#ever since i learned crochet . and then. cross stitch. and now this.. its just like

[3416]

learning to bead has felt like a highlight of my life tbh

[skvaderarts]

Hitaeth Chapter 45: Pastimes

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Forty-Five: Pastimes

Note: I rediscovered the Ghost in a Shell theme song Inner Universe last night at 4 am. Words are not enough to describe how it makes me feel. I just needed someone to know that. Enjoy the chapter.

(-~-)

They had long since passed the point of concern and fallen into the territory of worry.

Even equipped with the knowledge that time flowed differently in the underworld than it did in the human realm, and the reality that that was probably where he’d gone, the fact that the eldest Son of Sparda had been gone this long without a word was enough to make them worry. The young summoner has taken an impromptu trip furniture shopping just under a week ago, and today the furniture had been delivered for hell's sake. Where on earth had Vergil disappeared to?

V sat in the living room with Griffon, Shadow, and Flora, the latter of which was indulging in an interesting hobby for someone as young as she was: cross stitching. He’d been surprised to learn that she could do something like that in the first place, to be honest. V had never seen anyone aside from stereotypical older ladies indulge in such a practice, so it was a pleasant change of pace. She had also crocheted a few times as well, and her interests seemed to be split between them. But either way, he was intrigued by her skills.

Much to his fascination, she seemed to be able to do this while reading, using her abilities to turn the pages of the book and even move it a small distance. She’d even used her abilities to help move a few smaller pieces of furniture around the room when V had changed his mind on their placement and the movers had been long gone. It was the sort of ability that he would kill to have. He could only imagine how useful it would be to be able to read while he did random tasks around the house. He would get so much done!

From what he’d been told by her, it was extremely difficult to actually do what she did, and it had taken her years of practice to learn the fundamentals. She was only now going into more advanced studies, the very things she’d been reading up on while indulging in her hobbies. She’d also told him that his family's natural inclination towards things like air stepping, rappid dashing, and teleportation was genuinely fascinating to her since basically no one in her family knew how to do that without set doors to move them from place to place. From what he could tell, she lamented this somewhat, but was still clearly impressed by it. Perhaps it would be best to refrain from telling her that he could teleport. No need to get himself punched.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now what that scroll did.”

“You consented to have a spell placed over your home without understanding its effects first? Poor form.” She said with a mischievous smile, turning the page in the book and glancing over towards it as she continued her project. “No matter, I should have double-checked with you first. That’s my bad. It’s a general protection ward. Darkness cannot touch anything within the confines of this building. Think of it the way that movies always depict churches functioning. How demons cannot enter them because they are sacrosanct and such.”

He had to admit that was an interesting prospect. He hoped that it would actually work towards keeping demons at bay in the way that she had described. He was perfectly capable at holding his own in a fight with a few average demons, and didn’t have much trouble against some of the bigger ones, but that didn’t mean he wanted to have to fend them off every time that he left the house. They seemed to be attracted to him, and it probably wouldn’t be too difficult for them to just follow him home.

“So what in particular does it protect against? Just demons and the like? Or something else?”

“No, all manner of things. Fires, floods, pestilence. Anything unsightly. You name something run of the mill and it probably guards against it. And only those who you will to enter shall be able to step foot on the premises.” She sat the cross stitch project down and walked around the couch, en route to the kitchen. It was noon, and she would be remiss if she didn’t have a cup of tea.” It should significantly halt the progress of any negative effects placed on you as well. Can I get you anything?”

“One can only hope that the last thing you mentioned applies in this case.” He sighed softly, quietly acknowledging the fact that slowly but surely he did feel a change of some sort. It was hard to place exactly what it was going if anything, but he made a point of not dwelling on it. Anything that could slow the spread was welcome. “Nothing in particular. I’m open to recommendations.”

With a polite shrug and a nod, she headed towards the kitchen, leaving V alone with his thoughts and his familiars for a moment. He glanced over at Griffon, noting that the mouthy bird seemed to be snoozing on top of a pile of books that they had been sorting a short while ago. The pair had needed a break from that task, having spent the better part of the last week working on it. But at least they had reached the last box and he would soon be able to enjoy full shelves and rest his eyes before inevitably ruining them again with more reading. Perhaps another trip to Redgrave city could be in the cards at some point? Better yet, what had become of that flower that he’d brought Magnolia a while back? He had to remind himself to ask her about it. He couldn’t place why, but its omission from consciousness bothered him.

Peering over at the other end of the couch, he noticed that Shadow was awake now, the large panther seemingly just relaxing and enjoying the small amount of light that decorated the room they were in. It was a blissful sort of silence, the large panther clearly content with her current surroundings. He sometimes wondered what went on in her head. She was clearly an intelligent creature, equally as much as Griffon if not more so. She just couldn’t speak to him. And then there was the matter of his third familiar. What had become of Nightmare? It was something he thought about from time to time. Could he get him back? And would he have to endure the same treatment that he had the last time that he’d attempted to gain control over the demon?

He shuddered at the thought. He’d nearly died the first time… 

After several minutes of blissful silence, she returned with a tray that held a tea set. She had borrowed it from Magnolia when she’d informed her that she might be staying for a little while and simply couldn’t live without access to the tea. V had welcomed the surprise edition to his basically nonexistent dish collection, even if it was only temporary. He enjoyed most hot drinks given the fact that he was basically always cold. He had no reason to turn down a good cup of tea.

“Do you feel weaker at all? Is there anything noticeably different?” She asked as she put down the tray and sat down on the other end of the couch. She seemed to pick up on the fact that something was off suddenly. A sudden shift in the atmosphere that she couldn’t place but knew originated from him. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. After all, how else was she going to figure that out?

V looked at her quietly for what felt like forever but was actually just a few quiet seconds as he tried to figure out how to put what he felt into words. There was no pain, strangely enough, and there was no notable shift in his energy levels. He couldn’t say that he felt noticeably stronger or weaker. He just felt… different as though something had changed about him and he was searching every atom his body contained to try and figure it out. But regardless of the effort he put into doing that, he wasn’t getting anywhere.

“There is and there isn’t. I can’t say definitively. What I can say is that I hope this situation is taken care of before I am required to find out.” A pause then and then another sigh, as he took a sip of the tea that she had brought him. Whatever this was, it was delicious. “Perhaps it is simply knowing what may be over the horizon that’s the problem. Or it could be the not knowing. After all, how can I hope to know what Belial truly wants from me? I know it isn’t anything I want to have any part in, but aside from that, his mind is truly an enigma to me.”

She leaned over and rested her elbow on her shoulder, peering at him in a studied silence before recoiling slightly and leaning back against the couch. She too took a sip of her drink before placing it back on the shelf. It seemed that she was correct in her assumption that something might not be right, but not in the way that she had originally thought.

“You're having a hard time putting it into words, aren’t you?”

A nod then. Yes, he was having a problem doing that. It was strange to him how something as basic and nebulous as thinking about what the future might hold had such a profound negative effect on him that it genuinely unnerved him. Initially, he had assumed that it might be an effect of the curse, the negative influence of the devil prince weighing on him like a dark storm cloud looming in the distance, but the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if that was truly the case. Was it something more that he just couldn’t put his finger on?

“... Have you ever walked into a vast room filled with familiar objects, perhaps ones you placed their yourself and cross paths with often only to immediately know that something was out of place, but despite searching and searching in every conceivable spot that it could be, you found nothing and were forced to leave but unable to shake the fact that you know something isn’t right? And then you have to continue onward and the feeling starts to grow and grow until you just start to consider that maybe nothing was ever wrong in the first place and it was just you?”

She stared at him, not answering the question, but taking the time to think about what her answer might actually mean in the grand scheme of things. Was “loaded question” the correct term to use for something like that? No, this was much too personal and borderline philosophical for that to be the case. This had more to do with him than it did the effects of the curse. Perhaps the curse was causing him to dwell on things that he shouldn’t but she wondered if that was the actual cause of whatever thoughts had led him to saying something like that.

“When you say that, are you talking about the effect that the devil prince has over you that you can’t identify, or are you talking about yourself?”

For a moment, V just sat there. He was genuinely unsure as to how he could answer that question. He’d just considered that same thing in his own way, but hadn’t realized that it was the question he’d asked himself. Seconds turned into minutes as he just sat there, trying to place the part of his brain that might contain that answer. When nothing came to him, he simply sighed and decided to try his very best to actually put what he thought into words. He doubted that it would make any sense, but it was the only thing he could do at this point.

“Both, I suppose. I have my own personal issues to attend to. There is no denying that… but this situation certainly isn’t helping.”

“Understandable.” She said, taking a final sip of her tea. She then poured another, and began fixing it the way that she liked. “Then let’s do everything we can to get it sorted out. I have a feeling that things are going to work themselves out.”

V wasn’t entirely sure why her words affected him the way that they did, but he believed her. Perhaps it was because that was all that he could do right now. He had to continue to hold it together until his father returned, and then they could pitch the idea they had to him. All he had to do now was wait and keep calm in spite of his situation. From what he understood, it took about six weeks for his father and uncle to return from the underworld the first time, and they thought that they had only been gone for a few days. It was highly possible that Vergil simply hadn’t noticed the passage of time like they had. He would just continue to wait and see what happened.

The young summoner knew that he probably wouldn’t say as much, but he was glad that Flora was here to keep him company. He’d probably go crazy if he was forced to sit inside for his safety all day with just his familiars to keep him company. He adored them, but there was some merit to having a companion around, at least once in a while. In moderation, well, it was fine. But frequently? He’d literally move house before he’d accept the presence of constant, uninvited company.

But just as that thought entered his mind, a cold chill crawled up his spine. He had a strange feeling that something was wrong, and this time, it wasn’t anything having to do with him. Something was coming. He could just feel it.

(-~-)

“Honestly Dante, I’m never going to understand why you even try to play poker with me. You already know what’s going to happen.”

Cards hit the worn surface of the fold-out card table as Patty reached across the space between them and slid the black and red pieces towards her, shaking her head as she did so. Dante had never once succeeded in beating her, and it was mind-boggling to her that he still tried. At first, she had assumed that he had been allowing her to beat him as a young child, but as the years passed, she realized that he genuinely just sucked at any form of gambling.”

“You know, Patty, I was just thinking the same thing,” Trish said with a nonchalant shrug as she took another bite of the pizza that sat on the owner of the devil hunting establishment’s desk in the middle of the room. They had brought over a few after finishing up a job for Morrison. It was probably best to come over and pay their longtime friend a visit and distract Dante for a few minutes, at least from what Nero had told them when they had called to see how he was doing.

According to the youngest of the Sparda descendant quartet, Dante was only barely hiding the fact that he was actually starting to wonder where Vergil had gone off to and what he had managed to get himself mixed up with this time. How was he supposed to rest easy knowing that he could literally be anywhere doing anything? Vergil was capable and had certainly been through worse, but his previous track record with his brother proved that he wasn’t as indestructible as either of them would like to believe. And the fact that he had left angry hadn’t helped, either.

“Look Vergil… just come back already. You’ve gotta stop doing this to me. I’m getting too old to be worrying about you like this. And you’ve got kids. And grandkids. They all need you back here. Just… ” 

Dante thought to himself quietly, wondering if anyone noticed his intermittent silence. He smirked, shaking his head playfully as Patty stole all the chips yet again, only half paying attention to the game in the first place. He saw what his friends were trying to do, and he certainly did appreciate it, but he couldn’t help but worry over his twin. They had made quite a bit of progress in the short time that they had been back. Well, it was a short time in comparison to the lifetime that they had spent apart, but either way, not very long. It seemed unlike him these days to just leave and not say anything at all.

… Now he knew how Nero must have felt when he did that very same thing to him and left for six weeks to take a scenic tour of the underworld with Vergil. In retrospect, that had been a massive dick move, leaving him at the top of the Qliphoth to clean up the mess and wonder for the rest of his life if they would ever return. He hadn’t meant to do that to him, but it didn’t change the fact that that was actually what he’d done. Once Vergil returned and they all met up again, he would have to say as much. And he would return. Somewhere deep down, he just knew it. In one form or another, he always did. But for now, he would allow him to enjoy his peace and quiet with his family. He probably needed them now more than ever.

“I wonder how that brother of yours would do in a game against me? Do you think he’d win?” Patty said, making a funny face at Dante, clearly trying to snap him out of the slump he was in. He could only hide it so well, and in that moment that he had allowed his mind to wander, he had returned to a dark place that he didn’t like to visit. One that reminded him of when he had first met the lovely young blond girl.

“Absolutely not.” He said, noticing for a moment that his older twin would have probably said the very same should he have been there. He absolutely hated to lose, and despite the fact that he was certain that he had no idea how to play, he knew that he was pretty enough to learn just for this occasion. Or would that be driven? A mixture of both, then.

“Now that is something I would pay to see,” Lady announced from the other side of the room, laughing to herself as she stopped leaning on the desk and headed over towards the couch. Lucia shook her head and retracted her legs to provide her with room to sit. Dante had a comfortable couch, and she had made herself comfortable on it. Watching Dante play games with his young blond friend brought a happy smile to her face. She could tell that there was quite a bit of history between him and everyone in this room. It was good to know that he had so many friends that cared about him.

Even though I am not one for bets, especially coin tosses'' She shot Dante a fake grumpy glare, barely hiding the blush that formed on her face as he scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I wouldn’t mind taking that one.”

Both Lady and Trish shared a slightly wide-eyed glance between one another before looking at Lucia and then Dante. The three women then locked eyes and held their gazes for a moment before Lady shook her head and Trish just closed her eyes and laughed a bit to herself. Dante stared at all three of them in confusion, not noticing the mouth agape stare that was plastered across Patty’s face. But to be fair, that wasn’t the only thing he didn’t notice.

Across the office, the distant sound of a low, barely audible sound became noticeable, stopping every few moments before continuing, barely louder each consecutive time. The door was locked due to the fact that they were closed for the time being, so it could literally have been anything from a stray cat to a random member of the public who had wandered in off of the street. But after a moment, each set of eyes in the building started to drift towards the door. They all seemed to feel the strange pull that drew their collective attention towards it. 

It was a sort of nebulous empty feeling that lined the bottom of their stomachs and made them strangely uneasy. It grew with every passing second until Dante stood up and the rest of them slowly inched towards their weapons, silently preparing for… something. Lucia grabbed Patty and gently pulled her to the side, tucking her between the couch and the stairs as far as she could from the door, and both of the other girls retrieved their larger weapons. 

Lady checked the chamber on her newly upgraded rocket launcher that she had finally retrieved from Dante, and Trish opted to fish a random blade out of the storage closet across the hallway through the back door that faced Vergil’s room. For a moment she thought it was Alastor, but she couldn’t be sure. Her mind was elsewhere. Whatever Devil Arm it was, it would work for now. And if it didn’t, then her lightning and guns would have to do the trick.

Moment’s later, there was a feeble knock at the door. It was louder this time than it had been, or that could have just been the lack of sound in the room now. Even the Jukebox had switched off, hitting its last track. An uncomfortable hushed silence fell over the room. Then, a loud slam and a thump followed by silence. And before any of them could move, something caught their eye. A thick, red substance pooled under the door.

(-~-)

Gah! Sorry, this chapter is SEVERAL hours late. I overslept again. Until like 9 pm. And hadn't finished it. What even is my life lol. This is what running a Minecraft server has done to me lol. Anyone looking to join lol?! Either way, see you in the comment section! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and see you next Wednesday!

[rueur]

Morning Pages No. 61

Monday 24th August - 1:04pm

I know that it’s a bit late in the day to start this entry, but I needed another bit of a morning off. Evan and I had an early night last night but we had sex first. We were both so tired afterwards due to consistent daily workouts, that we ended up falling asleep naked and staying asleep till about 8am. To be clear, we went to bed around 10:30pm, so it was a long night of sleep for both of us. I’m grateful for it though, because even though my calves still hurt like crazy, I do feel refreshed and like the healing process is underway. What did we do this morning? The son of a bitch restarted Breath of the Wild and we’ve both been playing on his new save file. I have to buy another copy of that game because I really want to replay it now. Even so, I have a lot of work to do and I’m yet to make proper headway on Julie’s new site. It’s coming along relatively fine in Squarespace but I’ve only worked on it for about an hour and I’ve yet to add the privacy policy and finetune a lot of the product links. I feel like we’ll absolutely need to add some copy for the products, and definitely put a disclaimer about the use of fabric softener either at the top of the description or below...or both? It’s pretty important.

I’ve been chatting to Sarah on Whatsapp. I feel like Sarah is a bit of a better influence on me than Wren, but I hate that I’m comparing them both in my head. I just feel a bit disheartened in my relationship with Wren, because of all the horrid experiences I’ve had with them over the course of this year. It’s been quite confronting to see how Wren acts when they’ve decided they’re in a more dire situation than me...like I’m not even sure if that’s what’s happened, but that’s what it’s felt like to me. I can’t understand how they’ve just been able to decide that just because they’re living alone, this time is harder on them? I don’t know. And even if it is harder, which I can admit that it most likely is, that doesn’t mean that I should have to incorporate addressing their pain into my life on a daily basis. I was willing to chat every day. But I also don’t want to feel like my life has to be placed on hold for them, whenever they may want me. I’ve felt like that enough in this friendship as it is. I’ve given them whatever I’m capable of giving, and I’ve given them a hell of a lot more than I’ve given any other friend I have ever had. Except, maybe, for Malith. But Malith has certainly given me more than I’ve given him. Goddamn. I’m fighting the urge to delete this whole paragraph, but I deserve to express myself. This year has been fucking hard for me. I’ve not been suicidal, because that part of my life is over. Even if Evan and I break up, that part of my life will always always be over. It’s no longer an option in my head, to go down that route. It’s a time-waster. There are better things to do than yearn without end, than wish for better than you’ve got. I’ve been dealt both a bad and good hand, and it’s only bad because I see it as so. It’s only good because I see it as so. Wren needs to learn that everyone has fucked up mums, figuratively speaking. Everyone has SOMETHING that they wish they had lived without. Everyone has SOMETHING that they wished was just a smidge better than it was. I don’t want any part of explaining all the fucked up shit that has happened to me over the course of my childhood. I don’t want to have a dick-measuring contest when it comes to depression and trauma. Fuck that. I’d much rather live in the present and be happy with the life I’ve built for myself. Even Wren needs to feel their privilege to a certain degree. It would be ludicrous if they didn’t. Two apartments, a job that they love that compensates them really fucking well, and an abundance of resources that provides them with independence and agency. I have so little of all that they have, and I’m working my ass off for next to nothing in return, just building up a resume that may not even receive a stolen glance at the end of all of this mindful building. Who knows? My fate rests in the hands of people who I feel quite sincerely don’t want me to succeed. I have a name and face and degree that is just...unhireable. But I don’t let that beat me the fuck down, because I know that I work harder and fucking smarter than anyone else on that pile of resumes. So I keep going, knowing that my work will become of a benefit to whichever organisation I end up representing.

My whole being right now is just revolving around entering the industry, like properly becoming a content writer and being able to actually use my degree to begin to pay off that motherfucking HECS debt. I know I’m swearing a fucking lot, but I feel like it’s actually helping me so I’m not going to stop. I don’t care who reads this and who judges me for it because at the end of the day, you’re the ones reading these sensitive pages on a blog that I’ve told nobody about. How did you get here?

I’m feeling paranoid, fired up. I can feel it in my fingers. My hands are freezing cold, and Evan’s in the one room that has the heater and he’s sitting there on his ass with the door shut. And I’m starting to feel like maybe I always find myself on the outside because I allow myself to get there. I have to start standing up for my damn self, but also...I know how to choose my battles, I suppose. Is it knowing how to choose your battles if you partake in a MINIMAL number of battles? Like a fractional amount of battles to the battles that you could have potentially fought in? Fuck. Nicky’s sleeping on my white vest. I may need to patch that up, but the inner fabric is so sheer, I’m not entirely sure how it’ll respond to a needle and thread. I may need excess fabric...we’ll see.

My cross-stitch order is on the way, and I’m excited to begin this new activity. I bought a hot air balloon pattern for Wren, I’m not sure if I’ve already said that. I’m looking forward to learning how to do this, because apparently it’s quite similar to knitting? Or at least the basics of knitting. I’ve heard that cross-stitch is a good introduction to knitting. After this, it may be good to see if I can give crochet a go too, but it’s also a little bit intimidating. I mean crochet is all about three-dimensional creations, whereas cross-stitch and knitting are generally more...patterned art, scarves, and blankets. Still functional, but more veering on the side of two-dimensionality. I’m a touch surprised that ‘dimensionality’ is a word. It feels like the kind of word that a primary school-aged student would assert is ‘ACTUALLY A WORD’, even though you know it’s not. OH, listen to this fresh hell! That ‘SNACCIDENT’ Typo lunch mug thingo we have says that the word ‘SNACCIDENT’ is a VERB, which is plain RIDICULOUS. If the word ‘accident’ is a noun and they’re claiming that ‘SNACCIDENT’ is a verb, then a sample sentence using that word would read as follows: ‘Henry snaccidented’. VERBS ARE FUCKING DOING WORDS. In no CONCEIVABLE UNIVERSE would ‘SNACCIDENT’ be considered a VERB. My fucking lord. These pages are just RAGE-FILLED, aren’t they? Which is actually pretty interesting, because I don’t feel mad? I feel fine. I feel a little bit annoyed that it’s almost 1:30pm and I’ve not done a lick of work either today or yesterday. I’m thinking I should send Julie a text today asking if she’d be free to meet up again sometime early next week, maybe Tuesday or Wednesday? I feel like I could make great progress on the website during that time. We shall see what happens. We shall see what I eventually get around to doing. I need money, gosh darn...

I feel like I’ve been writing a lot about money during these pages, and I understand why. Money has become a bit of an issue for me since moving out, which I know...doesn’t necessarily need to be said. But you must understand that I’m studying AND working AND working AND working AND working. And I’m still not making that much. It’s frustrating. I’m trying not to think about it right now because of lockdown and the fact that the bulk of my situation is currently out of my own control, but this is all really because of the house. Just knowing that Evan and I are ready for that step is enough for me to just want it now. The issue is - as is usually the case - MONEY. If we had enough for at least a 10% deposit, that would be insane. But a 10% deposit on a house valued at $500,000 is $50,000, and combined we only have HALF of that. If we could potentially get some rich parents or guardians to match what we have, then we could actually do it. But who even has rich parents or guardians? And I don’t think my dad would sign off on this until maybe after we’re married? I’m fighting the urge to go check if the house is still even listed online. I’m hopeful that it’ll be up until we have the money. Or maybe until we can get to a combined $30,000, to give us a bit of a buffer once we’ve given the rest of our money to whichever gross corporation decides to grant us a loan. Ahhhhhh. Why does this world try its hardest to strip you of all your agency? Why is it that so many people struggle to even find a place to be? A place to call their own? It’s cruel. I can only hope this archaic order is on its way out. I was hoping the realities of climate change, or police brutality, or perhaps even COVID-19 would pave the way for the people’s revolution, but I now feel it may be something more innocuous, more unexpected. Something that the bigwigs won’t see coming, as the people themselves won’t see it coming. Even so, everybody knows that it’s on its way. The ultimate fight between the oppressors and the oppressed, and the one brawl that may reveal the future of western society. Democracy is indeed dead. We’ll see how quickly the next system comes into place, and exactly whose side that system will be on. And as for the universal base income, I find myself rooting more and more for it, but I also know that it may be provided to us as a band-aid, built to keep the people’s revolution at bay. But as long as there are billionaires, there’s no way that the revolution won’t be coming. Exponential growth cannot occur unless it’s built on the backs of millions, billions. This current system is just not economically viable, which is ironic considering that ‘economic strength’ is usually the reason capitalists vouch for capitalism. I believe capitalists are just people who haven’t shirked their ‘American Dream’ yet, who basically still believe in Santa Claus. I’m not even sure what to call myself. A social capitalist? I believe people should feel compelled to build their businesses and to innovate their industries, but I don’t believe in penalising those who have ‘valueless skills’. I also refuse to believe there is such a thing as a ‘valueless skill’. Perhaps being able to write stream of consciousness entries is a valueless skill. That may be the only thing.

[eatbreathewrite]

The Adventures of Todd and Granny

(Alternatively: “I Saw Granny Ethel with the Devil”)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

Grocery Store

Todd the demon is a he, now, if only because Granny Ethel insists upon using copious ‘Dear boy, keep trying’ and ‘Atta boy!’ critiques to varying degrees depending on how well his needlework, crochet, and knitting attempts progress.

Gender isn’t a concept the demon concerned himself with before. If Todd had been, say, a girl named Tonya, he supposes he’d be a she instead. If Todd had been gender-neutral and properly communicated with his grandmother, he supposes she would call him they or child, appropriately. Granny Ethel isn’t one to discriminate. Even when she properly wears her glasses and sees his obviously un-Todd-like appearance, only shaking her head and smiling with a good-natured “kids these days” on her lips. But he wouldn’t mind if Granny Ethel called him boy, girl, thing, or abomination, so long as she stayed happy.

Granny Ethel is a patient woman. Todd simply can’t understand why or how she’d become the black sheep of her family, especially after a full week of living with her hospitality. Through the constant baked goods and the modest but satisfying three-meals-a-day; the careful (oh-so-careful) dusting of trinkets and bookshelves with tiny cloths and feather dusters not fit for large claws, which he insists upon doing while she looks on in worry before brewing more coffee; the midday television re-run breaks spent sealing cash donations into envelopes and discussing human rights issues instead of watching old shows, he simply can’t think of her as anything but a paragon of her kind.

It’s a problem with them, he concludes. Not her.

It isn’t a decision he makes lightly.

Spending such a brief time with her, he’s already learned so much more about humans than he ever would have cared to know, beyond perceiving them as vessels or a means to an end. There is much suffering in the world—sometimes even more than that in Hell—but there is also kindness.

He’s known that, but he witnesses it first hand during their first trip outside of Granny Ethel’s home.

“Come, now, Todd, we have much shopping to do. I’m afraid my pantry isn’t stocked appropriately for the upcoming food donation drive and I can’t just skip it this month.”

Todd remembers addressing an envelope to the local food bank—most people would stop there, figuring their good deed was done.

“I also have to stock up on this week’s groceries. Feel free to buy whatever you want, dear. I can cook anything, you know! At least, I try. I suppose you’d like some snacks, too. But I am so glad you’re here; think of all the bags we can carry between the two of us!”

There is no car in Granny Ethel’s driveway, or a garage to store it. He wonders how they’re going to make it to the grocery store as he waits for her to lock the door behind them, as she hobbles down the two small concrete steps with her cane in hand.

It isn’t until she’s halfway down the sidewalk that he realizes they’re walking. In public.

An old crone in black and a demon at her side, wearing a handmade shawl so lovingly stitched with various, terrifying occult symbols.

He isn’t the only one who sees a problem with this—the neighbor’s dog, a small, bug-eyed thing, yaps indignantly at them from the front lawn as it bounces around the dewy grass at its owner’s feet, soon erupting in warning yowls and howls, before falling silent mid-yip when Todd locks eyes with it. The neighbor—Maurice, if he remembers Granny Ethel’s gossip correctly—stands frozen, watering can dangling limp from his hand as he overwaters the begonias at his feet, mouth hanging open in undignified disbelief.

“Good morning, Maurice!” Granny Ethel calls with unmitigated cheer, and a hint of pride. “Nice morning, isn’t it? Oh! Have you met my wonderful grandson Todd? He finally came to visit! We’re going shopping now. Will you watch my house?”

Maurice simply stares, dumb with shock.

Halfway down the block, another neighbor’s car brakes with a squeal before they make it out of the driveway and they stick their head out of the window to gape.

Shutters crack open. Curtains are shoved aside.

Before Todd knows it, they are the cul-de-sac’s center of attention.

Granny Ethel doesn’t pay it any mind and continues obliviously on, waving to each face in turn as those faces pale, yet hers remains rosy.

“My, such a busy day today. I haven’t seen everyone out like this since the Fourth of July block party. Oh, if you’re still here during summer, Todd, we should definitely take part. Maybe we should start knitting an American flag for the occasion. What do you think?”

He can only nod.

They make it to the grocery store without incident—aside from the broken fire hydrant caused by a distracted driver and the one, single person who ran away screaming, and the handful that crossed themselves, and the one person bold enough to snap a picture with their phone before Todd grabbed it from their hands and threw it while Granny Ethel wasn’t looking, too distracted with how well the city’s roadside flowers were blooming—and Todd, ever the gentledemon, takes a small shopping cart from its line and trails behind Granny Ethel as she consults the list taken from her purse.

As expected, those within the store stop and stare. Even the calming elevator music jolts to a pause.

A young man in an employee vest, who looks high, shoots Todd the demon-horn hand sign and smiles before swaggering away to the frozen food aisle, and the manager meekly approaches them, skirting around a fresh fruit display.

“Ma’am, is there—is there something I can—do you need help?” he asks, sweating from his receding hairline to his neck as he tugs at his collar and straightens his frumpy tie.

“Oh! I’m so glad you asked. I didn’t see any sales circulars by the door—what kind of specials are on right now? Particularly on things like pizzas and cereals and whatever else young men like to eat.” Granny Ethel leans in close to the man, close enough to loudly whisper, “See, my grandson here is a quiet, shy boy despite his appearance, and I don’t think he’d ask me himself, but I bet he’d love to get some junk food to snack on between meals.”

The manager’s eyes widen, blood-shot, as he looks to Todd, who only smiles—which comes off as terrifying, he’s certain, with all the sharp teeth and red eyes involved.

“S-SURE! Junk food. Right. Um—uh, w-well, I think there’s a BOGO—buy one get one free—deal on the frozen pizzas. Uh…most cereals are marked down right now…th-there’s a sale on potato chips…hot dogs…” His voice trails off, too burdened with trembles and fear as he continues to hold Todd’s gaze. “And—you know, I’m sure some other employee can help you, ma’am. I’m not one anymore as of this moment. I QUIT.” That said, he yanks the flimsy plastic nametag from his shirt and runs for the door, followed by half of the shoppers who abandon their carts and drop their baskets, scattering groceries everywhere.

Granny Ethel watches him go, then sighs. “He must have been overworked and stressed. I almost walked out on a job a long time ago for the same reasons, but I needed it. You be careful of corporate America, Todd.”

He takes her words to heart, and he fully agrees.

Shoppers that remain in the grocery mart avoid them at all costs as they meander through the frozen food section, the bread aisle, the junk food corner—and Granny Ethel pays them no mind, filling the cart to the brim with refills of groceries she needs back at home and treats she thinks Todd needs more of in his life. He supposes he does, if she says he does. Far be it from him to contradict her adolescent-savvy wisdom.

Even so, the single shopping cart is far too small for all of the spoils—halfway through the shopping list, he finds them in need of another. It isn’t an issue. Many are left scattered, abandoned, around almost every corner. By the end of the list, both carts are full to the brim, and Granny Ethel is simply beaming.

The checkout lines are deserted—they have their pick. Although only one station is manned by a clerk, and it greatly narrows their choice.

As Todd wheels the two shopping carts to the register, he recognizes the young employee from before, who once again shoots him the demon-horn hand symbol.

“Love your poncho, dude,” Sam (as his nametag reads) comments with a bit of a tired drawl, and there are dark shadows under his eyes as expected from an overworked youth on minimum wage, but he is otherwise energetic, quickly scanning each of the items set on the conveyor belt, and smiling at demon and old woman in turn. “Did the little lady here knit that for you?”

“Crocheted!” Granny Ethel corrects with a grin, preening like a proud parakeet. “It does suit him, doesn’t it? Of course, I would never make something that didn’t suit my dear grandson. He must always be well-dressed.”

“You seem like a really supportive gramma. That’s cool. When I was in my super hardcore death metal phase, mine just dragged me to church every Sunday.” A digital beep accompanies nearly every word as he skillfully rings up each grocery down the line.

“Oh, I would never do that. Mainly because I no longer belong to a church. And also because Todd seems so averse to discussing Bible passages, so I never force him.”

At this, Todd gives a wry smile. He places the final handful of groceries onto the conveyor belt and sidles around Granny to the other side of the checkout, bagging the groceries that have already been scanned. It seems the official bag boy has fled in fright.

“I can imagine. Never one for religion, myself. Oh, and you’re eligible for the senior citizen’s discount, so let me just…” Sam pauses a moment to key in a code on the register and it dings. “Aaand, there. Your total comes out to $204.56. Stocking up for the winter already? It’s only March.”

“Oh, dear, no. Half of this is for the food drive!” Granny Ethel chuckles good-naturedly as she leans her cane against the counter and digs through her small pocketbook and produces a checkbook, then dives back in to search for her favorite pen.

Sam turns to Todd while awaiting payment. “By the way, dude, that costume is killer. I’ve never seen anything so realistic, with the added bonus that you scared the boss away! Totally made my day. My week, even.”

Todd gives a nod, happy to be of service, even if it isn’t a costume. He can’t exactly say it aloud. Perhaps one day he’ll learn how to speak English coherently, but for now nonverbal cues work just fine.

Finally, Granny Ethel finds her pink, plastic jewel-encrusted ballpoint pen and makes out a check to DeVille-Mart, even going so far as to take one of the heavier paper bags for herself, never one to make Todd carry all of the groceries himself. “You have a wonderful day, young man. Thank you.”

“Y’all have a great day, too, Ma’am.” Sam offers a toothy smile, and it seems sincere enough as he sees them off with a lazy wave “Hope to be seeing you shop here again.”

Todd isn’t so sure they’ll ever return once upper management hears about this visit, but it’s nice to know they are accepted by at least one individual.

“Now, Todd, let’s get to the food bank. We have such a long day ahead of us. But there’s a reward at the end of it—I bought ingredients specifically for chocolate turtle brownies!”

If the visit to the food bank is in any way similar to this excursion—and it will be, he decides, as yet another gawking driver’s car slow-collides with the corner vending machine when they pass through the automatic doors—they have a long day ahead of them, indeed.

[bloodystrider]

(( ALL OF THEM

Getting to know you Questions for the Mun! 

(( I will get you back for this!!Splitting these up between both asks so its not hella long for one Undercut! ))

🎂- When's your birthday?

December 7th!

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦- What's your family like?

An everyday family, we all hate each other until they do something for us then we like them for like two minuets then go back to hating each other again

🐶- Favorite animal?

Fox!!!! I can not tell you how hard it was to not cry when i was able to hold a baby fox bc i love them so much

🔶- Favorite color(s)?

For dark colors; Red and blackFor light colors; Pink, Babyblue, purple

🎥- Favorite movie?

The nightmare before christmas!! and also Mama mia, Jay got me hooked on that one

📺- Favorite TV show?

good questionI dont actually have control over the tv so?? i litterally never watch it??

🎞- Favorite cartoon/anime?

Anime; Yuri on ice, Servamp, and tokyo ghoul are all tied for firstCartoon; Steven universe 

🍔- Favorite food?

Chicken strips, not joking if a place has them there is a 95% chance thats what ill get

🍦- Favorite ice cream flavor?

Blue bunny (i think its blue bunny) make the BEST salted caramel ice cream thats my favorite flavor, i get it whenever i get ice cream

🍭- Favorite candy?

Sour gummy worms

🍸- Do you drink?

Every now and then (meaning once every couple years) ill have a tiny glass of sprite mixed with dr mcgillicuddy cherry, (it just tastes like cherry sprite) but if i drink anymore then that or any other kinds (especially wine) i get horrible stomach aches so no, i dont really drink bc it hurts my stomach 

👣- What do you like to do in your spare time?

Cross Stitch, Crochet, Draw, Sew, play games on my phone

⚽️- Do you like any sports?

Badmittens pretty fun but thats about it

🎮- Favorite video game(s)?

PC ones; Bendy and the ink machine, Outlast, The evil within 

⛪️- Are you religious?

I think so

⌛️- Last thing you did before logging in?

Get outta bed

🎈- Share a childhood memory!

I once went to an aquarium with my gma and little sister and we got to pet seapancakes and see jellyfish and thats where i learned im afraid of being under deep water becuase they have tunnels that you go through and the fish swim over you. I got the cutest seapancake plushy tho!

🛍- What was the last purchase you made for?

According to my account; A ipod charger ima probably have to return bc i dont think itll fit the ipod i have

💸- If you had a billion dollars and could only spend it, what would you buy first?

A house so i can get out of this hell 

🖌- Are you artsy?

Yess

❤️- How would you describe yourself?

A gay potato with anxiety and depression whos just trying to live his life

💛- How do other people describe you?

I have no idea

⭕️- Favorite Pokemon?

Leafeon!! 

💠- what is the Most expensive thing you own?

My phone, its like 200$

⚜- What is the most precious thing you own?

I have a little piano music box that an old friend sent me and it still means alot to me becuase he remembered the time i told him i love music box’s 

🐻- Do you have any stuffed animals?

I have to manyJUST on or near me/my bed i have a huge stuffed dog pillow pet, an Eevee plush, Bendy and Boris plush, A valentines day fox, a little TY fox, A stuffed unicorn, a bee pillow pet, A leafeon plush, and i think one moreThats not including the ones i have stuck away 

🐝- Favorite season?

Fall

🐋- share a Weird/funny story?

Once when my sisters, mom and gma and i think uncle all went out to eat, first my sister spilled her drink on my other sister then later on i spilled my drink on myself and ever since then there was a joke that stayed for a couple years of someone going “Keep your drink way over there becuase im sitting across from you and dont wanna be spilled on” 

[dcnativegal]

Maybe I am an artist

Zora Neale Hurston once said, “I love myself when I am laughing, and again when I’m looking mean and impressive.”   I could safely say, “I love myself when I am playing with yarn, and again when I’ve finished a project and taken a picture of it to post on Facebook.”

Moving to the Oregon Outback, and Valerie’s adorable loft house, has loosed whatever constraints I’d had in DC on yarn binging. Or am I stocking up for my new career as a fiber artist?   Perhaps my yarn buying behavior is yet another one of my compulsions. The Cambridge English Dictionary defines compulsion as a very strong feeling of wanting to do something repeatedly that is difficult to control. So why control it? I see an ad for yarn, I get an email from Webs.com, I get a notification that someone has posted “a yarn for sale” picture in Yarn Hoarders Anonymous on Facebook. If its bulky yarn, or very reasonably priced… I’ve hit up paypal before I know it. Or I do know it and I do it anyway.

But is it a bad thing? Why must I pathologize my yarn buying? I love my yarn. It gives me great joy to order it, anticipate it coming, then open the package (that Paisley’s patient and kind postmistress has hauled to her counter). I deeply enjoy planning what I’ll make with it. Occasionally I’ll open it and go, bleh, not what I had hoped for, but that stuff will find a place and a purpose, too. Yarnbombing with many strands of yarn at once will reduce my supply…

I dream of projects. When I want to stop obsessing about a client, or about my most recent blood sugar, or whatever really stupid thing I said that day (Open mouth, Insert foot), then I plan a project as I drift off to sleep. Something in purple, the color I have the most of. What kind of baby blanket will I make for the Holy Brother’s daughter’s love child? What kind of stitch will best cover the irrigation half wheel that Valerie salvaged? I plan to make a half sun full of oranges, yellows, and white, with a little purple and green thrown in. It will be 3 feet in diameter, and hung from the fence. It will be my second outdoor decoration, after the July 4th crocheted flag I tacked to a folding rectangular trellis and hung on the side of the house.

Why should we all use our creative power?  Because there is nothing that makes people so generous, joyful, lively, bold and compassionate, so indifferent to fighting and the accumulation of objects and money.                                        Brenda Ueland

 Perhaps I am subconsciously planning for my next career, although I learning and growing in my current one. This ‘behavioral therapist’ business is hard work. Lake County is the redheaded stepchild of Klamath County, which is supposed to share resources with its sister county to the east. It’s also the mostly ignored second cousin of Deschutes County which is just to the north and full of resources, people, stores… it’s where most north Lake County residents go for banking, pharmacy and grocery shopping. Anyway, the impoverishment of Lake County is only one of the reasons this old social worker finds the work challenging. I think most therapists struggle with at least some cases. The multiple early traumas that my clients had to cope with, on top of the challenges of modern life and the dearth of jobs and housing, combine to lay waste the most resilient psyche. Not to mention the recidivism of “substance use disorder”, the newest official term for what was once called addiction.  I do get a surge of joy when one of the clients graduates from their 12 weeks of sobriety and I can report to the probation officer that they are CLEAN.  They were clean before I knew them, however; I take no credit.

Treat people as if they were what they ought to be, and you help them to become what they are capable of being.    

Goethe

 I have no business plan for my next career as a fiber artist. I had an Etsy store once, and spent a lot of money on photography equipment (a huge white sheet and nice lights with umbrellas attached) to take pictures of my accomplishments. Didn’t really work. Maybe I didn’t promote it? I thought my prices were reasonable. I sold more by just mentioning something on facebook than I ever did on Etsy.  

I don’t really care, although I suppose I should, whether I make money from my creations. It would be nice to recoup some of the expense of the yarn, which is really pricey, even when I buy from other yarn hoarders. (Maybe I should have sheep in the side yard, sheer them, prepare their wool, spin it, dye it… yeah? No.)  I enjoy seeing my work wrapped around a friend’s shoulders in winter. I missed seeing the smile of delight when Valerie’s niece opened up the box and saw two, washable, gorgeous if I do say so myself, baby blankets at her twin baby debut. That delight is my payment. I did get a nice thank you note.

What I really love is making the stuff. I love selecting the yarns, picking the hook or needle size, and going at it. I don’t follow patterns, although I do learn stitches from youtube. I make shit up. I know how to fit a hat, and even fit a sweater, without a pattern, although mostly I make scarves and afghans. People don’t wear nice handmade sweaters anymore. They are too hot indoors, and too much of a pain to take on and off. Hats and scarves make more sense, and in winter, a beautiful lap blanket totally helps when the fire is beginning to go out. I think so anyway. My family members, and Valerie’s, get knit stuff for Christmas and so far, no one has taken me aside and said, Jane, “We have enough hats to last the rest of our lives… maybe a gift card??”  I think they are too polite to tell me; I just hope they’ve passed the hat along to another cold noggin.

When I ask myself, what do I have to do each day? One answer is I must crochet or knit. My hands itch to be making something, to follow a rhythm with a piece of wood and soft fur of sheep, rabbit, llama. Or the product of silk worm and bamboo. I’ve discovered to my delight a substance called Upscale Acrylic.  I sit having a conversation with anyone, and if I am not also crocheting, a part of my brain is aching. I have two projects I’m knitting[jl1]  at work which I labor to finish during staff meetings, which are an odd affair, taking place over a large screen where most of the staff is sitting around a table 2 hours’ drive away and three of us in Christmas Valley are straining to hear. It is an exercise in frustration, but perhaps it is  practice for when I’m hard of hearing and I miss most of the content and a whole lot of nonverbal verbal cues. I’ll be knitting then, too.

I have projects that are perfect for church, or for a movie, since I can knit in the round without looking.  I get a lot done, especially during the sermon, or the previews, when I’m just not really engaged. If you are preaching, just know that you knocked it out of the park if I stopped knitting.

In a college seminar, we sat in a circle and talked and listened. I knit and talked and listened. One day, everyone turned to me and I asked why everyone was looking at me? One of the students said, because you put your knitting down. I always put it down when I had something to say. Ah.

My biggest projects are in the house, in large piles or baskets or boxes, and they require a lot of lap, and a cooperative cat. I’m working on a rug that will be something like 6 by 4 feet. I also have a number of lap blankets that are in process. I have two small purses half finished: purses the size of smart phones sold really well at the Paisley Bazaar last November. Sometimes I stare at my yarn and I get a flash of inspiration and I just up and start something entirely new. So what if I have 12 projects in various stages of completion. I finish my projects. Then I put them in a plastic trunk for gift/bazaar/me for later. And keep going. Yarn is joy.

It is also taking over the guest bedroom and the living room. You can’t see the surface of my desk for the piles of yarn. It’s rather like kudzu in the Southern states, hanging over everything and creeping around. Rather like a fungus. Rather like the clutter in a teenage boy’s room, there is a debris tide.  I neaten and organize, and more yarn comes into the mix.

I think this is where the compulsion comes in. I do not need more yarn. I have a ‘stash beyond life expectancy.’ But new yarn, new colors and textures, they call to me.

Like wine calls to the alcoholic. Like meth calls to the meth user. Like chocolate calls to me. Like Blue Bunny chocolate covered ice cream bars call to me all the way from the Summer Lake gas station store. The one that says ‘Ice! You need Ice!’ on its big sign.  The owner is the cranky pumper of gas who hales me when he sees me: So! What treason have you committed lately, you pinko?  (Pinkos of the world, unite.)

I can’t afford the yarn, any more yarn ever, until I am out of debt. I asked Valerie if she minded the slow creep of yarn, and she said she will mind it come winter when she’s living in the house most of the time. With her peripatetic work schedule, she gets to stay a bunch of different places, none of which are as cluttered as our Paisley home. Cluttered with yarn.

Okay so I should stop buying yarn.

I was always a spendthrift, but my then-husband’s monthly explosion in response to the credit card bill was a bit of a deterrent. When we divorced, I blew through some serious money that came out of my retirement, and oh, I bought a house. Which I then had to sell toot suite when I took a severance package to get out of a very well paying but crazy-making workplace. (In 4 years, I lived through 3 bosses and 3 reorganizations. By the buyout, I was working so far away from my skill set that I would sit in my office and cry.)

Living in small spaces or other people’s spaces after the divorce kept a slight lid on my yarn obsession. And now in the lovely loft house, when I’ve down sized my furniture to the amount I could move cross country, I have lots of room.  Oops. Yarn explosion. The generous tax refund this spring did not help.

What’s this about being an artist?  Delusions of grandeur, probably.

Once upon a time, I took an environmental sculpture class at Oberlin. By my junior year, as a religion major and women’s studies minor I was writing a bazillion papers every semester. I wished to escape another paper and branched out to take folk dancing, print making and drawing, and even horseback riding, which, for this city kid, was really fun.  A friend of mine, Monica, talked me into this class on Environmental Sculpture.

Our assignment was to plan a sculpture, and take care of all of the steps necessary to get permission to make it and install it. Finally, you build it. I wandered around the Oberlin neighborhood we lived in and found several shells of houses that had burned down. One shell had all four corners intact, and everything else was a stinky mass of melted plastic and trash. I had my site. I don’t recall getting permission from anyone to build a sculpture there.  So it was a squatter site. I do remember finding an old wooden fireplace mantel, a bunch of wooden chair legs, some pallets. Pretty soon, I had the outline of a little hut. About 8 feet by 8 feet. I looked up Shinto Shrines, and back then there was no google. A shrine could be a home to a spirit who lived in that place. A living thing was needed, and a philodendron did the job. My classmates helped me raise the roof, which was a wooden shed structure just perfect for the top. I had my sculpture and I loved it very much. I still have the photos taken by another Obie, Bernice. Looking at them, I recall what a magical process this was.

To this day, I collect found objects and plan to make more sculptures. I might just be able to do that in Paisley. I have the space, and live in a town with a complete lack of judgment for saving odd things that look like junk. (Have you seen our side yard???) (Have you seen our neighbor to the immediate south???)

Why can’t I be an artist?

Why can’t art flow out of me and be manifested in some form, and then be shown to the public?

What is art? I have a broad definition. Anything made from my hands that is not food, is art. It does not have to be a job, but instead, a way of being in the world. A way of seeing something that does not exist yet and bringing it into this reality, rather like the sculptor who sees a large block of stone and envisions a human figure hidden inside. Chip away the stone and the human emerges. ­­I see a physical space, or a blank fence wall, and I envision something there. Mobiles made of found objects, including cow bones, are taking up residence in my imagination. The afore-mentioned setting sun, made of half of an irrigation wheel and a whole lot of yarn. There are a lot of weathered pieces of wood, including twisting branches, that I’d love to build into something…

Creativity is seeing something that doesn’t exist already. You need to find out how you can bring it into being and that way be a playmate with God.                                    Michele Shea

 As I settle into life in Lake County, I anticipated I’d have more free time to do things like volunteer, and make art. I’m beginning to make some art, as my fourth of July American flag takes its place on the side of the house. It has many other colors besides red white and blue, which I’d hoped would make a point about multi-cultural diversity, but they are too subtle. You have to go right up to the thing to see the greens, golds and purples. That’s okay. It was a first effort. It is a reassuringly familiar American Flag for the conservative county I live in. It was Valerie’s idea. She said, you know what the cowboys would love? A crocheted American flag. And so it is.

The sun will be multi-colored.

The outside of the house will begin to look like the inside: colorful and full of art.

I am an artist.

I recently stayed in a house that had a small wooden sign in it that said: I can be anything, but I can’t do everything.

I will be an artist. And a therapist. I will be a volunteer in small ways, like when I go to Lakeview or Bend, I can tell my neighbors that I’m there, so I can pick up a prescription or a rotisserie chicken, or hair dye. I will try to treat my pancreas better, and maybe ride my tricycle around town.

I will try to buy less yarn. Hmf. I call bullshit. Yoda said, there is no try, there is only do. So, I guess that means, I will stop buying yarn. Until… the kudzu has been trimmed and the native plants can breathe. Um, or maybe until we can walk through the living room without tripping over a bag or basket of yarn. That’s a fair goal. The more specific the goal, the easier to reach, right?

All the arts we practice are apprenticeship.  The big art is our life.   M.C.Richards

    [jl1]