#Woburn Place

[marvinjob]

Day 8: Sunday, September 15

[jessicaloons]

Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince:

Chapter 1

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Miss Americana

May 2019:

"And you’re sure you can handle it? I mean working here and college?" Peter Hastings was a nice, middle aged man, looking for a new nanny for his 6 year old son, Gabriel.

"I’ll wake him up at 7:15. Make breakfast and get him ready for school, drop him off at 8:30 and go to my classes. At 3 I’ll pick him up. Help him with his homework. Soccer on Monday and Wednesday. Piano lesson on Tuesday. Prepare dinner. Make him bed ready and then you’ll take over. Monday till Thursday. Fridays I’ll pick him up at 12. We’re going to the park, museum, zoo whatever. Have lunch and I’ll bring him home by 4, where you take over. And if you need a babysitter on the weekends, you’ll call me." Rachel repeated the schedule Mr. Hastings had presented her with, hoping he would hire her.

"Impressive. Well your report looks great, I understand why you’ve got a scholarship for the MCPHS. I’d say you’ve got the job." Mr. Hastings smiled at the girl.

"Thank you, Sir! Really!"

"Gabriel liked you, you have strong ambitions. I think you’re perfect. Now let’s talk money, shall we?" he clapped his hands and Rachel nodded.

With a full scholarship and a well paid job that still gave her enough time for her studies, she could start saving up money to get the hell out of Woburn, after graduating from college with her nursing degree hopefully.

"I know this was not what you applied for, but I’ll ask anyways, if you say no, you’ll still keep your job starting in fall!" her new boss said and she looked up "My current nanny, well she left, family emergency, so I would need someone from now on, during the summer until you’ll take over at the end of August. I know, you just graduated and probably already planned your summer, but I thought I ask anyways. Again, feel free to say no, the job is yours regardless. It’s only one more month of school and then it’s… well a full day job, I’m off for the entire August, but before that I’m loaded with events here and there…"

"I’ll do it." Rachel said immediately, every reason to leave Woburn earlier was a good reason.

"Yeah? You sure? I mean like I said, you don’t have to!" Mr. Hastings said but the girl shook her head.

"No it’s fine. Really. I have nothing planned. And like this I can get used to Boston."

"You can stay here. Our old nanny has her own studio in the backyard. That way you don’t have to drive every morning from Woburn to here."

"Are you sure? It’s no problem for me to drive!"

"With traffic in the morning you’ll be in the car for an hour or longer. That’s ridiculous. Come on I’ll show you the studio. You could even stay there when you start college. Thinking back to my college times? The dorms weren’t the nicest place to stay." he laughed and got up, leading the young girl outside through the kitchen.

"I mean. I haven’t seen my dorm yet… but from what I’ve heard, yeah, not the nicest place to stay indeed."

The studio was clean and modern. A kitchenette, a table with two chairs. Sofa, TV and a bed. A little bathroom. It was definitely more quiet and private than any dorm at her college.

"Are you sure it’s okay?" the girl asked.

"100%. It’s yours if you want it. Free of charge. You just have to keep it clean yourself. And if you want to bring friends over, just give me a little heads up."

Free of charge. The money she would safe. Only paying the tuition fee. The rest of her scholarship could go into her savings as well. She could leave home earlier than planned. It couldn’t get better than this.

"I guess I’m moving in then."

November 2021:

Rachel always dreaded driving home. The rare occasions over the past 2 years where she had driven home were all proof why it was better to stay away. But something in her father’s voice when he asked her if she would come home for his birthday gave her the chills. When she parked her car in the driveway of her rundown childhood home, she felt the pit in her stomach grow. Calming down her nerves she opened up the door, walking inside. The house smelt rancid. A mix of liquor, smoke and bleach.

"Dad?" the girl walked inside the dark living room when suddenly the light got switched on. She flinched looking at the man sitting in the armchair facing her.

"If it’s not Miss Americana fresh off of college." Tony.

"Where’s my dad?" her voice not as strong as she hoped.

"Come." he got up and dragged her outside with him.

"Stop. Tony! Let go of me!" Rachel tried to get away from him.

"Get in the car. You can do it on your own or I’ll make you." his jaw clenched.

The girl got inside. Shaking.

"Where’s my dad?" she repeated.

"Your dad… he pissed off a lot of people… he was a capo once… but his drinking? Mamma Mia… he became useless the day your mother died… fallen from capo to soldato… and now? A shame really…" he sneered.

"What did he do?" Rachel asked with a shaking voice.

"Oh bella, you know I can’t tell you. Otherwise I’d have to kill you. And I really don’t want to kill such a pretty girl." he laughed and the girl swallowed hard "Just know that he owes a lot of people a lot of money…"

They drove to Winchester and the girl knew immediately where they were going.

"When was the last time you were here? When your mother died?" he asked, although he didn’t sound one bit empathetic "A long time ago… then again, it’s never a good sign if you have to go to Winchester… our family parties are usually held somewhere else…"

The driveway up the hill to the dark manor made Rachel’s insides churn.

"Get out." Tony parked the car and she did as told, following him inside.

"Oh Rachel! Mia bellissima ragazza! Look at you! What a beautiful, beautiful young lady! You should look for a girl like her, Anthony, not the skanks you’re going for." Rosaria Romano pulled Rachel in her arms, before kissing her cheeks "The last time I saw you was before you left for college and now look at you! You’re skinny! Don’t they feed you well at college? All the money they take and then not feeding their students? Che cavolo! You’re staying for dinner! Anthony, tell your father I’m feeding this sweet girl first, before he can talk to her!"

"Mamma! She’s not here to eat!" Tony grabbed the girls arm, but he shrugged away under the cold, hard gaze of his mother. He rolled his eyes, walking away, cursing in Italian.

"Now come, mia ragazza, you can help me with dinner." Rosaria lead her into the kitchen where already a handful of women were cooking away "Here, put that on. We don’t want your beautiful outfit to get stained with pomodori!"

The next hour Rachel cooked together with the ladies, told them about college and how her life was going. She knew all too well that she couldn’t tell them everything. Giving away too much was dangerous, so she lied mostly.

"And what about the boys at college? Someone special there for you?" nonna Viola asked right as Tony came back.

"She’s coming with me now." he grabbed Rachel’s arm, pulling her with him. A muscle ticked at his jaw. His hold on her arm made her whimper in pain.

"Anthony! You hurt her! Stop! Don’t make me swing my mattarello at you!" nonna Viola raised her rolling pin and Anthony let go of the girls arm "There you go, stupido!"

"Come." he glared at the girl who took off the apron, handing it Rosaria.

"When the men have finished whatever their having to talk about now, we’re finishing our conversation, Rachel." she smiled and Rachel nodded.

As she followed Tony down a long, dark hallway the bad feeling she had, since hearing her father’s voice on the phone earlier that day, only intensified.

When they stopped in front of a big oak door Tony pushed Rachel hard against it, caving her in. His nose rubbing down her cheek. His breath reeked of smoke and liquor.

"You won’t like what’s happening next and let me tell you, I understand you. But then again… mhhh look at you." he whispered in her ear, making the girl shudder "My mother wasn’t that wrong, I should go for a girl like you…"

"Anthony?" Don Vito’s cold voice rang out through the door.

"We’re here, papa!" Tony said with a sadistic grin.

"Bring her in then. We have a lot to do."

January 2022:

"Miss Lombardi? Miss Lombardi!" the screeching voice of Professor Cullers made Rachel flinch "Ah great. You are with us again… well, do you know the answer, to Miss Edwards question?"

"I- umm… I don’t. No." the girl looked at her professor "Sorry."

"Maybe stop daydreaming then and start listening to what I’m teaching you."

"Yes, ma’am." she nodded.

The rest of the class Rachel kept writing down everything Professor Cullers said, listening carefully and when the bell rang she was one of the last to leave.

"What’s going on with you?" Stuart asked, waiting at the door for her.

"What do you mean?" they walked side by side to their next course.

"You’re absent. Pretty often. For weeks now…"

"It’s nothing. I’m fine. I promise." Rachel faked a smile and Stuart sighed.

"Ok, cut the crap. What’s going on? Since you left for your father’s birthday a couple of weeks ago, you’re acting strange… what happened at home Rachel?" he looked at her and she took a deep breath, shaking her head.

Stuart was the only friend she made in college, he didn’t talk much, but there was a sense of understanding between the two after she accidentally overheard a conversation between him and a stranger behind the cafeteria one day. Rachel since knew that their backstory was similar and that he broke off all ties to his old life. He would understand her, if she told him what happened. But then again, she knew that she might endanger him if she told him too much.

"How hard was it? Leaving everything behind? Cutting off all ties to your family?" she asked instead and Stuart contemplated his answer for a moment.

"It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure. But I had to do it, so I powered through…"

"But I mean… how did you do it? Where did you get your new identity from? What happened to your old one?" the blonde girl pressed.

"I know a guy who knows a guy… but it costs a lot… also, starting a new life somewhere new isn’t for free either."

Rachel thought for a second, all the money she saved from her scholarship so far, because she only had to pay for the tuition fee and work materials. All the money she saved from working for Peter, which she barely had touched. It was a nice little sum and should keep her afloat for a while.

"Why are you asking me all this? What happened?" Stuart asked again and Rachel sighed "You can tell me, Rach. Nothing you can say will scare me away… I know how you grew up… I know how it is… so come on, tell me."

"I need to leave. Like for real… I always planned on moving to Boston after college, but they won’t let me… I only have time after graduation and then my old life will catch up with me again… I will be pulled into this mess that my life is if I don’t run away." Rachel almost whispered and her friend looked at her wide eyed "They wanted me to leave college immediately but I managed to convince them that a nurse with a degree and all qualifications is more helpful, more useful for them, so they agreed, but as soon as I graduate they will take me back to Woburn or rather Winchester… I can’t go back, Stuart…"

"And you shouldn’t have to go back, but Rach this is a dangerous thing to do? Killing off your old self, start a new life… it’s going to cost you more than just money…" Stuart said and Rachel nodded.

"I’m willing to do whatever it takes…" the young girl said determined.

"Then I’ll help you. But it won’t be easy…"

"Everything is better than staying here…"

"I need to make a few calls, then we’ll see." Stuart smiled at her.

"Thanks Stu. You’re a good friend." Rachel squeezed his hand.

"I’m currently your only friend… so that’s that."

"True…"

April 2022:

"Rachel? There’s a letter for you!"

"Thanks, Peter!" the girl took the letter from the counter, while stirring the pasta sauce "Waterman and Krieger? What is that?" she asked when she saw the sender of the letter.

"They’re a law firm. Inheritance law if I’m not mistaken." Peter looked up from his newspaper.

"Inheritance law?" Rachel ripped the envelope open, unfolding the letter. She went silent, staring at the letter, the pasta sauce bubbling.

"Rach? Hey? Rach?" Peter grabbed the sauce pan and shoved it off the stove top "What happened?" he looked at the girl worriedly.

"My- umm… my mom… she left me some money…" Rachel said slowly, looking at Peter "They write that mom set up a trust fund for me before her death. I have access to the money when I turn 21. Which is in three months."

"Oh wow…" Peter squeezed her shoulder "Do you need a moment? I can finish up dinner and I’ll send Gabe to get you when it’s ready?"

"Is that okay?" the brunette asked and he nodded "Thank you."

Back in her studio she looked at the letter and saw that there was also another smaller envelope inside. She knew the handwriting immediately.

My sweet Rachel,

when you read this letter it means I am no longer around to gift you with my last treasure.

Every money I earned from winning beauty pageants and later from working and that wasn’t needed, I put aside for you.

I know you’re a smart girl and every college would offer you a full scholarship, but just to make sure that if not, we have the money.

I never told your dad about this money, I was too afraid that he would use it. Your father is a great man and I love him dearly. But he’s surrounded himself with the wrong people, they poisoned his mind. And over time he had to drink more and more to forget what he had to do daily for Don Vito.

Please don’t tell him about the money. Keep it to yourself. It’s enough for a fresh start, if you know what I mean.

I’m sorry, that I couldn’t be by your side for longer. That I couldn’t give you the home that you deserved.

Promise me to live a good life. Go live your dreams. But please never forget that I love you, my little Miss Americana.

Love always,

Mom

Rachel leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. When her mother died, she felt lost, didn’t know how to move forward, didn’t know how to continue with her life. Her father lost himself in alcohol, maybe even drugs. He disappeared for days, just to be laid down on the front porch by some of the men he worked with and for Rachel to get him inside, making sure he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit. She knew what he was doing. She knew who he worked for. From the day she was born she was part of a world she never wanted to be in, as she later realised. Movies and pop culture didn’t do this life justice. It wasn’t glorious or mysterious. It was scary and dark. Where other kids her age went to school and made new friends Rachel always had to stick to the kids from the family. To make sure she wouldn’t spill anything about her father’s work. Her mother had to fight hard with her husband to allow her to take Rachel to beauty pageants, after the little girl watched her mother getting dolled up for numerous pageants herself and wanting to be just like her when she was older. Rachel was talented, just like her mother. Her beauty apparent from a young age and it didn’t take long for her to win her first pageant. She loved competing in pageants. But what she loved even more was the time she spent with her mother. She was always so carefree and happy at the contests, a stark contrast to her usually quiet and almost depressed personality at home. She was always trying to not show Rachel how sad and worried she really was, but unfortunately it didn’t work out and Rachel had asked her more than once what was going on and why she was so sad.

"It’s nothing, my little Miss Americana, grown up stuff, nothing to worry about for you, my pretty girl." she had always said, followed by a kiss on Rachel’s forehead and a "I love you, my Rachel."

But with every year she got older she figured out more and more why her mother was so sad. And why the only times she was happy, careless and free, was when they went to pageants together. Because for a short while she could forget in what danger she was living with her daughter. What her husband did for a living. And the fear of the day where she, or worse Rachel, would have to pay the price of her husband’s job.

Ultimately she paid the price. After Rachel won the Miss Teen USA pageant in September 2016, and she had floated on cloud 9, her mother decided she deserved a treat and on the way home from Boston, where the pageant was held, she stopped at a little diner.

Rachel remembered how her mother ordered a strawberry milkshake and fries, she herself got a chocolate milkshake and fries and as soon as their food had arrived her mother looked around, a big grin on her lips before she nodded.

"No one’s watching… go!" she chimed and began dipping her fries into her milkshake.

Rachel laughed but did the same. Her father was always grossed out when his wife and daughter did that, laughing at them for their craziness, saying they better watch out or the food police would arrest them.

They were so happy that evening, her mother saying a million times how proud she was of her and what amazing and exciting times were ahead now for Rachel. But that happiness was gone in an instant when 2 men entered the dinner and her mother’s face turned to stone. She stopped laughing and looked at her daughter, shaking her head. To not draw any attention to them she silently held up her hand when the waitress looked over to them, signalling for her to come over. Paying in silence Rachel’s mother took her by the hand, guiding her outside, back into the car where she locked to doors immediately, starting the engine. She remembered how her mother called her father, telling him that two of Volkov’s men were at the diner. But before she could say anything she looked into the rear view mirror, her face turning pale when she told her husband that they were being followed. It didn’t take long for her mother to speed down the main road leading into Woburn, faster than ever before in her entire life. On speaker Rachel’s father telling her that their men were already on the way. But it was too late. She felt her mother grab onto her hand, clutching it tightly in her own, when the car was hit with something and soared through the air. She closed her eyes, holding onto the grab handle, listening to the sounds around her, when a searing pain shot through her left thigh. The pain was mind numbing and she tried her best to not focus on it. She tried to listen to the sounds around her but after a short while she only heard her own blood rushing into her ears. Then she felt her mother squeezing her hand and she opened her eyes, her first look was on the bright digital watch in the dashboard, then her mother squeezed her hand again and Rachel turned her head a little, looking at her.

"I’m so sorry, my beautiful Rachel. I love you so much." her final words as Rachel later had to find out.

After that night her father was never the same again. After that night Rachel was never the same again. She had to stay in the hospital for a couple of days, the doctors all confident that with the right care the wound on her right thigh, caused by an open break of her femur, would heal without leaving a big scar, so she could still compete in beauty pageants. But to her it didn’t matter. Without her mother she didn’t plan on continuing. And because of her not responding to any of the calls, mails or letters from the Miss Teen USA committee, regarding her upcoming tour through the United States, they stripped her off her title 6 weeks later, appointing her runner up, Caitlyn Summers, as new Miss Teen USA 2016.

Rachel absentmindedly rubbed her thigh, feeling the scarred skin through the thin fabric of her leggings. A reminder of the night that changed her life forever. That destroyed her life forever. She had to blink away tears, wiping her cheeks when Gabe knocked on the door, making her flinch.

"Rach! Dinner is ready!" his happy voice sounded through the door and the young girl cleared her throat.

"I’m coming in a minute Gabe!" she replied and listened to the sound of his steps on the gravel.

Rachel got up and looked into the mirror, wiping away the last remaining tears. It had been a while since she thought back to that night. The memories still too hurtful and real. After a minute of composure she followed Gabe back into the main house trying her best to not show the emotional turmoil she was feeling.

When Rachel went to bed that night she felt exhausted, drained, but also determined. Determined to escape her life in Woburn. Or Winchester. Escape her family. Live a happy life, just like her mother wanted her to. She would honour her mother’s last wish, give her all to do so. No matter what.

Chapter 1 - and that’s it. First chapter done. I tried something new this time, writing this story from a third-person perspective and also switching between Miss Americana/The Heartbreak Prince centred chapters. I hope you like it! Let me know what you think! 🩷💜

Please leave a comment/ like/ reblog/ message and tell me how you liked it! I'm dying to hear your thoughts!

If you want to be added to the taglist, drop a comment!

Last but not least, English is not my first language and although I tried my best: please excuse any mistakes I made!

Taglist:

@glitterquadricorn @lottalove4evelyn @janeh22 @itsjustkhaos

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Thanks to tafkarfanfic for sending the listing for the 1789 Jonathan Brooks House, a Dutch Colonial home in Medford, Massachusetts. It's on the National Register of Historic Places, and has 5bds, 1.5ba, & 6 fireplaces. Price cut $25K to $1.1M. I'm always suspicious when there's a price cut, but when I saw what they did to the inside, I understood why it's not selling.

Who is advising homeowners to modernize their beautiful historic homes, like this? That confounded gray and white. I think I'm in a modern apt. living room, here.

They left the fancy carved fireplace, but painted it white to minimize the pretty colonial details that don't fit in with the sleek contemporary look.

The dining room has a true, colonial fireplace wall.

I can't see the original cupboards b/c they've either been modernized to black or obscured. Notice that any beams in the ceilings were painted white, or removed.

Wait, I see a brick wall that's been painted black. I would go to the Home Depot and get gallons of Zip Strip and strip the hell out of these fireplaces.

If you're a purist, it's best that you just forget the kitchen and move on. It's a beautiful kitchen, but for new builds or more modern homes.

This home was built in the 1700s. There HAS to have been a cooking fireplace in here that they removed. I thought that they protected these historic homes from things like this.

Nice flagstone sun porch. (Did you know that the colonists were very into skylights?)

This is the half bath, which is nice to have, but 1 full bath for 5 bedrooms to share in a house that's $1.1M just won't cut it.

Something's off about the fireplace wall in the primary bedroom. The mirror is centered, but the fireplace isn't. I think that they should've left it plain b/c of the doors and cupboards.

This is odd. They must've built the narrow cabinet in the back so that they could have a place to put things, but then they awkwardly placed pedestal sinks in front of it.

Mini claw-foot tub and a modern built-in shower. That little closet must be an original feature.

There's a nice back yard with a shed.

And, the house itself is built on a fork in the road.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

London Will Burn - Chapter Sixteen.

Here it is, besties. The final chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read and offer such warm words of encouragement along the way. They mean the world to me! :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen

Tag list - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 3,910

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI.

“So, where has the ginger twat taken my granddaughter today, then?” 

Rin closed her eyes, counting to ten in her head. “Woburn Safari Park. She told him how much she was missing all the animals back in Africa, so he said he’d take her to where she could see a few of the same.”  

It was becoming tiresome, her mother’s unchanged attitude regarding the father of her child. “Mum, you honestly have to stop being so hostile towards him. It shan’t be good, going forward, with him being in our lives to the extent that he will be. I’m not asking you to like him, but a little civility wouldn’t go amiss.”  

Diane was resolute, crispy turning the next page in the copy of Hello magazine before her on the island. “I will never be anything close to civil with that piece of shit.”  

This did not bode well. Not since she and Sean were... well, Rin wasn’t entirely sure what they were, exactly. Dating? Co-parenting with extras until he earned her trust? They’d been out a couple of times by that point, two dates the week before, one that had ended up in a sleepover at his place. Not that they’d slept much. God, he’d given her such a thorough shagging, she was still glowing from it four days on.  

Yes. It was dating, she had to admit that it was. Furthermore, she was enjoying every second of it, when her guard slipped enough for her to do so.  

“It’s a pity that you can’t put your own feelings aside for Tiger’s sake,” she spoke, continuing to do her stretches. She and Sokoro were off for a run, Rin glad to have a Saturday morning to herself to do it at a reasonable hour for once, enjoying a blissful lie in until 8am that morning as opposed to being out of the house by 6am.  

Her mother viewed her through shrewd eyes, cocking her head slightly. “Is it purely for Tiger’s sake, Catherine?” The slight colouring of her daughter’s cheeks sealed it, though Rin did not utter a single word. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! You’re not, are you? With him?” 

She was not in the mood for verbal combat that morning, but it looked like she was about to foray into it all the same. “I am, yes. I’m seeing how it goes with him. He’s genuinely sorry, mum, and I do see that. I need to get to a place of trust with him, though, and he told me he intends to prove himself there.” 

“But what he did to you!” 

“Is seven years in the past,” she interjected with, lifting her leg to the stool before her to tighten her shoelaces. “He would have absolutely nothing to gain from trying to be nefarious all over again. He has what he wants. I elevated him, made him rich and powerful once more, and he knows only too well what would happen to him, should he attempt to upset the apple cart. I do believe he is earnest, but I want to see if for myself.” 

Diane snorted, lifting her coffee cup to her lips. “I think you’re barmy.” 

“Yeah?” Lifting her chin, she pulled the laces sharply, double knotting the bow. “And I think, mum, with all the respect in the world, it’s none of your bloody business. Look how far I’ve come under my own merit and judgement. I am not an eighteen-year-old any longer who fell in love with a man she shouldn’t have, a man who had the agenda of his father pressing upon him. Finn is gone; it’s just Sean now. Believe me, he isn’t his dad.”  

“Wouldn’t have lost it all in the first place if he was.” Rin realised that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with her mother, so simply kissed her cheek and told her she’d be back later, heading out to find Sokoro in the courtyard, lightly jogging in place.  

“Let us depart now, eh, boss? Let’s run past the palace, wave to the King and Queen on our way!” Ever since arriving in London, her dear friend had been hellbent on getting a glimpse of the royal family. He’d scared a poor woman half to death one time while in Waitrose, asking very loudly if she was the Princess of Wales. She had not been, merely bearing a very uncanny resemblance to Princess Catherine. 

“So, I hear you and your mother having shouting's this morning before we leave, eh?”  

Having shouting’s. How she loved his turns of phrase. “We were, yes. We indeed had words with one another.”  

“Over the ging... over Sean, yes?”  

She liked that, that at least Sokoro was trying hard not to be hostile towards the father of her child, no matter how protective he was of her and Tiger. “Yes, over Sean. She’s very hardheaded, my mother. What kills me is the fact I think even my dad would have softened by now, and you know how ferocious he could be.” 

Sokoro raised his eyebrows, wiping his clammy forehead on the back of his arm. “Kevin was nothing if not a force to be reckoned with, eh?” Pausing as they turned the corner, beginning to run down The Mall approaching Buckingham Palace, he then continued. “But I do agree, eh, I think that he would see how much he has taken to the role of Tiger’s father and not condemn him as your mother does. He ah, he did say something to me, back when she was a baby.”  

Immediately, she slowed, jogging in place. “What?” 

Sokoro looked uncomfortable, like he wished he’d have thought on his last sentence prior to its delivery. “Ah, I should probably not say, eh. Even though he is gone, I do not want to betray your father’s confidentiality.” 

“Bollocks,” she spoke strongly, her eyes widened a fraction. “I’m here, he’s not. Tell me.” 

Sokoro shook his head, his own in place jogging coming to a halt. “Okay, okay. We break here. It has been five kilometres.” Moving to a bench at the side of The Mall, he took a seat, swigging from his bottle of water.  

“Your father, after Tiger was born, he pull me aside and he tell me all about it, how she came to be, how Sean betrayed you, etcetera. He tell me he was not only heartbroken for you because he know you love the man who got you pregnant despite what you tell him to the contrary, but because he always like Sean.  

“He tell me he see him as perfect suitor for you, before all the shit with the sex video, eh. He tell me that if he ever could see you with anyone, it was Sean Wallace, because you are both so similar. But he say most of all, he see you with him because Sean would never stop you from being who you are. We stood outside of the lodge and I remember, he say he wanted to tell him about the baby, because he thought it might change him for the better, make him a good man for you again, but he would not do that to you, not ever. But he say it, Catherine.”  

His words hit her square in the chest, the opinion her father held in secret. He’d wanted them to be together, but for the sake of her heart in all its damage done by Sean, never told anyone that other than Sokoro. It left her feeling like something was opening up within her, letting the light in to where she had been shadowed and jaded for the last seven years.  

Her father, as it happened, was not as hardened as she’d thought. He’d seen the true Sean too at some point. He’d known that the man he was, and the one he was moulded into by Finn were truly not the same person.  

“Did he say anything else?” she pressed with, Sokoro shrugging lightly. 

“He say he hate him for what he did to you, this is natural of course, eh. But he also say he know he put him between a rock and a hard place, and with the weight of Finn Wallace bearing down on him, he know, and I quote, “the kid cracked under the pressure, and made my Catherine the fall when I doubt he really wanted to.” I think your dad, he see the same you do in Sean. A man who did what he did so he did not sink under the greater weight.”  

It was hard to take in, the enormity of what Sokoro was telling her. Part of her wanted to shred him to pieces verbally for keeping it from her for so long, but most of her saw clearly that he was simply being a man of his word. Her father had shared his thoughts in secret with him, and Sokoro was nothing if not a bona fide confidant.  

In all of this, her father’s opinion was something she had desperately wished she could call upon, to know if she was doing the right thing. Now, she had it. It wasn’t first hand, but she knew now that should her dear dad have still been with them, he’d have likely welcomed her and Sean finding a way back to one another. 

“Are you okay?”  

Sokoro’s question roused her from the daze she’d fallen into, Rin shaking herself with a small smile as she turned to him. “I am, you know. I really am.” 

“Come on, let us continue. I feel Queen Camilla at the windows waiting for my jolly smile and wave!” He nudged her with a soft elbow as she got up, laughing and sipping her water before on they continued towards the palace. Their jog landed them back at Mulford Hall just before 10:30am, both immediately heading upstairs to take a shower each, Rin returning to hear the usual Kenyan merriment in the kitchen. 

“What are you lot giggling about?” she asked, moving to the fridge to get out some fruit and yogurt, Sokoro, Marcus and Silas all sitting around the island, huge grins fixed in place. 

“We are discussing the slang of your motherland, boss,” Marcus spoke, still partially hissing with laughter. “We see on Twitter somebody call Donald Trump a fuck billed twattypus and we all say, it could have been you! It sounds like something you say!” 

“We learn so many British cusses from you. Knob, shit bag, twat, bloody fucking bastard,” Silas then weighed in with, counting them off on his fingers as he chuckled with glee.  

“Or when she call you twat waffles and you thought it is some kind of British breakfast cereal,” Sokoro chimed, Marcus waving his hands in dismissal as the men roared.  

“It sounds like it, though! I had no idea that twat was slang for the female anatomy until we met Catherine!” he laughed, Rin in absolute stitches as she closed the fridge door. They kept her entertained as she went about preparing her breakfast, Sokoro sorting himself and the other guys with gigantic vegetable omelettes and toast.  

With a day to herself, she decided to relax before her masseuse arrived, Jenna giving her a much-needed rub down and easing of tension from her locked up back, several knots clicking and cracking under her expert hands. It was a day of pure bliss, her child not arriving back until 7pm, Sean stating that he was also taking her to the museum and out for dinner as well, carrying a very sleepy Tiger into the house. He looked completely shattered himself.  

“I’ll take her,” Diane bustled coldly, fixing him with a glare. No, Rin’s words hadn’t sunk in any further. Luckily, Sean didn’t react with any negativity whatsoever. 

“Thank you, Diane. It’s nice to see you again, you’re looking very well.”  

She turned away from him, her lips slightly pursed. “I wish I could say the same.”  

He winced. “Ouch.”  

Rin reached for his face, giving him a kiss. “Maybe one day she might finally thaw.” While he expected as much from her mother, he did note that Rin seemed to be behaving more freely with him, making the first move to offer affection. “So, did you and our baby have a good day?”  

Right on cue, he yawned. “A tiring one. I’ve been up since 5am, she decided she couldn’t sleep so we took Butch for a walk for an hour, one I ended up carrying her on my back for half of before dropping him off with Minnie for the day.” Hugging her, he rested his chin on her head, Rin laughing softly at the fake snoring noises he began making. “She has abundant energy, though. I don’t know how you cope full time.” 

Emerging from beneath his chin, she smoothed her hands down his chest. “I’m used to it, as you’ll become, too. Can I get you a coffee before you fall asleep on me?” 

He nodded, kissing her forehead. “Please.”  

“Alright, go and rest your weary bones.” He moved to the sitting room and she the kitchen, taking a seat on the sofa and beginning to browse his phone. It might have been a Saturday night, he might have been shattered, but he had a few work-related emails he needed to at least check in with, planning on putting in some time the following morning in his office at home to be nicely ahead for the coming working week.  

“Oh, you’re here.” Looking up, he met the narrowed eyes of Diane, the matriarch of the Cavanaugh household taking a seat on the adjacent sofa, eyeing him with her usual level of distain. 

“Hello again, Diane,” he smiled, attempting to at least be cordial with the woman. The truth was, he had little to no issue with her, but goodness, she certainly gripped tightly upon the grudge she held towards him. “How are you?” 

“I’d be much better if you weren’t here.”  

He expected little less than such hostility, but knew he couldn’t meet it like for like. “I understand that, I do. I will be here, though, in your lives. Your daughter and granddaughter are very important to me.” 

She picked up a copy of Tatler magazine from the coffee table, huffing as the pages were flicked through with mild irritation. “Until the next chance to use her in your quest for power presents itself. Men like you don’t change, Sean.”  

He felt his temper flicker into life, the corner of his mouth twitching. He wouldn’t let her spark it into roaring flame, though. She was probably trying deliberately to wheedle such a response from him, purely so she could point her finger. “As I explained to Catherine, I am in no position to do that. Your daughter has elevated me to my former status, more so, in fact. I have my company, I have my standing, and I have a hell of a lucrative income because of her. I don’t truly have what I want the most, though. Trust me, fucking her over would not be conducive to me attaining it.” 

“Oh, wouldn’t it?” she spoke, each word biting in its chilly delivery.  

“No,” he spoke with a shrug, his smile widening, “because what I want most is her. I love your daughter, perhaps the most honestly and genuinely I have ever loved anyone. Trust me, my intentions towards her are not what you assume them to be. Far from it.” 

He didn’t know, but out in the corridor, Rin stood, coffee in hand, grinning like an idiot to hear him coolly standing up to her mother. She might have known it already, but hearing him state that what he wanted most was her almost provoked a squeak of pure joy.  

“Well, I shan’t be doing that any time soon, Sean,” she bustled, just as Rin walked in. 

“That’s up to you, I suppose,” he replied, taking the coffee from Rin. “Thank you, darling. I think I might need three more just to stay awake. So, are you still coming with me when I go back up to Manchester on Thursday? We could take Tiger too, make a weekend of it once I am done with Friday’s meetings. We could take her to the art gallery, with her flair for the artistic I’m sure she’d enjoy it.” 

She beamed widely. “Yes, great idea, I’d love to. It’ll mean getting her out of her pit early, I suppose. I was surprised you told me she’s been up since five this morning, that child loves her kip.” 

“Isn’t this all so very cosy,” Diane muttered sarcastically, shaking her head. “Forgetting conveniently what that vile shit of a man did to you.” 

Rin’s hand clenched into a fist where she rested it upon Sean’s thigh, her eyebrows knitting as she sighed. “Which is a mistake he both admits and apologises for, mum. I’ve let it go. You need to as well.” 

“I can’t! Not when...” she began, the Tatler magazine cast aside. She didn’t get very far in her retort, though.  

“Enough, mum,” her daughter spoke, with quiet firmness as she stared at her. “That’s seriously enough, now. I’m sick of dealing with your attitude. What happens between Sean and I is honestly none of your business, and I am fucking tired of you making it just that. This is my life, you need to but out and stop treating me like a child. That’s the end of it. Sean, come on. Let's move locations.”  

He stood gladly, taking his coffee and following her out without further word, Diane sitting there floundering at being shot down so efficiently by her eldest child. “We both stood our ground with her, and didn’t raise our voices once,” he observed, moving up the grand staircase beside her, pausing to gulp back a little more coffee, save it spilling and Diane becoming furtherly vexed towards him.  

Rin raised her eyebrows. “We must be growing up, at last.” Arriving in her bedroom, she swung the door open, walking through to where she’d had a little bit of a makeover of the large room, the former section dedicated to her desk and workout items over at the far side by her window now containing a small sofa and television set on the mantle above the fireplace. The space most definitely had more of a grown up feel to it than it had when Sean had been in there last. 

Sitting down beside her, he finished his coffee while they chatted on how best to handle her mother, both agreeing to be staunch without rising to her need to argue the toss constantly. The coffee was sadly no match for his tiredness, though, Sean waking with a start hours later to darkness, finding himself draped in a comfortable throw. The bed his sleeping love occupied looked much more comfortable.  

“I was wondering if I’d have a companion at some point,” she murmured, turning to cuddle up to his nakedness after he’d undressed and gotten under the covers. “What time is it?” 

“Half past two. I’d say time to go back to sleep, but I’m wide awake.” 

She grinned into the darkness as his hands felt their way to her, pulling her even closer, lifting her leg to rest over his hip. “Mmm,” she hummed, feeling the hard of his cock press against her abdomen. “Yes, you definitely are, aren’t you?” Her hand reached between them, curling around his cock, working him lazily as she felt the sleepiness slipping away, ducking her head to begin placing hot, open-mouthed kisses upon his neck.  

He lay there in a daze of sexual fog clouding him for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of what her hand evoked within before his own reached for her, stroking her softly, feeling her begin to dampen his fingers. Pushing them inside her, his mouth then founds hers, her teeth crushing a soft bite upon his lower lip. Those kisses, all sugared embers and need, began to gain rapid heat, hands working upon one another with more vigour until Sean turned her, slotting himself between her legs and arrowing into her fully with one fluid motion. 

She swallowed back his moans as their tongues swirled, her groin prickling pleasantly, nerve endings singing their bliss against the thick swell of his cock as he dragged her walls deftly. It was heavenly, wet velvet softly flexing around hot steel, their veins warming, Rin crying out softly at feeling him burying himself within her again and again.   

With his mouth at her neck, consuming her with such all-encompassing force, all that existed was him, that moment, the sound of his groans in her ear as his tongue glided across the column of her throat. Him, just him. He was all she wanted, and to hell with what her mother thought of that. 

Trembling against the lean bulk of his chest, the lightning bounced beneath her skin, the weight of him centring, driving himself into her plush wetness, causing moans she barely recognised to be hers. How she had longed for a lover with this kind of skill while they’d been parted, but beneath him there in her bed, she realised she could look forever but never find in a single other person what she had with Sean. 

His hips arrowed down purposefully, giving way to a slight rotation that had her floating in the stars, her fingers raking through his hair as she arched up against him, teeth nipping his thick shoulder as her nails grazed his back, digging in and clawing when he began to gain momentum.   

She was molten beneath him, singed by the wildfire of his fuck, her walls beginning to flutter around him as his soaking cock pounded her hard, mouth lowering to suck at her nipples, making her come apart beneath him with surging force, Sean coming just moments after her.  

They fell asleep that night entangled, swathed in the blanket of one another, Rin awaking early the following morning. The sunlight streamed in, the sound of the Westminster bells softly tolling, yawning as she stretched. Looking up, she was greeted by the sight of smiling blue eyes, shifting up a little to place a soft kiss upon his lips.  

There they were again, just as they had been seven years before. Sunday morning, bell song and sunshine.  

“I love you.”  

He smiled, kissing the tip of her nose. “Finally.”  

Finally, indeed.  

Finally, they had everything they’d been looking for. Finally, they had love and peace, and finally, although it took her almost two years after that morning to see that Sean was entirely genuine, they had Diane’s support. After all, the mother of the bride couldn’t very well have a sour face on at the wedding of her eldest daughter. Not after she’d bared witness to seeing just how happy the man waiting for her at the altar had truly made her.  

In fact, Diane’s tears of joy as they were pronounced husband and wife were the greatest of all the guests, watching Rin held tightly by her new husband, and the complete and utter adoration they viewed one another with. Neither noticed it, though, lost in one another as they kissed, Sean stroking her face with his thumbs as he rested his forehead to hers, repeating the word he had spoken two years prior, when they had truly reconnected. 

“Finally.” 

The End.  

[justforbooks]

In 1941 a secret British radio station called on Germans to rise up against Hitler. Run by German exiles, it was explicitly left wing. The station’s target audience was “the Good German”. Its broadcasts were serious and idealistic: a ray of light amid totalitarian darkness. They were also a complete flop. With Nazi propaganda rampant, and Hitler’s armies seemingly invincible and on the march across Europe, few bothered to listen in.

It was at this point that Britain’s wartime intelligence services tried a more radical approach. That summer, a talented journalist called Sefton Delmer was given the job of beating the Nazis at their own information game. Delmer spent his childhood in Berlin and spoke fluent German. In the early 1930s he chronicled Hitler’s rise to power – flying in the Führer’s plane and attending his mass rallies – as a correspondent for the Daily Express.

Working from an English country house, Delmer launched an experimental radio station. He called it Gustaf Siegfried Eins, or GS1. Instead of invoking lofty precepts, or Marxism, Delmer targeted what he called the “inner pig-dog”. The answer to Goebbels, Delmer concluded, was more Goebbels. His radio show became a grotesque cabaret aimed at the worst and most Schwein-like aspects of human nature.

As Peter Pomerantsev writes in his compelling new study How to Win an Information War, Delmer was a “nearly forgotten genius of propaganda”. GS1 backed Hitler and was staunchly anti-Bolshevik. Its mysterious leader, dubbed der Chef, ridiculed Churchill using foul Berlin slang. At the same time the station lambasted the Nazi elite as a group of decadent crooks. They stole and whored, it said, as British planes bombed and decent Germans suffered.

Delmer’s goal was to undermine nazism from within, by turning ordinary citizens against their aloof party bosses. A cast of Jewish refugees and former cabaret artists played the role of Nazis. Recordings took place in a billiards room, located inside the Woburn Abbey estate in Bedfordshire, a centre of wartime operations. Some of the content was real. Other elements were made up, including titillating accounts of SS orgies at a Bavarian monastery.

The station was a sensation. Large numbers of Germans tuned in. The US embassy in Berlin – America had yet to enter the war – thought it to be the work of German nationalists or disgruntled army officers. The Nazis fretted about its influence. One unimpressed person was Stafford Cripps, the future chancellor of the exchequer, who complained to Anthony Eden, the then minister for foreign affairs, about the station’s use of “filthy pornography”.

By 1943, Delmer’s counter-propaganda operation had grown. He and his now expanded team ran a live news bulletin aimed at German soldiers, the Soldatensender Calais, as well as a series of clandestine radio programmes in a variety of languages. Delmer’s artist wife Isabel joined in. She drew explicit pictures showing a blonde woman having sex with a dark-skinned foreigner. Partisans sent the pamphlets to homesick German troops stationed in Crete.

Others who made a contribution to Delmer’s productions included Ian Fleming, the creator of James Bond, and the 26-year-old future novelist Muriel Spark. Fleming worked for naval intelligence. He brought titbits of information that made the show feel genuine, including the latest results from U-boat football leagues. Many Germans guessed the station was British. But they listened anyway, feeling it represented “them”.

Pomerantsev is an expert on propaganda and the author of two previous books on the subject, Nothing Is True and Everything Is Possible and This Is Not Propaganda. The son of political dissidents in Kyiv, he was born in Ukraine and grew up in London. During the 00s he lived in Moscow and worked there as a TV producer. Since Vladimir Putin’s 2022 invasion he has been part of a project that documents Russian war crimes in Ukraine.

Like Delmer, Pomeranstev has personal experience of two rival cultures: one authoritarian, the other liberal and democratic. He draws parallels between the fascist 1930s and our own populist age. The same “underlying mindset” can be seen in dictators such as Putin and Xi Jinping, and wannabe strongmen and bullies such as Donald Trump. “Propagandists across the world and across the ages play on the same emotional notes like well-worn scales,” he observes.

In Pomerantsev’s view, propaganda works not because it convinces, or even confuses. Its real power lies in its ability to convey a sense of belonging, he argues. Those left behind feel themselves emboldened and part of a special community. It is a world of grievance, victimhood and enemies, where facts are meaningless. What matters are feelings and the illusion propaganda lends of “individual agency”. Its practitioners bend reality. And – as with Putin’s fictions about Ukraine – make murder possible.

The book offers a few ideas as to how we might fight back. When horrors were uncovered in Bucha, the town near Kyiv where Russian soldiers executed civilians, Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelenskiy, appealed to the Russian people. This didn’t cut through. Most preferred to believe the version shown on state TV: that Moscow was waging a defensive fight against “neo-Nazis”. It was a comforting lie that absolved Russians of personal responsibility.

Ukrainian activists hit a similar wall when they cold-called Russians and told them about the destruction caused by Kremlin bombing. Many called relatives in St Petersburg and other Russian cities to explain they were under attack. Typically, their family members did not believe them. “They really brainwashed you over there,” one said.

The activists had more success when they mentioned taxes or travel restrictions – issues that spoke to the self-interested “pig-dog”. Pomerantsev suggests that Delmer’s approach worked because he allowed people to care about the truth again, nudging them towards independent thought, while avoiding the pitfall of obvious disloyalty. He brought wit and creativity to his anti-propaganda efforts as well, turning his radio shows into bravura transmissions.

Pomerantsev makes an intriguing comparison between der Chef and Yevgeny Prigozhin, the Russian oligarch who in summer 2023 staged a short-lived rebellion against Putin. Two months later, Prigozhin died in a plane crash. The oligarch was a charismatic figure who roasted Russia’s generals for their incompetent handling of the war. He used earthy prison slang. It was this ability to communicate in plain language that made him popular – and a rival.

The book muses on whether Delmer was ultimately good or bad. Are tricks and subterfuge justified in pursuit of noble goals? It concludes that the journalist’s greatest insight was his understanding of his own ordinariness, and how this might be exploited by unscrupulous governments and rabble-rousing individuals. “He was vulnerable to propaganda for the same reasons we all are – through the need to fit in and conform,” Pomerantsev notes.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[swforester]

Historic Lexington MA. It was here that the first battle of the Revolutionary War took place, early in the morning of April 19th, 1775. Seven citizens of Lexington were killed along with 1 person from Woburn.

"Who fell on this field the first victims of the Sword of British Tyranny and Oppression. " Paul Revere rode through town just after midnight on his famous ride to warn everyone that the British were coming. He would later be captured. The British were marching to Concord to search for and destroy any weapons and ammunition they could found. But because the colonists had been warned the British only found 2 cannons which they destroyed. But when they got to Lexington the colonists were waiting for them. They faced each other on the town green, someone fired the first shot and the American Revolution had begun. Later, another battle would take place in Concord.

Concord Hymn

BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON

Sung at the Completion of the Battle Monument, July 4, 1837

"By the rude bridge that arched the flood,

   Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,

Here once the embattled farmers stood

   And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;

   Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;

And Time the ruined bridge has swept

   Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,

   We set today a votive stone;

That memory may their deed redeem,

   When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare

   To die, and leave their children free,

Bid Time and Nature gently spare

   The shaft we raise to them and thee."

plate 1: the Minuteman, ready for battle

plates 2,3,4: the battle monument on the green

plates 5&6: the Munroe House, built in 1729, "a witness to the battle"

plate 7: The First Parish Church of Lexington

plates 8,9,10,11: Lexington Burial Ground, established in 1690-the colonists who died during the Battle of lexington are buried here

plates 12&13: historic sketches of the Battle of Lexington

plate 14: a national park service map showing the route that Paul Revere and the British took , through the towns of Lexington and Concord MA on April 19th, 1775

Lexington MA 12/09/23

[mrtheengie]

Wanna know the best thing about Woburn? The engine is ALIVE! It can run! She is 100% unique in the United States. There is no other place in this country where you can go and see a running stationary steam engine in its original building, doing what it would have done a hundred years ago, more or less. Once abandoned, she has been made new again. And these folks need help!

If you live in the area, and even if you don't, write to the mayor! Urge him to keep the engine alive. It is crucial that we keep these things running so that people can come in and learn about them. You just don't get the same feeling when they're cold and stationary. When a steam engine is hot and running, it can speak for itself, and it's a lot easier to show people outside of our little group why we love them so much. It hasn't run since last year, and by golly it needs some exercise!

Follow the link below to their Facebook page.

[stevebattle]

The Denning Sentry (1985), by Denning Mobile Robotics, Woburn, MA. Sentry is a security robot designed to patrol the corridors of a warehouse, office, or other facility after hours. It’s encircled by 24 Polaroid ultrasonic rangefinders which allow the robot to measure its distance from walls and other obstacles. it uses infrared and microwave motion sensors to detect intruders, and a video camera transmits pictures back to the security station. Sentry can follow a pre-programmed path using a combination of wall-following and active navigation beacons, and will automatically return to its charging station to recharge its batteries. Sentry was placed at several customer sites, but after a few months the robots were returned to Denning; no-one wanted to buy or lease Sentry. “Engineers sitting around the lab might imagine that a security robot would frequently encounter intruders. Maybe the voice of the guard relayed through the robot would instruct the would-be burglar to surrender or flee. Maybe the robot would even give chase. Unfortunately, Denning discovered that’s not what security staff spend most of their time doing. Instead guards do things like check the doors to make sure that they are locked, turn off the lights and the coffee pot, maybe turn down the thermostats to save energy. Sentry couldn’t do any of those things.” – Joe Jones, The Practical Roboticist.

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Sir Joshua Reynolds (English, 1723 - 1792) Lady Elizabeth Keppel, 1761

Full length, decorating Term of Hymen; in bridesmaids dress of flowered satin; a Black attendant holds flower wreath; at foot of column is a burning censer; curtain draped over tree. 2nd state of 5: on upper step of pedestal 4 Latin lines.

Reynolds’s “sitter-book” records eight appointments with Lady Keppel (1739–1768). The woman who accompanies her had two independent morning sittings in December 1761 (both after Keppel had been painted). We do not know her name, in place of which Reynolds entered a single word—“negro”—in his notebook. This terse archival trace confirms that she, like Lady Keppel, was painted from life. She is shown handing Keppel a garland of flowers with which to deck a statue of Hymen, the god of marriage. This detail alludes to Keppel’s recent role as a bridesmaid at the wedding of George III and Queen Charlotte. The dress worn by the servant may either be of glazed cotton, British silk, or possibly painted Chinese silk. If the woman was indeed Keppel’s servant, her dress may be a hand-me-down from her mistress, as was common in this period. The portrait (now at Woburn Abbey, UK) was exhibited at the Society of Artists as Whole length of a lady, one of her majesty’s bride maids. It was paid for by Lady Keppel’s brother, the third Earl of Albemarle (1724–1772). In 1762, shortly after the painting was finished, he would command British forces at the Battle of Havana, which resulted in Spain’s surrender of Cuba. This key victory of the Seven Years’ War reshaped the balance of power in the Atlantic. Gallery label for Figures of Empire: Slavery and Portraiture in Eighteenth-Century Atlantic Britain (Yale Center for British Art, 2014-10-02 - 2014-12-14).

[mjmenvs3000w24]

Blog 3: Privilege in Nature

My experiences as a white, conventionally attractive female raised in midtown Toronto have most definitely influenced my understanding of nature. For me, privilege is an immunity that is placed upon people, including me, providing them with advantages and opportunities that others may not receive, even if both are equally qualified. 

Growing up in a community rich in greenery and city-maintained parks has afforded me the luxury of easy access to the natural world. I think that having parks and other recreational spaces close by has helped me develop a stronger bond with the environment. In elementary school, we would take a 3-minute walk to the park behind the school. There was an assortment of greenery, a wading pool, washrooms and a play structure. It's possible that I would have had more chances to go outside, engage in outdoor activities in a clean, safe environment, and truly come to appreciate how beautiful the natural world is.

Woburn Avenue Park from Google Images

My understanding of nature is also influenced by my identity as a white woman. Since women have historically had difficulty accessing and being educated on natural areas, acknowledging this part of my identity helps me to appreciate the special perspective that nature has given me. Similarly, I admit that, as a white person, my race has protected me from the challenges that people of colour face in outdoor, public settings. Women of colour, especially, have to unfortunately be more cautious about being in a large, vulnerable place, such as a forest. Privilege would also greatly influence someone's ability to feel safe enough to appreciate nature.  This knowledge is essential in comprehending the various perspectives that influence how we interpret nature.

The privilege of attending university emphasizes the significant impact of financial advantages on the goal of learning. For those who are less fortunate, without a scholarship or financial support, the dream of attending university may pose a great challenge. Especially on the topic of nature, to be given a shot at a career opportunity, a degree is the bare minimum. The link between a university degree and career opportunities creates a classist barrier, continuing the cycle where financial constraints limit access to quality education and well-paying jobs. In my case, the privilege of attending Guelph allows me to explore my passion for learning science without the burden of overwhelming debt, affording me the freedom to fully engage in my future academic pursuits that will enhance my understanding of the natural world. 

But it's crucial to understand that luxury can sometimes result in blind spots. It's possible that because I'm used to certain benefits, I'm less conscious of the difficulties that those without such advantages deal with. It is important to acknowledge my ignorance in order to guarantee a more inclusive view of nature.

I want to navigate my interactions with nature with the awareness of my privilege and as a chance to promote diversity. Acknowledging the benefits I have received enables me to actively seek out different points of view, making sure that my perception of the environment stays open and inviting to people with various experiences and backgrounds. I aim to contribute to a more inclusive perspective of our natural world, one that celebrates diversity and its richness as I continue to interact with it.

Image of Mallorca, Spain taken by me

[profencecocapecod]

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#LanternPosts #OutdoorLighting #CapeCodFencing #WilmingtonFencing

[mybookplacenet]

Tell us about yourself.: Hi, my name is Laura, I have just published my first book 'The Arc' with Blossom Spring Publishing on the 18th of September 2024. I am originally from Milton Keynes, Buckinghamshire and now live in Derbyshire with my husband, Carl. We enjoy walking our two Golden Retrievers, Bailey and Daisy, working in the garden and being in nature. I have a positive outlook on life in general and a passion for singing. I sing with my fellow choir members in my local Buxton Community Choir in rehearsals and concerts where I'm a soprano. I am also deeply interested in the paranormal, such as Bigfoot, UFOs, ghosts, and the power of positive energy and thought patterns — or anything else strange and hard to answer! I have diplomas in The Law of Attraction and Parapsychology, and Reiki healing level 2, and I work in the comfort of my own home, as a freelance book cover designer. I have two grown-up children and three gorgeous Grandchildren. My first book is a fantasy novel called, 'The Arc'. Although one might think the title is a misspelling, it really isn't. But it is a play on words. I am intrigued by the unexplained, which has led me to delve deeper into the wonders of our universe and the paranormal. But my book was influenced by the plight of our awe-inspiring planet Earth. Which to me, is a living being in itself; a planet of utmost beauty, yet this world is being ruined by negativity. I felt compelled to tell a tale that explores a harmony between humanity, positivity and the environment, in a different way. Where did you grow up, and how did this influence your writing?: I grew up in a little village in Buckinghamshire, called Woburn Sands. I have good childhood memories. My little sister and I danced in the rain in our back garden and watched thunderstorms from the bedroom window. When we were children, we would ride our bikes to the lakes and be out for hours. There, we would sit waiting to see the fish surface, comparing who had seen the biggest. We picked the blackberries from the hedgerow, listened to the birds and generally loved nature and came home filthy! One of our favourite places to go was Bluebell Woods, here we would run, and play hide and seek in the sweet-smelling little blue flowers, collecting sticks, leaves and stones. In one of the tree trunks, was a little hole; it was always filled with water. Our Mother called this the wishing tree. So every time we were up the woods, our finger would go in, turn three times and we made our wishes. Our childhood was filled with stories of fairies and all things magical. She taught us to be kind, compassionate and have a caring nature. Hence I grew up interested in all things magical and paranormal. Do you have any unusual writing habits? Mmm, I don't think so, yet, there is time for habits to develop... I stare at the screen a lot but I guess a lot of writers do, don't they? What authors have influenced you? I grew up in a little village in Buckinghamshire, called Woburn Sands. I have good childhood memories. My little sister and I danced in the rain in our back garden and watched thunderstorms from the bedroom window. When we were children, we would ride our bikes to the lakes and be out for hours. There, we would sit waiting to see the fish surface, comparing who had seen the biggest. We picked the blackberries from the hedgerow, listened to the birds and generally loved nature and came home filthy! One of our favourite places to go was Bluebell Woods, here we would run, and play hide and seek in the sweet-smelling little blue flowers, collecting sticks, leaves and stones. In one of the tree trunks, was a little hole; it was always filled with water. Our Mother called this the wishing tree. So every time we were up the woods, our finger would go in, turn three times and we made our wishes. Our childhood was filled with stories of fairies and all things magical. She taught us to be kind, compassionate and have a caring nature. Hence I grew up interested in all things magical and paranormal. Do you have any advice for new authors? I do, and since I am also a new author, here’s what I think. Firstly ‘always believe in yourself!’ Make notes: Before you start writing about the great idea for a story you’ve been mulling over for some time, make notes, decide on your character's characters, see the place you are creating in your mind, and be prepared to alter those notes as you go; I was surprised to find, my storyline changed in several places as new ideas came to me. Just write it: Write it down, I have found it doesn't matter what it’s like because you’re going to read through it another hundred times anyway, and change it again and again…possibly…or was that just me? Writer’s Block: Wow! I wondered what was happening to me the first time I experienced this. I had the story, I had the notes, even notes upon notes...and I knew where I was going with this storyline, except…I had gone blank! I thought, ‘This must be a bad idea for a story’ since I couldn’t think of what to write next. So I left the manuscript for a few weeks, feeling upset. All I wanted to do was get back to my characters and the magical place I was creating. After managing to write a few more lines here and there, I soon realised what this phenomenon was. Writer’s Block. And it’s a perfectly normal occurrence. My advice here is to go with the flow. If you’ve ‘gone blank’ it’s because you're waiting for that little link to hit you, that tiny little line or idea that helps you move forward, bringing about another chapter or more! It will come! Don’t beat yourself up if you think you’ve lost the plot. Give yourself time to mull it over, try to put your story out of your mind for a while. Hard, I know! Lastly, write about what you know about and what is important to you — what are you passionate about? What is the best advice you have ever been given? The best advice I have ever had is 'Always believe in yourself!' 'Don't be too harsh on yourself'. Along with ‘Keep going, you can do it!’ or’ Just give it a try!’ What are you reading now? Nothing at the moment... What's your biggest weakness? I don't yet, I bet I have a few! What is your favorite book of all time? I have read many books, but I would say the only book that stands out to me and that I never forget the name of is 'River God' by author Wilbur Smith. Check it out it's a wonderful read! When you're not writing, how do you like to spend your time? In my spare time, I enjoy walking our two Golden Retrievers, Bailey and Daisy with my husband, working in the garden and just being in nature. When there's a thunderstorm, I can be found sitting at the patio door watching the clouds roll in and the flashes of light, and feeling the energy. I simply adore Autumn time the colours take my breath away! And yes, I do kick the leaves... I love singing and performing in my local community choir in rehearsals and concerts. I also have a deep interest in the paranormal, such as Bigfoot, UFOs, ghosts, and the power of positive energy and I'm always watching these types of programs on TV. My life is relatively simple, but I like it that way. Do you remember the first story you ever read, and the impact it had on you? Oh, yes that would be Enid Blyton's books, 'The Magic Faraway Tree and The Adventures of the Wishing Chair and The Enchanted Wood. I also had a beautifully illustrated nursery rhyme book and would read this over and over again. What has inspired you and your writing style? I have always liked fantasy. Stories where characters have magical powers. Ideas that bring a different thought to your mind like, 'What if I could do that?' I do believe in Magic! I’m intrigued by the unexplained, and this has led me to delve deeper into the wonders of the universe. Influenced by the plight of our awe-inspiring planet Earth, as I have mentioned our world is full of nature and beautiful things, yet we as a race are ruining the spirit of the Earth. I felt compelled to tell a tale that explores a different harmony between humanity and the environment, in a different way. What are you working on now? I am working on the second book of The Arc Series... That's all I'm saying, for now... What is your favorite method for promoting your work? It's a bit early to tell as yet, I am a new author but, I do use Instagram and Facebook at the moment. I also have my website Lauracosbyauthor.co.uk What's next for you as a writer? As always, to keep going, to write more, to improve my writing techniques and to be proud of myself; to believe in myself and not look back. How well do you work under pressure? Like most, I will get flustered sometimes, but soon 'have a word with myself' and make notes on my priorities and work through them methodically. I am good at filing things away until I need them...I mean in my mind, not the computer. How do you decide what tone to use with a particular piece of writing? I think the main thing for me is to realise what personality my characters have (make notes on that). But other than that, the storyline will bring the tone to me and I go with the flow. I will always include humour in a storyline. But then that's easy if one of your characters is a Golden Retriever! If you could share one thing with your fans, what would that be? I would say, no matter what you want to do in your world, or what you are doing right now, know that you will always do your best if you stay positive. Laura Cosby's Author Websites and Profiles Website Laura Cosby's Social Media Links Facebook Page Instagram LinkedIn Read the full article

[cleanportablerestrooms]

Event Planning Made Easy: Portable Toilet Porta Potty In Woburn, MA

[dearceceuk]

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[thedudleywomen]

On This Day (27 Aug) in 1562, Margaret St John, Lady Russell, Countess of Bedford, died from smallpox at Woburn Abbey.

Margaret was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Elizabeth I, the wife to Francis Russell, 2nd Earl of Bedford, and mother of seven, including her eldest Anne Russell, who had also recently joined the Queen's household.

Smallpox, a highly infectious disease, transmitted by close contact, was virulent during the Elizabethan period. It was known to be fatal, especially to the vulnerable (children, elderly) and women. Early symptoms of the disease include high fever, fatigue, severe back pain, abdominal pain and vomiting, with the characteristic rash appearing 2-3 days later, initially on the face and hands.

Elizabeth I herself would contract smallpox in Oct 1562; whilst she survived this almost-fatal attack, she was left permanently scarred, as did Mary Dudley, Lady Sidney, who contracted it from the Queen from attending her.

Anne, who would go on to marry Ambrose Dudley, 3rd Earl of Warwick, did not have any children of her own. However, she took on a mothering role to her younger siblings, which included her youngest sister Margaret, later Countess of Cumberland (being only 2 years old at the time of her mother's death), as well as her nieces and nephews (including Lady Anne Clifford).

Margaret was interred in the 'Bedford Chapel' within St Michael's Church, Chenies: a chapel that had been constructed in 1556 by Anne Sapcote, the Dowager Countess of Bedford, for the place of rest for her late husband, John Russell, 1st Earl of Bedford. The chapel became the preferred place of burial for members of the Russell family during the late 16th and early 17th centuries. Margaret's husband Francis Russell, 2nd Earl of Bedford, was buried with her on his death over 20 years later, in 1585, with the couple's tomb being decorated with a effigies, lying side-by-side.

[jcmarchi]

Making steel with electricity

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/making-steel-with-electricity/

Making steel with electricity

Steel is one of the most useful materials on the planet. A backbone of modern life, it’s used in skyscrapers, cars, airplanes, bridges, and more. Unfortunately, steelmaking is an extremely dirty process.

The most common way it’s produced involves mining iron ore, reducing it in a blast furnace through the addition of coal, and then using an oxygen furnace to burn off excess carbon and other impurities. That’s why steel production accounts for around 7 to 9 percent of humanity’s greenhouse gas emissions worldwide, making it one of the dirtiest industries on the planet.

Now Boston Metal is seeking to clean up the steelmaking industry using an electrochemical process called molten oxide electrolysis (MOE), which eliminates many steps in steelmaking and releases oxygen as its sole byproduct.

The company, which was founded by MIT Professor Emeritus Donald Sadoway, Professor Antoine Allanore, and James Yurko PhD ’01, is already using MOE to recover high-value metals from mining waste at its Brazilian subsidiary, Boston Metal do Brasil. That work is helping Boston Metal’s team deploy its technology at commercial scale and establish key partnerships with mining operators. It has also built a prototype MOE reactor to produce green steel at its headquarters in Woburn, Massachusetts.

And despite its name, Boston Metal has global ambitions. The company has raised more than $370 million to date from organizations across Europe, Asia, the Americas, and the Middle East, and its leaders expect to scale up rapidly to transform steel production in every corner of the world.

“There’s a worldwide recognition that we need to act rapidly, and that’s going to happen through technology solutions like this that can help us move away from incumbent technologies,” Boston Metal Chief Scientist and former MIT postdoc Guillaume Lambotte says. “More and more, climate change is a part of our lives, so the pressure is on everyone to act fast.”

To the moon and back

The origins of Boston Metal’s technology start on the moon. In the mid 2000s, Sadoway, who is the John F. Elliott Professor Emeritus of Materials Chemistry in MIT’s Department of Materials Science, received a grant from NASA to explore ways to produce oxygen for future lunar bases. Sadoway and other MIT researchers explored the idea of sending an electric current through the iron oxide rock on the moon’s surface, using rock from an old asteroid in Arizona for their experiments. The reaction produced oxygen, with metal as a byproduct.

The research stuck with Sadoway, who noticed that down here on Earth, that metal byproduct would be of interest. To help make the electrolysis reaction he studied more viable, he joined forces with Allanore, who is a professor of metallurgy at MIT and the Lechtman Chair in the Department of Materials Science and Engineering. The professors were able to identify a less expensive anode and partnered with Yurko, a former student, to found Boston Metal.

“All of the fundamental studies and the initial technologies came out of MIT,” Lambotte says. “We spun out of research that was patented at MIT and licensed from MIT’s Technology Licensing Office.”

Lambotte joined the company shortly after Boston Metal’s team published a 2013 paper in Nature describing the MOE platform.

“That’s when it went from the lab, with a coffee cup-sized experiment to prove the fundamentals and produce a few grams, to a company that can produce hundreds of kilograms, and soon, tons of metal,” Lambotte says.

Boston Metal’s process takes place in modular MOE cells the size of a school bus. Here is a schematic of the process.

Boston Metal’s molten oxide electrolysis process takes place in modular MOE cells the size of a school bus. Iron ore rock is fed into the cell, which contains the cathode (the negative terminal of the MOE cell) and an anode immersed in a liquid electrolyte. The anode is inert, meaning it doesn’t dissolve in the electrolyte or take part in the reaction other than serving as the positive terminal. When electricity runs between the anode and cathode and the cell reaches around 1,600 degrees Celsius, the iron oxide bonds in the ore are split, producing pure liquid metal at the bottom that can be tapped. The byproduct of the reaction is oxygen, and the process doesn’t require water, hazardous chemicals, or precious-metal catalysts.

The production of each cell depends on the size of its current. Lambotte says with about 600,000 amps, each cell could produce up to 10 tons of metal every day. Steelmakers would license Boston Metal’s technology and deploy as many cells as needed to reach their production targets.

Boston Metal is already using MOE to help mining companies recover high-value metals from their mining waste, which usually needs to undergo costly treatment or storage. Lambotte says it could also be used to produce many other kinds of metals down the line, and Boston Metal was recently selected to negotiate grant funding to produce chromium metal — critical for a number of clean energy applications — in West Virginia.

“If you look around the world, a lot of the feedstocks for metal are oxides, and if it’s an oxide, then there’s a chance we can work with that feedstock,” Lambotte says. “There’s a lot of excitement because everyone needs a solution capable of decarbonizing the metal industry, so a lot of people are interested to understand where MOE fits in their own processes.”

Gigatons of potential

Boston Metal’s steel decarbonization technology is currently slated to reach commercial-scale in 2026, though its Brazil plant is already introducing the industry to MOE.

“I think it’s a window for the metal industry to get acquainted with MOE and see how it works,” Lambotte says. “You need people in the industry to grasp this technology. It’s where you form connections and how new technology spreads.”

The Brazilian plant runs on 100 percent renewable energy.

“We can be the beneficiary of this tremendous worldwide push to decarbonize the energy sector,” Lambotte says. “I think our approach goes hand in hand with that. Fully green steel requires green electricity, and I think what you’ll see is deployment of this technology where [clean electricity] is already readily available.”

Boston Metal’s team is excited about MOE’s application across the metals industry but is focused first and foremost on eliminating the gigatons of emissions from steel production.

“Steel produces around 10 percent of global emissions, so that is our north star,” Lambotte says. “Everyone is pledging carbon reductions, emissions reductions, and making net zero goals, so the steel industry is really looking hard for viable technology solutions. People are ready for new approaches.”