#also note how flower's sweater has the same stripe as the candles the others are holding - and firey's the same shape as the flames!

[smile-files]

chanukkah night 8: chanukkiah

(click image for better quality!)

[thecleverdame]

Wild Times In Charming Acres - Chapter One

Inspired by episode  14x15

JustinSmith!Sam x Reader, mentions of past Sam x Reader

Summary: Transported to another reality you find yourself married to a man named Justin Smith who may look like Sam, but couldn’t be further from a Winchester. As time goes by you decide to indulge in this Pleasantville world and wholesome husband.

Warnings: Fluff, smut and humor

Beta:  ilikaicalie

Words: 2k

Part Two is currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

You’ve been here a little over a month - you think. It’s hard to distinguish how long you've physically been in this place and how long you’ve known who you really are. You remember Dean casting a spell while you and Sam stood in the middle of the intricately drawn sigil on the floor.

And when you came to, you were here, in Charming Acres.

You woke up next to a man who looked like Sam but was decidedly not. Not in the way he talked or looked or acted. He rolled over in bed that first morning, shooting you a pouty little look of distress. “Who’s Sam? You must’ve had one of your dreams again.”

This Sam, or rather Justin as he insists on being called, is the polar opposite of the guy you’ve been dating for almost two years. You can’t do this on your own, you need Sam to get out of here. So for the last four weeks, you’ve been doing your best to assimilate, all the while working to jog Sam’s memories back to life.

MONDAY

“I’m home bunny rabbit!” His voice calls up the stairs accompanied by the front door slamming shut.

You sigh, earmarking the journal in hand and hollering back. “Oh good, I’m coming down!”

You had found a series of journals hidden the back of the closet inside a hat box, although you’re not sure why the former you, Beatrix Smith, hid them. All they are is a compilation of recipes, dull-as-dirt gossip and detailed gardening arrangements.

Bounding down the stairs you’re met with the sight of him. It still gets you every time. There he is in a Mister Rogers sweater and tie, glasses perched on his nose, hanging his overcoat in the closet. You’re married to Ward freaking Cleaver.

“How’s my girl?” He smiles, leaning down to place a kiss on your cheek.

“I’m just great.” You force an unnaturally wide smile.

“I could smell dinner from the driveway.” He tilts his head, admiring you as if you’re his prize chihuahua. “It smells delicious.”

“Just meatloaf and mashed potatoes.” You never really took the time to cook before, but you’ve been forced to learn on your feet. In Charming Acres cooking and cleaning seem to be your primary functions.  “Nothing special.”

“Everything you make is wonderful,” he quips. “Let's have a drink before we eat, shall we?”

--

At supper, he drones on and on about some meeting at work that you could less about. You sit, sipping white wine, and try to feign interest.

“You know I don’t like to think ill of people, but I swear to you sweetheart, I’m not sure the man has honorable intentions. He inserts himself into every conversation, by golly it’s all I can do to hold my tongue.”

“That sounds...just awful.”

“Thank you!” He nods enthusiastically. “Bob thinks I’m overreacting, but the man is almost intolerable.”

“Bob is an idiot,” you comment without thinking and Sam sits up straight. Too harsh. “Sorry, I just meant, you’re so good with people honey, and Bob doesn’t strike me as a person who reads people well. That’s all.”

“Well,” he relaxes a bit. “You’re probably right.”

You’re not sure how much more you can take of this bland existence. It’s bordering on mind-numbing, the same mindless details day in and day out. You decided this morning you’re just going to go for it. There’s been hardly any physical contact since you got here. Sure, he occasionally put his hand over your shoulder but the most intimate he gets is the pecks on your lips every night before he rolls over to go to sleep.

“What’s that on the counter? Do I spy a letter from the Women’s Lit Society?” He purses his lips, looking like he’s discovered a naughty little secret.

The Charming Acres version of you writes poetry about sunflowers, spring rain and hummingbirds taking flight.

“Nothing gets by you,” you chide. “They’re publishing my poem, Morning Dew, in the national newsletter next month.”

Sam leans in, both forearms on the table, “I am just so darn proud of you.”

“It's really not that big of a deal.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You know, some guys have wives who just watch TV and gossip all day long, but you, you’re pursuing your talents. I say bravo and well done.”

He’s smiling to himself as he goes back to cutting his meatloaf into neat bite size pieces.

“S-Justin,” you almost slip. You’re getting better at it but continuity is still a weak point.

“What is it?” He looks up, setting down his fork to give you his full attention. Justin is nothing if not attentive.

“Do you find me….attractive.”

He scoffs like you’re asking the most ridiculous question he’s ever heard.

“Of course, you’re my wife. The most beautiful woman in Arkansas,” he affirms and you can’t help but smile.

“I was thinking...” you have to be careful. You don’t want to spook him. “You’ve been working so hard and on Saturdays you have the bowling league and I have my book club. It feels we haven’t had the chance to spend much quality time together. I’ve been a little...lonely.”

“I had no idea.” He’s gravely serious, his head nodding in thought. “Well, I’ll tell you what bunny rabbit, this weekend I’ll say heck to the league and we’ll go to the opening of the new botanical gardens. That sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

He’s not even in your orbit.

“That does sound nice, but to be honest I was thinking I’d like us to spend more time together in terms of...romance.”

“Romance?” He sits back in his chair, a grimace overtaking his mouth. “Right…”

“I just - I miss you like crazy and I thought it would be good for us to...to rekindle our marriage.”

“To be honest I feel like a complete numbskull. You’re right, you always are. When’s the last time I brought you flowers? Or we went dancing at Joey's? We used to go out every Friday night. I haven’t been showing you just what a special little lady you are.”

“That’s not exactly what I-”

“I’ll start right now.” He thrusts a finger into the air. You watch as he gets up with determination, opening the cupboard under the sink and rooting around until he retrieves two tapered candles. Then he’s sorting through the junk drawer for matches. He sets both candles in the middle of the table, blowing the dust off the wicks before striking a match and lighting both.

Then he takes his seat, looking rather proud of himself and reaching across the table to squeeze your hand.

--

He’s having a nightcap, watching the news while you’re frantically flipping through the pages of Beatrix’s most recent journal. The other version of you tracked everything from menstrual cramps to Justin’s favorite television commercials, there must be something about your sex life.

Halfway through the pages, you spot a red dot on the upper righthand corner of a page. You flip back scanning the notes and sure enough at the bottom, in tiny cursive letters is the sentence: made sweet love

Rolling your eyes you keep going, page after page until you find another telltale red dot and the words: most romantic evening, made love and talked for hours

You flip back looking between dates. Six months.

You double check, scanning through the pages again, but there’s nothing other than sewing tips and cocktail recipes.

Six months between sweet love making, no wonder he’s wound so tight, he’s must have blue balls big enough to be seen from space.

“What are you reading?” He asks from the doorway, scaring the living daylights out of you.

“Just...some old gardening techniques.” You rebox the journal and shove it to the back of the closet.

“I’m beat,” he yawns, taking his pajamas out of the dresser drawer.

He disappears into the bathroom for his nighttime routine and you rummage through the closet in search of the one and only piece of lingerie in your wardrobe. It’s a silk nightgown that leaves plenty to the imagination. It comes almost up to your collarbone and halfway to your knees. But it’s sleeveless, thin little straps over your shoulders that show more skin than any other article of clothing you own.

“Honey,” you call to him, stripping down and pulling it over your head.

“Yes?” His voice is garbled, brushing his teeth.

“I was thinking about the conversation we had earlier and I wanted to talk to you about something else.” Pulling the thick, floor-length robe off the closet door you put it on as he wanders out of the bathroom in striped pajamas.

“Is something wrong?” He looks at you, concerned.

“No, well, nothing’s wrong per say, just...not enough.”

“I don’t follow.”

“When I was talking about wanted more romance in our relationship, I was thinking more along the lines of...intimacy.”

“Intimacy?” He stares blankly.

God, he is clueless. You’re going to be forced to spell this out.

“Tonight, I was hoping that you would...make love to me.”

Several waves of realization fall over his face. Eyebrows shooting up, his mouth falls open for a moment before he recovers. “But...my birthday isn’t until next month.”

“Why should we wait for a special occasion?” You open your robe letting it fall to the ground, revealing the modest nightgown and he reacts as if you’ve flashed him your pussy.

“Oh - oh my goodness,” he gasps softly, cheeks flushing red.

“You don’t like it?” You step closer, swinging your hips.

“I do!” He gushes, his eyes looking you over from head to toe. “I just - I wasn’t prepared.”

“What do you say?” You press yourself against him. His breath hitches as you slide two hands over his chest and around the back of his neck. “I want you.”

“What has gotten into you?” A nervous, excited grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“I told you, I miss you.”

“Well…” He’s clearly embarrassed but also aroused.

After methodically turning off all lights, pulling the curtains, setting the alarm and slipping over the covers, your husband kisses you with a series of closed mouth kisses. He gently pulls your nightgown up past your hips and rolls between your legs. He almost grabs your breast through the nightie but thinks better of it, instead shoving his pants down and grasping his cock.

You can’t see much, between the darkness of the room and multiple layers of blankets covering you both, but you can feel him. Sam’s cock is huge, but Justin doesn’t have a clue how to use it. He just shoves himself inside with a mighty heave, moaning and rocking deeper and deeper until you open up for him.

Normal Sam, your Sam, would have his thumb on your clit, sucking on your nipples while he's fucking you into oblivion.

But in contrast, this version of him is moving on top of your body with both hands braced beside your head. His face tucked into the crook of your neck, moaning breathlessly as he pants about how much he loves you and how beautiful you are.

You just lay there, staring at the shadow of the ceiling fan as he humps you for the better part of twenty minutes before giving a few finishing strokes and cumming.

“That was amazing.” He kisses your cheek, pulling out and rolling onto his back. “Come here, let me hold you bunny rabbit.”

It’s the first time, in a long time, that you’re utterly speechless. He pulls you into his arms, stroking your hair as if you’ve just gone wild on each other and require some kind of aftercare.

“Yeah,” you nod, laying against his chest. “That was...something else.”

“My little minx.” He teases, patting your back.

While it’s not exactly the vigorous lovemaking the vague journal entries lead you to believe, it does spark a thought. He’s got no clue what he’s doing with that beautiful cock and powerful body. But as luck would have it, you are just the woman to teach him.

-

-

Part Two is currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

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[fiction-that-may-be-phan-blog]

Flowers and Daises

summary: Dan is short, and works in a library. Phil is tall and likes short cute guys. Let’s see what happens when they talk.

word count: 1671

Warnings: Pastel! Dan, Short! Dan, Smut, daddy kink, if you squint there's a little fluff, mostly the same tags as last time.

author’s note: Hope you enjoy my shitty smut.

 “Everything sucks” That was Dan’s first two words of the day. He woke up again, in his own bed, alone. He’d been trying for weeks to get laid, and to his dismay, he was getting absolutely nothing.

For most people, waking up after an unmemorable night alone was a good thing. For Dan, it was just downright depressing. He stayed under his soft, fuzzy, and pink blanket for another Two hours before getting up. He walked into his bathroom, switched on the light, and was horrified at the sight in front of him. The bags under his eyes, the frizzy mess that was his bed hair. He sighed and proceeded to get ready for work.

 Dan worked in a quiet place, where people loved to smell the air and sit. His favorite place other than his bed. The bookstore.

 Although Dan loved where he worked, he hated the process of stacking large books on high shelves. He had always been a short person, this made him even more aware of it than before. So there he stood, on the tip of his toes, attempting to return a book back to it had previously been. Note, this was an ATTEMPT because it wasn’t working whatsoever. His tongue was sticking out the side of his mouth, small grunts coming out once in a while. He finally gives up and returns to his original height, turning around to retrieve the ladder.

  To his surprise, he gets pressed against the bookcase, as a tall stranger takes the book from his small hands, and puts it in its place. Dan blushes and looks up, He was pale, he was looking right at Dan with bright Blue eyes. He smirked and back off, leaning on the other bookcase across from him. “What’s your name, shorty?” Dan’s eyes widen as he bites his lip. The man chuckles, “Okay, well I’m Phil. Nice to meet you.” He says holding his hand out for Dan to shake.

  Dan slowly moves his small hand out and Phil grabs it. Surprising Dan, Phil pulls him towards him and Dan is right against his chest. “What’s your name, beautiful?” Dan’s cheeks turn red and he softly says his name, “Dan.” Phil smiles and lets go of Dan who was still right up against his chest. Dan walks back to the bookcase across from him, still staring at Phil’s blue eyes. He was wearing all Black, piercings in multiple places, Dan had to be honest, this guy was HOT.

  “Alright shorty, this is what’s going to happen.” Dan nods. “You’re going to thank me for helping you by going to dinner with me tonight,” Phil says, smirking. Dan stares at him for a moment, pondering whether or not he should actually go through with this. Well, he is hot, and actually pretty nice. But he’s really confident, eh, who cares? Dan smiles, “Sure okay,” He says, Phil gives a genuine smile as he gives Dan his phone. Dan laughs and puts his number in it, then walks away.

  Two hours later, Dan is exhausted. All he wants to do is go home, shower, and put on his comfy Tan sweater. While Dan already has a fluffy pink sweater on, he really also just wants to take off his pants. Little did he know, in a couple hours everything on his body will be off, even the daisies around his head. Dan was sitting behind the front desk when he heard the dreadful sound of someone walking in. He hears footsteps approach the front desk and he looks up, He meets the same pair of beautiful eyes he saw earlier. “Sorry to interrupt your book, beautiful.” Dan blushes.

  Having met Phil just a few hours ago, he knew exactly how to make him blush. Phil smiles at him for a while, standing there, staring. “Can I help you?” Dan asks. Phil chuckles and leans against the desk, “I came to pick you up” He states. Dan nods and turns to look at the time. “I should be done in about 20?” Dan says. Phil smiles again as he moves towards the now almost empty library.

  “So, are you ready to go?” Phil asks. Dan gathers his things and moves away from the library's doors. “Yes, finally” Dan laughs, Dan locks the doors behind him and they make their way towards Phil’s car. Phil opens the door for him and then gets in. “Nice car,” Dan says, looking around. The interior was clean, black, and surprisingly had a nice aroma. “Thanks,” Phil chuckles. He starts the car and they drive away.

  They pull to Phil's house, “Uh, what is this?” Dan asks. “I am taking you to dinner,” he says opening the door for Dan. He gets out and walks with Phil to the front door. When they walk in, Dan sees roses and candles everywhere, low music was playing. “Wow? You know this was just a first date right?” Dan asks as Phil leads him to a table, “Yeah, well, I've been waiting for this for awhile.” He says. Dan gives him a look. “I’ve known you since you started working there,” he takes a sip of wine, “I’ve watched you every day and I finally decided to ask you out.” Dan is quiet. “I sound like a stalker, don’t I?” he asks. Dan smiles and takes his hand, “So, tell me about yourself.

  They talk for the next hour, laughing, flirting. Dan was having a great time in Phil’s loving company. For such a hard exterior, he was gentle and kind. “Well, I guess you want to go home now?” Phil asks. “Not really,” Dan says, rubbing his thumb on the skin of Phil's hand, “I was thinking. We should keep talking, I like talking to you.” Phil chuckles, he and Dan take a seat on the couch across from each other, staring into each other's eyes.  Slowly, they start to scoot closer to each other.

  Now they were less than a few inches away from each other. They kept getting closer and closer until their lips met. Dan soft lips connecting with Phil’s, Making both of them close their eyes, and sigh into the kiss. Phil’s hand comes up and cups behind Dan’s neck, pulling him closer. Dan takes the space between them to get up and climb on top of his lap. Dan moans as he feels Phil’s hard-on through his jeans.

  Phil starts to kiss Dan’s neck as he trails his free hand down to Dan’s ass and squeezing. Dan grinds against Phil, as Phil detaches his lips from Dan’s, taking of Dan’s sweater. Dan rips Phil’s short off and starts grinding hard against Phil. Phil stands up, Dan in his arms, hands under his ass, and takes him to his room. “I can’t wait to fuck you,” Phil says, laying Dan on his bed, Dan moans as Phil kisses down his chest. He takes a nipple into his mouth and moans, taking off dan’s pants. He clutches his cock in his hands, making Dan’s hips thrust up into it. “So impatient, princess” Dan moans and pulls Phil towards him, moving to pull his pants off.

  “Please, daddy,” Dan says, Phil smirks and moves his head to take Dan in his mouth. “Hah!” Dan gasps, his hands fly to grasp some of Phil’s hair. Phil moans at the sensation, causing the vibrations to make Dan moan even louder. Phil moves up and wraps his hand around Dan’s length, “Suck these” he says, moving his fingers into his mouth. He takes him out and looks up at Dan. He nods, and Phil slowly inserts a finger, “Oh my god,” Dan says, bunching the light colored sheets with his hands. “Does it hurt?” Phil asks. “No, ah! It feels so good, please more” Dan gasps out, Phil moves his finger around, looking at Dan, smiling. Dan looks up, as Phil’s moves his face closer to Dan’s hole.

  He slowly licks a long stripe, making Dan cry out. “Oh my god, Phil! Please, fuck me” He says. He pulls him up to his face and kisses him, Phil pulls the rest of his clothes off and slowly inserts himself into him. “Tight” he whispers. He sits there waiting for Dan to adjust, as Dan breathes heavily. “You’re huge” He moans. “Oh my god move, please, move” Dan begs.

  Phil begins to thrust slowly as Dan pulls him closer, wrapping himself around him. “Please, faster” Dan whines, as Phil hits the spot he loves. Phil leaves soft kisses on dan while hitting deeper and deeper without trying. “I don’t want to hurt you baby boy”, Dan whimpers. “Please”

  Phil gives in and thrusts faster, and faster. Making Dan’s eyes roll to the back of his head. He moans with every thrust, making long scratches along Phil’s back. Phil grabs his hands and pins them by his head, pressing Dan against the bed. The temperature in the room was getting hotter, and hotter. As time passes, sweat builds on both of their foreheads.

  Phil stared at Dan for a moment, taking in his true beauty. Phil presses himself even more against Dan pressing kisses on him his face. “Ask baby” he mumbles in his ear. “Hng! Plea- ple- please, Daddy. L-l-let me cum?” Dan whimpers out with each thrust. Phil gives a small approval, kissing Dan on his lips. He moans as they both release with each other.

  Dan lays there, tired, completely fucked out, as Phil cleans up their mess. “So, would this be a good time to ask if you want to do this again?” Dan asks.

 “What, have sex or have another date?” Phil says covering them both with the soft blanket. Dan looks at him, “yes” he laughs. Phil laughs with him and places a kiss on his lips. “Go to sleep baby boy,” he says wrapping his long arms around the smaller boy.

  Phil lays with till he falls asleep, looking at the small flower crown made of daisies on his nightstand.

[sherristockman]

Remembering the World’s Oldest Person: Objects She Left Behind Dr. Mercola By Dr. Mercola Emma Morano's claim to fame was much longer than 15 minutes, because when she died in April 2017, she was 117 years old. That gave her the interesting distinction as the last woman to have been born in the 1800s. In fact, 1899 was the same year Guglielmo Marconi transmitted the first radio signal across the English Channel. In some respects, Morano's uncommonly long life included its share of contradictions. The very thing that brought her the greatest recognition testified to the incongruities in her life. One thing she proved was that not every formula for longevity is a certainty. She should know. She bucked convention and ended up not only living longer than any of her contemporaries, but arguably everyone else on the planet for a short time. People often asked her how she'd managed to live so long. According to The New York Times: "Ms. Morano has no doubts about how she made it this long: Her elixir for longevity consists of raw eggs, which she has been eating — three per day — since her teens when a doctor recommended them to counter anemia. Assuming she has been true to her word, Ms. Morano would have consumed around 100,000 eggs in her lifetime, give or take a thousand, cholesterol be damned."1 She was convinced that another reason she lived so long was because her troubled marriage ended in 1938 following the death of her 8-month-old son: She was determined to live a solitary life, and did so. Through the decades, despite a bevy of admirers (and she was a handsome, dignified woman) her reason for remaining on her own was simple and logical: "I didn't want to be dominated by anyone."2 Early Years: The Backdrop Morano was born on November 29, 1899, in tiny Civiasco, Italy. Her family then moved to Villadossola, where cold, humid winters prompted doctors to suggest the young girl's health would improve in a warmer climate. Verbania, near Lake Maggiore, straddling Italy and Switzerland, wasn't far. Her father, Giovanni, who worked in a foundry in nearby Villadossola, went blind when he got older. Her mother, Matilde, worked as well, crafting slippers by layering fabrics and cutting out the shape of a shoe. When she was old enough, Morano herself found a factory job where she made jute sacks. In her later years, Morano enjoyed sharing small reminiscences of her youth, such as loving to dance, sneaking out with her sisters to a "dance hall" and their mother coming to look for them carrying a birch stick. Two of her sisters lived to venerable old ages as well, being 99 and 102 when they died. Instilling strength and character in their children were priorities for Morano's parents. One niece remarked, "All the sisters were determined." That was most evident after her divorce. The Times noted: "Ms. Morano worked until she was 75, proud that she could pay for whatever she owned. After her separation from her husband, she had a bedroom set custom-made by a local furniture maker."3 Relatives remember Morano remarking, "I paid for it" or "I had it made." They also recall the pride she took in her home, even making paths from newspapers so visitors wouldn't track up her clean floors. The Years in Between Morano shared what she wanted and held her peace about the rest. She either didn't remember or chose not to relate details someone else might focus on. When people asked about Mussolini or the wars she'd lived through, she would shrug. A New York Times article noted: "In her time, she has watched Italy evolve from a monarchy to a republic that spawned nearly 70 governments in seven decades, with a 20-year foray into Fascism in the middle. She survived two world wars, and the hardship of their aftermath; years of domestic terrorism, and years of economic prosperity that transformed Italy from an agrarian economy to one of the world's most industrialized nations."4 As for the years between, two years ago Morano summed up her life quite succinctly: "115 years are a lot." Morano spent her last 27 years in Pallanza, Italy, living in a tiny, church-owned apartment that she hadn't left since she was 102. One of her nieces came by each morning to prepare her meals for the day. The New York Times noted: "She cooked for herself until she was 112, usually pasta to which she added raw ground beef. Until she was 115, she did not have live-in caregivers, and she laid out a place setting for herself at her small kitchen table at every meal."5 Legacy: What to Keep and What to Leave Behind One of Morano's most exceptional qualities was her ability to embrace a life of simplicity. Her two-room, furnished apartment was simple and uncluttered except for a few keepsakes which, when she died, would likely be significant only to family members and close friends. What did she hold on to? It's not out of the realm of conjecture that many uncomplicated but profound factors greatly influenced the length of Morano's life. Besides the strength, courage and spirit bequeathed by her family, she clung to her faith, followed her gut instincts, enjoyed simple pleasures and had a healthy respect for memories of her past. Doctors and nutritionists will tell you that diet is a huge factor in someone's longevity. Morano kept an eye on hers and paid attention to what her body was telling her. In 2016, a New York Times article noted that Morano had modified her diet a bit, cutting out meat ("because she got it into her mind that it could lead to a tumor") as well as her egg intake to two per day. She also admitted to a fondness for bananas and cookies called ladyfingers. She had another interesting idea about how to maintain her good health: She flatly refused any suggestion of going to a hospital the few times she was ill, even having blood transfusions and stitches done at home, said Dr. Carlo Bava, her doctor who took care of her since she turned 90 years old. It's the Little Things That Make a (Long) Life If there's anything that denotes hope for the future, it's a healthy dose of self-esteem, and perhaps a dash of vanity. That can be inferred by Morano's twice-daily routine of applying anti-aging moisturizer, which she kept in the drawer of her bedside stand. Those who knew her best said she applied it religiously. She also had her hair done regularly while she still went out in public. When she was older and housebound, however, she huffed about the inconvenience of having to spiff up for visitors, which were frequent. She wore what she wanted. A typical outfit might be a sweater vest with red and black horizontal stripes over a blue flowered house dress. Morano owned several clocks and loved hearing them chime. She also had a soft spot for animals, once owning a cat named Lola and a pet pigeon. She also had a habit of feeding other birds until the neighbors put a stop to it. Next to her bed were religious mementos, such as rosaries and a bust of Mary and Jesus, signifying a life of faith. Over her bed, she kept a montage of old photographs of her parents, her five brothers and three sisters and one of her infant son, pinned to a lacy backdrop. At her request, her baby's photo was buried with her. Father Giuseppe Masseroni, himself 91 years old, shared at Morano's funeral: "Those of us consumed by consumerism may have difficulty understanding Ms. Morano. We have too many things, too many distractions, too many items offered to us, too many messages, and a person like Emma struggles to emerge."6 Father Masseroni may have meant that, unlike the vast majority, Morano went against the grain in her simple lifestyle, experiencing no burning desire for modern trappings. Dr. Bava noted with admiration that his patient shouldered her increasing age-related aches and pains with grace and humor. Those may be some of the most valuable keepsakes of all. How to Celebrate Life Past the Century Mark Morano started getting more attention once she passed 110 years of age. Incredibly, another seven years rolled by. Her birthday celebrations took on more significance as it became clearer that for her, each day was truly a gift. Yes, she was aging, but her mind remained sharp and her health was considered excellent. Numerous news outlets noted the candles she blew out, presents she opened and well-wishers eager to pose with her for photos. At least one reporter who asked Morano how she was doing was told not to make such a fuss. "Just say I'm doing fine." But at the same time, she was "amused" to be under such scrutiny from researchers from all over the world. They often traveled to sit by her bedside to scrutinize her lifestyle and genetics for clues to her long life. While she lived alone up to the last few years of her life, Morano had a steady stream of visitors. She was gracious, but a relative confided that at times, guests overstayed and she became tired. "After a while she would turn to me and say in dialect, 'Are they ever going to leave?'" Afterward, she'd take a nap. While humans have speculated for millennia about how to live longer, experts say there are dozens of factors that help contribute to it, from long-lived forebears to a careful diet. Some scientists contend, however, that a will to live and continued interest in and curiosity about the world around them may trump most other factors. In fact, one study involving 100 seniors with the average age of 81 showed that those exposed to hidden messages including positive words such as "spry," "creative" or "fit" became physically stronger, while those exposed to negative words weakened.7 Most centenarians (people 100 years old or older) say they feel at least 20 years younger than their age. Experts answer that it has everything to do with their perception of themselves. When these peoples' blood pressure, skeletal mass, muscle power and overall fitness are measured, it indicates their probable life span more accurately than their chronological age. Factors for Long Life • If you're looking for a way to lengthen your life, the best way to do that is to examine your diet, because, while most centenarians don't necessarily call themselves health nuts, they do understand the concept of real food. Most grew and made their own food, including real butter, beef, fruit and vegetables. One interesting practice among oldsters in Okinawa, Japan, is called hara hachi bu, which means they eat only until they're 80 percent full, according to an article in Huffington Post.8 In fact, Japan has more centenarians — 15 percent of the total, in fact —than anywhere in the world. Four vital nutrients important for a long life are vitamin D (best obtained from the sun), animal-based omega-3 fats, folate (vitamin B9) for brain and heart health, and magnesium for healthy neurons. These help ensure optimal brain health and help prevent dementia and cognitive decline. All four nutrients are low in the typical American diet, so getting enough of each should be intentional. • Morano's fond memories, strong opinions and "living in the now" approach to life served her well. Experts attribute longevity to positive relationships, which Morano had with the family she grew up with, her siblings and her nieces later in life, her neighbors and an adoring public. Science attests to this, as many people who live to ripe old ages report having positive relationships is just part of who they are. Statistics show there's a 50 percent likelihood of living longer when that's the case.9 • Being a hard worker and lifelong learner are other factors, as well as dealing with stress. One study called the Longevity Project reported that these factors can predict a longer life. "Studies suggest that it is a society with more conscientious and goal-oriented citizens, well-integrated into their communities, that is likely to be important to health and long life. These changes involve slow, step-by-step alterations that unfold across many years. But so does health. For example, connecting with and helping others is more important than obsessing over a rigorous exercise program."10 • Conscientious, helpful people, it turns out, tend to live longer. Research has indicated that people who volunteer, for instance, have lower anxiety and depression levels, which is healthier for your body as well as your mind.11 Simply having the ability to "get along" with the people you work with, live with and spend time with can have a significant impact on your longevity, and studies prove it. Further, conscientious people who view their work as important are more productive, and often work past the time "retirement" rolls around.