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twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 3 years ago

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Episode Spotlight: M*A*S*H, Season 1, Episode 17: Sometimes You Hear the Bullet

Frank Burns throws his back out and applies for a Purple Heart. Meanwhile, Hawkeye Pierce meets, and later operates on, an old friend and struggles with the decision of whether or not to send an underaged soldier home.

More than halfway through season 1, M*A*S*H wasn’t exactly killing in the ratings. The show wasn’t quite sure of itself yet, with tons of recurring characters that would end up dropped and other characters not yet added to the main cast. Airing at eight o’clock on Sunday nights, M*A*S*H was, at this stage in the game, a relatively normal sitcom, albeit one with a bit sharper sense of humor.

That all changed with Sometimes You Hear the Bullet.

I’ll show you what I mean.

The episode starts humorously enough: Major Frank Burns throws his back out during a rendezvous with Major Houlihan. He is placed into traction, where he applies for a Purple Heart for his ‘injury’. Meanwhile, Hawkeye is visited by an old friend and kindred irreverent spirit: Corporal Tommy Gillis, a journalist who signed up for the front lines as he writes his book: You Never Hear the Bullet, a book meant to be written from a soldier’s point of view, instead of a reporter’s.

A helicopter full of wounded arrive at the unit, and Gillis returns to his post.

Among the wounded is a young man with a burst appendix, a Private Wendell Petersen, who is very anxious to get back to the front lines. Hawkeye tells him that he has to rest for a few days before returning to his unit. This doesn’t stop Wendell from attempting to steal an army jeep to try to get back, afraid that he was going to be sent home.

After talking with him, Hawkeye figures out the truth: Wendell Petersen is actually Walter Peterson, and he’s not even sixteen years old.

It turns out that Walter posed as his brother, Wendell, and entered the war to impress his girlfriend back home by returning with a medal. He begs Hawkeye to keep his secret, and, after returning him to his bed, Hawkeye agrees.

Shortly, more wounded arrive, and among them is Tommy Gillis. Hawkeye operates on him, but even his best is not enough, and he dies on the operating table after telling Hawkeye that he did hear the bullet. Hawkeye tries to revive him, but Colonel Henry Blake orders him to move on to save another life.

Afterwards, Hawkeye breaks down crying.

“Henry, I know why I’m crying now. Tommy was my friend, and I watched him die, and I’m crying. I’ve watched guys die almost every day. Why didn’t I ever cry for them?”

“Because you’re a doctor.”

Hawkeye asks what that means, and Henry answers with one of the greatest lines in the show’s history.

“I don’t know. If I had the answer, I’d be at the Mayo Clinic. Does this place look like the Mayo Clinic? Look, all I know is what they taught me at command school. There are certain rules about a war. And rule number one is young men die. And rule number two is, doctors can’t change rule number one.”

Right then and there, Hawkeye decides to change rule number one in some small way, and calls the MPs on Private Wendell, really Walter, outing the fact that he’s underage. Walter, outraged, tells Hawkeye that he’ll never forgive Hawkeye for the rest of his life.

Hawkeye replies: “Let’s hope it’s a long and healthy hate.”

In one final scene (one that’s usually cut from syndication), Henry Blake begins to present Frank with his Purple Heart, only to find it replaced with a purple earring, while outside, Hawkeye pins the Purple Heart on Walter to make up for turning him in, sending him home, but home a hero.

The end.

Sometimes You Hear the Bullet is considered one of M*A*S*H’s best episodes for a reason. This is an early episode, one that is regarded as a tone and trend setter for the rest of the series in terms of both storyline balance (one or two serious plotlines, one humorous), and content itself, one of the first episodes to sit down and truly explore the characters within this tragic situation. At this moment, M*A*S*H ceased being a comedy show and became a dramedy, with one of the most memorable moments and exchanges in the show’s long history.

While this episode may seem like a standard half-hour of television, at the time, especially for this show, it was something different. It was no longer a slapstick grittier Hogan’s Heroesque irreverent comedy about soldiers, it was a show about a group of people stuck in the middle of a war, with death all around them. And no matter how good Hawkeye, or any of the doctors, are at their jobs, they’ll never be able to save everyone.

It’s sobering, but it’s a truth that the show had, for the first time, truly explored, and it’s that initial exploration, that glimmer of what this show was going to become, that puts this episode under so much recognition: Sometimes You Hear the Bullet was the warning sign, the first moment that the writers got a handle on the show that would become a classic.

Of course, it has it’s problems.

Not tonal ones, at least, not exactly. Throughout its entire run, M*A*S*H often had two or three plots going, one serious, one humorous. This is a smart strategy: balance out the dark with the light, giving each episode a more even feeling instead of being too much one or the other. Although the show would get darker and more serious as time went on, the writers never abandoned this plan, allowing M*A*S*H to remain a consistent dramedy throughout the show’s run, keeping the audience laughing and crying at the same time.

In the case of Sometimes You Hear the Bullet, the ‘funny’ subplot is obvious: Frank Burns and his Purple Heart. The other two storylines are the serious ones: Hawkeye’s friend, as well as the underaged soldier. However, in most cases, as in this one, these plotlines inevitably intersect, and it’s here that this particular episode might cause a few problems.

I mentioned that the final scene in the episode is typically cut from syndication: the sequence where Frank’s purple heart is stolen and given to the underaged soldier, instead. While this scene may not, at first, seem inherently out of place within the context of the rest of the episode, swinging from comedy to drama within a minute, there are those who believe that this scene unintentionally undermines the rest of the episode, or the main thrust established a few moments earlier.

And those people aren’t exactly wrong.

I certainly agree that the episode would have been stronger had it ended with the soldier’s final interaction with Hawkeye been proclaiming his hatred, only for Hawkeye to soberly respond that he hopes it’s a long and healthy hate. Changing that to this new ending, where Hawkeye sends him home with a medal, seems almost out of character for Hawkeye, taking away some of the sincerity and severity of the message just a moment earlier. The idea that this soldier could bring himself to forgive Hawkeye so soon, before realizing what exactly he’d been saved from, seems a little disingenuous after the weight previously given to this subplot.

In later episodes, it’s possible, even probable that this episode wouldn’t have ended tied in such a neat bow. But that’s one of the things that’s so interesting about this episode.

Sometimes You Hear the Bullet isn’t the first episode of ‘true’ M*A*S*H as it would be remembered in the future, but it is the first episode where M*A*S*H comes into its own themes, looking hard at war, and the toll it takes not only on the soldiers, but on the surgeons, as well. Before this, for the most part, ‘characters’, friends of the cast, did not die on the operating table. Not when Hawkeye could save him.

But I’m going to quote Hawkeye from another season 1 M*A*S*H episode, Yankee Doodle Doctor, as I think that it sums up this the point of this episode pretty well:

“Three hours ago, this man was in a battle. Two hours ago, we operated on him. He’s got a 50-50 chance. We win some, we lose some. That’s what it’s all about. No promises. No guaranteed survival. No saints in surgical garb. Our willingness, our experience, our technique are not enough. Guns, and bombs, and anti-personnel mines have more power to take life than we have to preserve it. Not a very happy ending for a movie. But then, no war is a movie.”

That right there is the point of Sometimes You Hear the Bullet, to the point where the doomed Tommy Gillis even references the film tropes of a young, fresh-faced kid hearing the bullet that kills him. This is the message that Hawkeye must grapple with: he cannot save everyone.

No matter how much he knows, how good he is, he can never save everyone. No guaranteed survival.

It’s sobering, but it’s the truth. And it’s what makes this episode so memorable.

M*A*S*H at this point was still mostly a comedy, a series full of jokes and the occasional serious moment, and it would continue to be so for another few years. But it was this episode, episode seventeen of the first season, that signaled to audiences that this show could be more than that. It could make you laugh, sure, but it could make you cry, and it wasn’t that surprising: this was war.

In short: by itself, is Sometimes You Hear the Bullet one of the greatest episodes of television, or even M*A*S*H, ever written? Maybe. Maybe not. But what it is, without much doubt, is the first sign of maturity in a show that had a lot of growing up to do.

Whether the shift was instantaneous or not, the fact is, Sometimes You Hear the Bullet was a game changer in the show’s history, the first break in format that truly showed audiences what they could expect in the years ahead.

On top of that? It’s just a good episode.

The plot balance is decent, without too much mood-whiplash that could so easily occur in a war dramedy. The characters, decently familiar to audiences by now, all work off of each other just as well as ever, funny, interesting, and heartfelt in turn. It’s an example of early M*A*S*H at it’s best, overshadowing many first season episodes with a level of depth previously mostly unexplored, delivering on every scene and remaining mostly genuine. It’s an engaging episode, full of memorable moments that are thoughtful and earnest, making this episode a standout, a moment in television history, and an unmissable installment for avid watchers of M*A*SH, and television fans in general.

Don’t forget that the comment box is always open for anything from suggestions and discussion ideas to questions and conversations! Thank you guys so much for reading, and I hope to see you guys in the next article.

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troybeecham · 3 years ago

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Today, the Church remembers St. Augustine of Hippo.

Ora pro nobis.

Saint Augustine of Hippo (13 November 354 – 28 August 430 AD) was a Roman citizen born in the province of Thagaste (in modern Algeria, earlier settled as a Phoenician colony), an early Western Christian theologian and philosopher whose writings influenced the development of Western Christianity and Western philosophy. He was the bishop of the Roman colony of Hippo Regius (modern Algeria), and is viewed as one of the most important Church Fathers in Western Christianity for his writings in the Patristic Era. Among his most important works are The City of God, On Christian Doctrine and Confessions.

His mother, Monica or Monnica, was a devout Christian; his father Patricius was a Pagan who converted to Christianity on his deathbed.

At the age of 11, Augustine was sent to school at Madaurus, a small Numidian city south of Thagaste. There he became familiar with Latin classical literature, as well as pagan beliefs and practices. His first insight into the nature of sin occurred when he and a number of friends stole fruit they did not want from a neighborhood garden. He tells this story in his autobiography, The Confessions. He remembers that he did not steal the fruit because he was hungry, but because "it was not permitted." His very nature, he says, was flawed. 'It was foul, and I loved it. I loved my own error—not that for which I erred, but the error itself." From this incident he concluded the human person is naturally inclined to sin, and in need of the grace of Christ.

At the age of 17, through the generosity of his fellow citizen Romanianus, Augustine went to Carthage to continue his education in rhetoric. It was while he was a student in Carthage that he read Cicero's dialogue Hortensius (now lost), which he described as leaving a lasting impression and sparking his interest in philosophy. Although raised as a Christian, Augustine left the church to follow the Manichaean religion, much to his mother's despair. As a youth Augustine lived a hedonistic lifestyle for a time, associating with young men who boasted of their sexual exploits. The need to gain their acceptance forced inexperienced boys like Augustine to seek or make up stories about sexual experiences. It was during this period that he uttered his famous prayer, "Grant me chastity and continence, but not yet."

At about the age of 17, Augustine began an affair with a young woman in Carthage. Though his mother wanted him to marry a person of his class, the woman remained his lover for over fifteen years and gave birth to his son Adeodatus (b. 372 - d. 388 AD), who was viewed as extremely intelligent by his contemporaries.

Manichaean friends introduced him to the prefect of the City of Rome, Symmachus, who while traveling through Carthage had been asked by the imperial court at Milan to provide a rhetoric professor. Augustine won the job and headed north to take his position in Milan in late 384. Thirty years old, he had won the most visible academic position in the Latin world at a time when such posts gave ready access to political careers.

Although Augustine showed some fervour for Manichaeism, he was never an initiate or "elect", but an "auditor", the lowest level in the sect's hierarchy. While still at Carthage a disappointing meeting with the Manichaean Bishop, Faustus of Mileve, a key exponent of Manichaean theology, started Augustine's scepticism of Manichaeanism. In Rome, he reportedly turned away from Manichaeanism, embracing the scepticism of the New Academy movement. Because of his education, Augustine had great rhetorical prowess and was very knowledgeable of the philosophies behind many faiths.

At Milan, his mother's religiosity, Augustine's own studies in Neoplatonism, and his friend Simplicianus all urged him towards Christianity. Initially Augustine was not strongly influenced by Christianity and its ideologies, but after coming in contact with Ambrose of Milan, Augustine reevaluated himself and was forever changed. Like Augustine, Ambrose was a master of rhetoric, but older and more experienced. Augustine was very much influenced by Ambrose, even more than by his own mother and others he admired. Augustine arrived in Milan and was immediately taken under the wing by Ambrose. Within his Confessions, Augustine states, "That man of God received me as a father would, and welcomed my coming as a good bishop should."

Soon, their relationship grew, as Augustine wrote, "And I began to love him, of course, not at the first as a teacher of the truth, for I had entirely despaired of finding that in thy Church—but as a friendly man." Augustine visited Ambrose in order to see if Ambrose was one of the greatest speakers and rhetoricians in the world. More interested in his speaking skills than the topic of speech, Augustine quickly discovered that Ambrose was a spectacular orator. Eventually, Augustine says that he was spiritually led into the faith of Christianity.

Augustine's mother had followed him to Milan and arranged a marriage for him. Although Augustine accepted this marriage, for which he had to abandon his concubine, he was deeply hurt by the loss of his lover. He wrote, "My mistress being torn from my side as an impediment to my marriage, my heart, which clave to her, was racked, and wounded, and bleeding." Augustine confessed that he was not a lover of wedlock so much as a slave of lust, so he procured another concubine since he had to wait two years until his fiancée came of age. However, his emotional wound was not healed, even began to fester. He later decided to break of his engagement and become a celibate priest.

In late August o of 386 AD at the age of 31, after having heard and been inspired and moved by the story of Ponticianus's and his friends' first reading of the life of Saint Anthony of the Desert, Augustine converted to Christianity. As Augustine later told it, his conversion was prompted by a childlike voice he heard telling him to "take up and read" (Latin: tolle, lege), which he took as a divine command to open the Bible and read the first thing he saw. Augustine read from Paul's Epistle to the Romans – the "Transformation of Believers" section, consisting of chapters 12 to 15 – wherein Paul outlines how the Gospel transforms believers, and the believers' resulting behaviour. The specific part to which Augustine opened his Bible was Romans chapter 13, verses 13 and 14, to wit:

Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying, but put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh to fulfill the lusts thereof.

He later wrote an account of his conversion – his very transformation, as Paul described – in his Confessions, which has since become a classic of Christian theology and a key text in the history of autobiography. This work is an outpouring of thanksgiving and penitence. Although it is written as an account of his life, the Confessions also talks about the nature of time, causality, free will, and other important philosophical topics. The following is taken from that work:

Late have I loved Thee, O Lord; and behold,

Thou wast within and I without, and there I sought Thee.

Thou wast with me when I was not with Thee.

Thou didst call, and cry, and burst my deafness.

Thou didst gleam, and glow, and dispel my blindness.

Thou didst touch me, and I burned for Thy peace.

For Thyself Thou hast made us,

And restless our hearts until in Thee they find their ease.

Late have I loved Thee, Thou Beauty ever old and ever new.

Ambrose baptized Augustine, along with his son Adeodatus, in Milan on Easter Vigil, April 24–25, 387 AD. A year later, in 388, Augustine completed his apology On the Holiness of the Catholic Church. That year, also, Adeodatus and Augustine returned home to Africa. Augustine's mother Monica died at Ostia, Italy, as they prepared to embark for Africa.

Upon their arrival, they began a life of aristocratic leisure at Augustine's family's property. Soon after, Adeodatus, too, died. Augustine then sold his patrimony and gave the money to the poor. The only thing he kept was the family house, which he converted into a monastic foundation for himself and a group of friends.

In 391 Augustine was ordained a priest in Hippo Regius. He became a famous preacher (more than 350 preserved sermons are believed to be authentic), and was noted for combating the Manichaean religion, to which he had formerly adhered. In 395, he was made coadjutor Bishop of Hippo, and became full Bishop shortly thereafter, hence the name "Augustine of Hippo"; and he gave his property to the church of Thagaste. He remained in that position until his death in 430. He wrote his autobiographical Confessions in 397–398. His work The City of God was written to console his fellow Christians shortly after the Visigoths had sacked Rome in 410 AD.

When the Western Roman Empire began to disintegrate, Augustine imagined the Church as a spiritual City of God, distinct from the material Earthly City. His thoughts profoundly influenced the medieval worldview. The segment of the Church that adhered to the concept of the Trinity as defined by the Council of Nicaea and the Council of Constantinople closely identified with Augustine's On the Trinity.

Augustine worked tirelessly in trying to convince the people of Hippo to convert to Christianity. Though he had left his monastery, he continued to lead a monastic life in the episcopal residence. He left a regula for his monastery that led to his designation as the "patron saint of regular clergy".

Much of Augustine's later life was recorded by his friend Possidius, bishop of Calama, in his Sancti Augustini Vita. Possidius admired Augustine as a man of powerful intellect and a stirring orator who took every opportunity to defend Christianity against its detractors. Possidius also described Augustine's personal traits in detail, drawing a portrait of a man who ate sparingly, worked tirelessly, despised gossip, shunned the temptations of the flesh, and exercised prudence in the financial stewardship of his see.

Shortly before Augustine's death, the Vandals, a Germanic tribe that had converted to Arianism, invaded Roman Africa (and later sacked Rome in 455 AD, hence the term vandalism). The Vandals besieged Hippo in the spring of 430 AD, when Augustine entered his final illness. According to Possidius, one of the few miracles attributed to Augustine, the healing of an ill man, took place during the siege. According to Possidius, Augustine spent his final days in prayer and repentance, requesting that the penitential Psalms of David be hung on his walls so that he could read them. He directed that the library of the church in Hippo and all the books therein should be carefully preserved. He died on 28 August 430 AD. Shortly after his death, the Vandals lifted the siege of Hippo, but they returned not long thereafter and burned the city. They destroyed all of it but Augustine's cathedral and library, which they left untouched.

Augustine was canonized by popular acclaim, and later recognized as a Doctor of the Church in 1298 by Pope Boniface VIII. His feast day is 28 August, the day on which he died.

Augustine is recognized as a saint in the Catholic Church, the Eastern Churches, and the Anglican Communion and as a preeminent Doctor of the Church. He is also the patron of the Augustinians, a religious order. His memorial is celebrated on 28 August, the day of his death.

Many Protestants, especially Calvinists and Lutherans, consider him to be one of the theological fathers of the Protestant Reformation due to his teachings on salvation and divine grace. Protestant Reformers generally, and Martin Luther in particular, held Augustine in preeminence among early Church Fathers. Luther himself was, from 1505 to 1521, a member of the Order of the Augustinian Eremites.

In the East, his teachings are more disputed, and were notably attacked by John Romanides. But other theologians and figures of the Eastern Orthodox Church have shown significant appropriation of his writings, chiefly Georges Florovsky. The most controversial doctrine associated with him, the filioque, was rejected by the Orthodox Church. Other disputed teachings include his views on original sin, the doctrine of grace, and predestination. Nevertheless, though considered to be mistaken on some points, he is still considered a saint, and has even had influence on some Eastern Church Fathers, most notably Saint Gregory Palamas. In the Orthodox Church his feast day is celebrated on 15 June.

Historian Diarmaid MacCulloch has written: "[Augustine's] impact on Western Christian thought can hardly be overstated; only his beloved example Paul of Tarsus, has been more influential, and Westerners have generally seen Paul through Augustine's eyes."

Lord God, the light of the minds that know you, the life of the souls that love you, and the strength of the hearts that serve you: Help us, following the example of your servant Augustine of Hippo, so to know you that we may truly love you, and so to love you that we may fully serve you, whom to serve is perfect freedom; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.

Amen.

#christianity #jesus #god #holy trinity #theology #father troy beecham #troy beecham episcopal #father troy beecham episcopal #saints

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thepinkseat-askthemoonbunny · 4 years ago

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Toll The Dead

On the day he opens his eyes, the sun is blindingly harsh. He tries to move his hands only to be greeted by astonishingly smooth skin and dark waves flopping into his vision. He’s trapped for so long that both he and the ancient tree actually died. The difference is, he came back. He wept, although they weren’t tears of joy after being finally freed from his (admittedly deserved, he could say that now) captivity. They were tears of sorrow. Actually, neither freedom nor captivity were in his mind upon his awakening. Instead it was one, all-consuming question took up that space.

How long have I been dead?

The old, dead tree was still the same apart from being a mere husk now. The old grove, the forest was still the same. But Camelot...Camelot was totally different. It no longer existed.

The mighty Pendragon Castle had all but crumbled to dust, the inhabitants long gone either to their respective afterlives, or as shades haunting what was left of the ruined halls. He’d heard whispers that there’d been a great battle long ago, a battle where Arthur had been betrayed by the son he conceived in sin and shame. Arthur. Arthur was gone too, then. Tears pricked Merlin’s eyes anew when he’d heard it...he would never see either of them again. He would never go to heaven and see Arthur’s smiling face, he wouldn’t even float through the gates of hell and embrace his beloved Uther after centuries of being apart. Arthur’s grave was at Avalon, a place that was forever closed to him. Even after all this time Morgana and Nimue’s memories had not dulled, and neither had their power it seemed.

I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

There were too many memories here, too much had remained the same and too much had changed. All the work of decades was lost, friends and loved-ones were lost. There was no longer a godson, a lover. A mother, a sister or an apprentice to stick around for. Everything around him was a reminder of loss, the world had moved on without him and he had no choice but to move on too.

There was no place for him anymore. Limbs still stiff after being fused to wood for so long, Merlin summoned his weakened magic to conjure not food, not water, but enchanted roses. A bouquet of them: not his finest work but he hoped that the recipients would appreciate the thought.

. . . .

He left one on Uther’s grave below the crypts of Saint-Peter. “Take care, my love.”

He left the second on the floor where Arthur’s throne used to stand, and what was left of his portrait underneath it.

The third he had left at the grave of his mother, who’d insisted she be buried with her fellow sisters.

Speaking of sisters, he gave the fourth to a raven and instructed it to find Ganieda, wherever she was. He would like to see her again, but he didn’t even know if she was still alive.

The fifth and sixth went onto Igraine and Gorlois’ tombs: at least the lady got to be buried beside her true love at the end. Poor, unfortunate woman...she’d been through so much. He figured it was the least he could do. I know nothing I say or do could make up for what I’ve done...but I’ve looked after Arthur. I raised and protected him the best I could, and he became a marvelous king. A marvelous man, I know you’d be proud of him. I am, even though I’ve no right to be.

When the air turned chilly around him for no reason at all, he knew he’d overstayed his welcome. He was not forgiven, that much was clear.

“Why are you here?! You’re not supposed to be here! You don’t have the right...!”

Merlin didn’t even have to look up when the door to the crypt slammed open, he already knew who it was. “Hello, Morgana.”

“How dare you. How dare you defile my parents once again!” Her hair was a halo of fire, wreathing her thunderous face. “You and your lover already took their lives, you could not leave them in peace at their deaths?!”

“I only meant...” Coming here was a mistake. A second step of footsteps rushed into the chamber, that thin face and those blue eyes and that dark hair was burned into Merlin’s brain. He’d last seen it when she was fusing his old and silvered body into the great oak. “How did you get out of the tree?!”

“The tree is dead, Nimue. Look, coming here was a mistake. I’ll take my leave...”

“Do you really think I’m just going to let you walk away?” Morgana took a step forward. “Not this time.”

There were bolts of magic exchanged and smoke kicked up around them, a confusing jumble of light and sound and smell. Merlin barely missed the thorny vine aimed his way...Morgana had always been the more talented of his students. Nimue chimed in with her own magic, like two perfectly synchrd dancers performing a pas-de-deux. He had to get out, he knew he wouldn’t survive much longer if they’d had better aim. In the cloak of smoke and rubble, he slunk out through the first opening he saw, not having the energy to turn into anything bigger than a lizard at this point.

. . . .

It was taking an excruciatingly long time for his magic to come back...of course he’d loved without it before, but it was just so much easier to have it at your disposal. When you have magic, it becomes a part of you and losing it is a lot like losing a limb. He felt like he’d lost a right arm. When he barely escaped with his life, Merlin ran. He didn’t know where he was running to, but he ran. He kept running, and when his magic finally became strong enough he flew.

He didn’t know where he’d ended up, all he knew is that he was on his knees in a thick forest, hair falling in front of his face. It was just as much gray as it was brown at this point, as well as his beard. It was odd, really...forests were once a place of comfort for him. He used to sleep in them to keep dry, he and his sister would play in the forest when they were children but ever since the whole Nimue debacle, forests felt eerie and suffocating to him. He no longer felt free, he felt trapped instead. Perhaps, not as trapped as the unfortunate soul he stumbled upon though.

“Miss? Miss, are you alright?!” Merlin approached warily, making his way toward the figure who was slumped under a great pine...they didn’t have many of those in Britain. The air was much colder here than it was back in Britain as well. Wherever he was, he wasn’t home anymore. It was a woman, that much was certain from the stained yellow-green skirts and delicate fingers. Her dark hair, as salt-and-pepper as his obscured most of her face like a veil. Her one visible eye, which she turned to him was the deep marble-green of bottle glass. She said nothing for a long time, merely stared. It chilled Merlin to see it. When she finally spoke, he merely stared at her in confusion. This was a language he’d never heard before.

“You don’t even speak our language, do you? You’re not from around these parts.” Perhaps noticing his bewilderment, she switched to English...but it was in a thick, somewhat strange accent. At least he could understand her now.

“No ma’am, I am not. I don’t even know how I got here, I was just...”

“Running away from demons?” She tilted her head and gave him a chilling, impish grin, her eyes twinkling with...mischief? Or something else entirely? Merlin sighed, seating himself on the ground next to her. “Yes. They’re of my own making though, unfortunately.”

“We all have demons...we can choose to run from them, we can choose to work with them. I think the latter offers more possibilities, don’t you?”

“I suppose so? Anyway, why are you here? Just resting?”

“Some boys stole my walking stick and when I tried to run after them, I collapsed.”

“That’s awful! Children these days, no respect. You’re not hurt, are you?”

“You’re rather gentlemanly, aren’t you?” Her smile grew wider, and Merlin actually found himself smiling back. “And very kind.”

“Thank you. Did you get your staff back?”

“Unfortunately, no. But it’s alright, I have others. Those little toads will learn the hard way that this old lady’s walking stick isn’t a toy.”

“I wouldn’t call you old, Miss.”

“You’re kind, but a tad slow-witted.” Merlin felt himself stiffen up at that. “Well I...!”

“Don’t get your beard in a knot! I am old, it’s as plain as the age on your own face. I’m not ashamed of it, why should a lady be ashamed of her age?”

“Do you need any help?”

“If you could help walk me home, I’d be grateful.”

. . . .

“We’re here.” The cabin was small, but rather well-kept and surrounded by a thicket of trees. “You live here alone?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m alone. It’s not as if the only company worth keeping is that of the human variety, you know. Come in, I’ll have dinner on the kettle in a minute.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t...”

“I insist! You stopped to help me, at least let me give you a hot meal as a thank-you. And besides, I can use someone to speak to for a while.”

Merlin had intended to leave as soon as dinner was done, but he realized that he had nowhere else to go. He was used to making his own way, he’d be fine. But the old lady offered to let him stay, provided that they exchange knowledge. She could learn from him, and in turn he could learn from her. It confused him until he added it up in his head. Alone in the woods, sprites and imps as housekeepers, all sorts of odd charms hanging about the house? She’s a witch. A powerful one too. Ever since Nimue, he was cautious of sharing his knowledge with anyone...but then again, he knew that was going to happen. And this one didn’t make him promise not to use magic against her...plus she hadn’t poisoned him, maybe it was safe.

He didn’t know her name, and she told him once when he asked that it’d been so long since she used her true name that she’d quite forgotten it herself. But the locals called her Grandmother, at least the ones that came to her for help.

“Why do they call you Grandmother?” Merlin asked one day while she was pouring over one of his borrowed tomes.

“Because I am more powerful than they, and far older and they know it.” They’d pay her tidy sums for her aid, and she’d help them...sometimes at least. Other times, a far more unfortunate fate awaited those that she refused. It was almost as if she could read the hearts of men, and judge whether or not they were worth helping. He actually quite liked it here, a new start where nobody knew who he was. Freedom from politics...he still had his powers as a Seer, but he’d lost his taste for shaping the future long ago. We all know how the last attempts ended...and good company. He and Grandmother seemed to get on like a house on fire: “fortunate for you, because don’t really like many men.” They seemed to understand each other, he liked her clever ways and her cunning and even her strange house. They were in one position when he was awake, and when he was asleep he would find that they’d moved somewhere else in the middle of the night. Whenever he asked her about it, she’d just give him that rapacious grin and ask him to help her with the garden.

. . . .

It went quite well, until Nimue and Morgana found them. The little tin bell that announced visitors had been rung. “Merlin, could you get that?” Grandmother didn’t even look up from the potion she was stirring, and Merlin opened the door to find two familiar faces. “So this is where you’re hiding out now, eh Teacher?” Nimue mused.

“What are you two doing here?” Morgana wrapped her arm around Nimue’s shoulders, and the girl leaned into the embrace. “Why we’re here to kill you, of course!” Her voice was as cheery and light-hearted as a child. “You avoided us for some decades, but now we’ve finally found you!”

“Technically, Nimue already killed me. She trapped me in that tree and I died, remember?”

“Like it was yesterday...but we’re here to make sure that you don’t come back.” Merlin heard the shuffling of feet behind him and Grandmother peered over his shoulder. “Merlin! You didn’t tell me your friends were coming over, I would’ve made more soup!”

“They’re not my friends.”

“We’re not his friends.” The sentences were said in tandem so that they blurred together, making it hard to distinguish who spoke first. “Look lady, you don’t know what that man in front of you has done...” Morgana began, but Grandmother held up a hand to silence her. “Oh I’m very aware, he’s told me. I trust you young ladies punished him?”

“Not nearly as much as we would’ve liked...but the tree thing was marvelous, I have to give it to Nim.” Morgana leaned in to kiss her cheek, and Nimue smiled up at her. Merlin noticed the way the girls hung off of each other; that easy rapport they had developed. The aura they radiated reminded him a lot of he and Uther once upon a time. When had that happened? Not that it mattered now.

“This is my battle, I’ll deal with them. You don’t have to involve yourself...” Merlin whispered to her, but Grandmother’s glare made him quiet instantly. So much so that it puzzled the redheads in the doorway...who was this woman that could silence the most powerful wizard in the world with a single look? That’s when Morgana noticed it, the staff in her hand. “You’re...you’re...” the sorceress whispered, recognizing the symbol from her books.

“Yes, I am. And you’re not going to take my study buddy from me, are you?”

“But Grandmother!” Nimue protested. “He’s...!”

“Done his time. I believe in women taking back their power, but it seems you’ve already done that. I mean, I think trapping him in a tree for some centuries and leaving him to die is a suitable punishment...I would’ve done the same thing myself. I like him, and I’ve decided to keep him. It seems he’s had quite a bit of time to think while in confinement.”

“He’s a slippery one, Grandmother.” Morgan’s tone was heavy and wooden, much like her house.

“I’m even slipperier. Not to worry girls, I’ve been taking care of myself before him and if he gets out of line, I’ll take care of that too.”

“And if he gets up to his old tricks again?”

“Then he’s for the streets and I’ll personally call you so you can take him off my hands. If there’s anything left of him.” Her voice was as cheery as ever, but there was something coming from the old woman. Something sinister, frightening...wreathing her like flame. Morgana shrank back. “Yes, Grandmother.” The young sorceress’ jaw tightened in protest, but she said nothing further.

“Good. Now run back off to your country, girls. I’m sure you must have things that require your attention.”

Morgana made to turn around, Nimue rushing after her. “We finally have him in our grasp and we’re just going to walk away?!”

“Nim, that witch is more powerful than you, me and perhaps Merlin put together! He’s not worth it...what chance do either of us have against Baba Yaga?”

The cabin’s two “human” occupants watched Nimue and Morgana’s retreating backs, Merlin turned to Grandmother in shock. “I thank you. But...why?”

“Because I like you, you amuse me. Like I said when we first met, I keep all sorts of company. But sometimes human company can be pleasant too.” Her face turned into the sinister, somewhat terrifying mask it was when they’d first met. “This is your second chance. Don’t fuck it up, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes. Crystal.”

“Excellent!” The grin was back on her face. “Now come along, let’s get out of here.”

“Baba Yaga, huh? So you do have a name.”

“It just means Granny Yaga. Yaga is a word that means wicked or frightening, more of an epithet than a name. Come on.”

. . . .

Later that night, Merlin simply placed the last rose into the vase on the dining room table. “It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got left.” The witch gave him a slow smile. “Well, aren’t you quite the gentleman?”

“Hey, I was thinking...”

“I’m not the marrying type, so you can save it. I tried it once and it didn’t end very well, so I swore never again.” She stared through him as if he were made of glass.

“We don’t have to get married!” Merlin said quickly. “We can still be friends, with a...side hustle, if you want.”

“Side hustle? Is that what they call it these days?”

“I panicked, alright?!”

“No persistent pleas to return your love?”

“The last time I tried that shit, I was trapped in a tree for eight hundred years. And I have a fear that you would do even worse to me so no, not worth it.”

She gave one of her rare low chuckles. “Friends with a side hustle, I like it. Let’s be off then, I’m bored and I have locals to terrorize. Plus I haven’t really made the little shits that took my staff pay yet.”

There was a rumbling beneath them, but the witch didn’t seem to be affected. Merlin looked over the cabin’s porch and watched as they rose into the air, higher and higher before finally stopping. “Are those...chicken legs?!”

“Of course, how else do you think the house moves? Did you think it just floated on its own?!”

#merlin #arthuriana #arthurian legend #king arthur #slavic mythology #russian mythology #baba yaga #my story #morgana #morgan le fay #nimue #viviane #lady of the lake #uther pendragon

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starcunning · 6 years ago

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Notes to Selves

... and sometimes, after you pull teeth for a week, you get something, anyway.

Shasi has never spent the night before a battle with someone she loved. Until now.

This story contains MSQ spoilers for FFXIV Patch 4.4, “Prelude in Violet,” and 4.5, “Requiem for Heroes.”

12th Sun of Nophica’s Moon

Windsday.

You will not write anything today because you would rather forget all that has transpired. You want to forget the sight of him crumpling to the floor, a greater agony than that which passed before. Committing it to paper would make it real, and you cannot allow that now.

I am here, real as everything you reject. I will remember for you, to spare you the pain of forgetting later. —F

14th Sun of Nophica’s Moon

Lightningday.

You never got out of bed yesterday. Today you roused yourself only to meet with the Seedseer. She cannot feel his soul. I write this for you not because I think you will forget, but because you cannot bear to write it for yourself.

We were doing so well. —F

15th Sun of Nophica’s Moon

Lightsday.

En route to Revenant’s Toll to seek Augurelt’s counsel. A reliable source before; occasionally a comfort. Questions to consider:

- What news of the First?

- Thancred’s previous exposure to Ascian influence a factor?

- Why not Lyse?

Slender hope of answers. World ever turns on such slender hopes.

17th Sun of Nophica’s Moon

Darksday. Full moon.

Arrived at Rising Stones late yesterday. Early start to the morning in hopes situation would be swiftly resolved. Augurelt joined us just before noon. Another vision; situation compounded. Rhul and Augurelt now added to the list of incapacitated. Thancred to be transferred from Ala Mhigo to Mor Dhona.

18th Sun of Nophica’s Moon

Firesday.

May as well keep them all in one place.

Shpoki left the Rising Stones yesterday, and you let her. We know that move, don’t we? Break and run before anyone sees we’re upset? Today we wrote a letter to Matoya. We wrote three letters. You didn’t like any of them enough to send. We’ll try again tomorrow. —F

22nd Sun of Nophica’s Moon

Lightningday.

Sent letters to Master Matoya; Y’mhitra Rhul; the Forum of Sharlayan. No kin to contact for Augurelt or Waters. Overtures are being made to the Alchemists’ Guild and Prioress Dewla. Heard an interesting rumor about the fate of Heartstrike recently. Considering purchasing information from the Dutiful Sisters. Scions’ coffers empty. Personal funds in good shape.

24th Sun of Nophica’s Moon

Darksday.

Arya is talking about going looking for X’rhun. You think she hopes this is something he can solve, like the problem of the Nightkin. You hadn’t considered that, but thinking about it made you recall your dealings with Ishgardian orthodoxy in that pursuit.

Haldrath never decayed either, did he? —F

31st Sun of Nophica’s Moon

Darksday.

You took your bracelet off for a week, locked the stone it held in a drawer, tried not to think of me. You are telling yourself it is about the journals. It isn’t, is it? You are angry I have no answers for you. I wish I did.

You thought of me in my exile, and wondered if you had killed me. That isn’t how it works, is it? I cannot live without you, but my death is temporary. And some shade of me lingers with you still. You can still hear me scream inside your skull even when you cast me into the dark and curse my name for not doing enough.

Nobody hears you screaming. —F

1st Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Firesday. New Moon.

Arya departed yesterday. Alisaie thusly deprived of closest companionship. Fond of her as I am, our closeness is not without difficulty in these circumstances.

2nd Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Earthsday.

Which is worse: not to know what has become of someone you love, or to be certain of their ill fate?

5th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Iceday.

Traveled to Ul’dah to meet with Prioress Dewla. Nothing. Returned home to the Goblet. Should be in Mor Dhona. Letter awaited me at the house from the Sisters, who have heard of no artifact with such effects as was described.

6th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Lightningday.

When you wake screaming in the night, it is only us you awaken. You tell yourself this is preferable.

Alisaie reminds me of Rielle. —F

7th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Lightsday.

Meeting today with Captain Firebird. She is already apprised of the news. Thancred counted her a personal friend. I do not know what aid she can offer, but determined to explore all avenues.

10th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Earthsday.

Departed Ul’dah for Ala Mhigo. While in Ul’dah was elevated to Flame Captain. Poor consolation prize. Firebird is alright; sympathetic ear. Am come to collect the research notes of Aulus mal Asina.

12th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Windsday.

Yesterday you sat in Thancred’s apartment trying to make sense of the Medicus’s notes. At sunset you went into the city, and stood there in the place where he ripped your soul from your body, and tried to recall how it was you put yourself back together.

It didn’t hurt half so much when he did it. You walked from his laboratory to the room where the Alliance all met, and you thought about being torn apart, self from self. You thought about the voice and the words and the fear and the pain.

The fear and the pain that were Thancred’s last moments in this world before he was severed from himself. You would have given anything to spare him that. Would that I could have told you how. Would that I could tell you anything now.

You would trade your place with any of them. That is your nature. The thing you are afraid to admit to yourself is that you would trade me for them, too. You are angry with me. You are right to be angry. I am here. —F

13th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Iceday.

You went to the Menagerie today. Why did you go there? This is a rhetorical question. It hurt you to stand there, in the wan winter sun, and listen to the wind blow through bare trees. Every step you took on cobbles you once stained with blood drove knives into your heart. You are suffering, so you sought out suffering.

You stood in the dry grass, and reached for your linkpearl, thinking: if you call Urianger, he’ll help you figure this out. Urianger has always helped you figure it out.

Thancred’s loss you never forget. It is a black moon that eclipses the terrible light of the others’ stillness and silence. You hated yourself then for forgetting. It was a moment’s lapse, and you will bear the guilt for a long, long time.

Instants become eons. —F

14th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Lightningday.

The others are come to Ala Mhigo, though they have little to report. Shpoki tells me Y’mhitra has arrived; has enlisted the aid of the Sons of Saint Coinach to research her sister’s condition and that of the others. Sophronia mentioned that she and Alisaie get along; there is a small relief in that. One worries.

Spent the early evening in a game of Sink—one of Shpoki’s devising, last played on the banks of the Thaliak. Alone then too, or at least without him. Sank any number of things, though not my troubles. Figure emerged from the Lochs thereafter; four of us were sufficient to subdue it. Proof remitted to Clan Centurio.

Depart Ala Mhigo tomorrow in the company of Lensha Hathaar, who has been aiding Garlond Ironworks in some project.

19th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Watersday.

Ironworks has experienced a similar thinning of ranks; tol Scaeva incapacitated in the course of this project, along with engineers Biggs and Wedge. Conscious, however; unlikely to have succumbed to the same pernicious influence as felled the Scions.

Garlond thinks of Bojza often. Reviews the data in anticipation of some new project. Scaeva takes ill to bed-rest. Keeps offering to replace my sword with one more befitting “an adventurer of my caliber.”

Not sure whether he intends to replace Fray’s blade or Zenos’s. In either case, uninterested.

25th Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Firesday.

Who is Lensha Hathaar? Claims to have been a longtime member of the Scions; Shpoki claims to have found her at her apartment. Assuming she means the one abutting the Hanging Cat. Skeptical of any recruit we find in a bar; nevertheless shows promise.

Starlight Celebration ongoing. Some mail finds me in Gyr Abania—cards; wellwishes; etc. Wish it did not.

31st Sun of Althyk’s Moon

Lightsday.

Last day of Starlight. Glad when it’s over.

I didn’t get you anything.

1st Sun of Halone’s Moon

Firesday. New moon.

I didn’t get you anything either. —F

6th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Lightningday.

Brief recess from duties with Hathaar in Gyr Abania. Returned to Ul’dah to fulfill charitable obligation. Raising funds for the arts in Ul’dah. Bought a foolish number of candles. Sophronia materialized halfway through the evening; followed me home.

Seems to think all this pain is worthwhile for having gotten to learn the taste of chocolate. I do not think he understands.

7th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Lightsday.

How can he? He has lived this life for a handful of months at most. You have carried this for six years. You are certain there is no one yet he loves, but how can you be sure? He is fond of you, or are you pretending to ignore that? —F

12th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Windsday.

It does not matter who is fond of me. To seek comfort without Thancred’s knowledge is betrayal unforgivable, and unworthy of us both.

Returned to Gyr Abania. Midgardsormr seemed familiar with Hathaar. No answers to be found, for the elder dragon now slumbers. Not the same sickness as plagued the Scions. Nevertheless, our allies fall away, one by one.

14th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Lightningday.

But our obligations persist. Received call from Tataru that I am needed at Reisen Temple. The Firebird elected to accompany me. Her interest in Suzaku is personal, given the imagery of her epithet. As she is afflicted with the same blessings as I, this shall be allowed.

It is the smallest repayment of her kindness to me as host whilst in Ul’dah.

16th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Darksday.

You and the Firebird went to the temple yesterday to quell the Aramitama of the auspice Suzaku. A fair number of words new to my travels with you there. Nevertheless, the concepts are familiar: a Darkside untempered ever threatens to destroy.

Hers was not the rage of Byakko but an untempered grief. One thinks of these things as a dark ocean, a vast plain of ink, but a single drop breaks the surface and bestirs a tempest. So too with the firebird—your presence was a potent reminder of all she had lost.

As hers was to you.

Her lover perished in the fires of self-sacrifice. It is an end I can see for you all too easily. You would mourn your dead for centuries, I think, were you allowed the opportunity. For all that I have come to carry your burdens, you have not put aside the pain of loss wholly.

Not that I think you ever will. Or should, for that matter. It was no exaggeration when I told you that there was never another like you, nor shall there be. Part of that is your reserve of aether—what another might call determination, or force of soul. Part of that is the scope of your suffering.

It is a hard thing to celebrate, so I will not ask you to. —F

18th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Earthsday.

Dinner last night with van Hydrus’s widow. Did not expect Garlemald to have any knowledge of like situations, and indeed they did not. Hope her discretion is trustworthy, else fear the consequences of letting an Imperial citizen know of the Scions’ compromised strength.

19th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Watersday

Krile is returned to Kugane from the expedition; seems of hearty disposition. She has not heard the voice nor felt the call—curious oversight. Wondering about Alphinaud. No word from him since investigating the Burn several months ago.

21st Sun of Halone’s Moon

Iceheart. Returned with Krile to Mor Dhona. Firebird is resuming her regular duties. Alisaie and Krile agreed it past time we called upon Master Matoya. Rising early tomorrow to depart.

22nd Sun of Halone’s Moon

Lightningday.

All lives severed. No trail to follow. Felt the call again; Krile too. Word comes from Ala Mhigo that Populares defectors have arrived there.

23rd Sun of Halone’s Moon

Lightsday.

The palace, again; the same room. Maxima quo Priscus waiting. Took his leave of Alphinaud months ago, brought defectors and news. Imperials using Black Rose again. Thought that weapon lost.

No weapon against us is ever lost.

24th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Darksday. Back to Doma and Lord Hien, bringing word of Imperial invasion. Problem of Doman security remains. Ironworks offers a solution in the form of energy barrier like unto that which secluded Azys Lla.

One thinks of Ysayle’s sacrifice, and of the late van Hydrus. One thinks of Bojza and the barrier Garlond birthed from his father’s data.

When all is in readiness we go to the Burn.

28th Sun of Halone’s Moon

Windsday.

Gaius van Baelsar lives. Alphinaud sleeps.

4th Sun of Menphina’s Moon

Watersday.

Arya called you when you returned from the poor aether of the Burn, and you spoke to X’rhun. You told him to come to Ala Mhigo if he meant to fight for it, for this may be his last opportunity. You have thought much and not at all of what Gaius Baelsar told you upon those white sands.

He claims to have destroyed the stores and the production facilities for Black Rose, and told you it was Zenos yae Galvus who signed the order for its making. We know the truth, don’t we? Your enemy wears your lover’s face. Again.

Your pain is so close to the surface. You think they can look at you and see me behind your eyes. What would they see if I were not here to be you when you cannot?

Something’s up with Hathaar and Baelsar, by the way. —F

6th Sun of Menphina’s Moon

Lightningsday.

Porta Praetoria. We march northeast with Lord Hien and what few Domans could make the aetherial journey. There is a warcamp. We are outmatched. The plan is this: parley and stall for time and reinforcements.

8th Sun of Menphina’s Moon

Darksday.

“Sun” bears no meaning here, as no light reaches this place. You have felt the thinness of aether in the world everywhere you have walked. It reminds you of Carteneau. Everything about this reminds you of Carteneau: the massing Imperials, the oppressive weight of the sky overhead.

You think of your mother and how she died on that plain. How your whole world was destroyed not just in the Calamity, but in its legacy.

The others are arriving at camp, slowly. Sophronia came with Lyse Hext; Shpoki and Hathaar have been with you all along. The Tumet lad came, too. Such a bright face in this terrible darkness; you think you will not forgive yourself for bringing him here.

Alisaie is glad to be reunited with Arya and X’rhun. You feel a pang of envy at that, don’t you? You refuse to put a name to it—you whose mother is dead and whose father is not your father.

You’ll figure it out sooner or later.

Speaking of fathers, it’s Zenos’s who will sit across the table from you. Your request for parley has been granted, two days hence. Tomorrow you and Shpoki will go and prepare the site.

10th Sun of Menphina’s Moon

Earthsday.

Surprises at the table.

Not how poorly it went—you were ready for that, eager for that, even if you left your sword behind so you could pretend you weren’t. You brought an Imperial defector into that room with you—and Sophronia’s not the only one of your companions with a grudge.

Nor were you surprised by all his arguments. You’d had them with Zenos before, after all. And some of them with van Hydrus, and with his wife. Baelsar might have told you a few more useful things before you had to hear them from His Radiance’s smirking lips, but so it goes.

They should have known better than to bring a Weapon of Light to a peace summit. How else could it end but with the opening of old wounds?

(Well—in lungfuls of seawater, or crystals detonating in a burst of unstable aether, or a simple punch or two.)

All of these sufficed to see you held at gunpoint—you and Hathaar both with barrels against your chin. But. “Don’t waste the ammunition.” That was the Imperial decree, was it not? You think he wants you dead. If he wanted you dead, wouldn’t he have killed you in the tent? Why didn’t you die there?

What a curious question. Still, you do not think your reprieve will last long. And yet it will last longer than you think.

It would last longer still if you’d take my offer. It’s not too late to go, to find a place that does not know X’shasi Kilntreader and wants nothing from her. That does not demand she rise in the morning and join the front lines against an army greater and more powerful than the one that marches behind her.

We’re so alike, Shasi Souleater, in ways you haven’t allowed yourself to see just yet. But you won’t run. I know you.

And when His Radiance offered you a place—at his side; under his heel—you said no.

The world turns on that slender hope. —F

#ff14 #x'shasi #fray myste #original content #starcunning writes #ff14 spoilers #stormblood spoilers #4.4 spoilers #4.5 spoilers #not really FSF because i'm not sure who this would be fanservice for #it's kind of experimental and weird #the other two versions of the 'night before battle' scene were not gelling at all and weren't really that different from each other #this doesn't really convey everything i wanted it to but it gets some things across #shasi only functions when she has a task #and she finds strange ways to hurt herself when she's already in pain #and this is like the GOOD timeline #the THERAPY SWORD timeline #imagine if she didn't have fray

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lizmckague-blog · 6 years ago

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Excerpt from The Paper Boat

by Elizabeth McKague

O wild west wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,

Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead

Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing...

He made them in crafty, rapid gestures, folding the pages of a manuscript he’d carried to the river. Thinking he would read it, he planned to sit on his favorite rock until the mud of the bank crept into his only pair of leather shoes and the October dusk erased what light was left in the sky.

The white sheets of paper were slick and delicate. His tiny boats easily drifted from the water’s edge in measured breaths and sailed down river in a balanced breeze. The Arno looked murky and heavy, a green shade in the last pale slants of daylight. He creased and folded his stanzas and cantos, turning the corners of each page into lips that held a silence. A silence before voyage, a silence released from the futility of whatever permanence he had originally intended by attempting to write the damn thing. He started to work faster in a synchronized fury, setting each paper boat upon the water as soon as it was made. He got a paper cut, then another, and his fingers grew cramped in the sharp, cold air hovering over the river with the approaching night.

At last he folded his hands together in a buckle around his knees and relaxed. His posture copied the shape of the rock. He stared hypnotically at the flotilla of paper boats he had made. Spreading out along the river’s dreary current, they passed beneath the Ponte Solferino until page one was a white speck in the distance. Then page two and page three, until the entire paper fleet, like defeated warrior ships, slowly disappeared into a blinding mist, moving westward toward the Mediterranean Sea. The sun sped away and the Arno became gray and opaque.

As a child, he had made paper boats with such concentration that nothing existed in his mind but the movement of his fingers against the sheets of paper. He tore them from a random notebook he had discovered about the house. They felt at once flimsy yet stiff, soft and cold. It was the autumn of 1802. He had left his sisters to their music lesson and wandered out of doors alone. He descended the wide steps in the front of the mansion, crossed the circular drive of gritty stones where the carriages came in, and continued through a maze of clipped green hedges in the courtyard. He was not even aware that he had left the house without a guardian. He remembered a sense of freedom and the sad scent of his mother’s neglected garden. Fading, pink chrysanthemums and frosted white colored roses danced, nonchalantly withering in symmetric rows. He walked beside the white washed fence that was then twice his height and passed the stables without being noticed. The horses were being let out from their stalls into the meadow. He strode over a damp, grassy hill and finally came to Field Place pond. The gray-green water quivered in a slight breeze. He found a flat spot of dry pebbles situated amongst tall yellow reeds at the edge of the pond. He sat down and felt hidden. He watched some fallen maple leaves drift in the water, aimlessly spinning this way then that. He sat there that day for hours, making boats and watching them float. At one point, the sun broke through the late afternoon clouds and illuminated the pond. His paper boats shone. He took a stick and made ripples. He was ten years old.

Perhaps he was punished for wandering about the Estate alone that day. He didn’t remember. He didn’t remember much from his childhood. Just the boats, the ghost stories he wrote with his eldest sister, the airless smell of the perfumed ladies who visited his mother’s tea room, the fear he felt each time he passed the door to his father’s stale library, a book of poems by Thomas Chatterton and that particular day when he sat at the pond alone. For something happened in the late hour of that afternoon. He sat watching the rings of ripples grow around his tiny spinning boats in the water, listening to the croak of a concealed, lone toad and the hoots of wild geese hunting for their winter home across the gray sky. Then it happened. It lasted for a moment but a moment that appeared to throw away all time.

He looked up to watch the flock of geese pass by. The black branches of an ominous oak clawed at the sky like some ancient, crippled beast scraping its tentacles against a pane of silver light. He looked down into the water for a sudden burst of light in the atmosphere nearly blinded him. He saw his reflection in the pond. He held his breath or could not breathe, maybe he had shrieked for the image terrified him. He was standing now and could see his entire figure in the water; a thin little boy with messy golden locks and blue eyes like gleaming sapphires and... wings! The whole world seemed upside down. He saw himself as an angel and it horrified him. He dared not look back up into the clouds for he was afraid he’d find a hole through which perhaps his subtle body had fallen. He never saw the angel again.

A discarded light from the street lamps along the quay beside the Arno made sharp arrows over the river that had by now gone black. Shelley rose and ascended the bank, snatching his long gray coat at the collar where buttons were lost and tried to bow his head under the harsh current of the wind.

He reached the Piazza Solferino where the very last rays of a tangerine sunset seemed to singe the edges of brown leaves drifting clumsily off chestnut trees. The square was fairly empty. A few parked carriages, a street musician wrapping his guitar in a tattered wool cloth, the shadowy lamplighter making his rounds and the rose colored glow in the two tall windows of a crowded restaurant. The bells of San Nicola struck at six o’clock. He stopped to listen, a habit he had developed since his exile into Italy, to simply stop and stand still for those few moments of ringing. He didn’t pray, he didn’t think, he didn’t speak, just breathed and listened. San Sepolcro, Santa Croce, Saint Marks, Saint Peters, San Giorgino Maggiore; the bells of each church unique to his attention. The bells of Westminster Abbey or any cathedral he’d lived by in England only reminded him of time, wrung his nerves, made him worry. A sort of bell toll anxiety he experienced even on his wedding day, or rather, both wedding days.

He turned onto the Lungarno Pacinotti, a wide avenue that traced the river. The chilly air forced him to quicken his stride. He watched a fisherman ahead, dragging his net out of the water and onto the shore. It was filled with silver perch flapping away. But that’s not what Shelley saw. He saw a woman’s body; silver, bloated, frozen, dead. The same body he saw in his mind when Mary returned from the post that afternoon and read him the letter, the only way she could, quickly, without expression, her voice laden, calm and dry.

“Harriet Westbrook, age 26, found drowned in the Serpentine. Cause of death, suicide.”

He had neither seen nor communicated with his ex-wife for ten years. The news did not shock him and his demeanor remained as blank as Mary’s. He went into his attic den alone for an hour. Then tucking the manuscript in his jacket left the apartment quietly, telling her he was off to Byron’s early. Instead, he went to the river, knowing ‘the haunting’ was about to return. He had seen ghosts all over Field Place as a child. He even discovered their hideouts and would often sneak into the pantry, the coal cellar or beneath the stair just to sit with them for the moments before he was found out. In college, in London, in Whales, in Ireland... wherever he’d traveled since, the ghosts would follow. By now such episodes had become a kind of state that was so familiar, that although it made him ache, like bouts of loneliness or sadness, he saw the spectral visitors as natural invitations into the enigma of the mind. He accepted his visions as markers or signs, invisible notices of eviction from one house of the spirit into another. The doctors called his visions ‘hallucinations,” but Shelley believed more in the ghosts than the doctors.

“Good evening!” The happy fisherman called up to Shelley who was scuffling along the road above the riverbank.

“Good evening.” Shelley echoed, “Looks like you have a good catch there.”

“A very good catch. Buona sera, Signore.”

He felt free of the haunting as he crossed the Ponte della Fortezza where the reflection of the street lamps blurred on the dark river. He walked on until he reached the steps of the Palazzo Lanfranchi, which he had named, “Lord Byron’s Circean Palace,” for the enormous rooms were forever littered, with not only a tropical menagerie of plants but also all kinds of exceptional animals.

“What a sorcerer you are, my Lord.” Shelley had commented when he first encountered Byron’s collection of pets in Ravenna, “I see you’ve brought Cicero back from the underworld in the form of a ferret and metamorphosed the old stoic Seneca into an owl!”

Byron had laughed, then added quite seriously, “You know, when I was at Cambridge I kept a grizzly bear in my rooms and I must confess that at one point I truly believed he was Marcus Aurelius Antonius himself.”

Although the bear was no longer a part of Byron’s zoo, the spectacle of his domesticated animals never ceased to amaze Shelley. As he crossed the Palace’s threshold, even though he’d done so one hundred times before, the scenery helped to lighten his thoughts and soon enough he became almost giddy.

In the foyer he was greeted by two German shepherds, composed as the Queen’s guards, while a majestic falcon perched on the head of a statue of Hermes in its center. Next, in the front hall, he paraded past an army of cats curled up upon the embroidered cushions of French rococo chairs that were set flush against the long frescoed wall. Byron’s three white monkeys were swinging in mocking gaiety from a monstrous glass chandelier. One of the monkeys bounced down into the corridor and the cats hunched up and hissed. He turned into a gallery where he was spied upon by the incandescent eyes of peacocks opening their feathers like a lady’s fan and when he reached the stairs to the second story, he was forced to experience a philosophical confrontation with a wandering Egyptian crane. At the entry to Byron’s private lodgings, a set of purebred Russian wolfhounds lounged on wooden benches at either end of an enormous hearth, perpetually oblivious to the sporadic swarms of yellow canaries flying in and out of the lush green ferns of potted plants. And finally, as he climbed the stairs, the echoes of fiery red and mint blue parrots aligned along the banister sang out in scratchy harmony, “The King is dead! The King is dead!”

Byron’s butler informed Shelley that the gentlemen were in the billiard room. He entered through the open door very quietly, clinging to the shadows elongated against a paneled wall by a blazing fire. They were playing a close game, Williams and Byron against Trelawny and Robert Southey. He sat down in a green velvet chair that was tucked into a discreet corner. Across the room sat Thomas Moore, crouched on the sofa, reading the fresh ink of Byron’s newest poem with a crinkled brow. They were all sipping sherry out of thin crystal glasses whilst Robert Southey captivated them with an animated review of his recent encounter in Switzerland.

“And just as we were leaving the hotel with the predicted blizzard upon us, Mr. Wordsworth wrapped his scarf around his long neck and ended our conversation about ‘Mad Shelley’ by saying, ‘A poet who has not produced a good poem before the age of twenty five, we may conclude, cannot and never will do so.’ In all earnest, I mentioned Shelley’s Queen Mab but Mr. Wordsworth just growled and said, ‘Won’t do. This hairy fellow is our flea trap!’ The words of William Wordsworth I tell you! Straight from the mouth of the man who is sure to be England’s next poet laureate.” He then grew silent to watch Byron nudge his last ball just to the edge of the middle bumper. Southey grinned, tapped his cue stick three times on the floor, then bent over the table, squinting through his awkward monocle and biting a mole that hung, gathering spittle upon the bulb of his lower lip as he muttered, “Sorry, old man,” and pounced forward on his stick to win the game. The rest of the group laughed at the amusement but Byron did not. He rolled his dark eyes about the smoky room and noticed his friend hiding in the green chair and limped toward it instantly.

“Shelley! We didn’t hear you come in.”

“I didn’t want to disturb your game.” He stood and took a deep breath. The room was stuffy and smelled of burnished wood.

“Southey here had a run-in with Wordsworth in Geneva.” Byron gripped Shelley's slim wrist.

“I heard.” He warmly shook his hand.

Robert rushed to meet the young poet, his face pink with embarrassment, “I don’t think he’s ever even read your work, really. And the weather was abominable that day, we were all out of our wits, truly.”

“Pleased to see you again too, Robert.” Shelley bowed his head slightly, “But my dear sir, there is no need to apologize. Now I know what England’s finest contemporary poet has to say about my work and I respect him all the more for it.” He leaned toward Southey’s quivering shoulders and whispered bitterly, “As a matter of fact I never did write a good poem before I was twenty-five. I suppose that means the last four years have been quite a waste of time.” Shelley straightened his posture and tugged at his waistcoat as he turned to Byron with a clandestine wink and announced, “You know, I do believe that as of this very moment I shall throw away my quill and commit my life’s work to perfecting the art of bird watching.”

Southey’s meaty shoulders began to shake. Byron chummily slapped his back, “Come now ol’ chap, let’s don’t get unruffled. Shelley is teasing us. Let Wordsworth have his say! Our boy here probably doesn’t give a damn!”

Robert’s eyes widened then narrowed into slits like a snake before its prey. Byron quickly leapt between them and challenged Robert to another game. Trelawny offered Shelley a glass of sherry that he declined. Instead he accepted the loose pages Tom had finished reading, the seventh canto of Byron’s Don Juan, which he took to the green velvet chair with a sense of relief. But as he settled down to read it, Byron, who had crossed the room to obtain a better cue stick, stopped abruptly behind Shelley’s chair and whispered, “Shall we throw him to the dogs?”

Shelley grinned, “No. Let the monkeys have him.”

http://www.lizmckague.com/PUBLICATIONS.php

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roxannepporter · 7 years ago

Text

Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence

It all started with a blog post, in which former engineer Susan Fowler complained of the bro-culture at Uber which not only turned a blind eye to sexism and sexual harassment but suggested that it was the victim’s responsibility to work around it—or leave the company. She chose to do the latter late last year (and join Stripe), and then went public with what drove her out in February.

Her courage to recount how she had been propositioned by her boss in a series of messages on her first day of work (and when reported, her superiors ignored her complaints) prompted more survivors to come forward. A male employee claimed he was fired for reporting harassment to the company’s human resources department. The New York Times cited dozens of anonymous employees in an article that same month titled “Inside Uber’s Aggressive, Unrestrained Workplace Culture.”

Amidst this crisis, Uber CEO Travis Kalanick came into the spotlight for his own behavior: berating a company driver in a video that went viral in May, issuing company retreat “sex rules” in 2013, and prompting company president Jeff Jones, who left a well-regarded tenure as Target’s CMO last August to join the company, to quit in disgust. Yet he has stood above the fray because the company is so phenomenally successful, growing to 662 cities and 75 countries around the world and a valuation of nearly $70 billion.

Now he’s taking a leave of absence following a review process that started in February—and to reflect and grieve last month’s tragic death of his mother Bonnie in a boating accident. The audit of company practices related to the charges of sexual harassment was overseen by former US attorney general Eric Holder, while board member Arianna Huffington also stepped up to help investigate what was going on and to encourage employees to come forward.

1/ Today we updated employees re: Perkins Coie investigation. 20 terminated. 31 in training. 7 final warnings. 57 still under review.

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

2/ And here’s a further breakdown of the 215 claims: http://pic.twitter.com/yLhFGvgmlJ

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

Last week, 20-plus employees were fired as a result of the inquiry; then controversial SVP of business Emil Michael (who reportedly suggested covering up an exec junket involving escorts) was fired on Monday; now Kalanick himself is taking a three-month leave of absence to try to mend his ways, reflect on the brand’s toxic culture and fix his leadership style.

Learn more about the changes we're implementing to improve our culture and rebuild trust with our employees: https://t.co/r3rHI1JWf1 http://pic.twitter.com/fJo9z0kOTS

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 13, 2017

“The ultimate responsibility, for where we’ve gotten and how we’ve gotten here, rests on my shoulders,” Kalanick wrote in an email to staff today. “There is of course much to be proud of, but there is much to improve.”

Kalanick said he would be using the time to work on himself. Earlier this year, Kalanick acknowledged his management style needs improvement and the now 40-year-old CEO admitted he needed to “fundamentally change and grow up.”

The 13-page report by former Attorney General Eric H. Holder Jr. and his law firm, Covington & Burling, makes recommendations such as “reviewing Mr. Kalanick’s responsibilities and reallocating them, with an increased emphasis on a chief operating officer at the company. Uber should also appoint an independent chairman and create an oversight committee on the board, in an effort to bolster the checks and balances on management, according to the recommendations.”

Uber’s official response to the report:

“This morning, employees were presented the recommendations from Covington & Burling that were unanimously approved by the Board on Sunday. Implementing these recommendations will improve our culture, promote fairness and accountability, and establish processes and systems to ensure the mistakes of the past will not be repeated. While change does not happen overnight, we’re committed to rebuilding trust with our employees, riders and drivers.”

As Buzzfeed notes, the culture of sexism has taken a toll that continues: “Thirty-one Uber employees are in counseling and training, seven have received written warnings, and 57 cases are still open.” Going forward, per Holder’s report, it’s planning to use the Rooney rule in hiring, an NFL mandate that requires teams to interview at least one minority candidate when there’s a head coaching spot open.

Confirming Fowler’s and others’ complaints of a hard-charging culture that routinely turned a blind eye to harassment claims, the report found that “Of the more than 200 claims, Uber took no action in 100 cases. A quarter of the 215 claims were for discrimination, while 22% were regarding sexual harassment. Three claims were for ‘physical security,’ while 33 were for bullying.” The investigators checked into 215 complaints, some of which were reported on an anonymous hotline, with 57 complaints still under investigation.

Independent board member Bill Gurley commented after the report was released that Uber is “in a reputational deficit. It’s going to take us a while to get out of this. we have to hold ourselves accountable to a higher bar.” There will be more oversight for the board, which also must take some responsibility for not holding executives accountable.

Uber investors Mitch and Freada Kapor (who run a center for social impact) applauded the report and see it as an opportunity to reset its culture and values:

What came through loud and clear was the toxic culture that has taken Uber this far has to end. One of Silicon Valley’s unicorns, it has pursued growth at all costs and laid waste to human talent, creating an ethos of “faster” and above all else, insensitive to the human ecosystem it built.

The good news for companies and brands and consumers, Uber is making clear the new rules of engagement for brands today: zero tolerance for sexual harassment; more transparency; a mission beyond disruption and aggressive growth; more diversity at the top; and stricter controls on employee misbehavior, which has flourished with a lax attitude to imbibing at work.

Its C-Suite is being forced to be more diverse, recently adding Apple exec Bozoma Saint John (a woman of color) as its first CMO and Frances Frei as head of strategy.

Thrilled to welcome Harvard's Frances Frei to @Uber as SVP Leadership & Strategy. A real force for transformation. Can't wait to work w/ her https://t.co/GHKfHdFCbr

— Arianna Huffington (@ariannahuff) June 5, 2017

Perhaps one of the biggest surprises from Holder’s report is that Uber even had cultural values to begin with; here’s the excerpt with recommendations:

Reformulate Uber’s 14 Cultural Values . Uber should reformulate its written cultural values because it is vital that they reflect more inclusive and positive behaviors. To achieve this reformulation of the values, there are several steps Uber should undertake: work with an established and respected organization that is experienced in organizational change to restate the values with significant input from employees; consider further defining the values in a manner more accessible to and more easily understood by employees; adopt values that are more inclusive and contribute to a collaborative environment, including emphasizing teamwork and mutual respect, and incorporating diversity and inclusiveness as a key cultural value, not just as an end in itself, but as a fundamental aspect of doing good business; reduce the overall number of values, and eliminate those values which have been identified as redundant or as having been used to justify poor behavior, including Let Builders Build, Always Be Hustlin’, Meritocracy and Toe-Stepping, and Principled Confrontation; and encourage senior leaders to exhibit the values on a daily basis and to model a more collaborative and inclusive Uber culture. Leaders who embody these values should be part of the process of redefining Uber’s values and should be role models for other leaders within the company. All of Uber’s senior leaders should be responsible for embracing and communicating the reformulated values to employees.

The post Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence appeared first on brandchannel:.

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markjsousa · 7 years ago

Text

Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence

1/ Today we updated employees re: Perkins Coie investigation. 20 terminated. 31 in training. 7 final warnings. 57 still under review.

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

2/ And here’s a further breakdown of the 215 claims: http://pic.twitter.com/yLhFGvgmlJ

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

Learn more about the changes we're implementing to improve our culture and rebuild trust with our employees: https://t.co/r3rHI1JWf1 http://pic.twitter.com/fJo9z0kOTS

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 13, 2017

Uber’s official response to the report:

Uber investors Mitch and Freada Kapor (who run a center for social impact) applauded the report and see it as an opportunity to reset its culture and values:

Its C-Suite is being forced to be more diverse, recently adding Apple exec Bozoma Saint John (a woman of color) as its first CMO and Frances Frei as head of strategy.

Thrilled to welcome Harvard's Frances Frei to @Uber as SVP Leadership & Strategy. A real force for transformation. Can't wait to work w/ her https://t.co/GHKfHdFCbr

— Arianna Huffington (@ariannahuff) June 5, 2017

Perhaps one of the biggest surprises from Holder’s report is that Uber even had cultural values to begin with; here’s the excerpt with recommendations:

The post Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence appeared first on brandchannel:.

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lorraineromaine · 7 years ago

Text

Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence

1/ Today we updated employees re: Perkins Coie investigation. 20 terminated. 31 in training. 7 final warnings. 57 still under review.

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

2/ And here’s a further breakdown of the 215 claims: http://pic.twitter.com/yLhFGvgmlJ

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

Learn more about the changes we're implementing to improve our culture and rebuild trust with our employees: https://t.co/r3rHI1JWf1 http://pic.twitter.com/fJo9z0kOTS

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 13, 2017

Uber’s official response to the report:

Uber investors Mitch and Freada Kapor (who run a center for social impact) applauded the report and see it as an opportunity to reset its culture and values:

Its C-Suite is being forced to be more diverse, recently adding Apple exec Bozoma Saint John (a woman of color) as its first CMO and Frances Frei as head of strategy.

Thrilled to welcome Harvard's Frances Frei to @Uber as SVP Leadership & Strategy. A real force for transformation. Can't wait to work w/ her https://t.co/GHKfHdFCbr

— Arianna Huffington (@ariannahuff) June 5, 2017

Perhaps one of the biggest surprises from Holder’s report is that Uber even had cultural values to begin with; here’s the excerpt with recommendations:

The post Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence appeared first on brandchannel:.

0 notes

davisgordonc · 7 years ago

Text

Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence

1/ Today we updated employees re: Perkins Coie investigation. 20 terminated. 31 in training. 7 final warnings. 57 still under review.

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

2/ And here’s a further breakdown of the 215 claims: http://pic.twitter.com/yLhFGvgmlJ

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

Learn more about the changes we're implementing to improve our culture and rebuild trust with our employees: https://t.co/r3rHI1JWf1 http://pic.twitter.com/fJo9z0kOTS

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 13, 2017

Uber’s official response to the report:

Uber investors Mitch and Freada Kapor (who run a center for social impact) applauded the report and see it as an opportunity to reset its culture and values:

Its C-Suite is being forced to be more diverse, recently adding Apple exec Bozoma Saint John (a woman of color) as its first CMO and Frances Frei as head of strategy.

Thrilled to welcome Harvard's Frances Frei to @Uber as SVP Leadership & Strategy. A real force for transformation. Can't wait to work w/ her https://t.co/GHKfHdFCbr

— Arianna Huffington (@ariannahuff) June 5, 2017

Perhaps one of the biggest surprises from Holder’s report is that Uber even had cultural values to begin with; here’s the excerpt with recommendations:

The post Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence appeared first on brandchannel:.

0 notes

jubajunamobileapps · 7 years ago

Text

Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence

1/ Today we updated employees re: Perkins Coie investigation. 20 terminated. 31 in training. 7 final warnings. 57 still under review.

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

2/ And here’s a further breakdown of the 215 claims: http://pic.twitter.com/yLhFGvgmlJ

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

Learn more about the changes we're implementing to improve our culture and rebuild trust with our employees: https://t.co/r3rHI1JWf1 http://pic.twitter.com/fJo9z0kOTS

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 13, 2017

Uber’s official response to the report:

Uber investors Mitch and Freada Kapor (who run a center for social impact) applauded the report and see it as an opportunity to reset its culture and values:

Its C-Suite is being forced to be more diverse, recently adding Apple exec Bozoma Saint John (a woman of color) as its first CMO and Frances Frei as head of strategy.

Thrilled to welcome Harvard's Frances Frei to @Uber as SVP Leadership & Strategy. A real force for transformation. Can't wait to work w/ her https://t.co/GHKfHdFCbr

— Arianna Huffington (@ariannahuff) June 5, 2017

Perhaps one of the biggest surprises from Holder’s report is that Uber even had cultural values to begin with; here’s the excerpt with recommendations:

The post Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence appeared first on brandchannel:.

0 notes

michalewillard · 7 years ago

Text

Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence

1/ Today we updated employees re: Perkins Coie investigation. 20 terminated. 31 in training. 7 final warnings. 57 still under review.

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

2/ And here’s a further breakdown of the 215 claims: http://pic.twitter.com/yLhFGvgmlJ

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

Learn more about the changes we're implementing to improve our culture and rebuild trust with our employees: https://t.co/r3rHI1JWf1 http://pic.twitter.com/fJo9z0kOTS

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 13, 2017

Uber’s official response to the report:

Uber investors Mitch and Freada Kapor (who run a center for social impact) applauded the report and see it as an opportunity to reset its culture and values:

Its C-Suite is being forced to be more diverse, recently adding Apple exec Bozoma Saint John (a woman of color) as its first CMO and Frances Frei as head of strategy.

Thrilled to welcome Harvard's Frances Frei to @Uber as SVP Leadership & Strategy. A real force for transformation. Can't wait to work w/ her https://t.co/GHKfHdFCbr

— Arianna Huffington (@ariannahuff) June 5, 2017

Perhaps one of the biggest surprises from Holder’s report is that Uber even had cultural values to begin with; here’s the excerpt with recommendations:

The post Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence appeared first on brandchannel:.

0 notes

judithnegrin · 7 years ago

Text

Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence

1/ Today we updated employees re: Perkins Coie investigation. 20 terminated. 31 in training. 7 final warnings. 57 still under review.

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

2/ And here’s a further breakdown of the 215 claims: http://pic.twitter.com/yLhFGvgmlJ

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

Learn more about the changes we're implementing to improve our culture and rebuild trust with our employees: https://t.co/r3rHI1JWf1 http://pic.twitter.com/fJo9z0kOTS

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 13, 2017

Uber’s official response to the report:

Uber investors Mitch and Freada Kapor (who run a center for social impact) applauded the report and see it as an opportunity to reset its culture and values:

Its C-Suite is being forced to be more diverse, recently adding Apple exec Bozoma Saint John (a woman of color) as its first CMO and Frances Frei as head of strategy.

Thrilled to welcome Harvard's Frances Frei to @Uber as SVP Leadership & Strategy. A real force for transformation. Can't wait to work w/ her https://t.co/GHKfHdFCbr

— Arianna Huffington (@ariannahuff) June 5, 2017

Perhaps one of the biggest surprises from Holder’s report is that Uber even had cultural values to begin with; here’s the excerpt with recommendations:

The post Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence appeared first on brandchannel:.

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troybeecham · 4 years ago

Text

Today, the Church remembers St. Augustine of Hippo.

Ora pro nobis.

His mother, Monica or Monnica, was a devout Christian; his father Patricius was a Pagan who converted to Christianity on his deathbed.

Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying, but put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh to fulfill the lusts thereof.

Late have I loved Thee, O Lord; and behold,

Thou wast within and I without, and there I sought Thee.

Thou wast with me when I was not with Thee.

Thou didst call, and cry, and burst my deafness.

Thou didst gleam, and glow, and dispel my blindness.

Thou didst touch me, and I burned for Thy peace.

For Thyself Thou hast made us,

And restless our hearts until in Thee they find their ease.

Late have I loved Thee, Thou Beauty ever old and ever new.

Augustine was canonized by popular acclaim, and later recognized as a Doctor of the Church in 1298 by Pope Boniface VIII. His feast day is 28 August, the day on which he died.

Amen.

#father troy beecham #christianity #troy beecham episcopal #jesus #father troy beecham episcopal #saints #god #salvation #peace #theology

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claudiecvega · 7 years ago

Text

Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence

1/ Today we updated employees re: Perkins Coie investigation. 20 terminated. 31 in training. 7 final warnings. 57 still under review.

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

2/ And here’s a further breakdown of the 215 claims: http://pic.twitter.com/yLhFGvgmlJ

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

Learn more about the changes we're implementing to improve our culture and rebuild trust with our employees: https://t.co/r3rHI1JWf1 http://pic.twitter.com/fJo9z0kOTS

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 13, 2017

Uber’s official response to the report:

Uber investors Mitch and Freada Kapor (who run a center for social impact) applauded the report and see it as an opportunity to reset its culture and values:

Its C-Suite is being forced to be more diverse, recently adding Apple exec Bozoma Saint John (a woman of color) as its first CMO and Frances Frei as head of strategy.

Thrilled to welcome Harvard's Frances Frei to @Uber as SVP Leadership & Strategy. A real force for transformation. Can't wait to work w/ her https://t.co/GHKfHdFCbr

— Arianna Huffington (@ariannahuff) June 5, 2017

Perhaps one of the biggest surprises from Holder’s report is that Uber even had cultural values to begin with; here’s the excerpt with recommendations:

The post Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence appeared first on brandchannel:.

0 notes

josephgsanchez · 7 years ago

Text

Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence

1/ Today we updated employees re: Perkins Coie investigation. 20 terminated. 31 in training. 7 final warnings. 57 still under review.

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

2/ And here’s a further breakdown of the 215 claims: http://pic.twitter.com/yLhFGvgmlJ

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 6, 2017

Learn more about the changes we're implementing to improve our culture and rebuild trust with our employees: https://t.co/r3rHI1JWf1 http://pic.twitter.com/fJo9z0kOTS

— Uber Comms (@Uber_Comms) June 13, 2017

Uber’s official response to the report:

Uber investors Mitch and Freada Kapor (who run a center for social impact) applauded the report and see it as an opportunity to reset its culture and values:

Its C-Suite is being forced to be more diverse, recently adding Apple exec Bozoma Saint John (a woman of color) as its first CMO and Frances Frei as head of strategy.

Thrilled to welcome Harvard's Frances Frei to @Uber as SVP Leadership & Strategy. A real force for transformation. Can't wait to work w/ her https://t.co/GHKfHdFCbr

— Arianna Huffington (@ariannahuff) June 5, 2017

Perhaps one of the biggest surprises from Holder’s report is that Uber even had cultural values to begin with; here’s the excerpt with recommendations:

The post Uber Hits Culture Reset Button as CEO Kalanick Takes Leave of Absence appeared first on brandchannel:.

0 notes