or say anything to endear herself to a youngster. Instead she would talk lady-talk with the mother and, hardly pausing, say to the waiting child, "You can pull up the wild onions on the lawn if you've nothing better to do." There was no suggestion in her voice that it was a game or that there would be a reward. She simply stated what could be done if one took a notion. Usually a child did.

There was no nonsense about Miss Effie. One morning in late September my mother and I were standing with eleven other mothers and children on the wide porch. Miss Effie looked everyone over carefully from where she stood with one hand on the screen door. She checked a list in the other hand against the faces on the porch to be sure that these were the children she had chosen from the forty or more who had visited her in the summer.

Apparently satisfied, or at least reconciled to another year of supplementing her income (for no Southern lady of her generation "worked"), she opened the door wide and said in her indifferent tone, "Children inside." When one mother tried to lead her reluctant son into the dark parlor, Miss Effie said, "Mothers outside." She pushed the big cat out with her foot and said, "You too, Mr. Thomas."

When the children were all inside and the mothers outside, Miss Effie latched the screen, thanked the mothers for bringing the children, and reminded them that classes began at eight-thirty and ended at noon. The tuition of two dollars a week would be acceptable each Friday, and each child as part of his training should be given the responsibility for delivering the money in an envelope bearing the parent's signature. She thanked them again in such a way that there was nothing for them to do except wander together in a group down the gravel walk.

Miss Effie then turned to us, standing somewhat closer together than was necessary in the center of the dark parlor, and said, "Since this is your first day, I want to show you everything. Then you won't be wondering about things while you should be listening."

She made us look at the Oriental carpet, the grandfather clock, the bookcases of leather-bound volumes, and the shelves on which were collections of rocks, shells, birds' nests, and petrified wood. She offered to let us touch, just this once, any of these things.

She would not let us into the music room, but she indicated through the door the imported grand piano, the red plush seat where Miss Hattie sat during lessons, the music racks, the ferns, and the window seats, which she said were full of sheet music. "You're never to go in there," she said. "I don't go in there myself."

Next, she showed us the dining room, the den, and the hallway, and then at the foot of the stairs she said, "We're going upstairs, and then you'll never go up there again." Barbara Ware, one of the three girls, began to whimper. "Don't worry," Miss Effie said. "You'll come back down. But there'll be no reason to go up again. I want you to see everything so you won't have to ask personal questions, which would certainly be the height of impoliteness, wouldn't it? I mean, if you started wanting to know, without my telling you, where I sleep and which window is Miss Hattie's, I'd think you were rude, wouldn't I? I'll show you everything so you won't be tempted to ask personal questions."

We went up the stairs, and she showed us her room and where she kept her shoes (in the steps leading up to the side of the four-poster bed), where she hung her clothes (in two large wardrobes), and where she kept her hatbox (in a teakwood sea chest). The cat, she said, slept on the sea chest if he happened to be home at night.

She then knocked on the door of Miss Hattie's room and asked her sister if we might look in. Miss Hattie agreed to a short visit. After that Miss Effie showed us the upstairs bathroom and that the bathtub faucet dripped all night and that was why the towel was kept under it.

Downstairs again, she let us see the new kitchen, which was built in 1900, and the back porch, which had been screened in only four years before, with a small door through which the cat could come and go as he liked. We were as fascinated by everything as we would have been if we had never seen a house before.

"Now, out the back door. All of you." She made us all stand on the ground, off the steps, while she lowered herself step by step with the aid of a cane which she kept on a nail by the door. "Now you've seen my house, and you won't see it again. Unless I give your mothers fruitcake and coffee at Christmas. And I don't think I will. Not this year. Do you ever get tired of fruitcake and coffee at Christmas?"

We said we did since it was clear that she did.

"Over there is the barn, and we'll see it some other time. And that is the greenhouse, and we'll be seeing it often. And here is the classroom where we'll be." She pointed with her cane to a square brick building, which before the Civil War had been the kitchen. The door was open.

She shepherded us along the brick walk with her cane, not allowing any of us near enough to her to topple her over. At the open door she said, "Go on in."

We crowded in, and when we were all through the door, she summoned us back out. "Now which of you are boys?" The nine boys raised their hands, following her lead. "And which girls?" The three girls had already separated themselves from the boys and nodded together. "All right then, young gentlemen," she said, regarding us, "let's let the young ladies enter first, or I may think you're all young ladies."

The girls, looking timid and pleased, entered. We started in after them.

"Wait just a minute, young gentlemen," she said. "Haven't you forgotten something?" We looked about for another girl. 

"Me!" she announced. "You've forgotten me!" She passed through our huddle, separating us with her stick, and marched into the brick kitchen.

Inside and out, the kitchen was mainly of brick. The walls and floor were brick, and the huge chimney and hearth, except for a closet-cupboard on each side of it, were brick. The ceiling, however, was of beams and broad boards, and the windows were of wavy glass in casements that opened out like shutters. There were three large wooden tables and at each table four chairs.

Again she had to show us everything. The fireplace would be used only in the coldest weather, she said. At other times an iron stove at one side of the room would be used. A captain's chair between the fireplace and the stove was her own and not to be touched by us. A sewing table, overflowing with yarn and knitting needles, was for her own use and not for ours. One cupboard, the one near her, held dishes. She opened its door. She would let us see in the other cupboard later. The tables and chairs and, at the far end of the room, the pegs for coats were all ours to do with as we pleased. It was, she explained, our schoolroom, and therefore, since we were young ladies and gentlemen, she was sure we would keep it clean.

As a matter of fact, she saw no reason why we should not begin with the first lesson: Sweeping and Dusting. She opened the other cupboard and showed us a mop, bucket, rags, brushes, and three brooms. We were not divided into teams; we were not given certain areas to see who could sweep his area cleanest. We were simply told that young ladies should naturally be able to sweep and that young gentlemen at some times in their lives would certainly be expected to sweep a room clean.

The instruction was simple: "You get a good grip on the handle and set to." She handed out the three brooms and started the first three boys sweeping from the fireplace toward the front door. She made simple corrections: "You'll raise a dust, flirting the broom upward. Keep it near the floor. Hold lower on the handle. You'll get more dirt. Don't bend over. You'll be tired before the floor is clean."

Miss Effie corrected the series of sweepers from time to time while she made a big red enamel coffeepot of coffee on a small alcohol stove. Each child was given a turn with the broom before the job was finished. Since the room had not been swept, she admitted, all summer, there was a respectable pile of brick dust, sand, and sweepings near the door by the time she said, "We'll have lunch now." It was already ten o'clock. "After lunch I'll teach you how to take up trash and to dust. Everyone needs to know that."

"Lunch," it happened, was half a mug of coffee each. One spoon of sugar, she said, was sufficient, if we felt it necessary to use sugar at all (she didn't), and there was milk for those who could not or would not (she spoke as though using milk were a defect of character) take their coffee black. I daresay not any of us had ever had coffee before, and Robert Barnes said he hadn't.

"Good!" Miss Effie said. "So you have learned something today."

Miriam Wells, however, said that her parents wouldn't approve of her drinking coffee. 

"Very well," Miss Effie said. "Don't drink it. And the next time I offer you any, if I ever do, simply say 'No, thank you, ma'am.' " (The next day Miriam Wells was drinking it along with the rest of us.) "Let's get this clear right this minute—your parents don't need to know what you do when you're under my instruction."

Her firm words gave us a warm feeling, and from that moment on, the schoolroom became a special, safe, and rather secret place.

That day we learned, further, how to rinse out mugs and place them in a pan to be boiled later, how to take up trash, and how to dust. At noon we were taught how to put on our sweaters or coats and how to hold our caps in our left hands until we were outside. We also learned how to approach, one at a time, our teacher (or any lady we should happen to be visiting) and say thank you (for the coffee or whatever we had been served) and how to say goodbye and turn and leave the room without running or laughing.

The next morning Robert Barnes was waiting on his steps when I walked by his house. Since he and I lived nearer to the Barrs than any of the other children, we were the first to arrive. We walked up the grassy drive as we had been told to do and along the brick walk and into the schoolhouse. Miss Effie sat in her captain's chair brushing the large gray cat which lay on a tall stool in front of her. We entered without speaking. Without looking up, Miss Effie said, "Now, young gentlemen, let's try that again—outside. Take off your caps before you step through the door, and say 'Good morning, ma'am' as you come through the door. Smile if you feel like it. Don't if you don't." She herself did not smile as we went out and came back in the manner she had suggested. However, this time she looked directly at us when she returned our "good mornings." Each child who entered in what she felt to be a rude way was sent out to try again.

Strangely enough she did not smile at anyone. She treated each child as an adult and each lesson as though it were serious task. Even though there were occasional crying scene or temper tantrums among us, she herself never lost her firm, rational approach. Sitting in her captain's chair, dressed in black from neck to toe except for a cameo, small gold loop earrings, and a gold and opal ring on her right hand, she was usually as solemn and considerate as a judge on his bench.

The third day she was again brushing the cat as we entered. She waited until we were all properly in before addressing us as a class. "This is Mr. Thomas. He's a no-good cat, and he doesn't like children, so leave him alone. I'd have nothing to do with him myself except that he happens to belong to me because his mother and grandmother belonged to me. They were no good either. But since he does belong to me and since he is here, we may as well talk about cats."

She showed us how to brush a cat, the spots under his neck where he liked to be rubbed, how he didn't like his ears or whiskers touched, how his ears turned to pick up sounds how he stretched and shut his paw pads when he was tickled on the stomach or feet, and how he twitched his tail when annoyed. "Mr. Thomas is a fighter," she said—and she let us look at the scars from a dozen or more serious fights—"and he's getting too old to fight, but he hasn't got sense enough to know that."

She looked at us where we stood more or less in a large circle around her. "Now, let's see, I don't know your names. I know your mothers, but not your names." She would, she said, point to us one at a time and we were to give our names in clear, loud voices while looking her right in the eye. Then we were to choose a chair at one of the three tables.

"I hate the way most people become shy when they say their names. Be proud of it and speak up."

When the young ladies had finished giving their names, she said that they did admirably well; they chose to sit at the same table. One or two boys shouted their names in a silly fashion and had to repeat. One or two others looked away, to decide on a chair or to watch the cat, they claimed, and so had to repeat. I did not speak loud enough and had to say my name three times. One lad refused to say his name a second time, and that day and the next she called him Mr. No-Name. On Friday he did not appear, or Monday or Tuesday, and the next week a new boy from the waiting list gave his name in a perfect fashion and took Mr. No-Name's place.

We learned about cats and names the third day then. The following day Barbara Ware and Robert Barnes distinguished themselves by claiming to like their coffee black with no sugar, just the way Miss Effie was convinced it should be drunk.

At the end of the second week we reviewed what we had learned by sweeping and dusting the room again. And each day we practiced coming in and leaving properly and saying our names in a way that sounded as though we were proud of them and of ourselves—which by then we were.

The third week, putting down the cat brush and shooing Mr. Thomas off the stool, Miss Effie said that she too was proud of the way we identified ourselves with eyes level and unblinking. "But now," she said, "I want to teach you to give a name that is not your own—without any shiftiness.

She sat with both thin hands clasping the arms of her chair and gave a short lecture. Not everyone, she said, was entitled to know your name. Some people of a certain sort would ask when it was none of their business. It would be unnecessarily rude to tell them so. But we could simply tell such people a name that had nothing whatever to do with our own. She did not mention kidnappings, but talked rather about ruthless salesmen, strangers on buses and trains, and tramps and beggars wandering through the neighborhood.

For the purpose of practice, all of the young ladies would learn to give in a courteous, convincing manner the rather dated, unconvincing name "Polly Livingstone." The boys would be, when asked, "William Johnson" (a name I can still give with much more conviction than my own). That day and the next we each gave our own names before the coffee break, and after coffee, our false names. We liked the exercises in which we went up to her, shook her hand if she offered it, and gave our false names, confronting, without staring, her solemn gaze with ours. If we smiled or twisted, we had to stand by the fireplace until we could exercise more poise. At the end of the first month Miss Effie said that she was fairly well pleased with our progress. "I have taught you, thus far, mainly about rooms. Most people spend most of their lives in rooms, and now you know about them."

She mentioned some of the things we had learned, like how to enter rooms: ladies first, young men bareheaded with their caps in their left hands, ready to offer their right hands to any extended, how to look a person directly in the eye and give one's name (real or false, depending on the occasion) without squirming, how to sweep and dust a room, and finally how to leave a room promptly, without lingering, but without running or giggling.

"What else have we learned about rooms?" she then asked, letting Mr. Thomas out the window onto the sunny ledge where he liked to sit.

"How to drink coffee," Miriam Wells said rather proudly. 

"No," Miss Effie said, "that has to do with another series which includes how to accept things and how to get rid of things you don't want: fat meat, bones, seeds, pits, peelings, and"—she added under her breath—"parents." She paused for a moment and looked pleased, as though she might wink or smile, but her angular face did not change its expression very much. "No. Besides, I'm not pleased with the way you're drinking coffee." She then said for the first time a speech which she repeated so often that by the end of the year we sometimes shouted it in our play on the way home. "Coffee is a beverage to be enjoyed for its flavor. It is not a food to be enriched with milk and sugar. Only certain types of people try to gain nourishment from it. In general they are the ones, I suspect, who show their emotions in public." (We had, I'm sure, no idea what the speech meant.) She expected us by June—possibly by Christmas—to be drinking it black. "Is there anything else we need to know about rooms?" she asked.

"How to build them," Phillip Pike said.

"That," Miss Effie said, "you can't learn from me. Unfortunately. I wish I knew."

She looked thoughtfully out the window to the ledge on which Mr. Thomas was grooming himself. "Windows!" she said. "How to clean windows."

Again the cupboard was opened, and by noon the next day we knew how to clean windows inside and out and how to adjust all the shades in a room to the same level.

When it turned cold in November—cold enough for the stove but not the fireplace—we settled down to the real work which had given Miss Effie's kindergarten its reputation: Reading. Miss Effie liked to read, and it was well known in the town and especially among the public school teachers that the two or three hundred children she had taught had grown up reading everything they could find. She assured us that even though we were only five years old we would be reading better than the third-grade schoolchildren by the end of the year.

Each morning the stove was already hot when we arrived. She would brush Mr. Thomas awhile; then when we were all in our places and warm, she would hand out our reading books, which we opened every day to the first page and laid flat before us on the tables. While we looked at the first page she began heating the big red enamel pot of coffee, and also, because we needed nourishment to keep warm, a black iron pot of oatmeal. Then Miss Effie would sit down, allow Mr. Thomas to jump into her lap, and begin reading—always from the first page in an excited tone. She would read to the point exactly where we had finished the day before, so that from necessity she read faster each day while we turned our pages, which we knew by heart, when we saw her ready to turn hers.

Then one after another we went up to her and sat on Mr. Thomas' stool by the stove and read aloud to her while those at the tables either listened, or read, or played with architectural blocks. The child on the stool was rewarded at the end of each sentence with two spoonfuls of oatmeal if he read well, one if not so well. Since we each read twice, once before coffee and once after, we did not really get hungry before we left the school at noon. Of course those who read fast and well ate more oatmeal than the others.

In addition to the reading lessons, which were the most important part of the day, we learned to take money and shopping lists to Mr. Zenacher's grocery store, to pay for groceries, and to bring them back with the change. Usually two or three of us went together to the store on the next block. At the same time three or four others might be learning to paint flowerpots or to catch frying-size chickens in the chicken yard back of the barn. 

On sunny days that winter we would all go out to the greenhouse for an hour and learn to reset ferns and to start bulbs on wet beds of rock. In March we learned how to rake Miss Effie's tennis court, to fill in the holes with powdery sand, and to tie strings properly so that later a yardman could mark the lines with lime. The tennis court was for rent in the afternoons to high school girls and boys during the spring and summer.

By Eastertime we were all proficient sweepers, dusters, shoppers, bulb-setters, readers, and black-coffee drinkers. Miss Effie herself, now that spring was almost in the air, hated to sit all morning by the stove where we'd been all winter. Usually after an hour or so of reading all aloud and at once, we would follow her into the yards and prune the first-breath-of-spring, the jessamines, the yellow bells, and the peach and pear trees. We kept the branches we cut off, and we stuck them in buckets of water in the greenhouse. Miss Effie printed a sign which said "Flowers for Sale," and we helped her tie it to a tree near the sidewalk. In addition to the flowering branches which we had forced, she sold ferns and the jonquils that we had set, which were now in bud.

All in all, spring was a busy time. And I remember only one other thing we learned. One warm May morning we arrived to find Mr. Thomas, badly torn about the ears, his eyes shut, his breathing noisy, on a folded rug near the open door of the schoolhouse. We wanted to pet him and talk to him, but Miss Effie, regarding him constantly, said no, that he had obviously been not only a bad cat but a foolish one. She believed he had been hit by a car while running from some dogs and that that was how the dogs got to him. (She and Miss Hattie had heard the fight during the night.) At any rate, he had managed to crawl under the steps where the dogs couldn't get to him anymore. At dawn she had come down and thrown hot water on the dogs and rescued him.

As soon as a boy from her cousin's office arrived (her cousin was a doctor) she was going to teach us how to put a cat to sleep, she said.

We pointed out that he already seemed to be asleep.

"But," she explained, not taking her eyes from the cat, "we are going to put him to sleep so that he won't wake up."

"You're going to kill him?" Robert Barnes said.

"You could say that."

We were all greatly disturbed when we understood that this was the last we would see of Mr. Thomas. But Miss Effie had no sympathy, apparently, for the cat or for us. "He is suffering, and even if he is a no-good cat, he shouldn't suffer."

When Barbara Ware began to whimper, Miss Effie said, "Animals are not people." Her tone was severe enough to stop Barbara from crying.

After the boy had arrived with the package and left, Miss Effie stopped her reading, went to the cupboard, and got out a canvas bag with a drawstring top. "Now if you young ladies will follow us, I'll ask the young gentlemen to bring Mr. Thomas."

We all rushed to be the ones to lift the piece of carpet and bear Mr. Thomas after her through the garden to the toolshed. "Just wrap the carpet around him. Tight. Head and all," she instructed when we reached the toolshed. After we had him wrapped securely, Miss Effie opened the package and read the label—"Chloroform." She explained to us the properties of the chemical while we rolled the cat tighter and stuck him, tail first, into the canvas bag. Miss Effie asked us to stand back and hold our breaths. She then soaked a large rag with the liquid and poured the rest directly onto the cat's head and on the carpet. She poked the rag into the rolled carpet so that it hid Mr. Thomas completely. She then drew the drawstring tight and placed the cat, bag and all, in the toolshed. She shut the door firmly and latched it. "That'll cut out the air," she said.

Back in the schoolhouse, we tried to listen as she read, without the usual excited tone, but we were all thinking about Mr. Thomas in the toolshed. "Well," she finally said, "if you will excuse me a moment, I'll go see if my cat is dead."

We watched from the windows as she walked with her cane through the garden to the toolshed. We could see her open the door and bend over the sack for a long time. At last she straightened up and locked the door again. She came back with the same unhalting gait and stood for a moment in the sun before the open door of the schoolhouse.

"When I dismiss you, you're to go straight down the drive and straight home. And if they want to know why you're home early"—she stopped and studied the ground as though she had lost there her cameo or her words—"tell them the only thing Miss Effie had to teach you today was how to kill a cat."

Without waiting for us to leave, she walked in her usual dignified fashion down the brick walk and up the back steps and into her house, shutting the kitchen door firmly behind her. I know that that was not the last day of school, for I remember helping to spread tablecloths over the reading tables, and I remember helping to serve tea cakes to the mothers who came the last day and stood on the tennis court near the table where Miss Hattie was serving coffee. But the final, definite picture I have of Miss Effie is that of her coming through the garden from the toolshed and standing in the doorway a moment to say that she had nothing more to teach us.

[roseravenkey]

Rider Challenge #9: Obstacles

@thescorpioracesfestival

After a while with the capaill I decide it’s probably safe to go inside now. I don’t have a watch and I didn’t bother to grab my phone from its charger as I escaped the house this morning so I don’t know what time it is. I know I’ve been here long enough. I’m starting to get cold, after running out of things to do with Sleipnir other than actually ride him. I cleaned out his stable, he’s been groomed to show standard and his mane has been done in a variety of ways before being taken out and redone again and again. I go over to him and gently tug the current braids out, and reweaving it in a way so he doesn’t mess it up or rub any off on his stable walls, as Dor has done. Dor has a pretty mane too, but it’s not as great as Sleipnir’s. This is probably because in his first races, Sebs cut it all really short, as it kept flying in his face while he rode. I don’t mind a long mane though. I quite like it. Sleipnir’s mane just about reaches his chest at the longest point. It’s not a problem to me, I just braid it up and then we go. Sebs isn’t really tactical like that. He likes to get rid of a problem quickly and efficiently. Not that that’s a bad thing, it just leads to impulsive behaviour sometimes. 

I trudge to the door, locking the stable securely behind me, pulling across the bolt and securing it with a clip. You can never be too careful around the capaill. I turn off the light and leave the barn. “Bye, boys.” I mumble into the darkness. No response, as expected. A gust of wind hits me then, reminding me that I’m just in my pyjamas and my jacket. And wellies without socks isn’t pleasant. I shiver and wrap my jacket tightly around myself. 

By the time I reach the house I’m freezing. It’s not even that far to walk, just 5 minutes down the track, but it’s sure as hell long enough to freeze. I hope Sebs has finished his coffee... I think. I don’t want to encounter that ice-hearted beast again. He’s foul before his first meal of the day. The argument and dinner at Mum’s didn’t help. It’s not like I had enough room to talk on the phone to refuse, right?! It wasn’t my fault! If he wants someone to blame, he should blame our mother! Not me!

I open the door carefully and near-silently. Just in case. I poke my head in and scan the kitchen. Empty. I slip through the door and pull off my wellies, standing them on the shoe rack. I slip my coat off my shoulders and hang it on the hooks on the back of the door. Before I have the chance to turn back to face the kitchen I’m interrupted.

“Hey Tess I wanna talk to you.” 

Shit.

“Go ahead then. Pull the trigger.” I say sarcastically.

“No... It’s not that... I just wanted to say I’m sorry for being pissed off at you. I know what Mum’s like.”

I scoff.

“No, Tess. I’m being genuine here. Please just accept my apology.”

“Gah! ... Fine.” I let him off just this once. I know he’s grouchier than normal because of his leg. He can’t do much at the moment and it drives him crazy.

The cat walks into the room at this moment. “Hey, Cap.” We say in unison. It’s a habit. He jokingly salutes the cat and I pick him up. The small beast reaches up and sniffs at my face, tickling me with his whiskers.

“Stop it!” I giggle as I start to walk out the room. Cap’s presence always cheers us up. He’s just so fluffy!

“Tessa. I’m not done yet.” My heart drops. We had this conversation last year and I can feel it approaching like a freight car. I turn around, holding the cat still, like a safety blanket. 

“Tessa I don’t want you to race this year.” There it was.

“Sebs we’ve been over this! I can handle-”

“People die, Tess! You’re my little sister! It’s my job to look out for you!”

“Well don’t! Please don’t make a fuss over this! I’ve joined! The races are in a few days and I can’t back out now!” I was nearly shouting at this point. The cat’s ears are back. He senses the tension.

“I can’t not look out for you! At least last time I was racing too! I could keep an eye on you! This time it’s so much more serious! You’ll be on your own!”

“As I was saying before: I. Can. Handle. It.” I spat, scowling.

Sebs’ brows come together in a frown. But the anger has completely left his eyes. They’re just sad now.

“I don’t know what I’d do without my little sister though... If you died I don’t know what I’d do with myself.” He mumbles under his breath. I can tell it’s hard for a guy with an ego such as his to admit that. He’s admitting it to himself as much as to me. 

“Hey. It’s okay. I swear I’ll be fine. I promise that if I go on that beach, I’ll always come back!”

“You don’t have to promise that.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not going on that beach at all. I’m taking your saddle.”

“WHAT!? No! You can’t! How am I supposed to ride Sleipnir without a saddle!?” I’m fuming. Soft moment over.

“You’re not. You’re not riding that creature anywhere!” His voice rises again.

“Don’t call him that! He’s not a normal horse, i know but-”

“Exactly! They’re not horses, Tessa! They kill people!”

“LET ME FINISH!” I scream. Cap wriggles in my arms. I set him on the counter, scratching behind his ear to calm him down. “Sleipnir is a capall. I know. He’s dangerous. He eats meat. He is a killer. I’ve heard it all before. But he’s not like the others, Sebastian! We owe our lives to each other! I’ve saved his and he looked after me last year!”

“Does he know this?” Sebs challenges me.

“You know what. I bet he does. He’s the one who took care of me last year. Not you. You were on the other side of the race for crying out loud! I raced. I survived. I looked after myself!” I pick up the cat again and storm up the stairs. Great. Now I’m in another fight with my brother. I know better than to go and hide my saddle. He’s already taken it from the cupboard. I know what he’s like. I know where it is right now too. He has a securely kept tack locker in his room. He keeps it locked and bolted. It’s steel so no chance of breaking it. 

I stomp into my room, slam the door behind me and flop onto my back on the floor. The cat was now sat on my stomach, staring at me intently. 

“I can’t believe this. What would you do, Captain America?” I play with his tail as he continues to stare at me. Of course he doesn’t understand my words, but he’s picked up on my mood for sure. The cat crouches down and slithers up so he’s lying on my chest, his fluffy front paws on my collarbones. He stretches his soft head forwards and nudges it against my jaw as tears brim in my eyes. I hold the cat close to me as I let the tears fall silently down my cheeks. I so badly want to race. I need to now that I’ve started! I’ll be a laughing stock if I don’t turn up on the day! The only acceptable excuses for not racing if you’ve already signed up are if you happen to be dead or dying. I am neither, so I’ll just be branded a cowardly little girl. 

[ihhc]

Can Homes Be Made Infection Proof?

Nowadays, there’s a lot of talk about superbugs in hospitals and how patients who have had surgery or treatment in super specialty hospitals end up going back with drug resistant illnesses. And yet, people worry far more about going home to recover post-surgery. There’s no reason to do so, providing proper care is taken to provide a hygienic and sanitized environment. Family and friends can make the patient’s recovery at home a lot easier if he and his family take a little time to plan ahead. Ask the doctor what needs to be done while the patient is healing, and get help from friends and family to prepare his living area.

Surgery is a very big deal. Sometimes it can sap the patient’s energy for days or weeks afterward. Family caregivers may be able to help, or the patient might need a health care professional. Make arrangements in advance if the surgeon suggests getting a nurse, physical therapist, or health aide. Quality home health care can be provided by IHHC 24/7.

Sanitizing the environment

It is critical that the patient comes home to a really, really clean room, if not the entire house.

Visitors should take off their footwear outside the room.

In the first few days back home, it would be advisable for friends and families to wear gloves or wash their hands thoroughly, and wear masks.

The bed, preferably a hospital cot which has an adjustable back rest, should be made up with clean sheets, pillows and covers.

Table surfaces, water glasses, bottles and any other implements and utensils should be sanitized with antiseptic disinfectants.

Food and drink should be prepared in a completely infection-free environment.

Hygiene, the most important factor

If the patient has to be handled or any wounds cleaned and dressings changed, please ensure the following:

Place the dressing over the wound and tape down all four sides.

Do not apply antibiotic cream unless your doctor tells you to do so specifically.

Ensure a clean work surface.

Have all the supplies at hand.

Clean your hands before touching the dressing. Wash your hands with soap and warm water. Also clean under your nails. Rinse, then dry your hands with a clean towel.

When changing a dressing put on clean gloves if the wound is still raw.

Do not touch the inside of the dressing.

Put the old dressing, tape, and other trash in a plastic bag. Seal the bag and dispose of it in a suitable trash can. Do not just throw it away with the domestic garbage or out in the street.

Should any changes be made to the house?

This depends on the kind of operation the patient has had. If it was a complicated surgery, like a joint replacement, stomach or cardiac surgery, a few things may need to be modified or adjusted.

If the patient can’t climb up and down stairs to the bedroom after surgery, he or she may need to sleep on the ground floor for a while. Get family and friends to move the patient’s bed before he/she goes into the hospital. Consider renting a hospital bed if necessary.

Stock the kitchen. Ask the doctor if the patient has to stick to a certain diet. Make sure the store cupboard and fridge is well supplied with the right food before the patient comes back home.

After some types of surgery, the patient will need to have special gear at home. Plan ahead if there is a need for oxygen tanks, elevated toilets, shower seats, supplies to care for the wound, or other items. All these can be easily supplied by IHHC, at very affordable prices.

Keeping the patient safe from falls

“People get dizzy because they haven’t eaten for a few days and from being in bed,” says Frederick L. Greene, MD, a medical director at the Levine Cancer Institute in Charlotte, N.C.

So, it would be a good idea to get a walker or crutches to reduce the risk of the patient tripping or falling.

To avoid stumbles and falls, the patient should:

Sleep in a bedroom near the bathroom.

Should have night lights in hallways, and in his room.

Avoid unnecessary clutter in the house.

Should wear flat shoes or slippers while walking.

When to start taking baths

Usually it is fine to bathe after 48 hours, but it’s best to check with the doctor. Keep in mind:

Quick showers are recommended so the wound doesn’t soak up the water. Soaking the wound could cause it to reopen or become infected.

Remove the dressing before bathing unless instructed otherwise. Some dressings are waterproof. The doctor or nurse may suggest covering the wound with a plastic bag to keep it dry.

If the health care professional gives the okay, gently rinse the wound with water as the patient bathes. Do not rub or scrub the wound.

Do not use soaps, lotions, powders, cosmetics, or any other skin care products on the wound.

Gently pat dry the area around the wound with a clean towel. Let the wound air dry.

Apply a new dressing.

During the first critical 24 hours after coming home from a surgery or treatment, there will be tremendous comfort and peace of mind knowing that trained caregivers from IHHC are present. We know that it is vital that our caregivers and clinical staff are discreet and follow all the relevant guidelines to ensure privacy, well-being and the safe recovery of the patient. A caring and compassionate staff want the patient to have a pleasant experience, even if the surgery, treatment or procedure leaves them feeling uncomfortable or unwell; the training and skills caregivers and clinical staff receive from IHHC prepares them to provide the highest standards of care as well as genuine companionship.

Source: Can Homes Be Made Infection Proof?

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[rosenwrites]

New Home, Familiar Love

Character(s): Linh, Phuong, Trieu

Suggested Music: Unreleased OST 19

“We’re here. Your new home.”

Linh shifted the car into park and shut it off. She stepped out and opened the passenger doors for her niece and nephew. Phuong and Trieu stepped out of the car, looking anxious. They walked over to the front door of the townhouse that was now their home. They stopped right in front of it, unsure of how to feel about all this. Linh came up from behind, crouched down, and patted them both on their heads.

“Don’t worry, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” Linh reassured them. “I’ll do what I need to make this a safe and happy place for us to live.” She stood back up and walked up to the front door. Linh swung the screen door open while she reached into her pocket. She pulled out her keys and unlocked the door, then waved the two children inside. Phuong and Trieu did as they were instructed and entered through the front door.

They took their shoes off when they entered and placed them aside outside the closet to their right. They walked past the small bathroom also on their right and saw the spacious living room to their left. A dark green three-piece sofa set lined the two walls, all angled towards the television sitting beside the window looking out to the parked car.

“My old roommates left these behind when they moved out. They said it was too much of a hassle to bring it all with them.” Linh explained. “Don’t worry; I gave them all a good cleaning when they left. There’s no mouldy leftover pizza under the cushions. At least not anymore.” Linh shuddered when she recalled that unpleasant memory. “Anyway, I have a Super Nintendo if you two ever want to play video games. Come to think of it, have you two ever played video games before?”

Phuong shook her head. “Mom was okay with it, but dad never got it for us.”

“He said something like ‘It’s a waste of money’.” Trieu added.

For a fleeting moment, the thought of their father irritated Linh, but she refused to show it on her face. Instead, she smiled. “Your mom had the right idea. It’s okay to play once in a while, especially with other people. I’ve lost count of all the fun times I had with my roommates playing video games. But let’s keep moving on.” Linh continued walking forward with Phuong and Trieu following her. She took off her suit jacket and tossed it onto the railing separating the corridor and part of the living room. In no time at all, they had reached the dining room, with the kitchen to the left.

“Well, here’s the kitchen.” Linh said. “Fridge and microwave on the left, stove and oven right at the back, and sink on the right. Don’t go digging around in the lower cupboards, and don’t go trying to reach stuff in the high cupboards. If you two need anything from here, just ask. Maybe when you two get older, I’ll even teach you how to cook.” Linh looked straight ahead. “And this door leads out to the backyard, if you can even call it that.” There was not much to see outside. There was only grass, a small hill, and a tall wooden fence separating the townhouse properties from the houses on the other side facing the road. “And the dinner table’s right here, next to the backyard door. And the stairs are to our right. Let’s go take a look at your rooms.”

Phuong and Trieu made their way up the stairs with Linh following behind them. When they made their way to the top, a door stood in front of them. A short walkway was to their right and went the opposite direction of the way they walked up, with a wooden guard rail running parallel to the stairs.

“Here’s the upstairs bathroom.” Linh pointed out. “There’s a second door inside that connects to my bedroom. But…that door’s broken. It’s just stuck there. Don’t worry about it, though.” Linh directed the kids down the walkway. At the end of it was one bedroom, and a turn to the left that led to two doors. “The door on the left leads to my room. The door on the right and this room here belong to you two. You can go ahead and pick which room you each want.”

“We get our own rooms?” Phuong asked, surprised.

“Of course! Go take a look at each one to see which one you each like best.”

Phuong and Trieu’s eyes lit up upon hearing this. They split up and examined each room while Linh waited outside. Trieu entered the room in front of them. It was an empty and clean room with a window at the back, gazing out to the trees in the backyard of the house behind them. He looked around and found the closet to the right of him just as he entered, parallel to the door. He opened it up and was amazed to find that it was a small walk-in closet. Inside were shelves above and below and racks on either side to hang clothes.

Phuong was examining the next room over at the same time. It was a near-match of the room Trieu was looking at. The only difference was that the closet was to the left of the door instead of the right. Phuong opened it up. This one was not a walk-in closet, but a regular one. She closed it back up, still amazed at how big her potential room was. She exited the room and made her way to the next one. Trieu stepped out at the same time and the two of them swapped rooms. Linh continued waiting in the hallway, ready to hear their answer. After a few minutes of examination, the two children returned to Linh.

“So have you two made your choice yet?” She asked. Phuong and Trieu nodded their heads in unison. “Alright, tell me: Which room do you each want?” Phuong pointed to the room right behind them with the walk-in closet. Trieu pointed to the room across from Linh’s. “Wow, that went better than I thought it would.”

Trieu looked confused. “Did…did we do something wrong?”

Linh shook her head. “No, just surprised at how fast you two decided.”

“Does that mean we did a good job?” Phuong asked.

“Yeah, I guess it does.” She patted both of them on their heads. “Now that you two decided on your rooms, we can tell the movers tomorrow what goes where. But for tonight, you can sleep with me in my room. Is that alright with you two?”

“You won’t be mad if we do?” Trieu asked, looking worried.

“Of course I won’t.” Linh answered. “Listen, you don’t have to be so afraid of me. I’m not your mom, and I’m definitely not your dad. I’m your aunt. I always was and I always will be. The only thing that’s changed is that I’ll be taking care of you two from now on.” She crouched down to face Phuong and Trieu eye-to-eye. “I won’t abandon you like the rest of the family did. I’ll be by your side no matter what.”Phuong and Trieu nodded in unison. For the time being, Linh managed to put their fears and worries to rest. She reached out to pat them both on the head, and just as she did, a growling sound echoed through the hallway.

The two children had a look of embarrassment on their faces. Linh realized they had not eaten for some time now. With everything that happened today, it slipped her mind. “Okay, what would you two like to eat? Today’s a special occasion, so don’t be afraid to ask for whatever you want.” Phuong and Trieu looked at one another, thinking of how to answer.

“Pizza?” Trieu blurted out.

“I want pizza, please.” Phuong followed suit.

“Pizza, huh?” Linh stood back up and her gaze turned upward before she had a flash of realization. “Oh yeah! There’s a Pizza Hut nearby we can go to. Let’s get going, then!” Phuong and Trieu’s faces lit up when Linh told them that. The three of them ran down the stairs with Linh leading the way. She grabbed her suit jacket off the railing and put it back on before they all put their shoes back on. Once they were all ready, they stepped out of the house and hopped back into the car. Linh fastened Phuong and Trieu’s seat belts before getting into the driver’s seat and turning the car on. She pulled out of the driveway and drove off, unaware that she was being watched. The blinds were down on the bedroom window of the townhouse across from Linh’s, but someone in a suit was behind the blinds, observing Linh from the moment she first arrived.

“She left with the kids again.” She said, talking into the phone she was holding. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s following her.” She paused for a moment as the person on the other end of the line spoke. “I still don’t understand all the secrecy and surveillance. Wouldn’t it simpler to just come out and tell her the truth?” The person on the other end was not having any of it and shut her down. She let out a long sigh before responding. “Fine, I’ll play along for now, so long as you hold up your end of the bargain. Goodbye for now.” She hung up the phone before sitting down on the edge of her bed and falling back onto it. She ran her hand through her short black hair as she stared at the ceiling. A smile crept onto her face.

“Congratulations on your promotion to parent...little sister.”

[mrstevenbushus]

Designing Storage for Modern Homes

Storage is an important – but often overlooked – aspect when it comes to designing new homes. In fact, there’s been a significant growth in the number of out-of-town self-storage facilities over recent years, to meet the demand from people who don’t have enough space to keep all their possessions in their property.

This begs the question, do we have too many belongings? Or do we just not build homes that are big enough to cater to our modern needs?

Certainly, mass developer houses are limited in human space terms – and that’s before we think about room for storage.

The density of housing development is intensifying and standard space provisions are often ignored in the design stage. This can result in cramped living conditions.

Older homes, particularly when the existing layout is adapted to become more open plan, can lose some of the walls against which storage and furniture would otherwise rest. Again, this will mean a lack of space for occupants to keep belongings.

I want to offer you some ideas and solutions for this oft-neglected element of house design. Hopefully these will enable you to manage your storage requirements as an integral part of your plans rather than an afterthought.

This article sets out some of the key areas to look at when incorporating storage in new and remodeled homes. Along the way I’ll highlight several of the key factors you and your designer should consider as drawings develop.

Storage in entrance spaces

Creating a good impression from the moment someone walks in is a high priority for most homeowners. With this in mind, a generous entrance area and space to greet guests should remain uncluttered by shoes and coats. Try to incorporate a cupboard to put things away near this zone.

Part of this refurbishment by De Rosee Sa Architects saw skilled craftsmen brought on board to create bespoke joinery that offers a striking design feature as well as plenty of storage

Bear in mind that as children get older, the number of items they accumulate grows. You might start with coats, shoes and buggies and end up at bulky school bags, sports equipment, and more clothing.

One idea is to use the space under the stairs to hide away these kinds of items. If that’s not an option, then consider designing a slightly wider porch area where part of the zone can incorporate floor-to-ceiling storage.

If you’re tackling a self build project, an excellent solution would be to have a complete room off the hallway into which almost anything can be thrown. A closed door will then hide the clutter from view.

Consider a utility space

For many self builders, incorporating a second entrance is becoming a priority. Another doorway can be handy for when you’re bringing shopping inside, for instance, or coming home after a muddy walk.

Essentially, this area is a convenient place to clean up before entering the main house. It needs to be functional, often with a sink and sufficient room to get clean.

A covered porch works well, too. You can then take off muddy boots and clothes outside, while you’re partially protected from the rain.

Some homeowners ask us to incorporate a dog shower area close to the secondary entrance so owners’ pets can be hosed down before coming indoors.

Try not to have too many doorways off the utility. This way you can keep circulation paths to a minimum, which will maximise the room that’s available for storage. Aim to get a good straight run of base storage units in this room.

Kitchen storage focus

The culinary zone forms the heart of most homes. With many people moving towards more open-plan living arrangements, you tend to lose a lot of wall space on which cupboards could be placed.

As a rule of thumb, aim to have at least one wall where you can fit floor-to-ceiling cabinets that maximise storage and accommodate tall fridge units, as well as built-in ovens.

To make up for the loss of wall-mounted units, try increasing storage provision in base cupboards. For example, there are clever corner unit designs that enable you to utilise the tight dimensions in your kitchen for storage.

Even small areas between base units can be used to store chopping boards, herb jars or wine.

The ins and outs of kitchen functionality and storage are so important they need careful planning from the very outset of the house design phase. The practical sink-to-hob-to-fridge triangle is imperative to get right so you can enjoy cooking in a user-friendly space.

Overhead hanging rails are a good solution for storing pots and pans. As well as providing a useful function, they can also double up as an attractive display of culinary tools and gadgets.

In this deVOL kitchen, pots and pans hang on the wall, creating an attractive visual feature

In some cases, a kitchen island or peninsula works well at one-and-a-half times or twice the normal base unit depth to create additional storage. They can break up and define areas within open-plan layouts, too. One side of the island may be used for kitchen storage, the other for the living room or even a home study.

Add a modern pantry

Interestingly, the pantry is coming back into fashion. This zone provides an ideal space for storage, and if ventilated correctly, can house perishable food, too.

It’s vital to think about how this area works in balance with the overall thermal performance of your property.

To ensure a pantry functions well, the external wall should not be as insulated as it would otherwise be. Meanwhile, the internal walls should be well insulated to ensure the cool temperatures do not transmit into the living space.

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