#What will happen to the shoemaker in my town when he dies? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

radiojamming · 4 years ago

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Can you tell us anything more about John Hartnell's time on the Voltage?

Hell yeah, I can! I have some pictures from the log books I can post later, too. I legit sat for H O U R S reading tiny handwriting from the master’s logs. Most of the logs were lists of chores, punishments, notes on the weather, and any major events. John’s time on the Volage can be divided pretty neatly in half, between the ship’s North American tour, and its Irish Sea patrol, all between 1841-45.

The North American part was probably pretty exciting for him, considering that he’d been a shoemaker since he was thirteen years old. Compared to what his brother had been up to on the Volage (the Aden Expedition, Battle of Chuenpi, etc.), it focused less on military ventures and more on transportation and patrol. The first major thing it did was in December of 1841, when it accompanied the HMS Warspite and HMS Thalia in taking the King of Prussia, Frederick William IV to England to attend the christening of the Prince of Wales. After that, it scurried over to Plymouth to get new fittings, and then took off for the Caribbean.

A lot happened in the Caribbean, and reading through the log books (always written in very non-emotional language, but still entertaining) paints a very eclectic picture of their activities. The Volage went to Jamaica first, awaiting orders until they were ordered to go to Saint Martha to pick up... $800,000 in gold. Legit, that sat on the Volage for two months until they dropped it off in Port Royal. By then, half the crew was incredibly ill with a mix of diseases including what might have been dysentery. Amazingly, for all of John’s terrible luck, he doesn’t appear on the sick list, even as one of the lieutenant’s eventually died as well as the clerk.

They scurried back and forth across the Caribbean from January of 1842 until they departed for Halifax, Nova Scotia later that summer. (Land of @theiceandbones!) In all honesty, the Volage didn’t get up to much during it’s time in Halifax. They didn’t necessarily have a mission, but it does make for some really entertaining reading! There was a lot of shore leave, for instance. Here are some of the notes I wrote on my read-through between the Caribbean and Halifax (which is from ADM 54/312):

Mondays and Fridays are mandatory clothes-washing days.

8th of July 1842 - “Punished Michael Logan with 48 [!] lashes for Disobedience of Orders and Insolence”

12th of July 1842, 6pm - “Committed to the deep the Body of Samuel Marvin (AB) Deceased.” / “Departed this life William Baillie (boy) - Buried at sea on the 13th.”

18th of July 1842, 10:50 pm - “Heard the report of several Guns from the North” [in Halifax]

20th of July 1842 - Halifax Citadel visit and the burial of Robert Webb (boy), Samuel Gibbon, John Barnes, and Samuel Brummage (carpenter’s mate) on shore

Godden reports that several warm nights, sailors were permitted to use their hammocks and sleep on the beach! (I put a smiley face next to my note here!)

Most of their Halifax mooring was spent cleaning. Lots of repainting, holystoning, repairing, etc.

Multiple discharges for “uselessness” and “disgrace”.

The latter note is really interesting, considering that none other than Charles Dickens visited Halifax that same year, and made note of sailors making total idiots out of themselves on oysters and champagne. Indeed, there are plenty of punishments recorded for that summer for drunkenness, insubordination, and desertion, again sometimes up to 48 lashes. (I’ll post a picture of the log just to confirm that.) On a high note, John Hartnell wasn’t punished once! And believe me, I looked!

They did have to have some repair work done to fix a leak in October before scurrying back down south with the “Squadron”. Godden makes some pretty boring notes about looking at the United States coast (as in essentially saying, “Yep, there it is!”) before they hang tight to the coast of Mexico.

The Volage appears to have been outfitted for doing survey work, which is part of what they did for the next few months. Between that, mooring for absolutely nothing, and hanging out with slave ship hunters (I like to think they high-fived the HMS Racer at some point) their zig-zag order of ports of call are:

Barbados > Puerto Rico > Grenada > St. Vincent > Jamaica > St. Lucie > Antigua > Jamaica (long-term Port Royal mooring) > Haiti

By early 1843, the Volage was headed back home. They docked in Plymouth for a time before getting their next orders for the Admiralty for the apparently much-maligned Irish Sea duty. At this point, Captain William Dickson had a temporary replacement for the deceased Lt. Davey, but eventually, that lieutenant had to leave as well. Captain Dickson did get a note from the Admiralty that he was to get his replacement at the Cove of Cork, and according to the sudden burst of tiny handwriting at the bottom of the page on Tuesday, August 29th, 1843, Captain Dickson totally forgot about that. Literally, the note for the day is kind of falling off the page from squeezing it in, but reads: “Read the Commission of Lieut J Irving”.

Because Lieutenant John Irving hopped on board as a new replacement, thus using those sweet, sweet letters of his to describe the next few months. He was absolutely meticulous about dating his letters, and having them on hand in his memoir made it easy to line up with Godden’s notes in the master’s log, confirming everything between the two of them. This time, Irish patrol got kind of exciting.

First, here’s Irving talking about joining the Volage, saying much nicer things about Capt. Dickson considering the captain was probably going, “Oh shit right I forgot we were doing this.”

“To my great joy I found the ‘Volage’ at anchor here. I was afraid she might have gone somewhere else. I went on board direct from the steamer, and was introduced to Sir William Dickson, the Captain; rigged myself in a blue coat and a pair of epaulettes; the hands were turned up, and the Captain read my commission appointing me lieutenant of the ship to the ship’s company. There are three of us. I am the second in seniority. Our mess consists of seven--viz., three lieutenants, one master, surgeon, a lieutenant of marines. They are all very good fellows. I was three years messmate of one of them in a former ship, so am comfortable in that respect.”

Irving noted that the officers were frequently invited to parties in Cork (”I could be at parties every day if I liked;”), and Godden does say that the rest of the crew were given shore leave fairly frequently, even though they didn’t have enough officers to allow them to leave as often.

For the next four months, the Volage remained at Cork, doing patrol with several other man-of-war’s. On land, there were frequent clashes between the Protestants and the Catholics, but more importantly, there were the Repealers following Daniel O’Connell’s urging to repeal the Acts of the Union and re-establish the independent Kingdom of Ireland. Between Irving and Godden, the image of this time from the perspective of the Volage is one of a lot of bloody rumors and high tension (a Protestant curate was killed, houses were being burned down). However, O’Connell’s followers were very civil to the sailors and actually invited some of the Volage officers to visit their homes. Irving called their hospitality “quite Highland”.

The Volage was temporarily relieved of its patrol in December, and returned to Plymouth by January of 1844 for refitting and repair work after shearing off part of her keel. Godden and Irving both noted that sailors and officers were boarded on a hulk, or a non-sailing ship. Godden also noted that several sailors were permitted leave to go visiting nearby. (John Hartnell did have family in Plymouth, and Thomas Hartnell may have been visiting the area at the same time, if a pet theory of mine holds up.)

They were back in the Cove of Cork by February, with the Volage now as the flagship. During a period between February and June, the Volage frequently made trips between Cork and the town of Bantry, after further pro-Repealer agitation began to raise tensions once more. Godden’s log doesn’t say much on the subject aside from weather reports and notes on officers leaving the ship to attend parties, major gatherings in town (there’s a really interesting bit from Irving on scaring the bejeezus out of a group of paraders and stealing the Waterford city flag), and switching out officers. However, the tensions once again didn’t amount to much more than far-off reports of violence and a few observations of pissed-off “pisantry”. The Volage did return to Plymouth for Christmas before returning for a short turn in Cork, and then being paid off completely. The log for that topic shows that John Hartnell was paid off on February 1st, 1845.

As far as what life would have been like for John Hartnell on the Volage, it’s hard to say for sure since, once again, Godden’s logs are impersonal. However, he was responsible for recording all punishments, injuries, illnesses, and deaths, of which there was no lack. He also kept meticulous note of what chores were to be done on particular days, as well as drills. I noticed there was a lot of repetition in the chore schedule, and there was a slight uptick in sailors suddenly taking ill with “unknown” illnesses about two and a half years in, especially on days that had chores requiring a little more elbow grease.

But I think, as I said, this would have been very exciting for someone like John. After all, he voluntarily signed up for the Erebus four months after signing off on the Volage. Unfortunately, we don’t have any letters to or from him that might hint to how he felt during this time, so we have to take it from his actions rather than his words. I like to think he enjoyed himself.

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junie-bugg · 5 years ago

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Prospects and Propriety - Chapter Two

Summary: Everlark Jane Austen AU

Katniss Everdeen and her younger sister Prim are the adopted daughters of Mr. Haymitch Abernathy, a wealthy man with no biological heirs. By the rules of Panem society, an older sibling must be married before the younger can wed. In a time when women have no means of making their own living, marriage is the only way for Katniss to save her sister from destitution and set her up for a happy marriage of her own. Katniss sets her sights on Mr. Gale Hawthorne, a wealthy man who just moved to Whitley and who seems to have his eye on her. But what of the poor baker’s boy who once took a beating to save her life?

Read here on Tumblr or on my AO3 account: izzacrosswriting

Warning: I do plan on this series getting a lil smutty. There will be graphic depictions of violence, sex, and possibly death. I’m still working everything out:)

Nature ambiance(s):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UZ9uyQI3pF0&t=1694s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUjUhZ1Yy7Y

Music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQbx-OkfN-M

(If you want to listen to this song on Spotify it's called Symphony No.5 in C Sharp Minor: 4. Adagietto (Sehr Iangsam))

Word Count: 3125

Chapter Two

Prim and I have the next day off of lessons. We’ve been homeschooled ever since we came to live with Haymitch, but the weekends are saved purely for whatever we see fit to fill them with. For me, that’s mostly hunting and being out in the woods, unless the weather is bad, and sometimes not even then.

If I decide to stay at home I usually lounge around with a book and see what Prim is up to. It’s mostly knitting, dress-up, or playing with the ugly cat Haymitch let her keep a few years back. Prim named him Buttercup, claiming that his matted, ruddy coat matched the bright yellow of the flowers she so adored. I had wanted to drown the thing in a bucket when we caught him stealing scraps from the kitchen, but Haymitch had laughed, even picked the thing up by the scruff of his neck and shook him around.

“Look at this little guy, sweetheart. He’s a survivor. We can’t kill him!” He had placed the dirty, mewling kitten into Prim’s arms and the thing had hissed at me. I was worried he’d give Prim some kind of disease but he never did. I don’t feel gratitude towards him though. Only suspicion. It could still happen.

When I want to be alone I go to my greenhouse. Really it’s Prim’s and my greenhouse, but ever since she found maggots in the compost pile nearly two years ago, she hasn’t stepped foot in there. The greenhouse is small, maybe a third the size of my bedroom, but it’s peaceful. Especially when it storms and I can hear every hollow beat of the raindrops on its glass roof. It’s situated on the edge of the grounds by the tree line that morphs into the large forested hill behind Victor Greene, Haymitch’s estate. Over the years I’ve planted herbs and flowers and medicinal plants I’ve found on my journeys into the woods. The plants do well here in the rows of dark soil I’ve fortified with compost and fertilizer. The whole place smells of earthy rot and there’s something about how sunlight scatters lazily through the frosted windows that calms me. There’s a nook on the far side of the greenhouse, past all the plants, where I’ve scattered some quilts and pillows on a wide triangular window ledge. It’s a perfect place to read or sleep. Or sing.

This is the only place where I let myself sing. I don’t even do it in the woods, always afraid someone else taking a stroll will hear me or that I’ll scare away game. Ever since Prim and I were placed under Haymitch’s care, really ever since our dad died, I refuse to sing in front of others. Maybe it’s because I’m shy and I don’t like people listening to my voice swelling and breaking on the high notes. Or maybe I’m lying to myself and I don’t sing in front of others because it’s too painful to remember a time when my life was filled with music. Mountain aires and lullabies and love songs, all sung by my father. I guess I don’t like breaking apart when there’s an audience. But when I’m alone I can shatter beneath the notes for a time, before I’m needed back up at the house.

Today, however, instead of knitting or playing hide and seek in the gardens, Prim has informed me she wants to walk to the village. “You need new ribbons for the ball!” She squeaks as I button up her light pink dress from behind. We have servants available who help us dress or bathe or brush our hair but I always like helping Prim myself. She looks like a tiny little princess with her frilly dress and her curls pulled back with a pearl white ribbon. In contrast, I look plain in a forest green frock and my light brown shawl.

“I told you, Prim. I’m not going.” I struggle with the last button. Prim has been going through a growth spurt and soon she’ll be too big for this dress. I feel sad, watching my little sister growing up so fast.

“I heard Mrs. Winthrop and Ms. Trinket talking and they said you had to go,” She’s grinning so hard I can see the slight gap between her two front teeth. “Because Mr. Hawthorne is going to be there.”

Ah, yes. My supposed husband-to-be. So even Prim has heard about Ms. Trinkets’ ridiculous arrangements. A man with that much money has his pick of the litter when it comes to choosing brides. I’m not ugly, but I’m no exquisite beauty either. Not like some of the girls I see around Whitley. I have no fortune of my own, really no status either besides being Haymitch’s ward and that will go up in smoke the second he dies. Most likely Mr. Hawthorne will look right through me and move on. But the news that I’m being forced to attend the public ball worries me. The whole village will be there. Including him. The baker’s boy.

Maybe some new ribbons aren’t such a bad idea.

We turn down an offer for the carriage and instead walk along the main road into Whitley. My boots have barely brushed the cobblestone sidewalks when Prim is dragging me into the seamstresses’ shop. The dressmaker, Cinna Ludgate, and the tailor, I think her name is Portia Peever, both turn to welcome us. Prim tells Mr. Ludgate about my need for new ribbons and in a flash he pulls down the display from the ceiling, winking at me as he walks back to the counter.

There are so many to choose from. Streams of all colors flutter between my outstretched fingertips like butterfly’s wings. I see ribbons of frilly lace, satin, velvet, and even silk. My eyes land on a simple, white cloth ribbon with a delicate embroidered lavender pattern. I hold it up for Prim’s inspection and she declares I have to buy two in case I manage to get one dirty before the ball.

I’ve just handed Mrs. Peever the money for the ribbons when the bell over the door rings. In walks Ms. Delly Cartright, one of Prim’s closest friends, and her older sister, Ms. Marianne Cartright. Their father is the village shoemaker, so they’re well known and well-liked by almost everybody. Delly is Prim’s age which gives them plenty to talk about. Prim grabs a hold of Delly and begins showing her the latest shipment of buttons Mr. Ludgate has displayed.

Marianne is one year younger than me but we’ve never exchanged more than simple pleasantries. I dread small talk but from my personal experience, a trip into town wouldn’t be deemed official without at least one awkward encounter.

“Are you coming to the ball, Ms. Everdeen? You missed the last one,” Marianne asks. She’s absolutely gorgeous, with big, blue doe eyes and a pouty mouth. Her nose is small and her figure slender. She is what they call a “country belle” in Town. I know at least five love songs written about girls like her. I expect in a few years Prim will grow to be one herself.

“The dancing was splendid. I do hope you’re coming next week,” She continues.

I hold up my ribbons in response. “My tutor Ms. Trinket won’t let me miss it.” I force my mouth into a smile.

“Oh,” Marianne’s eyes have settled on my ribbons. They’re probably a tad dull for her taste seeing as there were velvets and silks to choose from, but I like the simple flower design. The white cloth paired with the purple and green thread looks pretty. “Well, as my darling mother always says: simple never goes out of style.” She smiles up at me but the warmth doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “My sister and I are here for my dress fitting. I can’t wait to show everyone what Mr. Ludgate made me for the ball. It’s a custom piece!” She practically squeals. I nod and bid her goodbye, waving Prim over so we can leave. I breathe a sigh of relief as we exit the shop. I hate girl talk.

With our main objective for coming to Whitley carried out, my feet automatically turn towards home, but Prim has other ideas. “Can we look at the cakes, Katniss?” She begs. She’s like a little puppy. I can’t refuse, though I grow more anxious with every step closer to the bakery we get.

I know what this is. A look at the cakes in the window leads to Prim asking to go inside. It’s happened before and I’ve been lucky enough to avoid him. He works alongside his parents and two older brothers anyway. What are the chances that he’ll be manning the counter and not the ovens in the back?

Prim pulls me through the bakery doors and runs to press her face against the display case. I hear a call of “I’ll be right there!” from the back, followed by a grunt and the shuffling of boxes. I join Prim and am just starting to admire the selection of pastries when I hear a quiet gasp and look up.

It's him. The baker’s youngest son. I don't know him by name but I remember him. Of course, I remember him. I can almost feel the icy sheets of rain and the hollow numbness of hunger from that horrible day as I meet his gaze.

Our father had died three months earlier. He had been a poor wheat farmer but the income from the harvest was enough to support a small household. My mother traded plants and home remedies to supplement what our empty pockets couldn’t buy. One winter, my father had been kicked in the head by his horse. My mother did everything she could but even as young as I was, I knew he had died before he hit the ground. After that my mother stopped eating. She just sat in bed and stared at the walls while her children turned to skin and bone. I did everything to try and rouse her but it was no use. With our father dead so too was her will to live.

At eleven I became the sole provider of the family. I ventured into town alone to sell that damn horse, some old jewelry, and even dresses of my mother’s from her merchant days, but the money ran out quickly and there was more to buy than food. Our hearth sat cold, unused, and wanting of wood, and we resorted to rubbing ourselves raw to keep warm. We stopped attending school in the village, afraid that a teacher would see how hollow we were becoming and would whisk us away to the orphanage. I had seen orphans in the schoolyard, their faces empty and their shoulders slumped in defeat. I would never let that happen to Prim.

We had eaten nothing but dried mint leaves in water for three days before I decided to try selling some of Prim’s old baby clothes in town. The clothes were threadbare and faded so nobody had wanted them. My arms were shaking so violently from cold and malnourishment that I ended up dropping them in a puddle. I decided to leave them there, afraid that if I bent over I wouldn’t be able to get back up.

I found myself stumbling around behind a row of brick buildings. The rain had started and I was soaked to the bone. The smell of baking bread carried over the frigid air and I realized I was behind the bakery. The back door was open and I stood, trancelike, basking in the warm glow of the ovens before a thought floated through my foggy head. Maybe they had food scraps in their trash. A crust of bread or rotting vegetables, something only my family was desperate enough to eat. I lifted the tops off of the bins and my hopes died when I saw that their insides were heartbreakingly bare.

Suddenly, I heard a woman screeching. It was the baker’s wife. She spat remarks about how she was sick of people going through her trash bins and if I didn’t leave she would call law enforcement. As I dropped the lids and backed away I saw a boy peeking out from behind his mother’s skirts. I recognized him from school but we had never talked.

With my final hope gone I slumped against a scrubby little apple tree in their yard. My knees buckled and I slipped down into the mud. I would rather die than go home empty-handed to Prim’s gaunt face and my mother’s sickly, unblinking eyes.

I heard a commotion from the bakery and then the ring of metal on flesh.

“Feed it to the pigs you worthless creature! No one decent will buy burnt bread!” The witch screeched. There was the boy again, come out the back door clutching two blackened loaves. A bright red mark shone on his cheek and my heart twisted when I realized his mother must have hit him. He looked between me and the pigpen, and then glanced back towards the door. His mother must have gone up to front to serve a customer because then I heard him sloshing his way through puddles to get to me.

“Take them!” He urged, pressing the loaves into my skeletal hands. “Take them! Go!” As quickly as he came he was gone, back into the kitchens. I watched him disappear. As he closed the door only then did I realize what he had done for me.

Two loaves of bread! And they weren’t even that burned, really only the crusts had been damaged. I quickly pressed them to the skin under my shirt and hurried home. The searing heat from the loaves roused something within me. I couldn’t die. Not when I had Prim to take care of.

I dropped the loaves on the table and stopped my sister from savagely tearing a chunk off for herself. I sat her down, forced our mother to join us, and then began scraping off the blackened bits. That night we feasted on two slices of bread each, afraid so much food might make us sick. The loaves were hearty, filled with nuts and bits of cranberry. I had never tasted anything so good in my entire life.

As I predicted, it was a teacher that found out about our situation. Upon our absence at school, she had come looking for us and found Prim and I living in squalor with a mother that was too sick to care. I thought that was it, that we were to be sent to the orphanage now and our mother taken away to an institution. But a man by the name of Haymitch Abernathy, wealthy and lacking a family of his own, intervened. He had heard of our misfortunes from hushed gossip around the village and had petitioned to adopt us. Our mother was eventually sent to an institution by the sea and we’ve lived with Haymitch, fed and clothed and taken care of, ever since.

The baker’s boy saved our lives that day. Surely I would have given up and died under that apple tree if it wasn’t for the kindness he showed me. I owe him everything. And because of that, I will never be able to pay him back.

I take him in now. He's taller than he was before. Much taller. His chubby child’s build has been replaced with an imposing stature that takes up almost the entire doorway. I guess a lifetime of hefting bakery pans and kneading dough has left him broad-shouldered and muscular.

“Katniss,” he says. I can tell he’s surprised to see me. His voice is deep and I note that his blonde hair curls with sweat. There’s a streak of flour on his cheek and an apron tied around his waist.

“It’s Ms. Everdeen,” I correct him. It’s out before I can stop myself and as soon as I say it I want to bite my own tongue off. How pretentious I must sound. It's only after Prim has begun ordering a sugar-dusted fruit tart from the case that I realize with a start that the baker's boy knows my name.

His face is flushed and pink when he turns his eyes to me.

“I'll take four of those cookies,” I get out. “The orange lilies.” My voice sounds weaker than normal. I hate this. I feel fragile under this boy’s gaze. And that's when I realize: he must be waiting for his thank you. For the bread that he burned and took a beating for. But I can't do it, either because Prim is with me and it would confuse her and probably embarrass the boy, or because it's been five years and the time for ‘thank you’ is over. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he doesn't remember. He probably only knows my name because it was a source of gossip around town when Haymitch adopted Prim and I. He must remember me from then.

He gives me a timid smile, deftly wraps the cookies in parchment paper, ties them securely with a piece of fringed twine, and hands the package to me. I suddenly feel the need to fill the silence so I blurt: “They’re beautiful. The cookies.”

He manages to turn a shade pinker. “Thank you, I do most of the frosting around here. I made those this morning.” As I hand him the money for the treats, I assume that's it. That was the end of our conversation. But my tongue is moving again.

“They look just like the lilies in the woods. I see them on my morning walks.”

“Yes, exactly,” He grins and reveals a charming set of dimples. “I’ve seen them when I go to the woods to paint.”

I don't know what else to say and Prim has started tugging on my hand. She’s probably anxious to get home so we can enjoy our treats with tea, so I give him one last look and utter one last thank you before heading back out into the crowded square.

“Do you know him?” Prim asks as we begin walking towards home.

“No,” I say, a little relieved to be leaving. I can't catch my breath and my heart is racing like it does when something frightens me. “I don't even know his name.”

“Well, I've never seen you be that talkative with a stranger.” She beams. “Wait until I tell Mrs. Winthrop!”

Is that what he is to me? A stranger? I shake the thought from my head.

He knew my name. The very least I can do is learn his.

#thg #The Hunger Games #thg fanfic #everlark #katniss everdeen #Peeta Mellark #haymitch abernathy #gale hawthorne #everlark fluff #jane austen au #pride and predujice #regency #regency au #everlark fanfiction #everlark fanfic #finnick odair

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thegreen1969pontiac · 5 years ago

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L’appel Du Vide Chapter 4- Midnight Coffee

Eventual Dean x OC

Summary: When Hope’s sister is killed in a less than a normal house fire, and Sam, her sister’s boyfriend, disappears with his brother after her death they’re her number one suspects. When the cops declare the case cold she begins her hunt for the Winchester boys. She follows them in hope for some evidence pointing to the death of her sister, but will she find more than just the cause and the killer? Will she find out more than she wanted to?

Warning: creepy guy, very minor sexual themes, language, crappy writing

Word Count: 2434

I've got to admit, the Winchester boys seem to be the hardest to track men in the USA, well, besides my uncle. They seem like ghosts. Sam showed up to Stanford about four years ago, he came on an almost full-ride scholarship and no family to help him move in on moving day. He was a smart guy, he was top of his class in almost all the schools he was forced to move around to. His dad, John, was a marine. They originated from Lawrence, Kansas, Dean was born January 24, 1979, which seemed to just rip me apart even more seeing as Jess was born the same day in 1984. But John Winchester seemed to disappear the date his wife, Mary died, November 2, 1983, just a year after my sister was born, and to the date the day she died. Two November 2nd both involving the Winchester boys. What was this some family cult that killed the women of the family? What the hell? After asking the professors at the university, it seems that Sam was pretty normal. Quiet, courteous, polite and intelligent, but nothing out of the ordinary.

After all of this, there was only the date of the deaths that pointed to murder. I needed to find someone that my sister knew, someone who would know what kind of man Sam was. My sister mentioned this guy, he brought them together. This guy named Brady, Jess mentioned him once or twice he wasn't a close friend of hers just someone she met at a college party at one point. If you can imagine there was a shit ton of Brady's at Stanford University, after about 12 hours of driving Theo from frat house to apartment, it wasn't until maybe the 23rd Brady that I finally found the one that knew her. Brady was a successful kid it seemed that he had a job all lined up for him at Niveus Pharmaceuticals, a company that seemed to profit off the sickness of others. But I guess in his mind it would get the bills of Stanford University paid, he was a charismatic young man I could see why Jess let him set her up with Sam. He asked me to come in,

"Are you Brady? Did you know my sister Jessica Moore?" I ask already feeling tried from asking the same question over and over again.

"I'm Brady, yeah. I knew her, I heard what happened. Who are you?" He asked in almost an accusatory manner.

"I'm her sister, I go by Moore. May I sit?" I say already losing patience with the rich and snotty Stanford kid.

"Oh, yeah, yeah of course. Sorry for your loss." He rushes out.

"I'd just like to ask some questions if you wouldn't mind, just for some closure." I come up with my excuse, it's not for closure though it is for knowledge.

"Yeah, yeah, what do you want to know?" He asks he gestures for me to sit down on the Italian leather coach that he probably paid way too much for.

"My sister, she had a boyfriend, What was his name again? Was it Smitty?" I ask playing stupid, I need to confirm his name, get some information on this sick son of a bitch.

"No, his name was Sam, Sam Winchester. I actually introduced the two." He smiled to himself almost proud that he introduced the two to each other.

"Yeah, good for you. Did you know Sam well? I didn't see him at the funeral, I just wanted to check up on him you know, help me understand how he is dealing with all of this," I stated, "I mean do you know where he is, I couldn't find a single record of where he could've gone after the fire." I smile, playing the victim wasn't ever my role.

"I don't know where he is now but I heard that he went on a road trip with his brother right before the house went down," He says, "I think I might someone who does though, her name is Becky Warren, she and her brother were friends with Sam when he was here. I really hope you find him though, but hey, I gotta get to lacrosse practice so..." He leads off, how did I know this douche would play lacrosse.

"No, I totally get it. Thank you for your time." I say and stand up, I walk out of the house and head to the address. I finally get to the house that is owned by the Warren family. There are only two cars parked in the driveway. I walk up the driveway and am at the door when the door swings open an I'm met with a frazzled looking girl.

"Are you Becky?" I ask blocking her exit from the house.

"Yeah, look, I have to get going I have class in like 10 minutes." She tries to move around me but I move in front of her again,

"Look, I need to know where Sam Winchester is and I was told you could help me if you could just give me a general idea I will be out of your hair," I say,

"I don't give out my friend's locations to strangers so why don't you piss off." She said and made a move to go around me but this time a grab her jacket and push her against the door frame.

"Yeah, well I don't usually arrange funerals for dead family members but it seems like we are all having a bad year," I growl at her,

"So I am going to ask you one more god damn time, you are going to tell me where my dead sister's boyfriend is or I swear to God I will make you and your brother's life the most miserable they can be, so you can know how I have felt every god damn day since I heard my baby sister was killed in that fire." I hiss out at her.

"I don't know okay, he only texts me so often." She whimpers, "The last I heard he was in Ohio." I smile and let her off the doorstep.

"See, that's all I needed we didn't need to get all nasty. Now lets hope we don't see each other again shall we?" Yeah, we can only hope, right? I turn on my heel and walk to Theo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A suburban Ohio town has been dealing with the murder of one of their own Steven Shoemaker died in a strange way, the obituary said it was a stroke. But his eyes basically burst out of his skull. Death although seems to follow these boys so why not take a look. Toledo, Ohio was quite the apple pie life town, it was full of high school sweethearts and minivans, but under all of that sticky sweetness, I could tell that there were some underlying skeletons in the closet of the gingerbread house town. Driving there wasn't much of an issue after running on only alcohol and granola bars for about three weeks, it is nice to have a change to coffee and diner food. The food that was eaten along the way to Ohio made me feel like crap but the coffee was always warm and the diners mainly stayed open for 24 hours. That's where I am now, sitting at a 24-hour diner with checkered tiles and bright red seats. The coffee on the table no matter how much I want to say it was black and sound like the badass, it had two creamers and three sugars in it. I was researching the town on my lab top, when the sun peeks its way from behind the family houses I'm heading down to the coroners to get a closer look at the body of the victim. Its been around two days since I had a decent shower so I decided to pack up early and make myself not look like the sleep deprived, alcohol smelling, mess that I am.

The hotel life had been abandoned, motels were now my realm. I can't tell if it is because I don't trust myself to be in high places anymore or if I just don't believe in the normal life anymore and I'm punishing myself to shitty, never cleaned motels that look like they could also be pimping out prostitutes to each room. After the shower, I dress in some of my best clothes that I packed, a black pencil skirt and a white button up that I tucked into the skirt letting my collar bones show, I put my hair up in a professional up-do and grabbed the brown leather jacket that kept me warm in the cold weather. The only new things I needed were shoes and I ended up going to one of the many stores at Toledo's main street and just as the store was opening managed to grab a pair of classy black heels. The coroner's office would no doubt be open now and I just needed to complete the facade with a small pen and notebook. Instead of putting in my contacts this morning I left my glasses on, the blood shotness of my eyes were slightly hidden by the glass.

As I parked Theo in the parking lot of the office I see a black 67' impala sitting across the street. The license plates reading Kansas. I hold my breath, there is no possible way that I would find the boys in the first place I stopped. As I put on the heels from inside my car I saw two tall men walking out of the hospital, the stairs looked old and white, One of the men was no doubt, Sam Winchester, I quickly walked up to the boys ready to walk right up to the evil son of a bitch that murdered my sister and start beating the living hell out of the tall man. But the man next to the puppy dog man was intimidating, he was tall and wore a dark brown leather jacket over his blue flannel, he stared me down like a piece of meat and I knew that I could barely take down one of the two Winchester's and if this was Dean there would be no way in hell I would be able to take down either of them. As I walked closer to them and as they passed me I tried to identify every possible feature so I would be able to know who they were the next time I saw them. As I went up the stairs and they walked down I paid careful attention to which car they got into, and not at all to my surprise I see they get in the Impala with the Kansas license plates, I make careful note of those as well. KAZ-2Y5. God, that won't be hard to forget.

As I get inside the hospital building I walk quickly down to the coroner's office and although I hate wearing heels I like the way they make the clicking noise on the tile floor. The office does look like its open but I can't imagine that the sleazeball looking nurse that sits at the desk seemingly counting cash is the doctor I'm looking for. I tap on the door,

"I'm sorry are you Dr. Feiklowicz? I'm doing an article for the paper about death and I was wondering if I could get some details." I say smiling, I see him rush to put some bills in his pocket, I put it together in my mind and guess that it was the boys that gave the money to him. Why the hell would they pay to see their own murder victim, what kind of sickos are these freaks?

"I'm sorry, he won't be back for an hour, is there something I could help you with?" He says smirking. I can feel him looking me up and down and I can feel my inner head just retching at even the thought. "Oh, that's too bad, is there any way that I could see the body on my own maybe, I just am going to be taking notes." I hum out,

"I'm sorry I will have to ask for some identification before I can let you in, you said you were with the press?" I curse myself, I smile and nod,

"Of course, let me just get out my-- Oh, shoot I think I left my key card at the office, can I just give you my ID?" I ask falsely reaching for the key card that I did not own.

"Well-- I really do nee--" I smile and begin to take off my jacket leaving me in my skirt and blouse that although classy, seems to work on the idiot in front of me, I hold it in my hand arms crossed and stare innocently at him.

"Please, I really need to get some notes, I have to get these back before my boss gets back, he is so mean to me and I might lose my job," I say making myself tear up, I guess playing Ophelia in middle school paid off well.

"Well, I guess. Can I see your ID?" I hand it to him, he takes it and I see him try and make an effort to brush my hand with his own the action almost makes me sick to my stomach.

"Hope Moore, that's a real’ pretty name. A pretty name for a pretty girl," He says trying to woo me with his horrible pick up line.

"Actually I go by Moore." I let my sickly sweet facade drop that time letting him know that I do not want him to call me that again.

"Yeah, sure."

He leads me back into the room and he pulls the sheet off, after seeing my sister I don't think I will be so upset with dead bodies anymore. I ask him about the death and it's said that something bizarre happened that his eyes burst inside his skull, the creep nurse said that there has never been something like that to happen during a stoke. I thank him for his time and he seems to be wanting to ask me something but I rush out of the morgue and get back to finding the Winchester boys.

I drive around town hoping to see the same black car and when I finally find it I notice that there are many other cars parked outside the house as well.

I grimace, funerals suck.

#dean winchester #dean x oc #original character #jessica moore #jessica moore sister #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #angst #slow burn #long series #series #supernatural series #supernatural series rewrite #l'appel du vide

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shirtlesssammy · 6 years ago

Text

1x05: Bloody Mary

Then:

A Season One Aesthetic

Now:

Toledo, Ohio

Sleepover Friends are playing a game of Truth or Dare. One girl tasks another to say “Bloody Mary” in the bathroom mirror three times. (The girl is Sam’s double in Mint Condition!) The girl, Lily, is impervious to the legends surrounding Bloody Mary so she heads to the bathroom to check off her Dare. Nothing happens and her friends and her laugh at their silly antics.

Their noise alerts her father, who tells them to keep it down. As he’s walking back to bed, he passes 5,000 mirrors, and each one is reenacting The Ring. He heads to the bathroom to pop some happy pills --and there’s another mirror.

Downstairs, Lily’s older sister busts in, with some mild ribbing for her kid sister and a whole lotta IDGAF attitude about missing curfew. She heads upstairs and finds her dead father in a pool of his own blood.

Sam’s dreaming of his dead girlfriend. Dean wakes him and says, “Sooner or later we’re going to have to talk about this.” Sam deflects in true Winchester fashion. They’re in Toledo at the morgue, investigating the death of Lily’s father.

The morgue attendant is less than impressed with the unannounced med students. I’m less than impressed with their cosplay. It is almost refreshing to watch these early episodes just to reflect on later seasons and know how much Dean embraces the things he loves about the job. He’s just cool bravado here, but no one’s buying the schtick. Sam cuts to the chase and throws money at the man. Dean balks at Sam’s careless use of Dean’s hard earned money. This appropriately timed post from @pinkandsatiny-blog showed up on my dash this AM.

Once inside and looking at the victim, they see his eyes have liquefied.

Sam posits that maybe this is just “some freak medical thing.” Dean scoffs and assures him that this is supernatural.

They talk to the daughter. At the wake. In their hunter garb. At least Dean has presence of mind to note that they’re underdressed.

On principle I refuse to stoop this low but, SAME, LADY, SAME:

The boys talk to Donna, the older daughter, about her father’s stroke. Lily pops in to say it wasn’t a stroke. She caused his death because she said Bloody Mary in the mirror.

The brothers head inside to take a peek at the bathroom. Sam info dumps lore about Bloody Mary. The legend indicates that the person who says the words will die, but that’s not what happened here. One of Donna’s friends, Charlie, appears and demands that the Winchesters tell her the truth. They do --to a point, and ask her to contact them if her or her friends see anything weird.

They head to the library! Time to dig a little into public records and such to find a Mary who died in front of a mirror. Dean’s already pre-annoyed with research, and once Sam sees the computers are out of order, he too is annoyed.

Donna’s two friends, Charlie and Jill, are talking on the phone about Sam and Dean, and then Jill jokes about Bloody Mary. (So does this pass the Bechdel test or not? Hmm.) Charlie tells Jill to knock it off. Jill utters the words in the mirror anyway --and screams and laughs and so funny amirite? Jill and Charlie get off the phone. Jill strips down to her underwear in her mirror filled room, as one does. And Bloody Mary is waiting (she’s even waiting in the reflection on the television --which sends me down a rabbit hole of thought: What makes a mirror?) Jill heads back to the bathroom, and while at the mirror her reflection doesn’t mimic her. Instead, it stares her down and the eyes start to bleed. But so do Jill’s eyes.

Then the reflection tells Jill, “You did it. You killed that boy.” Jill falls over dead.

Sam continues to dream of Jess burning on their ceiling. My heart aches for him. #GiveSamaDogandaTherapist2K05 He wakes and Dean asks what he dreamed about, but Sam deflects again. Dean’s been doing research but getting nowhere fast. Dean’s starting to doubt that it’s really the Bloody Mary legend at play. Sam gets a call from Charlie, who fills them in on Jill’s death. They enlist Charlie to help them with their plan. The boys do a sweep of Jill’s bedroom. Sam finds something on infrared and takes the bathroom mirror down. On the back, under blacklight, there’s a handprint and the name “Gary Bryman”. Research shows that Gary Bryman was an 8 year old boy killed in a hit and run that was never solved (like, Charlie knew instantly that it was Jill’s car, uh, what the hell DMV?) They head to Donna’s house to find the name “Linda Shoemaker” --Donna’s mother who overdosed on sleeping pills. Donna storms off after their inquiry. Charlie puts it together that their dad killed their mom.

Dean starts a nationwide search for their source.

He finds an unsolved murder of a Mary Worthington in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

Cut to Fort Wayne, Indiana. A retired detective tells Sam and Dean about the Mary Worthington murder. Mary wanted to leave town and make a name for herself, but she was killed before she could make good on any of her plans. She was found with her eyes cut out. YEESH. The detective pulls out her old files. One of the shots of her body shows letters written out across a mirror; he thinks she was trying to spell the name of her murderer.

The detective’s bet? A local surgeon, Trevor Sampson. (He’s dead now.) So, a vengeful ghost! Sam asks where she’s buried but they learn that she was cremated. However, there was an ornate mirror in the photo of her body, which connects her to the mirror hauntings. The mirror is back in the family’s possession. The Winchesters are on the job! Huzzah!

Back with our tempestuous Toledo teens, they continue to argue over the existence of Bloody Mary. In a school bathroom.

Side note: I asked Boris to recap this episode because the Bloody Mary myth tapped into a deep phobia of mine. When I was in Kindergarten, we used to be ushered to the bathroom by our teacher and left there for ten minutes or so to use it as a class. Sometimes there were big kids using the bathroom at the same time, and a favorite way to scare the little kids was to turn off the lights and intone, “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, I killed your seven sons!” In our version of the myth, you turned around three times, repeating that phrase. Friends, I still get a little scared in front of a dark mirror, and refuse to do more than glance at one in passing. (Though after years of desensitizing myself, I can finally walk around dark mirrors without imagining that I’m seeing Bloody Mary’s dark visage.)

Anyway, back to the episode. Donna says “Bloody Mary” three times and then stalks out of the bathroom dismissively. Who’s gonna die? Who has a DARK SECRET? In chemistry class, we learn about ions and also that Charlie’s the one with the dark secret! She pulls out a compact mirror to look for monsters and spots Bloody Mary lurking behind her. She screams and flees the classroom.

Meanwhile, Sam’s trying to use his charm to get ahold of the mirror, only to learn that it’s been sold to an estate business. A week ago. What a coincidink. The mirror’s now in Toledo, which explains our traveling Bloody Mary. Sam explains a piece of lore that we never see again - that people used to cover mirrors so the spirits of the recently departed don’t get trapped. Dean’s ready to SMASH that mirror and kill the ghost. Go for it, Dean Bean.

Charlie calls Sam and the next scene has the Winchesters covering every reflective surface in her room. Sam coaxes her to open her eyes. Hey, Sam. What about those limpid doe eyes you sport in every episode? THOSE things are killers, man.

Eyes are the windows to vengeful ghosts

Dean grills Charlie about her deadly secret. She had a scary boyfriend who threatened to kill himself when she broke up with him. When he died, she blamed herself.

Later in the car, Sam spins out a theory that smashing the original mirror won’t do anything. They need to summon Mary to the mirror first and then they can smash it. Otherwise, her spirit will just flit from mirror to mirror like a sprite and never get caught. Sam thinks that Mary will go after him and Dean pulls over in disgust. Time for a parenting moment, friends.

Sam thinks that Jessica’s death was his fault. Dean gives Sam a rousing speech about not blaming himself which is R I C H coming from Dean. But…early days, right? Sam confesses that there are Further Sekrets of Sam Effing Winchester. Dean throws Sam some A grade bitch face.

For YOU THROW THAT SHADE Science

They break into the antique shop and stalk around, finding a giant storeroom full of mirrors. “Fuck my life,” Dean basically says. They explore the antique warehouse full of mannequins and insidious lamps. Sam calls for Bloody Mary and they get their smashin’ hands ready.

When Mary doesn’t show, Dean double-checks the entrance and spots bright headlights. He heads outside to head off security. Meanwhile, Bloody Mary shows up in the surrounding mirrors. AS we watch, Mirror!Sam starts to bleed. “It’s your fault,” Mirror!Sam says. “You killed her.”

Outside, Dean is…incredibly awkward talking with security. He claimed he was the owner’s son but the owner is implied not to be white. Dean explains that he’s adopted and…oh lord, Dean. They’re not buying his story AT ALL, so Dean knocks them both out quickly.

Mirror!Sam tells us Sam’s dark secret. Sam had been having nightmares about Jessica’s horrific death months before she died.

Dean races back inside, only to find Sam crumpled to the ground. Dean smashes the mirror like the goddamn HULK. Dean hauls Sammy “It’s Sam” Winchester out of the room. Unfortunately, by smashing the mirror they’ve only freed Mary.

She crawls out of the mirror Ring-style and starts to bleed out both brothers. Dean grabs a mirror and shines it on Mary.

Mirror!Mary actually seems more lucid that creepy-crawly Mary and tells her that she killed everyone. Mary dissolves in a puddle of blood.

Dean and Sam run Charlie back home. Be free, little butterfly! (I’m still super weirded out by your name.)

Sam tells her that she needs to forgive herself for her boyfriend’s death. Sometimes bad things just happen. Dean whacks Sam on the arm and tells him that it’s good advice. Pot. Kettle. Black.

As they’re played off the screen, Dean asks what Sam’s secret was, but Sam holds his cards close for a little while longer. As Sam stares moodily out the window, he sees Jessica standing on the street corner, white dress fluttering dramatically.

Yep. Everything’s fine.

(And because Boris loves those parallels, she’s just going to drop this gifset down and run away.)

Bloody Quotes, Bloody Quotes, Bloody Quotes:

Sooner or later we’re gonna have to talk.

How many times in Dad’s long career has it ever been a freak medical thing and not some sign of some awful supernatural death?

Spirits don’t exactly see shades of gray.

It’s Sam.

Hey Sam. It’s gonna be like six hundred years back luck?

You’re my brother, and I’d die for you. But there are some things I need to keep to myself.

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 1x05 #bloody mary #dean winchester #sam winchester #jessica moore #supernatural season 1

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bluboothalassophile · 7 years ago

Note

could you pretty pleeeeease continue the Jay/Rae Pocahontas AU? It would make my day! (PS i love you blue, you’re one of my favorite writers

Hello,

I know this has been in my inbox for a while, and to all who have made requests, I’m getting to them rather slowly, though I will admit I’m about to disappear for a bit. Again. When I return I’ll probably have a mass update for all of you. While I’m away don’t be afraid to leave requests if you want to, but please, don’t ask when I’ll return. I’ll come back, just maybe not for a bit. Thank you.

Wayward Birds…

She skidded down the slope where there was a massive deadcat, shoving the heavy body off of Jason and she didn’t faulter. She hadwitnessed a mauling before, none of the blood was bright red, nothing waspulsing. Looking him over, she moved to help him, the wounds were deep andperilous but she had to work fast.

The cat groaned, and she twisted to see the animal gettingup, limping, it’s teeth bared, and she pulled her knife. The cat glared at her,and she stared balefully back. But she watched the cat limp off. Turning backto Jason she moved his hair off his brow, leaned over, listened, felt hisbreath on her ear and she continued inspecting him over. The wounds were deep,and she got to work.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Kyle for the life of him, could not figure out what the hellhad happened to Jason. He hadn’t shown up at the local ranches or in thesmaller towns; no tracker they’d crossed had even seen him, which wasconcerning in and of itself. Kyle was not fool enough to think that Jason wasdead, but there was something up.

“We should avoid this area,” Jessica murmured to him, whichhad him turning to her with an arched brow. The Mexican merely looked aroundworriedly.

“What is wrong with this area?” Simon growled.

“I don’t see anything troubling.” Guy filled in unhelpfully.

“Jess, what is it?” Kyle sighed as she looked aroundnervously.

“That’s Apache territory, it’d be smarter to go around it orfind another way,” she whispered worriedly.

“You don’t actually believe all that nonsense!?” Simon seared,but Kyle sighed as Simon and Guy started telling the outrageous stories they’dheard of the Apache. But Jessica was right, they should go around, or findanother way. Jason wasn’t foolish enough to actually travel through Apachecountry, at least Kyle didn’t think he was.

Then again, this was Jason and Jason would travel throughApache territory.

“We go through, Jason would go through,” he sighed.

Jessica looked stricken at the mere thought and he didn’t blameher. The Apache were terrifying warriors, and he didn’t particularly want to betangled up in this mess. Still, it was Jason.

“Is he crazy!?”

Kyle didn’t answer that as he sometimes wondered about thesanity of Jason himself. Jason was just a fearless mother fucker, and aconfident asshole.

~~~*~*~*~~~

She cleaned the wounds in the shelter she had found. Aftershe had managed to get him on his horse, the beast was docile for her as shestruggled with Jason’s weight to get him up on the damn beast. The man washuge, far larger than the men of her Tribe, and he was heavy, heavier than anykill she’d made. Jason was an easy patient, though she supposed that it wasbecause he was unconscious that he was easy.

She worked over his wounds.

Her eyes flicked to the man and she looked at the wounds,and she continued working them over.

He was kind to her, she appreciated that as not many were kindto her.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Bruce sat in Gotham and stared out at the sea.

Of all his children he had the hardest time understandinghis second son. Of course his wife had teased him that this was because Jason wasjust like him. Of course the moment the ‘M’ word (marriage) was dropped around Jasonhis second son had bolted. He was too much like his mother not to, after all,Bruce’s first wife hadn’t ever been fond of commitment, though that was what hehad loved about her when she’d been alive. Selina was all spitfire and wilddesires, and her three sons had followed in suit. Richard, Jason and Timothywere the most like their mother in his mind. Though his second wife swore hischildren were more like him than Selina.

Bruce didn’t see it, at all. His sons were so much more thanhe could ever be. But neither Dick nor Timothy had had the problems that Jason hadhad with the mere mention of marriage.

His eldest son, Dick was married to the Commissioner’sdaughter, Barbara Gordon. It was a good match, though with Dick’s flamboyantattitude and Barbara’s need for perfection they clashed almost violently attimes but they were a good match all the same. They were expecting their firstchild after Barbara’s previous miscarriages.

Tim had married below his prospects, marrying a Scottish immigrant,Stephanie Brown, who was also a shoemaker’s daughter. Bruce had opposed thematch until he actually met his third son’s wife. Stephanie brought out thebest of Tim, encouraging him to be more out going, it was rather remarkable. Theyhad a child already and another on the way.

Bruce saw most of himself in his youngest son, the childfrom his second wife. Not that Bruce had ever intended to marry the ArabianPrincess, but Talia had evoked emotions in him he thought had died with Selinaand Helena.

Damian was coming of age as well, and would soon be of marryingage.

But first, Bruce was aiming to marry Jason.

And Jason’s prospects actually far exceeded what he expectedwhen a princess of Greece had actually become besotted with his second son.

Princess Donna had fallen for Jason hard, and Bruce hadnudged his son in that direction subtly. The match was a good match, far betterthan Bruce had expected, until Donna had asked Jason if he was ever going tomarry her. Then Jason had bolted faster than anyone could detain him.

Venturing west.

It was maddening, and in the last year he hadn’t heardanything about his second son. Bruce was starting to get concerned and wonderedif he should embark west to go find his wayward child.

“What is on your mind, father?” Damian’s cultured, arrogantvoice was behind him and Bruce turned to look at his youngest.

“I’m going west to find your brother,” Bruce decided thenand walked out of the library to start making the arrangements.

#bluboothalassophile #fanfic #one shot #raven #jason todd #kyle rayner #bruce wayne #explorer au #jayrae #redrae #raex

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uncuentofriki · 7 years ago

Text

Remember me

Because this one-shot couldn’t have another title.

"What do you think, Mama Coco?" said Miguel, while everyone were doing the souvenirs for his sister's baptism. She barely was one month old. "Now were planning her baptism and then her Quince Años!"

Coco saw the cute little angels of cold porcelain that every woman on the family made and how the men were tying up to cards that had written on them the date of the celebration. Every angel had a pink diaper."Mariana" you could read on the cards. The baptism was going to be the next sunday

."I see, mijito, I'm going to be her golden chamberlain" the woman laughed.

The cards were crossed out and corrected with correction fluid, both on name and date. The dawn of the planned day of the baptism was the last of Coco, that couldn't even see the sun between the mountains as she liked to do. Elena went to take her mother out to see the sunrise when she noticed that life leaved her beloved mother.

After the past Day of the Death, since Miguel's guitar broke the silence that Mama Imelda imposed on the family, the music never leaved the house. But the silence came back and covered the house. The musician of the family didn't touched his guitar during the night of Mama Coco's wake. But he didn't leaved her side, on respectful silence, crying until his eyes burned.

The Rivera learned that day that the melody of life, as any other melody, has their silences too.

Now, it happens that when a person dies, they wait until they are on their graves. For Hector, since he didn't even had a wake, he just waited some hours. He even had, after all, the bendition of not having to pass to the hands of the medicine students.

The entire town were with the Family, also in respectful silence, to the cemetary, more curious than respectful. The family were going to keep the tradition of their silent funerals with the daughter of the famous Hector Rivera, the biggest musician of Mexico?

It was a beautiful and sunny day. The kind of days that Coco loved, because on those days her hands hurted less from all the shoemaking and of raising boys and girls that she cared with all her love.

The familiar tomb had written on its stone the names of Imelda, her brothers Oscar and Felipe, Julio -whom died 8 years ago, her daughter Victoria and, after a long searching (on which Miguel was suspiciously helpful) Hector, because both Coco and Miguel were reluctant to put him on a ridiculous monument. He deserved to be at the side of the woman that he loved so much on his life and at the side of all the people that their love gave life.A guitar broke the silence. The same guitar with the silver tone as the moon on the april's night that was property of Coco's father and now it was property of his descendant.It was the right song for the farewell to a long life full of blessings and love. The song that resumed all the love that that unnamed had for his daughter, the one that they were burying that day.

Remember me Though I have to say goodbye Remember me Don't let it make you cry

The family were throwing blue hyacints to the tomb, Coco's favorites, joining to the song that they already knew so well. Miguel's voice, always clean as a river, now had stones on it, trying to don't cry of the sadness of losing his best friend and accomplice but also he was happy of knowing that finally his Papa Hector was going to see again his beloved daughter. For even if I'm far away I hold you in my heart I sing a secret song to you each night we are apart

The cards of the baptism were crossed and corrected. Coco.

Once the last shovel of earth fell upon the flowers, Coco woke up on the Inmigration Room of the Land of the Death.

"Socorro Rivera". the employer called her.

"Yes, that's my name. So, I'm dead now, huh?" and she looked around on the room, surprised of seeing herself on the bones

."Wow, you really survived a lot, you were going to die once when you were 3 months old and almost died when your daughter Victoria were born" the employer saw her data. "Your family was notified of your arrival, they are on their way here. Just don't move and wait for them".

And she was true, first she ran to hug her beloved Julio. How much she missed her husband and his mustache that always itched on her cheeks! She kissed him as they did when they both were young or really happy.

"Ay, my sweetie, I missed you a chingo!" he kissed her hands. They both huged Victoria, she leaved them so young that Coco felt like she spended a hundred years without her daughter.

"Mama! I'm happy to see you here" Victoria greeted Coco with her habitual stoicism. Still, she wasn't less affectuous. Coco's uncles appeared and carried her as they did when she was a kid.

"Our beautiful Coquito!" they kissed her cheeks. Coco's sister-in-law, Rosita, huged her too, almost crushing her on a way that, if Coco could feel any pain, she would feel pain.

Finally and behind they all, she saw something that she never though she was going to see neither on her life or on her death. She blinked, incredulous and asking herself if Elena had buried her with her glases, because she needed them to confirm what she was seeing. Imelda was walking at Hector's side, as they used to walk when she ran behind the doves, so, so many years ago, looking at each other the same way they used to. Hector was exactly as he was the last time she saw him, just on the bones as they all were.

Oh no.

So that was the reason why he never came back.

Coco knew deep down her that it was the truth. Hector loved them both so much that only death could tear her family appart.

She wasn't able to run to her parents, thinking that that would break the ilusion. If she could cry, she will be crying.

"My Coco!" Hector yelled and started to run on the direction of his beloved girl, his sunshine, his little princess. He spinned with her, laughing full of joy. Coco was laughing too. How much she missed that! Finally and after almost a century of waiting, she was back on his arms, those that she missed so much when she singed Remember me to herself, hidding from Imelda or when Miguel sang for her, bringing light to the shadows of her memory after so many years.

Imelda huged her.

"We missed so much" Imelda touched the face of her beloved daughter. "But I'm so glad that you took your time"

"And how you knew what happened to Papa, Mama?" the daughter asked.

"Miguel. He came here and told us what happened. We are in debt with the chamaco" Hector smiled. Imelda felt a shiver with the memory of how close she were to lose her husband for second time and now because of her. "I wish him to take a long time to come back here because I want Miguel to be bigger than me. Although I miss the gordito. Lets go, because we made you a welcome party, that's why it took your mother and I so much time to come here."

Notes 1- We have the tradition of spending an entire night (sometimes two) with our dead people before burying them. Also we bring mariachis to the funerals. 2- The Golden Chamberlain: On Quinceañeras (if you haven’t been on one) the girl has a certain number of chamberlains that dance with her and are somewhat a court for her. But there’s one who’s the most important, usually it is her brother, a cousin or the boyfriend of the girl. That boy gets called “the golden charmerlain”.

#Coco #Coco fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #Imelda Rivera #Coco Rivera #Hector Rivera

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jaybeevega · 4 years ago

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Blogpost 3-5

“The Life of Pi”

“The life of Pi” this movie is a kind of dramatic movie, tells the fantastical story of Pi Patel, a sixteen-year-old South Indian boy who survives at sea with a tiger for 227 days and there is a lot of lessons that you will learn and it can help you in your whole life. In this story Pi is the only human survived in that disaster and his mom, his dad and his brother died in a middle of disaster and Pi also succeed on surviving 227 days in the middle of the ocean, A lot of problems, challenges, and battles that he experience in order to survive, to the point that there is a time that he wants to give up, there are times that he want to die, but he keep on fighting until he succeed. After all of those problems, challenges and battles Pi survived with a tiger named Richard Parker, Pi and Richard Parker eventually land on the Mexican beach. Richard Parker immediately runs off into the jungle without acknowledging Pi, which Pi finds deeply hurtful. Pi is found, fed, bathed, and taken to a hospital. There, two Japanese men come to question Pi about what caused the Tsimtsum to sink. He tells his story, which they do not believe, so he offers them a more plausible version, with the animal characters replaced by other humans, which casts doubt on the original story. According to Pi “You know, I left so much behind, my family, the zoo, India, Anandi. I suppose in the end, the whole of life becomes an act of letting go. But what always hurts the most is not taking a moment to say goodbye. I was never able to thank my father for all I learned from him. To tell him, without his lessons I would never have survived. I know Richard Parker’s a tiger but I wish I had said, “It’s over. We survived. Thank you for saving my life. I love you, Richard Parker. You’ll always be with me. May God be with you.” The lesson is Learn to let go, to forgive, be humble and stand up for yourself.

1. What life lessons can be learned from the movie?

- the lessons that you can learn in the movie is that to let go, to forgive, be humble, and stand up for yourself

2. What part of the story told by the movie was the most powerful? Why?

- the most powerful part of the movie is that when the typhoon has appeared and their boat is about to destroy and only Pi and other animals survived on that typhoon

3. Who was your favorite character in the movie? Why?

- It is Pi because aside from being a protagonist he is a strong man and even how big is the problems or challenges that has given to him, he never give up, and I am inspired to his story that we can win against our problems and challenges that has given to us.

4. Did anything that happened in the movie remind you of something that has occurred in your own life or that you have seen occur to others?

- the thing that reminds me in this movie is that, when they finally survived Richard Parker runs to the jungle and Pi was hurt because Parker did not even thank Pi for saving him.

“Coco”

The movie entitled “coco” In Santa Cecilia, Mexico, Miguel dreams of becoming a musician, even though his family strictly forbids it. His great-great-grandmother Imelda was married to a man who left her and their daughter Coco to pursue a career in music, and when he never returned, Imelda discarded all forms of music from her family's life before starting a shoemaking business. Miguel now lives with the elderly Coco and their family, including Miguel's parents and grandmother, who are all shoemakers. Coco suffers from memory loss and has become largely non-verbal, but Miguel is very close to her. Miguel secretly idolizes famed musician Ernesto de la Cruz and practices his guitar skills using Ernesto's old films. On the Day of the Dead, Miguel accidentally damages the picture frame that holds a photo of Coco with her mother and her father (the latter's face torn off the picture) on the family ofrenda, discovering that a hidden section of the photograph shows his great-great-grandfather holding Ernesto's famous guitar. Miguel, concluding that Ernesto is his great-great-grandfather, ignores his family's objections and decides to enter the local talent show. Breaking into Ernesto's mausoleum, Miguel takes his guitar to use in the show, but once he strums it, he becomes invisible to everyone in the village plaza. However, he can interact with his skeletal deceased relatives, who are visiting from the Land of the Dead for the holiday. Taking him back with them, they learn that Imelda cannot visit, since Miguel accidentally removed her photo from the ofrenda. Miguel discovers that he is cursed for stealing from the dead, and must return to the Land of the Living before sunrise, or he will become one of the dead; to do so, he must receive a blessing from a member of his family. Imelda offers Miguel a blessing on the condition of ending his dream of becoming a musician, but Miguel refuses and resolves to seek Ernesto's blessing instead. He meets Héctor, who declares that he knows Ernesto, offering to help Miguel reach him in return for Miguel taking his photo back with him, so that he might visit his daughter before she forgets him, causing him to disappear completely. Héctor helps Miguel enter a talent competition to win entry to Ernesto's mansion, but Miguel's family tracks him down, forcing him to flee. Miguel sneaks into the mansion, where Ernesto welcomes him as his descendant, but Héctor confronts them, again imploring Miguel to take his photo to the Land of the Living. Ernesto and Héctor renew an argument from their partnership in life, and Miguel realizes that when Héctor decided to leave to return home to his family, Ernesto robbed him of his guitar and songs after poisoning him, passing them off as his own to become famous. To protect his legacy, Ernesto seizes the photo and has his security guards throw Miguel and Héctor into a cenote pit. There, Miguel discovers that Héctor is his actual great-great-grandfather, and Coco's father. Héctor only wanted to go to the Land of the Living so he could see Coco again. After Imelda and the family rescue the duo, Miguel reveals the truth about Héctor's death. Imelda and Héctor slowly reconcile, and the family infiltrates Ernesto's concert to retrieve Héctor's photo. Ernesto's crimes are exposed to the audience, who jeer at him as he is flung out of the stadium by Imelda's alebrije, Pepita. Ernesto is then trapped under a giant bell, recreating the circumstances of his death; in the chaos, however, Miguel loses Héctor's photo. As the sun rises, Coco's memories are fading; Imelda and Héctor bless Miguel, so that he can return home. After Miguel plays "Remember Me", a song that Héctor wrote for Coco, which Ernesto used as his number one hit, Coco brightens and sings along with Miguel. She reveals that she had saved the torn-off piece of the family photo with Héctor's face on it, and then tells her family stories about her father, thus saving his memory as well as his existence in the Land of the Dead. Miguel's family reconciles with him, ending the ban on music. One year later, Miguel shows his new baby sister the family ofrenda, which now includes Héctor and a recently deceased Coco. Coco's collected letters from Héctor reveal Ernesto's plagiarism, tarnishing his legacy and allowing Héctor to be rightfully honored in his place. In the Land of the Dead, Héctor and Imelda rekindle their romance and join Coco for a visit to the living, where Miguel performs for his family.

1.What life lessons can be learned from the movie?

- The life lesson I have learned after watching the movie was we should remember our family who had been passed away , not only the member of the family but to those person who shows good or nice to us their memories should remain in our heart and treasure everything they have done for us.

2. What part of the story told by the movie was the most powerful? Why?

- When Miguel finally meet his great grandfather who was his idol. In a reason where they had been working together and surpasses many difficulties in their journey not knowing that Miguel already met his idol without knowing.

3. Who was your favorite character in the movie? Why?

- Its Miguel, despite from his family who strictly forbids music in their lives he still pursue his dreams.

4. Did anything that happened in the movie remind you of something that has occurred in your own life or that you have seen occur to others?

- The time when Coco forget her father, it's because of the hatred they become selfish and think only about their selves.

“Kimi No Nawa(Your Name)”

The movie “Kimi no nawa(your name)” is a Japanese movie. Mitsuha Miyamizu is a high school girl living in the rural town of Itomori near Hida. She is bored living in town and wishes to be a boy in her next life. She inexplicably begins to switch bodies intermittently with Taki Tachibana, a high school boy in Tokyo, when they wake up in the morning. They both initially believe these experiences to be vivid dreams, but eventually realize they can communicate with each other, by recording messages on paper, phones and sometimes on each other's skin. Mitsuha (in Taki's body) sets Taki up on a date with his coworker Miki Okudera, while Taki (in Mitsuha's body) causes Mitsuha to become popular at school. One day, Taki (in Mitsuha's body) accompanies Hitoha and Yotsuha to leave the ritual alcohol kuchikamizake, made by the sisters, as an offering to the Shinto shrine on a mountaintop outside the town. It is believed to represent the body of the village guardian god, ruling over human experiences and connections. Taki reads a note from Mitsuha about the comet Tiamat, expected to pass Earth on the day of the autumn festival. The next day, Taki wakes up in his body and goes on a date with Miki, who tells him she enjoyed the date but also that she can tell that he is preoccupied by thoughts of someone else. Taki attempts to call Mitsuha on the phone, but cannot reach her and the body-switching ends. Taki, Miki, and their friend Tsukasa travel to Gifu Prefecture by train on a trip to Hida, though Taki does not know the name of the town, instead relying on sketches he has made of the surrounding landscape from his memory. A restaurant owner in Hida, who is originally from Itomori, recognizes one of Taki's sketches. Taki and his friends arrive in the town, which is now destroyed by a meteor and five hundred people were killed three years after the comet Tiamat unexpectedly fragmented. While gazing over the impact crater, in disbelief that everyone he met in Mitsuha's body had died this entire time, Taki sees that Mitsuha's messages have been permanently deleted from his phone and their memories start fading away. Taki finds every names in the record of fatalities and wonders if the body-switching was just a dream. While Miki and Tsukasa return to Tokyo, Taki goes to the shrine alone to drink Mitsuha's sake from the bottle, hoping to reconnect with her body and warn her about the comet. After drinking the sake, Taki lapses into a vision, where he sees Mitsuha's past. When she was a child, her mother died of an illness, and her father abandoned the family to pursue politics and become the mayor, leaving Mitsuha and her sister to be raised by their maternal grandmother. He learns that he met Mitsuha on a train three years earlier, when she arrives in Tokyo to find him while the body-switching was occurring in her timeline but not yet due to happen for another three years. Before leaving the train in embarrassment, she leaves Taki with the braid, which he has worn on his wrist as a good-luck charm. Taki wakes up in Mitsuha's body at the house on the morning of the festival. Hitoha deduces what happened, and tells him the body-switching ability has been passed down among the family caretakers of the shrine. Taki convinces Tessie and Sayaka, two of Mitsuha's friends, to make everyone evacuate the town, by disabling the electrical substation and broadcasting a false emergency alert. Realizing that Mitsuha is in his body at the shrine, Taki goes back to find her and Mitsuha wakes up in Taki's body. When Taki reaches there during the sunset, the two sense each other's presence, but are separated temporally by three years and cannot see each other. When twilight falls (referred to in the film as "magic hour" or "kataware-doki" they return to their own bodies and meet in person for the first time. After Taki returns the braid to Mitsuha, they attempt to write their names on each hands so they will remember each other, but twilight passes and Mitsuha disappears before she can write hers. When the evacuation plan fails, Mitsuha determines to convince her father, the mayor, to evacuate the town. Before doing so, Mitsuha notices her memories for Taki starting to fade, and discovers he wrote "I love you" on her hand instead of his name. Despite the evacuation, the meteor crashes to Earth and destroys Itomori. Taki wakes up in his own time, remembering nothing. Five years later, Taki has graduated from university and searches for a job. He senses he lost something important he cannot identify, but feels drawn to the town's disaster, in which the inhabitants have survived by following the mayor's evacuation order. One day, Taki and Mitsuha see each other when their trains draw parallel, and they separately disembark and search for each other, finally meeting at the stairs of Suga Shrine. Taki calls out to Mitsuha, saying that he feels that he knows her, and she responds that she has the same feeling. With their connection re-established, they shed tears of happiness and simult.

1.What life lessons can be learned from the movie?

- The lesson I've learned in the movie was in every situation do not hesitate to offer things that you can do and share what you have for better , just like Taki where he find Mitsuha to prevent the incoming disaster

2. What part of the story told by the movie was the most powerful? Why?

- When Taki and Mitsuha finally had conversation in person wherein they are both excited and nervous. They become very comfortable to each other and Taki reminds Mitsuha that she can still save everyone from the incoming disaster.

3. Who was your favorite character in the movie? Why?

- Taki , because he sacrifices everything and look for the girl he wants and to confirm if she is fine. Despite from the gossips and news he heard he still want to help and save Mitsuha

4. Did anything that happened in the movie remind you of something that has occurred in your own life or that you have seen occur to others?

- The sacrifises and effort of Taki, cause in real life we must sacrifise and give effort to the things we are happy to do.

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years ago

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Cecilia Chiang, in Her Own Words

At 98, the iconic San Francisco restaurateur is as bold as ever. Now, she shares her life story with her friend, pastry chef Belinda Leong.

Editor’s note: Cecilia Chiang died on October 28, 2020, at the age of 100. This story, originally published in July 2018, sees Chiang discussing her life, career, and influence on Chinese food in America with close friend Belinda Leong, who notes “hers is a career any chef today would envy.” Looking back at her great successes at the time, Chiang said, “When I started, not that young. I was 30. In a foreign land. Didn’t know the background or the history of the USA. And that’s not very easy. This [is] something I’m very thankful for.”

It’s not an understatement to call Cecilia Chiang one of San Francisco’s most beloved culinary figures. Her first restaurant in town, the Mandarin, opened in 1961 — a time when the white Americans she needed to support her business were far more familiar with egg foo young and chop suey than they were with the traditional dishes she served, like beggar’s chicken and smoked tea duck. Like many restaurateurs, it took Cecilia some time to find her groove in San Francisco, but she did — and by 1968, she moved the Mandarin to a bigger space in Ghirardelli Square, where she presided for over 20 years. Then came the Mandarin Beverly Hills. And then came two more restaurants. Alice Waters and Jeremiah Tower attended her cooking classes. Her cookbook is a must-have for anyone interested in Chinese cooking.

Hers is a career any chef today would envy.

I sat down with Cecilia earlier this year to talk, to hear her tell me her story (again), and to show the world the wonderful woman I’ve come to know as a close friend and mentor.

Cecilia and I officially met at a party at restaurant critic Michael Bauer’s house. I was working at Restaurant Gary Danko at the time, and Cecilia had been in, and said hi, but it was at the party that we really connected. We started to get to know each other, and would see each other around town at events. When I wanted to leave the restaurant to open my own bakery, I turned to her for advice. I was hearing mixed things about the location I was considering. When Cecilia opened her first restaurant in San Francisco, she heard mixed things about her location too.

Cecilia: My first restaurant was on Polk Street. At that time, 1960, Polk Street had no offices, no nothing. Everybody said, “This is a really bad [location] ... This is a pensioner’s area.” I didn’t know at that time what “pensioner” meant.

Others said, “You don’t serve Cantonese food. You don’t serve chop suey; the only Chinese food people know is chop suey.” I said, “I just try to do my best.” I wanted to introduce the real Chinese food to America. That’s how I did it.

I explained that to you. I said, “Don’t listen to everybody, otherwise you’ll get very confused.” That’s how we got to know each other better. Sometimes you’d call me to ask a few questions, because after all, you weren’t experienced [running your own business]. Sometimes little things would happen, and it can hurt your feelings. I told you, “Really, not that important. You just do whatever you can.” I said, “You’ll be just fine.”

I see Cecilia a few times a week. Together we talk, cook, and go out to eat. I asked her to walk me through her typical day.

You probably know my age. I’m 98 now, but I’m still what you can call a self-disciplined person. Every morning I get up at about 9 o’clock, and I have my breakfast, and then make some important phone calls, and then I go to the park. I walk, and also I do my exercise. At my age, I cannot do a lot of very extreme things, like jogging. About three years ago, I fell. I had seven stitches on my head. I injured my shoulder and my leg. At home I use a walker. But I still manage to take myself out. I live alone, but every day I have my routine.

I don’t have a computer, so I read a newspaper, like the New York Times, every day. Not too much local news: the Chronicle, only the food section.

I go out a lot with friends. I love to eat out. When you cook Chinese, you cannot cook a little. Once you cook, you have to have somebody share with you. In Chinese food, the prep work is a lot: You have to cut it, wash it, and slice it, then you eat. That’s no fun at all, so I go out to eat. But once in a while, I get some friends, we just eat, cook together, and have a little fun, a little glass of wine or Champagne. We laugh a lot, talk silly things, have a good time.

I think it’s very important, especially when you’re getting older, to have really good friends, because your own kids marry, have children, they move to somewhere. You need good friends to keep you company.

My friends say, “Cecilia, you’re a really very disciplined person.” When I’m home alone, I don’t drink. I don’t touch any wine, anything. I just eat and get work done. If friends call me, I must return the call. If people ask me to do some work, I do it right away. I don’t drag on. I like to get things done. Every day I have a schedule I put on a piece of paper. I look at every day: “Oh, pretty good, I finished everything today,” then I can sleep better.

People ask me, “What’s the secret?” I have lived such a long life. The first thing I must say, I have to thank my ancestors. We have good genes. My father died at 98 during the Cultural Revolution. My mother died at 94. Those days in China, most people don’t know how poor they were. My father got a little bottle of this much cooking oil a week: Everything was on ration. They were so poor. My father wasn’t sick; they just starved to death, there was no food. Most people don’t know all these things. I think I’m very lucky I have good genes.

Another thing is I try to learn Chinese moderation. I really believe that: Never overeat, or never overdrink. Never overdo it.

Also, I work. I love to work. I take care of my flowers. I planted all these by myself. I fertilize them, I prune them back, I like to work with my hands. I think you do too, Belinda. Look at my hands. I like to use my hands and keep busy.

Cecilia Chiang was born in 1920 in Wuxi, a wealthy town near Shanghai, along the coast of the Chang Jiang River (also known as the Yangtze). When she was 4, her family — including her father’s extended family — moved to Beijing, at the time the capital of “old China.” As Chiang remembers it, her family moved to be a part of the new Republic of China. Even so, she still thinks of herself as a “southerner,” especially when it comes to food.

I’m from a family of 12 children by the same parents. I say that because those days, all the rich families had concubines. Legally you could have two, three wives, and they all lived under the same roof. On my husband’s side, his father had five concubines. Five. But we had no concubines, 12 kids, nine girls and three boys.

Fortunately, we all had good educations; we all went to college. But those days that was not very easy, because we didn’t have enough public schools, it was mostly all private school. Not too many families can afford to send all the kids: Usually people would say, “Oh, the girls ... after they grow up, they just get married, raise kids.” But my father said, “No, I want all my girls to go to college, have a good education.”

Another thing that was very important: Those days, in the Qing Dynasty, they bound your feet, and my mother had bound feet. When my number one sister (we call the eldest sister “number one”) was 4 years old, my mother started to bind her feet, but my father said, “No. You cannot do that.”

My mother said, “Oh, if I don’t bind her feet, who’s going to marry her? Nobody will marry her.” Because that’s the status. Only farmers, the peasants, have big feet. If you’re from a high-class, wealthy family, you have to have your feet bound. My father said, “Don’t worry about it. If nobody marries them, I’ll keep them at home.” This is very unusual. So in our family, we all have natural feet.

In the old days, the girls were not supposed to work. Once you go out to work, the family loses faith: “Oh, you must be poor [to] send your girl off.” Most girls always stayed home. With my older sisters, my father hired this opera-singer tutor.

My parents were very artistic people. They loved music. They loved opera, the grand opera, and they loved all the old paintings. My father loved all these old porcelains, and he also made all these little bonsai with a little tweezer. Doing the bonsai was very unusual. Also, my father played violin, Chinese violin, and then my older sisters started to sing the opera. My older brother also played the violin. I must say since I can remember, we really had a happy childhood.

In summertime, we had a ranch, near Marco Polo Bridge, and you had to take [a] little train to go there. We had a little farm, so we grew all the vegetables, cabbage, carrots, squash, tomato, everything.

In China, we didn’t have ready-to-wear, ready-made things. Everything was custom made; you could not buy anything. We had a tailor and a shoemaker at home, because of all the kids: You had to make clothes and shoes for the 12 of us.

I think about that, about all these wonderful things we had when we were kids. It was very unusual. I mean, those days, everything you had, you just take for granted. But now, I think it’s very privileged: How many families could afford to do that?

After college, I think I probably thought I would maybe find somebody, get married. Like I told you, most of the girls, after their education, just get married, raise the kids, be a housewife. That’s the typical Chinese way: Even now, the wealthy families are still doing that. In our family, not one girl was working, only my two brothers were working.

Then there was the [Second Sino-Japanese] war. Just to make the story short, I walked during the Japanese invasion, I walked from Beijing to Chongqing. You know how many miles it was? Over 1,000 miles. I walked six months by foot. Six months.

I had just finished college, 20 years old. And I have no fear because I am young and honestly because I’m naive. I was more sheltered. The Japanese tried to capture, tried to kill all the students. So we walked at nighttime. We walked all night. In the daytime, we’d find a place to just doze off, because the Japanese airplanes used a machine gun that just killed all the students, all the innocent people. So my sister, number five, and I, we two walked from Beijing to Chongqing.

And one day, I’ve never forgotten. The Japanese airplane was flying so low, just using the machine gun. There was a leg over there, a hand... Another student said, “The enemy’s plane is here, run, run!” But then you’re so scared, you cannot run that fast.

Finally we found a little field. In northern China they grow sorghum everywhere. So we’re hiding in the sorghum field. And when the airplane left, I called for my sister. “Number five sister, where are you? Where are you?” Nothing happened. I was so scared. I thought something happened to her. Then my number five sister called me, and says, “number seven sister, are you okay? Are you okay? Where are you?” I could not talk, I was so scared.

We didn’t even get hurt, but some other students died. That’s an experience that you never forget.

In 1949, Cecilia, her husband, and her daughter took the last plane out of Shanghai before the Communists arrived (her son stayed with her sister in Taipei). They lived in Tokyo, where her husband worked at the Chinese embassy. They had a 350-seat restaurant in the heart of Tokyo called Forbidden City. Two years later, her son was able to join them, and her two children attended an American school in Japan. At that time, one of her sisters (number six, Sophie) was married to an “ABC,” an American-born Chinese person, who ran a newspaper in San Francisco’s Chinatown. He died of cancer a year after the two married, so Cecilia went to San Francisco to spend time with her sister, who found herself a young widow. She slept on the sofa in her sister’s apartment on the edge of Chinatown, near Powell and Clay streets.

My sister didn’t know how to cook, because we had two cooks at home; we never learned how to cook. Not only that, we were not allowed go to the kitchen, because the kitchen servants were all men. Every day we just walked down into Chinatown and ate. I still remember $3 for four dishes and one soup, including tea, rice, everything: Chop suey — mostly tofu and bean sprout — egg foo young, $3. One day we walked there to have lunch, then on the street, somebody called me, “Oh, Mrs. Chiang. We had a hard time finding you.” These were some friends I knew from Tokyo.

They said, “We came here, we want to open a Chinese restaurant. We saw the spot we like, but our English is so bad, we cannot negotiate with the landlord and we need your help.”

I thought my English was just as bad, but I said, “I will try my best and see what I can do for you.”

I set up a date and met the landlord. The landlord was an old Italian, with a very heavy accent. He said, “If you’re really interested this spot, you have to give me a deposit — somebody else now is interested.” I never worked. I didn’t know about business, how to negotiate.

The deposit was $10,000. Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money. My friend said, “We came here as visitor, we don’t have a bank account. We have only cash.”

The landlord said, “Can you give a check?” See how naive I was. I was also young. I send a check for $10,000. Later [those friends] backed out and went back to Japan, I got stuck. What am I supposed to do?

I was just so naive. Later, I just thought how stupid I was. I was totally ignorant. I didn’t know business, I didn’t know the value of the money. Then I thought, What am I going to say to my husband? How in the world am I going to tell him?

I tried to sell it, [but] nobody wanted it. I tried everything, and I felt ashamed. Finally, I said, “I better open the restaurant,” otherwise the $10,000 is just down the drain. I found a couple from Shandong, also from northern China, because I didn’t want anything Cantonese, anything chop suey. I really wanted to bring real Chinese cuisine to the USA. That’s how I opened.

Business at her restaurant, the Mandarin, was hard; the second year in particular was “really quite slow,” Cecilia says now. But she refused to ask her husband for money to fund the restaurant, instead going to the Small Business Bureau, where it was difficult to get a loan as a woman.

I invited them to the restaurant. They had to see it as [a viable] business. At that time I had a manager, who’d asked me a very silly question: “Why, every time I ask you another question, you say, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make it?’ Why do you have the confidence to think you can make it?”

I said, “You really want to know why? Because all those things on the menu, nobody, not even in New York, nobody serves it. I serve real Chinese food.”

My menu had about 300 items. I had sea urchin at Mandarin, I had shark fin. I told my manager, “You know what? I think my food is really good: Not only tasty, but good quality. Really good, all the best.” I went to Japan, Taiwan, brought back shark fin and sea urchin. I carried it back by the bag.

Also, not one Chinese restaurant had such service. All my waiters were from UC Berkeley, spoke good English, were from really nice families. Those days when you went to Chinatown: “Sweet and sour pork, No. 2.” They called numbers to serve. Those days, they just put the plate down, just threw it on the table. No tablecloths, no carpets in Chinatown. No seats, just a bench.

All my waiters tasted the food I served. They knew the ingredients, and could explain the dishes. So I said, “I have something totally different. I think I am going to make it.” But I still needed luck.

So one day, a man came in. He’s Caucasian but spoke fluent Mandarin to me. He said, “Do you remember me? I’m the owner of Maxim’s.” Maxim’s was a very famous restaurant in China. He’s a Russian. He opened a restaurant called Alexis. He had dinner and said, “After I left China, this [is] the first time I’ve had such real, good Chinese food.”

He said he didn’t think I’d make it, because people were not familiar with my menu. And my location on Polk Street was bad — no parking, no walking, nothing. He said, “I’ll see what I can do, I really want to help you.”

Two days later, he came back with Herb Caen [a prominent San Francisco columnist]. I don’t know who that was. They ordered a lot of different things. He said, “Herb, I’m telling you this is real Chinese food.”

Herb said, “What’s the difference?”

He said, “Eat it and you’ll know.”

Herb Caen came back again.

And all of a sudden, my phone just kept ringing and ringing. I said, “This is crazy.” I didn’t have anybody. I was the one at the front desk. I answered the phone. I didn’t even have a janitor. I was the janitor. I did everything.

Finally it’s full. People were lining up: Because of the Herb Caen article, they wanted to come. I said, “What is Herb Caen? Who is Herb Caen?” People told me he’s the one that can make you, can break you. So Herb Caen really helped me a lot. The dinners really turned around.

At her restaurants in San Francisco and Los Angeles, Cecilia introduced Americans to real Chinese food — and fed plenty of celebrities, including John Lennon and Yoko Ono, friends of Herb Caen. Her son Philip also followed her into the restaurant industry, eventually founding the megahit P.F. Chang’s (he is no longer involved with the chain).

I wanted to know what Cecilia is most proud of. Her answers show just how impressive her career has been, but also the incredible life she has lived.

First thing, when I opened the restaurant, the hardest thing was everything was against me. First, because I’m a female ... I opened before Chez Panisse — Alice was not even open. I’m not Cantonese. The Cantonese treated me so badly, like a foreigner.

And then another thing is, I didn’t speak much English, because when you’re in a college, you learn A, B, C, D, and just how to read. But conversation is not easy. In those days, when I first came, I remember [there was] no television, only radio. So whenever you learned a few words, you put it in a notebook. Put in Chinese and English, try to make a sentence. That’s how I learned English. I’m very proud of it.

I had a good reputation, supported my family. Also we had four restaurants one time. Two Mandarins, one here, one in Beverly Hills. And also we had two little Mandarette. Actually, Mandarette is kind of P.F. Chang’s. That’s how [my son] started that.

I was the only one in my family who did all this. To me it’s pretty amazing, because now it’s nothing, actually, but you just think about ... I’m 98. When I started, not that young either. I was 30. In a foreign land. Didn’t know the background or the history of the USA. And that’s not very easy.

But also I’m very grateful to the United States, because it’s hard. This would never happen in China or Japan for a foreigner. This [is] something I’m very thankful for. But I didn’t plan anything like this.

I never planned anything. That’s why now when I meet young people from China or somewhere else who want to start a business, if they need my help, I always help. I’ve sponsored 26 people: my niece and nephew, an MIT professor, also bankers, architects, doctors, and they’re all doing really well.

I still help them. Because I know how hard it was when I started.

As she mentioned in her daily routine, she’s an avid restaurantgoer. She is plugged into the restaurant scene today — she says her favorite restaurants right now are Benu and Z & Y — and is still known for having a razor-sharp palate. (When I wanted to start my mochi business, I had Cecilia taste my early creations.)

Fortunately, I grew up with good food, because my parents both know food very well. There’s a lot of people that say, “Oh, we love to eat, we love this, we love that.” Doesn’t mean they know the food. Even restaurant owners, I know quite a few. I mean, they really don’t have the palate, a good palate to taste good food and know the difference. I love them, but I know quite a few.

First thing, I have a very good nose, and also I have a very good tongue, because I used to eat out. I lived most my life in Asia, right? So I know Chinese food, I know Korean food, I know Japanese food, but French, Italian: I’m really learning. I never had anything to do with this food. I don’t know it. The only time I learn is when I travel, so I travel a lot.

When I was a student, that time I walked from village to village to the city, I learned the ways are different, the soil’s different. The local people were totally different. And each province had its own dialect. So I learned a lot about the food. About the vegetables, the weather, about the people’s characters. I think that helped a lot for my future about the restaurant business.

And then later I traveled with Alice Waters, a very good friend. We’ve been together to Europe ... maybe five times. We covered all these three-star Michelin restaurants. And one day we went to a restaurant in Europe that was hard to get into. But somehow James Beard said if we really wanted to go, he could call somebody and make a reservation for us.

So Alice, Marion Cunningham, and I went down there. They served a salad. And so Alice tastes it. And Alice said, “Marion, you try it. See what dressing is that.” Marion said something else. Later, Alice said, “Cecilia, have you tried this? Tell me what you think this dressing is.” I tasted it.

I said, “I’m not sure, but to me, it’s walnut oil.”

“Are you kidding, walnut oil? Who uses walnut oil for dressing?”

“Something like that. I’m not sure, but to me...” We called the waiter.

The waiter came. “Tell us, we cannot figure out this oil.” The waiter said it was walnut oil.

And Alice said to me, “You did it again.” Before that, we went to Taiwan. I took her to Taiwan and also Japan, field trips.

I’m just very lucky that I have a good nose, a good palate. This is something either you have or you don’t. Just like a lot of wealthy people are very wealthy, but they don’t have good taste. That’s something money cannot buy.

Belinda Leong is a James Beard Award-winning baker in San Francisco, where she runs B. Patisserie. Michelle Min is a food and travel photographer based in San Francisco. Editor: Hillary Dixler Canavan

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