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tagsecretsanta · 4 years ago

Text

From @Fallenfurther

to @vegetacide

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

A night to remember

The crackle of snapping wood filled the air as John threw yet another chunk of driftwood onto the fire. Embers flew up towards the darkening sky, swirling on the gentle sea breeze. The smell of the sea competed with the smoke when Alan inhaled, but that was okay with him. His eyes were on his fingers as he scrapped the toasted marshmallow on his prong onto a graham cracker. A smile crossed his lips as he turned it upside down and onto the chocolate that he’d placed on top a second cracker. Squashing the sandwich between the fingers he took a bite. The sweet crunchy treat hit the spot and he devoured it hungrily, sucking off the bits of marshmallow that had stuck to his fingers, before reaching out for more supplies.

“I’d be careful getting that close to Gordon, Penelope. You might find you’ll never get a s’more!” Virgil joked, as he toasted two marshmallows at once.

Laughter rippled around the circle, as Lady Penelope settled down in the sand beside Gordon and allowed him to drape the offered blanket over her shoulder. She pulled it in closer, as Gordon wrapped the other half around himself. The two lovebirds, as Grandma called them, smiled contently at each other as Penelope rested her head on Gordon’s shoulder. Winters on Tracy Island were rarely cold, but they often involved late nights around a campfire when there was enforced downtime. It was a family affair, everyone coming down to the beach, to spend the evening in each other’s company. Alan had memories of it happening before Dad disappeared, though he’d only been present for some of them. They had stopped for over a year after Dad had disappeared, but as they grieved and learnt to continue without him, they started to occur again. It had been a way of bonding, remembering, and forgetting the troubles of the world. This was the first enforced downtime since Dad’s rescue that they were able do one, and his brothers were eager to take Dad down to the beach. So here they were, nine years since the last one, all older, wise and yet they were still the same family. Even though it still felt weird to Alan, having Dad around, it was okay. Everyone he cared for, except Brains who rarely joined them on the beach, was here.

“Or he’ll let one rip like he did to me last time!” Scott chuckled before raising his beer to his lips.

“Hey! That was so not last time, it was at least a year before that, and you’d just stolen the last marshmallow.”

Alan giggled at the memory. Scott had indeed taken the last marshmallow, and Gordon had sidled over and given Scott a side hug, in an attempt to relieve their brother of his freshly made s’more. Instead, Scott had pulled Gordon into a big tight hug and eaten the treat over Gordon’s shoulder, getting crumbs down the Squid’s shirt. Gordon had wriggled intensely, trying to free himself from their brother, which only prompted Scott to hold on longer, even after the s’more had been devoured. An angry and frustrated Squid had subsequently let off the loudest fart, not only prompting Scott to release him but also for evacuation of the log Scott, Kayo and John had all been perched on. Alan had cried laughing, and Kayo had stared daggers after Gordon’s retreating, chuckling figure.

“Don’t remind me of the obnoxious smell. To this day, you still haven’t told me what you’d eaten that day.” John stated, in the way only he could, while entirely fixated on the careful construction of his own sweet treat.

“My bet is still on a rotten celery crunch bar.” Virgil piped in, having just passed one of his two s’mores to Grandma as he grabbed a beer from the cooler behind her.

“Remind me never to go in Thunderbird Four with you again. The filth alone makes the craft smell without you adding to it.”

Kayo chipped in; her tone entirely serious as a small shiver rocked her body. She hadn’t been there for that campfire as she had been off the island trying to track down her Uncle. There had been so many small leads that led to dead ends, but they had all needed investigating, just in case. Alan glanced in her direction where she was sitting cross-legged to the right of Virgil, her beer half-buried but upright in the sand. Scott and Virgil were leaning against a small bench they had carried down and turned on its side. They both appeared relaxed, leaning back with a beer in one hand and marshmallow topped prong in the other.

“I should hope Gordon knows how to treat his machine with respect by now. It is a rescue vehicle and should be in pristine condition, ready for a callout. Although, I could ask Brains to add extra air filters to the inventory if such foul smells are a common thing.”

The deep voice of his father still surprised Alan and always seemed to demand the attention of the room. It was something Alan was still getting used to hearing. This would be their first Christmas together as a complete family. His brothers would always say Mum was missing, and they were right, but Alan didn’t remember a Christmas with her. It had always been the seven of them for him; Grandma, Dad, his brothers, and him. His Dad was currently sitting on a blanket next to Grandma, who had one hand on his arm, almost as a way of keeping him there, and her s’more in the other. She had changed, in a good way, since Dad had come home. She pestered them less and chased after his father more. Dad always got first pick of her cooking creations, her excuse being he needed to make up for lost time, and Alan was not going to complain about it. The fewer of Grandma’s cookies placed under his nose the better.

“There is no smell in Thunderbird Four and she is perfectly clean and ready for duty.” Gordon proclaimed.

“So, you wouldn’t mind if I do a quick inspection first thing in the morning?” Dad countered.

The sheepish look that crossed Gordon’s face briefly told the real story, though it was Penelope that tried to save his brother from the mess he’d gotten himself in.

“That will not be necessary, Jeff. I was in Thunderbird Four earlier and gave it the once over. I can confirm that it meets all the required standards and is ready for immediate deployment.”

“Sure you did.” Scott grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

Heat rose in Alan’s cheeks as Penelope shot Scott a glance that radiated pure distaste for his vulgar mind. She managed to glare in the most ladylike way, but Scott just laughed. Alan just tried to get the thought out his mind. He did not want to know what his brother and Penelope did in their spare time; he was simply happy that they were happy.

“I do remember you getting yourself into awkward situations as a teenager.”

The sly grin on the space monitor’s face had Scott glaring a challenge at him. Scott had never been that open about his teenage years to Alan, though he had heard a few stories that had been told around the campfire. He’d also heard a few second hand from Gordon who remembered that time better or had eavesdropped on their older brothers’ conversations.

“Don’t even go there.”

“I was only thinking of the time you got stuck in that tree trying to retrieve the model plane Alan had crashed into it. That woman really didn’t appreciate you hanging from the branches.”

John’s voice was dripping innocence as he lent back on his elbow. Scott shook his head.

“I was worried when she called her husband, and so glad that he saw the funny side.”

“I remember that. The poor woman was distraught, despite her husband’s reassurances. She wanted to get the police involved. Thankfully he said was a waste of time because you were still technically a minor, it really was just a misunderstanding, and you were only in the tree for the plane. I had you apologise at the time as well as write an apology letter that went with the hamper I sent over.”

Scott groaned as Dad relayed the facts, his head falling into his hand.

“How could I be so stupid?”

Scott had indeed gone up the tree to fetch the remote-control plane, which Alan had accidently got stuck in its branches. Alan had told Scott the wind had taken it, but he’d actually been trying to show off to Gordon by doing some tricks. Only he messed them up and sent the plane crashing into the top of a tree. He’d tried to climb the tree himself to get it down, but it was impossible as Gordon refused to help him. In fact, Gordon had laughed and chuckled the entire time, especially when Alan had to go up to Scott and his girlfriend and disturb their make-out session. Scott hadn’t been happy but had reluctantly gone up the tree to retrieve the plane. Unfortunately, a branch had snapped while Scott was up there, and he’d lost his footing. He’d ending up hanging upside right in the line of sight of the woman’s bedroom window. Scott’s relationship hadn’t lasted long after that either. His girlfriend had posted a running commentary of Scott’s ‘heroics’ on social media, including photos of the husband rescuing him, and she refused to take them down until a week later when Dad got involved. Scott had been upset by the incident and apparently some of his friends hadn’t been kind to him about it either. Alan had felt terribly guilty, knowing it was all his fault, but when he admitted it to Scott he was rewarded with a hug. Scott told him not to worry and was glad that he was no longer with such a horrible girl. They had spent the rest of that evening playing videogames together, his big brother trying to show of his skills and failing spectacularly.

“At least she got to eat her hamper. I remember quite distinctly receiving a lovely chocolate hamper that I never got to enjoy.”

Grandma’s voice was full of jest as everyone turned towards Gordon, who just shrugged awkwardly beneath the blanket.

“I was young, hungry and it was chocolate. What was I meant to do?”

“Gordon Tracy! How could you be so mean to your Grandmother? I hope you replaced it.”

Alan sniggered along with his brothers as Penelope berated Gordon for his actions. There was a grin on Parker’s face, who was observing the couple intently over the rim of his beer. As her ever faithful companion, he always had Lady Penelope’s back. A little bark came from Sherbet, who had woken up from the nap he’d been having on Parker’s discarded jumper. There had been a grumble from the man about the fact that he’d only put it down for a second before the dog had claimed it. Alan hadn’t quite caught all the words, but it had sounded along the lines of ‘mangy mutt’. Penelope opened the blanket to the pug and allowed him to wriggle in and curl up on Gordon’s lap. Gordon gave Sherbet a scratch behind the ears as the dog settled down with a yawn.

“Was that not the Christmas that Virgil got stranded at his friend’s ranch by the massive snowstorm?”

John shifted as he spoke, leaning back to snatch a chocolate bar and beer from the open cool box. The beer he passed to the man in question, who accepted it grateful. It was his father that answered John.

“I believe it was. Mum and I went out on the tractor, as we had an old snowplough attachment, to some poor folk who’d gotten caught just a few farms over, so we ended up heading over and picking Virgil up too. It did mean we were out longer than expected.”

“Giving Gordon time to eat all the chocolate while under my watch! I caught him trying to make the hot chocolate, but I didn’t realise it was Grandma’s when I took over to stop him making any more mess on the hob. I got grounded because of him.”

Scott recounted with a sign. There was a clatter of glass as Scott dumped his and Virgil’s empties in the allocated recycling bag, before continuing.

“Thankfully, that little hill was technically on our property, so I could still go sledging with everyone the next day. I remember the snow being so deep we had to carry Alan and we made a family of snowmen near the house.”

“I remember that,” Virgil interjected, “You and I raced the sledges while John judged who won. I had Gordon with me, and you shared yours with Alan.”

“And they both fought us for control. How many times did we almost hit each other?”

“Too many. I had to roll us off more than once, especially when Gordon had us going straight towards that big tree. Though I think Alan took it a step further when he tried to take you both off by steering you into the fence.”

His eldest two brothers were chuckling at the shared memory. Alan had a few memories of snowy winters in Kansas but had no idea if he remembered that one. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t tell if it was that day or another similar sledging day. They all seemed to merge into one in his head. He could only separate a few out as specific years thanks so unique events. Like Gordon’s bright yellow and orange wool hat that he got for Christmas only to lose it two months later, and the last winter before moving to the island as half the house was packed away and they had all enjoyed the snow for the last time together. There had been one Thanksgiving and Christmas on the island with Dad before the accident, so this would be the second. It felt weird to Alan. In a way, moving to the island was the start of his life without Dad. He had been at boarding school for most of the time and was only home-schooled after they had lost Dad.

“Don’t forget the time Gordon aimed for me.”

There was a smile on John’s face and a glint in his eye that let Alan know there were no hard feelings, and no one had been hurt.

“Though I think my favourite was when Alan dragged Dad onto the sledge and demanded he be taken to space.”

Alan’s ears pricked up at his name as a deep chuckle rumbled from his father.

“There was barely enough room for Alan once I’d gotten on that sledge, but we made it work. You managed to slip between my knees and yelled ‘To the moon!’ as we were pushed off. You were so disappointed when the ‘rocket sled’ got to the bottom and hadn’t launched into space.”

There were smiles on everyone’s faces while Alan’s cheeks reddened. His Dad’s blue eyes were on him, and Alan swore there were tears in them. He didn’t remember that day, but he did remember looking up to his astronaut father. Alan had loved the time Dad had made for him, when they would sit together, and Dad would recount his stories of space. He also remembered his Dad getting busier, and that time becoming less, as Dad started to set up International Rescue. John had filled in, telling Alan of the stars, while Scott, when on leave from the Air Force, told him of the thrill of flying in planes and going superfast. However, for Alan, there was nothing faster or cooler than a rocket.

“Remember Alan’s first Christmas when we were decorating the tree with Mum?”

Scott asked the group, though his eyes were on Virgil, obviously expecting him to have the clearest memory.

“Yeah. Mum was trying to keep Gordon from running around and breaking everything while we were emptying the boxes of decorations. She’d left Alan on the mat with some toys thinking he’d be happy and safe there.”

“He’d been oddly quiet at the time when you think back.” Scott slipped in, “We wanted to get the lights on the tree, only to find Alan had managed to roll over to them and was lying on his belly happily chewing on them.”

“Mum had rushed over, and Alan had screamed his lungs out when she’d managed to pry the light from his mouth.”

“He had refused to let go of them as well, to the point that we almost didn’t have lights on the Christmas tree. Mum managed to coax the wire through his little fingers, though we all spent the next five minutes trying to find a suitable substitute to stop Alan from crying. John then had to check over the lights, but Alan was too young to do any real damage, but Gordon managed to scatter baubles everywhere in the meantime.”

Alan watched his brothers gleefully relay the story between them. There was a hollow feeling in his chest at the mention of Mum and him. He’d been told how much she’d loved and adored him, but this was the first time this story had ever been told. Not that there were many to tell. His brothers had been young so didn’t always remember things and Dad; well, he’d always struggled to tell stories about Mum. It’d gotten better recently, but there still weren’t many of him and her. A hand fell on Alan’s shoulder and he turned, half expecting Scott to be there. He had to blink when it was his father, who lowered himself onto the sand beside him. The similarities between Scott and Dad were striking and Alan felt guilty for not thinking of his father first. It was no longer Scott’s responsibility to worry after him now. The hand slid along his back and pulled him into a side hug.

“You okay, son?” His father whispered into his ear.

Alan nodded, his head brushing against this father’s shoulder. There was no way Alan could express how he felt, especially not here and now, but the warmth that was seeping through from his father helped. It was new and it was different, but he had his Dad again. A Dad who was trying hard to fit back in and get to know his sons again. His father was being careful about not getting in the way or treading on their toes. Maybe Dad felt the same concerns that he did. Maybe next time they gamed together Alan would bring it up. He wondered if any of his brothers had asked how Dad was coping. He bet Grandma had and was paying close attention to their interactions. His father’s hand rubbed the top of Alan’s arm, bringing him from his thoughts and Alan shifted closer to the astronaut.

“Talking about Christmas lights, I remember a December morning when a certain someone woke up strapped to the bed by a large tangle of lights. Fancy reminding me of how that came about Alan?”

There was a sparkle of mischief in his father’s blue eyes as he peered down at Alan, who gave the man a big grin back in return. Alan remembered that morning well, especially how hard it was to not giggle as he carefully wrapped those lights around his brother’s bed.

“You mean the December Scott was been a really moody teenager and didn’t want to spend the day decorating the house with his family? Apparently, his girlfriend was more fun and a lot less annoying than us, and that he’d rather spend the day with her.”

Alan enjoyed taking the lead on the storytelling, especially when he got a satisfying groan from Scott, who appeared to have forgotten the events of that day until now. Alan’s body rocked as his father chuckled.

“Gordon and I only wanted to help cheer you up and fill you with the same festive cheer we had. The night before, we collected up every string of lights we could find and hid them in my room, before setting our alarm clocks for seven am. We snuck into your room, quietly unravelled the lights, then we each started wrapping them around you and the bed. We wrapped them tight enough to stop you from getting out. Our PJs were covered in dust from wriggling under your bed, but we managed, and we even found an extension cord and plugged some of them in. Your room lit up with some many colours and cheerful flashing lights, it was the most festive thing we’d seen that year. You almost woke up too, trying to turn over. We snapped a few pictures, turned off the lights and your alarm before we snuck back out to my room where we fell on the bed laughing. Your angry cry of “GORDON!!” had been the loudest in a long while, though you weren’t happy when it took so long to free you. You ended up missing the time with your girlfriend. Dad told us not to cut the lights unless we were prepared to buy new ones, which we weren’t, and you couldn’t afford new lights as well as a present for you girlfriend. We did get to spend the day decorating the house together, so the prank worked!”

“Leanne refused to wait for me saying if I really cared about her, I would be on time. She dumped me four days later for a guy two years older. At least I hadn’t brought the present yet, so I didn’t waste my money.”

There was a little bitterness in Scott’s voice when he mentioned her moving on so fast. If Alan remembered rightly, they had been dating for almost a year until that point, though it must not have been going as well as Scott thought considering how quickly she replaced him. Bet she wished she’d made it work now he was the commander of International Rescue, though for all he knew she could still be bragging about it. Gordon had insinuated on many occasions to Alan that not all the business trips their brother took were all strictly business, though the fact that Scott often returned stressed and with more ‘urgent’ paperwork made Alan doubt Gordon’s claims.

“That was the year you all ganged up on your father in that snowball fight, practically making him a snowman! You all came back inside red in the face, damp, and shivering. I had to get out so many extra blankets and make so much hot chocolate to get you warm again.”

“But you do make the best hot chocolate, Mum.”

“Seconded!” Scott cheered, raising his bottle to the sky.

The stories and drinks continued to be passed around the fire, which John packed high with the last of the dry driftwood. The stories were now from more recent times, tales from the past eight years without Dad. The gentle rocking from his Dad’s chuckles reassured Alan, who offered his own versions into the mix. When goosepimples covered his arms and legs, Grandma wrapped a blanket around him and Dad. Even on a tropical island the evenings were cool, especially when you are still in shorts and a t-shirt. Alan’s head was comfortable against his father and he started to fight his eyelids that kept trying to close. It was a battle he lost.

******

When his eyes flickered open again, the fire was dying. Alan was still beneath the blanket with his father’s arm firmly around him. He yawned as he rolled his stiff shoulders. Blinking, he took in his family who still circled the fire. John and Grandma were cuddled up in a thick patchwork blanket, while the legs of Scott, Virgil and Kayo were cover by a striped one, as they all lent against the bench. Lady Penelope had fallen asleep in Gordon’s arms, though they had acquired a second blanket from somewhere. Parker was still standing in the background, his reclaimed jumper now on, and there was a bucket of water in his hands.

“Shall I h’extinguish the flames now, Mr Tracy?”

“Please do, Parker.”

The fire hissed out, sending steam into the night sky. Stars were scattered above them, and Alan’s eyes were drawn to the familiar constellations. With the fire out the cold started to creep in, and his family started to move, yawn, and stretch. With practiced movements, everyone started to collect their belongings and rubbish, shaking sand off everything and heading towards the path. John and Grandma held coolers, Virgil and Scott took each side of their bench, and Alan grabbed the rubbish bag as Kayo grabbed the recycling. Gordon coaxed Sherbet off his lap before sweeping Penelope into his arms and carrying her away. Sherbet and Parker, bucket still in hand, followed close behind them. As Alan started up the cliff path his Dad’s arm returned to his shoulder. He was staring up at the stars though Alan couldn’t place which constellation he was gazing at.

“It’s good to see these stars again. Did I ever tell you about all the nights Lee and I would stargaze on Alfie? There was the observation deck with this massive glass window in the ceiling, and we’d lie beneath it….”

Alan smiled, remembering the story well, but wanting to hear it again. There was something special about the way his Dad told it.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #tag team secret santa #secret santa 2020 #alan tracy #Gordon Tracy #Lady Penelope #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Virgil Tracy #jeff tracy #grandma tracy #kayo kyrano #parker

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hangryandlazy · 3 years ago

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africa jul 19

wow lol it’s taken me 2 years to actually put this post together. a LOT has changed since then and it makes me immensely happy to recognize how lucky we were that we’d had 2 insane years of travelling right before the pandemic hit. but this post is not to dwell on that, so let’s get on with it!!

this was our amazing 2019 africa trip~

jun 30, 19 ••• we make our way from hong kong to the netherlands on klm airlines. i distinctly remember how impressed i was with the quality of service and the comfort of the 12ish hour flight. after around 16 hours of commute, we just want to stay in and chill, so we order room service and call it a night early. i recall wearing a fun t-shirt that read, “not to be rude, but shut the fuck up” which i personally find hilarious and endearing, but which made the guy at the front desk quite uncomfortable. lollll oops!

vimeo

jul 1, 19 ••• yay! we had a full day alone in amsterdam. we (i) decided to walk from the hotel to the town center, because it’s fun experience new cities by exploring them on foot!! why not? you come across many things that you just couldn’t have planned to find.

look how beautiful the canals in amsterdam are! anywhere you turn, it’s picturesque.

we had lunch at wagamama because i saw that the avant garde vegan, gaz oakley, had done a collaboration with them at some point, so there are some guaranteed vegan options. we then walk around the bloemenmarkt and find our way to the cannabis college, which had 2 verdampers for rent! yesssss! i was so happy.

we explored and walked around more, then stopped by a coffee shop to smoke a bit more. there was a lovely vegan cafe right next door, which i’d been eyeing when we went in to smoke, so we had a top up on coffee and matcha there. we saw a cute frenchie across the road and missed the dogs so...

vimeo

we had dinner at this place called cafe frijdag (which means Friday!) which was delicious! so happy that amsterdam had vegan options for me

jul 2, 19 ••• we got up bright and early to meet my parents for breakfast and we go to the airport to catch our flight to kigali. about 10 hours later, we were buying sim cards at the kigali airport. we then checked in to the radisson for the night, and it was feeling very surreal to be in africa. i remember feeling anxious.

jul 3, 19 ••• today started on a somber note. we went to the kigali genocide memorial. i cried a lot, especially at the exhibit with the photographs of only a fraction of the victims during that time.

then we drove at turtle speed to our next hotel, which was a loooong long way away. we arrived at the lake kivu serena hotel in time for a very late lunch. the cuisine here consists of rice, tortilla-like wraps and papadum-esque crispy rolls.

this fruit tastes disgusting... it looks like a tomato but isn’t sweet at all. i only remember spitting it out, trying another piece from another plate, and still hating it.

vimeo

thankfully everyone wanted to relax and take it easy, so we ordered in for dinner and spent the rest of the night chilling.

jul 4, 19 ••• we drove out to see the border between rwanda and the democratic republic of congo. we were told to be very careful about taking photos of the police officers there, so we were. it felt strange to take photos of the border, i’m clearly very ignorant of the relations and history. it was a very busy juncture, with a sea of people crossing this way and that, lots of cars bumbling about and a lot of fruit, as i recall. hahah.

we then drove out to see a makeshift hot spring. we were asked if we wanted to take a dip, but none of us wanted to..... felt bad saying no, but really not worth it, sorry.

vimeo

https://vimeo.com/568059672 (okay, i’m unable to embed more videos so links will have to do until i figure out something better...)

we took a boat ride along the lake, but there wasn’t that much to see around there, it was pretty dirty and murky... reminded me of the hong kong harbor, with trash floating around. it was also freezing, so i wasn’t having any fun at all.

we went to the gym and worked out a little bit because there was a lot of time to kill in between returning to hotel and our private pre-planned bbq dinner on the beach. we were lucky enough to enjoy traditional rwandan dancing which was absolutely gorgeous.

jul 5, 19 ••• we spent most of our morning in the car, having crossed the border to the republic of uganda. we stopped by a cute cafe along the way for lunch, but it was a grueling 4-5 hour car ride to mahogany springs, which was our hotel for the gorilla trekking. we managed to arrive around 715pm, by which time it was pretty dark and scary outside. the other car had broken down twice, once in the dark as well, so spirits were low and there was a lot of muttering and grumbling done under people’s breath. everyone was ravenous by the time dinner was served, but despite how late it was, it was absolutely delicious and i was happy! (also grateful for our car not having broken down)

jul 6, 19 ••• we woke up VERY early in anticipation of gorilla trekking. we waited around the hotel lobby after some coffee and biscuits for breakfast. it was an awful lot of waiting, but i didn’t sense anything wrong until i saw how pissed off our tour guide looked. it turns out our permits had gotten stolen! probably bribes.

here we were mucking around, still anticipating gorilla trekking.

we didn’t let it slow us down though. i actually am grateful for how things turned out because we wouldn’t have gotten to experience uganda like that without this turn of events. we joined a community tour that showed us how tea is harvested, how coffee is grown, harvested and round, as well as how bananas may be used to make juice, beer and gin! very cool

african tea leaves

jackfruit??

these are flowers from the coffee tree

the different stages of the coffee plant

this is henry, he owns this coffee plantation. here, henry shows us how to the use this contraption, the purpose of which is to grind coffee beans into powder

here henry is, sifting the coffee powder

here are my parents, having the time of their life (lol at my dad)

fresh bananas

these are the different stages of a banana’s life: from raw to ripe to fermenting. it can be made into juice and liquor.

we then visited a local school, where we were entertained by kids from kindergarten to 6th grade. we learned about their mission and goals to educate the younger generations by providing classrooms and a dining hall and even dorms for boarding. the singing and dancing was BRILLIANT. loved every single second of it. wish i’d joined in and not cared about what anyone thought.

we stopped by a women’s community center and saw a lot of cool crafts and art. that was on the way to the batwa pgymy tribe. we learned how they integrated with the batwa community. they showed us some dances they have dedicated to the gorillas, for which they are very grateful because it brings tourists in and therefore gives them an income. they showed us how to use a bow and arrow to hunt, and how they weave baskets and make handicrafts.

alan with the leader of the pgymy tribe

one of our guides spotted 2 chameleons, which was super impressive. he even brought the chameleon down close to us so that we could see it. i won’t ever understand how he was able to spot it in the wild, and from so far away as well.

we returned to the lodge and had lunch. the veggie stir fry was pretty dang good. it was served with posho, which is a maize bread, beans, and also matate (???) which reminded me a lot of plantain. back at the hotel, we chilled (without tv or wifi) until dinner. alan fell asleep, and i kept myself busy sorting out photos. dinner was early, and our night was early because we were promised gorilla trekking in the morning!

delicious!

jul 7, 19 ••• we were up and ready to leave by 7am. we were in the clear! we drove a little bit to the bwindi impenetrable national park for some entertainment (dancing and singing) from local students and a hilarious briefing on what to expect and do’s and don’ts of the trek.

we then had separate meetings within our trekking groups. ours was quite big, with 10 tourists, because michael and our guides had spent HOURS the day before handling our stolen permits. an exception was made to accommodate us all, so our group consisted of the starke’s, alan, kerstin, a couple from oregon, and an english family. we had to get in another car and drive a bit to the mountain, where we met our porters and then began our trek!

the hike up was difficult, and at times i legit feared for my life because the mud/rocks were loose and one wrong step would have had us tumbling down the edge of the mountain... and that was me at age 28!! cannot imagine how my parents were feeling...

alan with meddie

as we made our way to the gorilla family, we encountered a solo young male who was soooo friendly, he cut across our group, like right down the middle, and he even reached out and touched my mom on her jacket! it was wild that a gorilla was that close to us, and then he left as quickly as he had joined.

this is the photo my mom managed to take when the young gorilla male was right next to her

we kept on hiking and found a large. our guide, meddie, told us that we were lucky to have found such a large family doing a whole bunch of different activities: we saw mothers nursing their babies, babies swinging from the trees and playing with one another, sub adult males beating their chests and other members of the family eating and feeding. we even got to watch as a silverback gorilla pulled a very healthy poop out of its butt, and we ran into him snacking again later on.

on the way down, it started raining a little bit. we all slipped at one point or another, but it was especially dangerous for my dad so we all had to slow down our pace a little bit to match his speed. thank god he had a porter there to help him out and save him.

we returned to the same place as where we had started our morning for a debriefing, and we each received a certificate to show that we had been on this trek. we waited around a little bit for the other group to arrive, and were once again very grateful that our experience was much more pleasant. one lady in the other group had to leave the trek on a stretcher, and the others were caught in the rain on their way to the gorillas, so it must have been a cold and awful experience on their end.

us after the successful completion of our gorilla trek!!

we headed to a local inn nearby where we had a late lunch and could change into dry clothes. we then drove a bumpy 4 hours to mweya safari lodge, located inside queen elizabeth national park. we made a couple of stops along the way (one of which was in the middle of nowhere so that people could go pee out in the open where animals are potentially roaming around?!?!?) and when we finally arrived, it was already 830/9ish pm.... we insisted to order room service because we were pooped, and we got showered and hit the hay.

this cute sign was outside the lodge!

this super old school cash register was at the lodge too

jul 8, 19 ••• today started off with a game drive, early in the morning!

we drove around the gorgeous park and saw elephants, warthogs, antelope, eagles, all sorts of bird and butterflies, buffalo and weird-looking lemur or ferret creatures. we thought it was great, but some other members of the group were underwhelmed.

this is the view from the car we sat in for the safari

this gorgeous tree houses sooo many bird’s nests! do you see them?

cute antelope we saw on the tour

after lunch at the hotel, we went on a boat tour around the kazinga channel. i think it was called lake edward? we saw many animals again, including crocodile, elephants, buffalo, all sorts of birds, and hippos.

favorite photo of my parents ¨̮

we followed a few elephant cuties along the bank. it drizzled for a little bit in between.

dinner was delicious. it was a great buffet, although i was severely grossed out by the ants that joined us on the dining table.

there were so many animals on the grounds of the lodge. don’t be fooled by how cute these guys look, we saw them fight over raw meat at some point! we also saw a warthog stroll around.

jul 9, 19 ••• we were up bright and early today for a quick breakfast before heading right on out. on the way to entebbe, we stopped by a local motel for lunch. the service was SUPER slow (maybe because we had such a huge group together!) but it was delicious and worth the wait! i ordered a coleslaw and avocado vinaigrette (this was THE HUGEST AVOCADO i’ve ever seen in my life?!?!?), a veggie biryani and some of paul’s aloo matar. we then filed back into our cars for several more hours of “african massage” to the next destination. had an early night, i think we ordered room service to the hotel room and tried to get our butts to bed as early as possible because it was another EARLY day the morning after.

we stopped at the equator in uganda to take some photos, of course!

i was sooo happy to be able to order room service! we felt like we were finally back to civilization... 🥺 we had wifi and tv and hot water... ugh it was amazing

jul 10, 19 ••• my alarm was set for 4am this morning.... 🥲😅 we left the hotel at 5am for the airport and obviously i was tired and grumpy and just in a crappy mood overall hahahah. our first flight was barely 45 minutes.... to mbarara i’m guessing?? i was assigned a middle seat on my own originally but no one was in the aisle seat so i moved over woohoo! our first layover was 2-3 hours, not too bad. we hung around at the lounge area.

our second flight was to harare. alan and i managed to snag 2 joined seats towards the back end of the plane so that we could watch conan’s traevel shows on his ipad. there was a pretty scary drop when we were descending imto harare. i think we just stayed on the plane for about half an hour so some people could get on the plane and join.

we flew about 3 hours more to cape town, and we were EXCITED to arrive. it was a hell of a time checking in, and it was a nicer hotel in a nice area so we decided to just stay in and order room service again. we had a slow night and it was SOOOO needed. cape town felt a lot closer to the first world and we were enjoying and appreciating it to the max. we even started playing pokemon go and its harry potter-themed equivalent (oops forgot the name), but to be fair, we didn’t get cell phone service everywhere we went, so it would cut on and off.

jul 11, 19 ••• eek, cape town was COOOOLD! luckily i brought a jacket along, we really really needed to cover up and stay warm! got to sleep in a bit, we left by 830am to drive to the pebble beach by the water to take some gorgeous photos. we stopped by chapman’s peak for another photo op, then drove to boulders beach in simon’s town to see the penguins!! it was such a dream, loved every second of it.

i believe this was chapman’s peak??

what a model

this was at the pebble beach at the cape of good hope.

saw a cute ostrich on the way somewhere

next we went to cape point. we took the funicular to the top, then hiked up to the lighthouse. we took pots of great pics but omg it was EVEN MORE freezing there. we had lunch at the two oceans restaurant. fancy and delicious! the calamari was bomb, the arancini was alright, but the main of chickpea and mushrooms was delish. after lunch we headed right on back to the hotel.

when i said it was cold, i wasn’t joking... it was FREEZING at the top. i had a horrible time because i don’t do that well in the cold

alan and i walked over to woolworths to get water and makeup remover and snacks. on the way back we stopped by PLANT for dinner. i was sooo excited to try out their vegan fast food, so i ordered a lot of the menu. we got the quinoa salad, mac and cheez, seitan lasagna, schawarma, pot stickers, siu mai, spag bolognese, tiramisu, milk tart and a bunch of other random vegan snacks. i was in HEAVEN. even though some of the stuff was cold by the time we got back to the hotel and ate, it still tasted DELICIOUS. i was soooo impressed.

this was the lasagna. omfg i need an encore of this restaurant one day!!! wish i knew how to cook like this

jul 12, 19 ••• today we went to a wine blending workshop at grande provence winery. the first step was to blend 3 different mixtures. after tasting them all, we decided the last blend was the winner, with 40% zinfandel, 10% shiraz and 50% cabernet. so then we blended up a big bottle of it, corked it, thew on a hand-signed label, and then walked around the beautiful indoor and outdoor art galleries.

this was our group!

wine blending is literally mixing different wines together in different proportions and figuring out which you like the taste of the best

there was a lot of cute art at the winery! i loved all the dogs and greyhounds around the property. these 3 dancing pigs came a close second

we drove a little way for lunch at another beautiful vineyard. i had a charcoal ciabatta, tomato quinoa salad, root veggie risotto and steamed veggies on the side. we skipped the wine tasting because our lunch overran a bit and our bus driver buford said that the traffic would be pretty heavy on a friday afternoon and it wouldn’t be worth it to be stuck on the bus. so we just walked around the cute little town we were at, franschhoek (??)

there was a lot of cute art and small local shops around this town! we strolled around and got some souvenirs ¨̮

love this

we had a dinner booked way ahead at fyn restaurant. it was stunningly delicious. i loved every single course and was thoroughly impressed.

UGHHHHH just soooo good.

jul 13, 19 ••• FINALLY we had a day to sleep in!!!! we let our group know the night before that we didn’t want to join the walking tour around the city. we woke up and made our way to the company’s garden, which was directly next to our hotel. we played harry potter wizards unite and ran into the tour group. my mom told me later on it was a good decision of ours not to join haha.

we walked to addis in cape for an authentic ethiopian meal experience. we washed our hands at the table, ate the whole meal with our hands, and finally i was able to taste injera. it was 100% teff injera and it did not disappoint. i ordered a vegan platter while alan got a combo. the amount of food was PERFECT for us, we finished every single thing.

we ordered dessert but the hot berries never showed up and the ice cream was interestingly very gummy and very very sweet. the coffee was strong and served with a beautiful platter.

after that, we needed to walk our full tummies off. we headed to the waterfront, where there were many shops and stalls in indoor and outdoor malls. it was just a really good time walking around there and we saw soooo many things. there was bubble tea in south africa, a yogurt bar that made me sooo happy, dogs were up for adoption, and a bootleg jabbawockeez performance at the city square. we walked back to the hotel after that and got ready for bed.

jul 14, 19 ••• we woke up at 430am to head to the airport by 530am. we caught our first flight from cape town to johannesburg, then transferred to a direct flight back to hong kong. it was a TIRING trip but wow, the memories!! really want to go to back soon

#tanjastravels #tansworld #travel #wanderlust #tanja travels #tanjalan #cape town #uganda #gorilla #gorilla trekking #africa #south africa #safari #memories #travel memories #do you even travel

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dragonnan · 4 years ago

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This is faaaar from a complete list and will be spotty at best but I’ve been pondering MCU characters a lot as I’ve been getting slowly back to work on my mega-fic. I LOVE minor head canons. Simple stuff like favorite foods or what music they listen to or were they ever a smoker or whatever whatever. So I’m gonna give myself the challenge of crafting some head canon and anyone else is very welcome to dive in! (some things are already established via canon)

~ Ethnicity ~ Faith ~ Smoker ~ Alcohol ~ Favorite food ~ Favorite cookie ~ Favorite animal(s) ~ Favorite music ~

Tony Stark: Ethnicity: Mixed European-American-Jewish (he refers to himself as a “mutt”) Faith: “No thanks” being the initial answer but if he feels like opening up he’ll admit to believing there’s likely “something” out there but at the same time figures that “something” stopped caring about humanity a long long time ago. Smoker? Never liked cigarettes but smoked a few cigars when he was younger due to Obie’s influence. He never was a big fan but wanted to fit in with his mentor. Alcohol: Influenced both by his father and Obie, Tony started drinking hard liquor semi-regularly as young as 14 (his Dad let him try his first sip at the age of 6). He pretty much sticks with Scotch or Bourbon but is not opposed to cheap beer at a ball game. In fact the cheaper the better - a requirement for any self-respecting American. Favorite food: hot dogs. Neither one of his parents cooked. Breakfast and lunch were whatever whenever for all three of them but dinner? You better be sure you were at that table before the plates were set down or you could go without (and Tony got a slap from his father when he’d observed that rule only seemed to apply to him). But on the nights he was sent to his room, Jarvis would slip upstairs, later, with a sandwich or, on really rough nights, a couple of hotdogs. Favorite cookie: Those Christmas wreath ones made with cereal and marshmallow with the cinnamon candies. Favorite animal(s): he likes all animals but if he had to pick one for a pet he’d get an iguana. Favorite music: well duh lolol.

Stephen Strange: Ethnicity: Mixed European-American (borrowed from Benedict Cumberbatch’s ethnicity and adding the American) Faith: Originally atheist but now closer to Buddhist. Smoker: Never. Even prior to becoming a sorcerer he has always been conscious of what he takes into his body; especially given the history of cancer on his mother’s side of the family. Alcohol: Wine, occasionally, though he isn’t really a social drinker per-say. Favorite food: The spicy shrimp and pork dumplings from a Thai place in Midtown. Favorite cookie: Hmmm.... not a big sweets guy but he won’t turn away a few ginger-pecan cookies with coffee. Favorite animal(s): dogs - unequivocally. He had a border collie growing up on his family farm in Nebraska. Favorite music: please don’t make this poor man actually have to choose.

Steve Rogers: Ethnicity: Irish (as per comics) Faith? Irish-Catholic (as per the comics). Smoker? Prior to the serum there was no way he could safely do so with his health issues. After he started traveling with the performers all of the girls in the group smoked and he tried it out a few times but never developed a taste for it. Alcohol: he drank A LOT - easy enough to do as it never had any real effect on him. He enjoys scotch and bourbon (a taste he picked up from hanging around Howard Stark). Steve seems to low-key always have the munchies (like most enhanced) and once Tony picked up on that there are always a variety of snacks scattered here and there throughout the compound (also of benefit for Bruce, Peter, Thor, and, later, Bucky). Steve’s favorite foods typically remind him of his mother’s cooking. While they’d never had much (especially after his father died) his mom could do a lot with limited supplies. She used to make a fantastic meat pie with ground beef or tongue. He hates SPAM. They ate it in the Army, constantly, and just the smell will occasionally send him back to those days and not in a good way. Favorite cookie? Oreos. He can clean up a family sized pack in like 10 minutes. Steve loves animals but is especially fond of horses and dogs. There was a dog in his unit in WW2 and Steve, like most of the other men, would share bites of his rations with it. Steve is nostalgic about music from the 40s but finds that 70s rock really resonates with him.

Bucky Barnes: Ethnicity: Romanian-American (borrowing a little from Sebastian Stan’s ethnicity) Faith? Possibly agnostic. Smoker? Heck yes - both cigarettes and cigars. Like Steve, the serum he received (via Hydra’s experimentation) means he gets to dodge the detrimental side effects of smoking. Alcohol: He likes to drink but is almost exclusively a beer drinker. He has a big appetite but refuses to eat around others if he can at all help it. His favorite food is corned beef with cabbage. Steve’s grandmother was an Irish immigrant and would make it every Sunday before the war impacted rations. Since both Bucky’s parents were dead he’d often have dinner with his best friend. Also, unlike Steve, he actually likes SPAM. But then, arguably, he isn’t terribly picky about food in general. Favorite cookie: molasses. Favorite animal(s): birds - eagles in particular - though he doesn’t look too deeply at the psychology of their ability to just fly away. Needless to say a crafty observer might spot a former Winter Soldier tossing seeds towards the pigeons. Favorite music: He’s pretty eclectic though he shies away from anything too loud like death metal. He finds classical very soothing.

Peter Parker: Ethnicity: Mixed American-Scandinavian-German-ish Faith: Protestant upbringing but unsure where he currently stands. If pressed he’d say he’s “leaving his options open” Smoker? “Oh gross!” Alcohol: “Um, too young to drink, thanks! But if I WERE to... you know, try it just to taste it there was this mudslide at one of Flash’s parties that was super good...” Favorite food: spaghetti and meatballs. Lots of meatballs. Favorite cookie: chocolate chocolate chip with chunks. Favorite animal(s): NOT spiders. And NOT birds given how many rooftops he’s traversed layered in pigeon ick. He’d probably say cats. Favorite music: The B side of techno rock - especially Depeche Mode.

Peter Quill: Ethnicity: Half mixed American and half celestial. Faith: His Dad was a god and he killed him so he figures he probably isn’t on the best terms with the Big G God should He... or She... or Them... be out there. Look he just wants to do his thing and cause a little trouble without mixing it up with any other celestial types but if they DO wanna throw down he’d like to point out that he’s 1 for 1 and willing to rumble. Smoker: He would not say no to a really good cigar and may have possibly lifted a case from Yondu’s stash when he struck out on his own. Alcohol: Anywhere any time and in large quantities. Favorite food: A thick steakhouse bacon burger with potato chips right on the patty. Extra cheese please! Favorite cookie: He’s a simple guy with simple tastes. classic chocolate chip no frills no fuss and fresh from the oven. Favorite animal(s): He likes dogs - who doesn’t like dogs? But he really likes cows. Just maybe don’t mention the burger thing. Favorite music:

Thor: He’s a Norse god of legend so I figure we can forego the ethnicity/faith questions lol. Smoker: He has never understood this human custom nor has he felt any inclination to try it himself Alcohol: Beer, mead, and anything capable of knocking him on his ass. Favorite food: chili with ghost peppers. Though nowhere near as hot as the fire chilies of Muspelheim (which would be instantly fatal for humans so its just as well). Favorite cookie: strawberry cheesecake with macadamia nuts. Favorite animal(s): It’s a tossup between bilgesnipe and whales. Favorite music: The mighty horns of battle! He also enjoys old school country, much to Tony’s disgust. The story aspect of that music is what appeals to him.

Bruce Banner: Ethnicity: Italian-American Faith: Catholic in his childhood; currently Atheist or maybe agnostic. Smoker: He tends to avoid any substances for, you know, obvious reasons. Alcohol: See previous. Favorite food: Waffles with sliced mango. Favorite cookie: Oatmeal. Favorite animal(s): Mantis shrimp - “did you know they can generate so much power in their attacks that they can briefly super-heat the water up to 7,700 °C??” Favorite music: Indian- especially Krishna Bhajan.

Clint Barton: Ethnicity: Mixed European-American and Panamanian. Faith: His parents were both Protestant but he’s never latched on to any specific faith and hasn’t really devoted a lot of thought on the matter. He has a sorta loose idea of “maybe something out there” but that’s all the further he’s gotten on the subject. What he tells anyone who asks it’s that his religion is coffee. Smoker: Briefly when he was a teen. Alcohol: Beer - he’s a fan of dark lager. Favorite food: Coney Island dogs, Pizza, and pickle flavored potato chips. Favorite cookie: Monster cookies with the mini M&Ms. Favorite animal(s): Dogs Favorite music: 80s rock and some country.

Natasha Romanoff: Ethnicity: Russian. Faith: She was not given much choice when younger and was raised as “state atheist” (per comics). In the years since escaping that life, however, she has tried to discover more about herself. Her parents were both Russian Jewish and there has been a pull to discover more about that faith - especially since meeting Wanda - who is Jewish. Smoker: No. Alcohol: Some vodka - that’s a given. But she actually prefers wine; and honestly her favorites are wine spritzers. Favorite food: Favorite cookie: Krumkake filled with creme and berries. Favorite animal(s): Favorite music: Overall she listens to a pile of little-known bands and whomever is playing at whatever bar in whatever city she happens to be in. She also is a huge fan of old school Spice Girls.

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keepcalmimthecupcake · 6 years ago

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She’s From Boston part 6

Steve McGarrett x ofc

Word count: 2697

Warnings: Car crash

A/N: It’s been quite some time since I’ve posted on this story. If you want to catch up, you can find the other parts here: 1 2 3 4 5 Feedback is lovely and fuels my muse’s fire. If you enjoy my work and would like to buy me a coffee, you can do so here. If you want to read my other works, you can find those here. Special thanks to my lovely beta @fandomoniumflurry who kept me on track as best she could and helped me work through my block. <3

After a quick trip to the grocery store to buy some steaks and a few other items, Steve and Sophie made their way back home. She was totally relaxed now, even laughing heartily at Steve’s silly jokes. She had only known the commander for less than a week, yet it felt like she’d known him for years. She felt completely comfortable in his presence, which was something she never thought possible with anyone but Lydia and Michael. As the pair crossed through her mind, she made a mental note to call them and let them know everything was alright once she and Steve arrived home.

The grocery items were brought inside and Steve went up to shower while Sophie put things away and fired up the grill. As she waited for it to heat up, she picked up her phone and called her cousin. “Lyd, it was awful! I was so scared! Steve and Tani went inside! But everything turned out ok. Steve took them down.” Lydia could hear the pride in her younger cousin’s voice as she spoke about this hero named Steve McGarrett. The way Sophie spoke about him, the man seemed like he could walk on water.

They talked a little longer, then Sophie ended the call to begin cooking. Steve finished his shower then came downstairs to attempt to help with the grill, but his hand was promptly swatted away. “You’ve worked enough today, mister!” Sophie said. “Sit back and let me pamper you a little.” While the steaks were searing to perfection, she cubed up some potatoes, added a few garlic cloves and other spices, then wrapped the lot in some tin foil to throw on next to the meat.

Steve sat outside on a lawn chair sipping a beer and watching her work. He smiled as she moved about, curious about this potato recipe. When she brought the foil wrapped package out and placed it on the grill, he questioned her. “Where did you learn the potato thing?” She turned to him and smiled. “My dad taught me a thing or two about grilling. Actually he taught me a lot of things about cooking in general. My mom was a good cook, but my dad was a great one.”

The two talked about Sophie’s life growing up in New England as dinner cooked. She checked the food once in a while, then sat back down to answer his many questions. Why he was interested in her younger years, she didn’t know, but it felt nice to have someone interested in what her hopes and dreams and fears were. Some of the questions hit a nerve she wasn’t yet ready to pluck just yet, but Steve understood and did not pry.

When the meal was finished, she plated the food and set the dishes down on the small table between them. They ate in silence for a few moments, then she looked over at him. “What about you? Have you always lived in Hawaii?” Steve chuckled and went silent for a moment. “I was born here but I moved to the mainland when I was fifteen, after my mother passed. That’s a story for another time, though.” Sophie smiled and nodded, understanding that each probably needed to get to know the other better before such intimate details were spoken of.

Steve complimented her cooking skills several times as they ate, stating that she’d have to teach him her potato recipe. A comfortable silence set in for another few moments, then Steve looked over at her. “I’d like to hear some more about your childhood. What was one of your favorite things to do?” Sophie thought for a moment then smiled. “Well, autumn was a kind of big thing in my neighborhood. There were several people that had grand Halloween parties. Those were always fun, even if pretty spooky sometimes. The best haunted houses were there. But my favorite thing during that time was apple picking. I don’t know why I enjoyed it so much, but the apples always tasted better fresh off the trees.”

She paused and took another bite of her food, then laughed softly. “Of course, there was the time that I broke my arm at an orchard. I should have listened to my dad when he told me not to climb too high, but there was an apple that looked absolutely perfect and I was determined to make it mine. So I climbed higher and higher. ‘Sophie, I said don’t go too high! I’m not taking you to the hospital if you fall!’ he told me. But when I did inevitably fall, he was the first one at my side, followed closely by my mother. When we got home after the trip to the emergency room, he sat down with me. ‘I hope now you understand why I told you not to climb too high.’ he said and I just nodded. He often told me things and I didn’t always listen. I still wanted to try things. But if his warning came to pass, he would always make sure I understood why he had given his advice.” The silence once again sat in, Steve allowing her to get lost in her memories as they dined.

Once the food was finished, both fully satisfied, they cleaned up the table and moved to the living room. “It’s still your day, Princess Sophie. You pick a movie.” Steve said, a bright smile on his face. She blushed slightly and began to look through his movie collection. Most of them were action films. Though several were among some she enjoyed a lot, none were quite what she was in the mood for. “Ok you’re gonna think I’m silly, but I have a movie up in my room that I’d really like to watch right now.” Steve nodded his approval and she made her way to her room to search through her backpack, where she kept a few of her favorite movies that she’d brought with her.

After finding the film, she returned to the living room and turned on the dvd player. “Ok promise you won’t make fun of me for this? I used to watch this with my parents all the time. It’s one of my favorites ever and….” With the talk of her parents and her childhood, memories were flooding back to her and tears prickled her eyes. “I just kinda wanna watch this right now.”

Steve chuckled and sat down on the couch. “I promise I won’t make fun of you for it. ” Sophie pushed play then joined him on the couch. “It is considered a kids kind of movie but I think it’s for adults as well. It always makes me feel...I don’t know. I guess comfortable would be a good word? It brings back a lot of good memories for me. Dad would always pop us some popcorn and pour some apple juice for me. I probably drank an orchard’s worth of apple juice as a kid.” she said, laughing softly.

Both went silent then, watching the screen as the opening of the Wizard of Oz began to play on the screen. “Now this brings me back. I watched this with my parents a few times, too.” Steve stated simply, placing an arm on the back of the couch behind her. They settled in to watch the film, but when Steve looked over at her not more than a half hour after it began, he saw that she was asleep.

He chuckled and moved to pick her up. Carefully, he climbed the stairs and placed her gently on her bed. A blanket was draped over her, as the night was beginning to cool down and her window was open. When he went back downstairs, Junior was walking in the door. The younger man saw the film still playing on the screen and he raised a brow in question. “Sophie picked a movie to watch. She’s clearly had a long day, though. Passed out not long after it started.” Steve explained as Junior got himself some food, then sat on the couch.

She was back in her childhood home, fourteen years old once again. The gray autumn afternoon loomed over them, but the temperature was still rather warm. Rain had been threatening for days, but none had yet fallen. She was reading the newest book in her collection out under her favorite tree as her parents were packing up for a weekend trip to their cabin. She had decided she’d rather stay home and read, and her parents had agreed that she was old enough to stay on her own for a couple days. It probably had helped her case that her grandparents lived next door.

Once the car was packed, her parents walked over and gave her some last minute instructions and her father handed her some money so she could treat herself and order take out for dinner that night. They kissed her, hugged her and told her they loved her, and she returned their affection. She was anxious to be staying by herself, but she knew if she got too spooked, Nana and Papa would welcome her to stay with them. She smiled and waved as she watched her parents walk away. Her smile faltered a bit, though, when the first few drops of rain caressed her face. This meant she’d have to go inside now.

After settling herself in the rocking chair, she decided that she wanted to work on the crochet project she’d begun a few days before. Nana had taught her the craft and Sophie was excited to make her first blanket. Of course, it would be a Christmas gift for her parents. She didn’t know how much time had passed, but it was beginning to get dark and her stomach was rumbling.

She moved to the kitchen and looked in the drawer for the takeout menus, trying to decide what she wanted. Pizza was decided on and she called in an order for a large Hawaiian pizza. She settled back in now, the steady rain calming as she resumed her project. After some time, she heard a knock on the door. ‘Pizza got here quick’ she thought, but when she went to the door, it was not the pizza guy.

Lights from two police cars flashed in the darkness and two somber looking officers stood at the door. “Is this the home of Leonardo and Marilyn Russo?” the younger looking officer asked. Sophie’s heart thudded in her chest as she nodded. Her mouth was too dry to speak. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nana and Papa walking over. “Miss, is anyone here with you?” the second officer asked. Sophie shook her head, her voice raspy as she spoke. “No, but my grandparents are here.” she said, pointing to the elderly couple that had reached the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m so sorry to tell you this, but Leonardo and Marilyn were in a car crash about an hour ago. A drunk driver hit them head on.” the young officer said, his voice cracking slightly. “Neither of them survived. I’m sorry.” Sophie’s head began to spin. The lights made her even dizzier and she heard a scream in the distance. She didn’t realize it was her own scream until Papa’s arms were around her, catching her just before she hit the ground.

When the two men heard the scream from Sophie’s room, they both leapt to their feet and bounded up the stairs. She was sitting upright on her bed screaming and crying. She was confused for a moment, then realized where she was now, and whose arms were now around her. They weren’t Papa’s arms. He had died almost a year ago. They were Steve’s. “Hey. Hey I got you. We got you. What’s wrong?” he spoke softly, gently caressing her hair.

It took a moment before she was fully aware that she’d had a nightmare. It had been a long time since she’d dreamt of the worst night of her life. “Come on. Why don’t you come downstairs and we can talk about it if you want.” Steve practically carried her back down the stairs and sat her on the couch. “I…..I dreamt of the night my parents died. I hadn’t for a long time. I don’t know why I did tonight. I’m sorry for startling you guys.” Steve and Junior both frowned. “You don’t have to be sorry for that.” Junior stated. “We were just concerned is all.” He went to the kitchen and brought her back a bottle of water.

“It was probably my fault. I’m sorry for asking those questions earlier.” Steve stated. “No, it’s fine. I’ve talked about them before and didn’t have any nightmares. They haven’t happened for a long time.” she restated. “I like talking about them. Sometimes it makes me sad, but I want to like I don’t know….keep their memories alive. That was a really bad time for me. I was fourteen. I went to live with my Nana and Papa after that, but about a month after, we moved. It hurt us all too much to live next door to where my parents used to be.”

The next few hours were spent with Sophie telling the men tales of her youth. She told them about the time she and Lydia had nearly gotten arrested because her cousin had “borrowed” her parents’ car. What the older girl hadn’t said was that she hadn’t informed her parents that she was taking the car and they’d reported it stolen. The cop pulled them over and Lydia was in tears as she tried to explain that it was her parents’ car. This story earned a loud peal of laughter from both men.

Her eyes went slightly misty and a smile graced her face when she spoke about being the maid of honor at Lydia and Michael’s wedding. “Everything was perfect! It was supposed to rain that day, but the sun shone bright the whole ceremony. They wanted to get married in the place they met, which was on a beach in Maine. The rocky coast, ocean splashing behind us, birds chirping, the scent of the ocean and the many MANY flowers just…..” She trailed off for a moment then blushed slightly and chuckled. “Sorry. I got lost for a minute. Anyway, I owe them so much. They are the ones that got me here. Honestly, if it wasn’t for them, I probably wouldn’t even be alive right now.” Several other tales of her adventures with Lydia were told, some sad, some happy, all helping to make the nightmare disappear as her thoughts focused on two of the most important people in her life.

After a while, Junior excused himself to go up to his room. Steve and Sophie stayed downstairs and finished the Wizard of Oz. When it was over, Sophie turned to him, her cheeks flushed slightly. “I have a request. It’s weird, I know. But I feel….safe with you. Would it be ok if I slept in your room tonight? Or at least for a little while. I’m still kinda shaken by that dream.” Steve smiled and nodded. “Of course you can. I’ll be your personal dream catcher. If anymore bad dreams want to get to you, they have to go through me first.”

The pair made their way upstairs and Sophie collapsed onto the bed, still in her clothes. She didn’t bother to get under the covers. The room felt rather warm tonight. She felt kind of odd being in Steve’s bed, but he didn’t seem to think anything of it. They were friends, after all, and he wanted to assure that she was able to sleep peacefully. He was glad that she felt safe with him. As she lay there, she wondered how many other people felt safe because Steve and his team were always on duty to serve and protect. Her eyes were starting to drift closed before Steve even got under the covers. “Good night, Princess Sophie.” he said. “G’night, Steve.” she mumbled in return before she fell into a deep sleep.

#she's from boston #Hawaii Five-0 #H50 #Steve McGarrett #junior reigns #boo writes

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cryingxaddict-blog · 6 years ago

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The First Post is Always the Hardest...

so tbh, I don't even know why I am here. I just have this need to let my thoughts out on a forum for the world to see. is it for the attention that I'm severely lacking or do I just love public humiliation? keep reading to find out!

I guess I can start with sort of an introduction. I'm in my early 30s, smoke way too much pot, dont drink nearly enough as I should and over thinks absofuckinglutely everything. I have an average 9-5 (8:30-5 really) job that is slowly sucking the life out of me but it helps to finance my equally average lifestyle.

In my opinion, I was kind of an awkward loser in high school. I was too punk rock for school but also too smart and respected my parents too much to be a complete teenage delinquent. I wrote for the school paper, participated in theater, took extra courses just cuz and graduated with a 3.8 GPA. I also organized walkouts, burned flags, cut my own hair (yikes), only wore band merch, clothes from the thrift stores, fishnets and chucks, my jean jacket with all my buttons and patches was my prized possession and the feeling I got after fucking shit up in the pit was as satisfying as that first drag of the day. My punk rock phase seamlessly merged into my pop-punk/emo phase where red eyeshadow was life and if I could just touch Gerard Way, I could die happily.

I never dated in high school, I crushed alot though. thanks to that desperation, I jumped on the first guy that ever gave me any attention. Mistake. it was such a waste of a first love. he lived far, we never saw each other and honestly, just used each other to rid ourselves of the burdens virginity. so that ended quickly. I was crushed and overly dramatic about it all. from then on, it was just a string of losers who were just waiting for a girl like me to come along. I enjoyed a long FWB, which of course crashed and ended cuz I fell in love. after all that, i shut down for a bit and in 2010 was introduced to the longest waste of my life.

my collective dating history reads like a Who's Who of Human Crap (be ready for all the FRIENDS references)...

let's just refer to this guy as WB.

WB and I were together for 7 years. SEVEN!!

in that time, my life changed drastically. my mom passed away from cancer in 2012. my whole life fell apart. somehow I become responsible for upkeep of a household and my dad just deteriorated. He later passed in 2017. in 2013,my beloved grandma passed away as well. I lost so many people I loved in more ways than just death. my family fell apart and the only person I felt I could turn to was WB.

he was 5 yrs older than me, unemployed, still lived at home, no car, multiple DUI'S and just a touch of idiot. I think back and tbh, I dont even think i was ever even attracted to him, let alone in REAL love. I just needed someone. unfortunately, that someone was an alcoholic with severe daddy issues and a coke problem. he never put my emotional needs before anyone/thing else and just dragged me along taking advantage of my autopilot status. I was too broken to fight back, to even speak up for what I deserved.

every time I tried to pull away, he used my broken heart to keep me around. he is the most toxic person I have ever been involved with. threats of suicide after each break up, grand gestures of pouring full 20 oz. $14 local craft beers down the sink with promises of sobriety and tearful apologies all were bullshit. during our seven year stretch, I had bounced from my own home, to his home, to my best friends couch, back into his house and then finally, on my own. I moved out by myself, without his financial help. in less than 2 yrs, I officially ended it. I woke up one morning, looked at him and just was over it. he knew it. I knew it. it was done.

instead of taking time to myself and healing after such trauma, I decided to IMMEDIATELY jump into another relationship! another fking mistake. I not only let this man into my severely damaged heart, but also my home. he took full advantage of reduced rent and daily sex. lied to me at every chance he had, manipulated my feelings into believing that he actually cared. he was just really good at going with the flow as long as the flow was going. just like everything else, this all ended pathetically. he used me until he didnt need me anymore and bounced. I was left alone.

I did my best to recover gracefully, but unfortunately let myself slip into another string of pointless hookups and Tinder dates. I ended up in a random 3 month trail period type relationship with a "nice guy" that ended abruptly due to his intense clingyness (I thought I was bad) and the realization that I'm pretty fking gay.

which kind of brings us up to speed here. about 6 months ago I got drunk at a gay bar for a coworker's birthday. next thing you know, we're making out in the club and dryhumping in her Mustang. that was complicated in it's own right and ran its course as they all do. the only difference with this one is that now I'm left with the big question of WHO TF AM I? like who am I?

am I gay, straight, bi? idk...

what I can say is that I am on the path of self discovery that has been ignored for far too long. I am chopping through the overgrown brush and branches that I have let overcome me while I was letting myself be distracted by each person that comes into my life. I have a tendency of losing myself completely. I cut friends out. I cut out my own personal health (what is gym?) I just give all of myself to them. And they never deserve it. Never. I am just tired of it. my heart is tired of it.

I'm over creating fantasies in my head with people who dont even want me or for longing for something that i cant seem to achieve. what I can do is just take care of myself. focus on myself. actually LOVE myself. what else is there really? at the end of it all...all those people who have come into my life are gone in one way or another. but here I am. still here. waiting for me to desperately love myself the way I have mindlessly loved others.

I guess we'll just have to wait and find out...

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sticks-and-stone · 4 years ago

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Hampton Tract

October 10, 2019 - October, 12, 2019

So we did Hampton Tract this time for our second round of monthly camping. Hampton is in the same water management district as Potts, but on the western side of the Hillsborough Nature Preserve. Prepping for this trip was wildly different than prepping for the Potts trip for several reasons. The first being that we had done the camping thing and now knew what we were missing and what we needed to get to prep. We were also given a lot of gear by family and friends. So a lot of our upgrades became major game changers.

We also planned for two nights instead of just one this time. We figured since we had proven that we wouldn’t die in the woods, it would be safe to try for a second night. A quick overnight is mostly setting up and taking down anyway. Not a whole lot of time to just enjoy the trip. This meant that I also needed to make sure that there was plenty to do so we wouldn’t get bored and just drink too much. So I introduced the concept of a “toy bag” which is basically just a bag of crafts, card games, coloring books, and such. This way, if we got bored or it rained, we would have options.

In addition to the toy bag, our gear had improved drastically. We got ourselves more organized and more prepared. It didn’t feel like our second trip at all, it felt more like our 9th or 10th. Still not quite perfect, but we felt ready. We organized our gear into categories, researched what other people pack with them for this time of year, and made so many lists.

We had two main categories for gear this trip. Hardware and software. Hardware included the tent, the chairs, and any other structural pieces for the campsite such as clips, ties, and stakes. The Software bag was for things like flashlights, bug spray, first aid, etc. this separation helped a TON with staying organized on site.

We added a small amount of gear to this trip. Smaller than I would have expected, but the items we added were complete game changers. This time around we had more coolers. I went to dads and cleaned out his shed in exchange for taking whatever old camping gear I could find. I didn’t take much, but I did take all of his coolers. The first one was a typical, 10 gallon wheeled guy. The second was a five gallon water spigot cooler from our soccer days, and the third was a tiny square spigot guy that might hold a six pack of beer. We used the big wheeled guy for beer and our pre-made coffee supply, the five gallon spigot for our ice water supply (a new thing that made all the difference) and then I continued to use my roommates cooler for our food. Being able to separate the drinks from the food was huge. The first time we went, they were all in the same cooler and the ice we needed for the drinks melted and got water all in our food. So this time, we only used ice packs in the food cooler to protect against moisture and then just loaded up on the ice in our drinks cooler. So our beer was ice cold and our food stayed dry!

I also got a folding shovel from my dad. This came in very handy with the fire pit which was full of someone else's garbage (including an old diaper) when we arrived. Jenna borrowed fireplace gloves from a friend of hers too. Just those two, easily forgotten items, made a world of difference when it came to fire maintenance.

As far as other borrowed supplies go, Jenna also borrowed a headlamp from that same friend. I had never thought about using one before, but I will never go camping without one again. We arrived very late at night, so having that made setting up in the dark a breeze.

My roommate gifted us with a hammock. Again, this was a piece of gear that I had never thought about adding to my pack before, but it was the most relaxing part of the entire weekend. Being able to sway softly and read a book (even one I didn’t enjoy at all) was amazing.

So here we were, gear-wise, having an epically better camping trip than the last and I haven't even begun to explain the game changers I actually spent money on. During our Potts trip, we realized that we needed more lighting at our campsite. After the sun went down it was very dark and we could see next to nothing. We definitely didn’t want any booming spot lights or anything, but just some soft background lighting to help us out. So I went on Amazon and bought two tiki torches, and a string of battery powered fairy lights. At Hampton, we were able to use the tiki torches not only to illuminate our area and square it off, but also to help repel the bugs which were still kind of bad for October. And the string lights helped us avoid tripping while we found spots in the woods to pee, but also made our entire little set up look very cute. I hope to continue to work on the aesthetic of the site during future trips.

Beyond the lighting, I also bought an air pump that plugs into the car, so we didn’t have to sleep on the ground! Small, but significant game changer. I bought rope (paracord) but we never used it. I’m keeping it in the gear kit though because every blog I’ve ever read tells me to. I’m sure it will be just a space taker until I actually need it and will be grateful to have it.

On the way down, we stopped at a dollar general for additional supplies (toys). We bought bubbles and glow sticks to mess around with after dark. We got a TON of extra bug spray and a citronella candle for bugs.

So gear-wise, we didn’t do much, but the things we did buy were such game changers that it made the Hampton trip so much better than we could have expected. We did things a little bit differently this time as far as execution goes. Two nights is drastically different than one so we had to think in advance, plan for the worst, and just mostly roll with the punches. And there were definitely a few punches.

We arrived at camp at about 11pm at night on friday. Way too late if you ask me, but we had not thought through it too well, I guess. The first thing we did was unload the car. We were much better this time about making sure that our hardware was easily accessible so that we could set up as fast as possible. We got the tent up first. It took us mere minutes and once it was up, I ran to check out the bathroom facilities.

The bathroom was a good ole fashion outhouse. A concrete building over a hole in the ground with a bucket and a lid covering the hole. The room was filled with dead and living love bugs and a broom in the corner to (I guess) sweep the massive layer of bug bodies out of your way? The toilet paper was damp (thank god I brought my own) and there was a smell that I swear could make you cry. I figured I would just pee behind the tent in the cover of the trees most of the time and only use this outhouse if I absolutely had to. At least this time I was not on my period.

Once the tent was up, Jenna went to work on the fire. Since it was so late, we didn’t need to eat, just needed to get the fire up and get settled in for the night. So we spent the evening around the fire, taking shots of gin (why did I have that?) and drinking beer. At some point I think we broke out the guitar and sang probably too loudly for our fast-asleep neighbors. There was a camper just across the field from us who I’m sure hated our guts by morning. Otherwise, we had plenty of space and privacy for this trip. Which I loved a lot. We stayed up far too late and finally passed out around 3am. I woke up before Jenna at about 7am. The air mattress was a game changer so I slept like a rock. It also didn’t get that cold (for October) during the night, so I was very comfortable.

I couldn’t get the fire started - I do not have the skills that Jenna does. So when she finally got out of bed (about an hour after me) I threw my hands up and told her it was her problem now. She got it going in no time (I was bitter) and we got to work on breakfast. It was about 10 am by the time we had breakfast on the table and our day was underway.

After breakfast we decided to go for a drive and check out the area a little. We left the site around noon after we got dressed and secured the site for our departure. This was the first two night trip and the first time that I really realized how slow you can actually go and I loved it. We left the site and drove down the long country road until we got to another corner of the Hillsborough Nature Preserve. The guy at the gate said that this was the hunting portion but that if we were just driving through we could do so. Apparently we didn’t strike him as the type of girls to sneak rifles in and hunt illegally. So off we drove. The man told us that it was just a few minutes to the end of the road and we would find ourselves back at the primitive campground. He was very wrong. After driving for about an hour through the woods and passing very sketchy looking groups of hunters with rifles (yikes) we finally got back out to another major road. Not our camping ground. We caved and broke out a phone to GPS our way back to where we needed to be. We were about 45 minutes away. So we tracked ourselves to the spot and stopped for gas, more beer, and snacks on the way.

We finally got back to the campsite around 3pm and took to doing our own things. We hung the hammock and Jenna took the first turn while I went to the picnic table to try my hand at whittling. I got comfortable enough with the knife and small piece of wood I found and relocated to the fire which I was able to get going and keep going on my own. I made a pencil!

Before we had left for our venture, the couple in the camper across the way offered us their leftover firewood, so we had plenty to get us through the rest of the trip. I whittled away and Jenna swayed and napped in the hammock. After a while, a car pulled in and two lesbians and their dog made camp in the spot where the couple in the camper had been. They drove a small sedan and unloaded a small tent and two chairs. They used their car to block our view of their entire set up which was disappointing. We enjoy scoping out other people’s set up to get ideas of our own.

Around the same time, we started to notice the sound of a small dog barking on the other end of the campground - about 100 yards away. We didn’t think much of it until it began getting louder and more annoying. We made comments to each other about it - mostly sarcastic, but didn’t honestly think anything of it.

Finally, Jenna got tired of being interrupted by the noise and offered me my turn on the hammock. I was eager to try it out so I grabbed a book and some extra bug spray and headed over there. I realized very quickly that this was my new favorite camping activity. The book I brought with me was a novel from Scotland that I never got around to reading. I figured I would give it a go and try out at least the first few chapters. As it turns out, I hated the book. It wasn’t broken into chapters at all and the language was difficult to keep up with. I gave up on it and just dosed in and out of a light sleep while I swayed softly. The dog - which I now realized was two dogs - grew louder and louder as more people piled in with their campers, tents, and dogs of their own. I wondered why the owners wouldn’t shut them up.

Jenna and I decided to start working on dinner. We brought steaks and potatoes with us to cook over the fire and the first thing we needed to do was get the coals hot enough which would take a bit of time. So I did that while Jenna started “marinating” a steak. We brought nothing to do this, but she managed to use the single packets of ketchup and BBQ sauce to make-shift a marinade. Honestly, I was wildly impressed. Don’t tell her. So we let the marinade soak in the tupperware container and just enjoyed a couple beers by the fire.

Suddenly, a woman walked up to us and presented us with the best drama. Apparently she had arrived around 1 or 2 that afternoon and from the time she got there until the time she walked over to our camp (around 5pm) those dogs had been barking nonstop and she wanted to know if we knew anything about the people camping there. Of course, we didn’t, but I did tell her that I noticed a car there this morning that was no longer there. Which made the woman (I cannot for the life of me remember her name) feel a lot better. Her concern was that someone was dead inside the camper. She said that it was about to get dark and that she was growing concerned for the animals. We agreed that if it got to be 8pm and no one showed up to the camp, we would take a closer look and possibly call the police.

So 8pm rolls around and she comes walking back over. This time, one of the lesbians from across the way and her dog are with her. Block party. So they tell us that they want to go look into the camper to see what the situation is but are afraid to do so alone. Me, being drunk, decided to be the brave one and lead the search crew. Jenna at my side. We walk over there with our flashlights and shone them in. There was a Jack Russel on the bed which was walled with a bug screen (so he got fresh air). His teeth were barred and his hair stood up on his back. He was not happy at all that we were there. Behind him (or her) there was a cage on the counter next to the bed. Inside were 4 Jack Russel puppies. And on the floor of the camper was a litter box and two black cats next to it. So what we thought was one or two dogs ended up being 7 animals just left alone in this camper. According to the woman whose name escapes me, they had been inside for at least 8 hours, maybe longer. So we decided to call the police and see what they could do.

Jenna did that while the lady and I walked around to the other campsites and let people know that the police would likely be showing up soon. Before we could make it back to our own site, a forest ranger showed up in her truck. Super nice lady. She asked us to go back to our sites and that she would handle this. She drew her weapon (I had no idea that they armed rangers) and her flashlight and started looking around the camper and trying the door - which was locked. Me and Jenna, the lady, and the lesbians all watched from our perspective sites. As the ranger looked around. Right as she was about to get back in her truck, a car pulled up next to the camper and a woman and a young man got out. Apparently it was their camper. They talked to the cop for a while then went inside and the barking stopped for the rest of the night.

A little while later, the lady whose name escapes me came back over to our site to gossip. Apparently she was really nervous that we had pissed off the people for calling the cops. We agreed not to tell them who called (Jenna) if asked and to just say that we were all really worried about them thinking that they were dead inside. The lady told us that she was newly divorced and was trying camping out as a new hobby. She didn’t want a lot of people to know, but she was solo camping. Trying to find her independence I guess. She was nervous now and said she was going to sleep in her locked car. We told her we had a huge tent and she was welcomed to stay with us, but she refused and said that defeats the purpose of her trip, but that she thought we looked nice and she wanted to let someone know she was alone and scared. I have so much respect for her. I wish I could remember her name.

Jenna and I finished our dinner in peace and played music for a bit. We went to bed earlier than the night before (thank god) and got a great night’s sleep.

We woke up the next day and just kind of took our time. I slowly started repacking our bags and bins and would take frequent and long breaks in between. We had done this trip so much better than the last time that I wanted to saber it. I decided that I wanted to brush my teeth and get myself ready for the repacking of the car and the drive home.

While I was brushing my teeth, the lady that owns the dogs in the trailer came driving up to introduce herself to us and apologize for her animals. We explained to her that we were just concerned that there was a human in there that needed help. She explained that she was “on campus writing a paper all day” and that she would be again today but this time she was going to leave her adult son behind to watch over the animals.

Needless to say, that was a strange encounter and we were sufficiently creeped out. Who goes camping when they have a paper to write? Who brings their adult son to campus to write a paper? We had so many questions but figured that most of them were better left unanswered. We quickly finished packing and just left before she came back

Besides the neighbor drama and the really gross bathroom, this was a pretty good trip. Gear-wise, we really stepped it up and I am pretty proud of us.

Get Outside,

Stone

#camping #tent camping #outdoor #adventure

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bucky-barfs · 7 years ago

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Let There Be Cowgirls

Let There Be Cowgirls(½): A Captain America Fanfiction

Relationship: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky has been cleared to start going out on social gatherings and Steve has been cleared to start forming intimate relationships. So what happens when they go to a bar and meet you?

Warnings: Drinking, mention of threesome, mention of military service.

Word Count: 3,840

Author’s Note: I’ve never in my life tried to write this perspective before. I typically stick to third person omniscient, sorry if this sucks. This is the first part of a two-shot Reader x Steve, Reader x Bucky threesome. The second will most likely be gratuitous smut. Also, this happens in a post Civil War perfect land where nobody is in jail and everyone is mostly happy.

Bucky was not sure how he ended up here. He was only cleared to go out earlier that day, upon hearing the news Clint and Sam had immediately insisted on taking him out. Steve had of course followed and for good measure, Natasha had come too, just to keep an eye on her boys.

It had been a rough few months of therapy, all of the Avengers were in therapy, but Bucky had it the most frequently. His therapist had suggested a few weeks ago that he start pushing out of his comfort zone, first suggesting that he simply head a few floors down and grab a coffee from the Starbucks in the tower.

Next suggesting he try something other than plain black coffee, which had opened him up to a world of sweets he had never known before. In his time, sweets were rationed and everything was bland. Now he could get anything and everything he wanted, in fact, he had one time. He had asked the barista for one pump of everything, it hadn’t been good, but he had simply been excited by the thought.

A few weeks later, she had told him how proud of him she was and cleared him to leave the tower. Which usually meant Sam and Steve dragged him to some nearby food cart or nearby eatery. It was fine like that, it kept his human interaction minimal while also allowing him to slowly get used to the idea of being seen.

That had initially been his biggest issue; he had lived in the shadows for so long he hadn’t known how to stop. Going outside in broad daylight, even just to head to the deli on the corner was a huge step for him. It had terrified him at first, but Sam and Steve had been his rocks.

The two men had never faltered, and though his relationship with Sam appeared to be rocky, it was incredibly beneficial to him. The teasing and refusal to tiptoe around him had helped immensely; Sam treated him as if he was human. Whereas Steve still edged around him, afraid of upsetting him or setting him off.

Steve’s same therapist had given him the go-ahead weeks ago to start working on forming intimate relationships. Which had led to Clint and Sam attempting to take him to a strip club, as if that’s where relationships were formed.

Earlier that day Bucky’s therapist had proudly declared that she thought he was fit enough to go out socially. Which was how Sam concluded that Bucky and Steve needed to go to a bar. Clint had immediately jumped on board, excitedly planning the night out with his fellow bird. Steve had been apprehensive, partially because he himself was still iffy about going out.

According to Sam and Clint, they had chosen this bar, a country themed bar, because it was simple. The people there were mostly polite and while the music wasn’t what the boys had been used to, it was much better than that weird beeping shit. Most of the bar was retired military and traveling people who were in the rodeo or something related.

The former assassin was hunched over in the corner of the bar eyeing the drink in front of him with contempt. Clint had hurriedly ordered it for him before ditching the group to head after some girl in daisy dukes. Steve sat beside him, blinking at the odd drink in front of him. Neither man cared for the taste; however, they suspected it might be some type of beer.

They noticed the bartender slide over to their side of the bar, you eyed them curiously as you set a drink down in front of a man a few stools away. Bucky instinctively tensed and Steve immediately sat up straighter as you walked over to them.

“Evenin’ fellas. Your drinks okay?” You asked, your voice sounding like honey. The southern lilt in it was thick as you kept your voice low.

Both men shuddered; they could practically feel your words on their skin. Your accent seemed to caress them, the gentle inflection in your tone making them feel like you actually might care about their orders. You were definitely good at your job.

“Uh, what is it that we’re drinking?” Steve asked, his face wrinkling as he forced himself to take another sip.

You cocked her head and smiled softly. Your black, silver studded cowboy hat tilting forward and nearly falling in your face. “You’re with the blonde guy right? With the arms?” You murmured jerking your chin towards where Clint was dancing with some blonde-haired woman.

“Yeah.” Steve answered, though he was a little confused about the arms part. Didn’t everyone have arms? Well… maybe not everyone.

“It’s an IPA. Beer, but in my opinion, not good beer.” You chuckled softly before pulling their drinks away from them. “They’ve only picked up traction within the last few years; mostly hipsters drink ‘em.”

Hipsters was not a term that Bucky recognized, however, it made a small amount of sense to him. He could use context clues to guess the meaning, though he was off by about a mile. If the beer had only become popular within the last few years, then that explained a lot.

Steve, however, recognized the term immediately. Natasha had jokingly called him one when they donned disguises and ran from Hydra several years ago. She had spent the next ten minutes trying to explain to him what a hipster was.

“You fellas like whiskey?” You asked casually, turning back to the shelf behind you to catalogue the bottles. Bucky took note of how your long hair swished just above your jean-clad ass. He was sure every part of you was carefully crafted so you could get the best tips; your movements were friendly, but deliberate. You were clearly a woman who had perfected her art.

Steve raised an eyebrow at Bucky, silently asking him if he liked whiskey. Back in the day, they had, but they weren’t sure if they liked any new brands. Steve knew he liked what Tony drank, but he had a feeling that it was excessively expensive and that a place like this most likely wouldn’t carry it.

“Yeah.” Bucky answered gruffly, much to Steve’s surprise.

Steve shot him an odd look that was only met with a shrug. His therapist had told him to interact with people more, so he was doing as he had been told. Plus, you were a bartender, which meant you were kind of like the Baristas he had befriended.

Both men summerized that you were cute; with your grey and red flannel tied up into a crop top with low-rise black jeans. If the sound of your footsteps was any indication, you were most likely wearing cowboy boots much like everyone else in the bar.

“Alright, well let’s see what we’ve got, yeah?” You shot them a cheeky smile over your shoulder as you pulled down five different bottles of whiskey.

“By the way,” You started as you set the bottles down in front of them, quickly finishing by introducing yourself.

“Steve.” The blonde man replied, giving you a hesitant smile.

The sincerity in his eyes made you melt. You weren’t technically supposed to take customers home, but boy did you want to share a handsy cab ride with this one. It wasn’t the bars rule, it was your own personal rule.

Bird Dog Blackberry, Bird Dog Peach, Cutty Sark, Wild Turkey, Old Grand-dad. Bucky mentally catalogued. Cutty Sark and Old Grand-dad seemed familiar, he liked familiar. However, he was supposed to try new things.

“Bucky.” The dark haired one mumbled.

“Alright, let’s start with Old Grand-Dad. It’s a classic. It’s been around since the 1840s, it’s a Kentucky bourbon. It’s got classic whiskey notes and this sucker is 100 proof. It’s got a sweet, but savory taste going on. I give it to all the whiskey snobs who tell me to surprise them.” You poured them each a small amount in disposable cups. Both men tried it, both pleasantly surprised by the familiar taste of it.

“Next, Wild Turkey. My least favorite whiskey, ever. But, some people swear by it.” You wrinkled your nose as you took back their cups and poured a small amount in. “It’s been around since the 1940s, it’s also a Kentucky bourbon. Now this one is 101 and proof. It’s got a smokier and grittier flavor that sticks around in the back of your throat. Most people prefer it with a bit of water. But it’s best in mixed drinks.”

Both men drank their cups, this time pulling slight faces. Maybe in the past they would have liked it, but both men had become spoiled by modern day sweets. The gritty flavor of this one just was not cutting it for them.

“Now, Cutty Sark. It’s a Scottish whisky from the 1920s. It’s also 100 proof. This one is soft, has less of a charred taste and is medium bodied so it doesn’t linger. It’s a good basic whisky.” You shrugged as you slid the drinks over to them. They enjoyed this one more, it was softer. Neither man really liked the lingering taste that the previous one had left.

“Don’t you have other customers?” Steve asked apprehensively, there were quite a few other people in the bar.

You shook your head, “They can get their drinks from Cash.” You waved your hand dismissively before shooting them a devilish look. “Besides, I like pleasing my customers.” You finished off with a wink in Bucky’s direction.

Cash was your fellow bartender, who because he lacked the proper assets -ahem, boobs- did not make as much in tips as you. However, he was a kickass bartender and the regulars loved him.

“Alright, Bird Dog is a newer whiskey. It’s also a Kentucky Bourbon, but it’s only 86 proof. Bird Dog is known for its flavored whiskeys. If you have a sweet tooth this is the whiskey for you. Personally, the blackberry one is my favorite. Now, this isn’t like those fruity pink colored cocktails, this may be sweet, but it’s still whiskey.” You decided to pour them the peach one first.

Steve’s eyes widened as he drank it, while Bucky simply stared at it suspiciously after finishing his. It was delicious, yet both men felt slightly betrayed that they preferred this new age sweet whiskey to their familiar Old Grand-Dad.

Bucky was sure he’d found love when he tried the blackberry one, while Steve preferred the peach. Something about the sweetness of it mixing with the woody flavor of the bourbon made his taste buds sing.

You grinned as they grudgingly admitted their approval of the drinks. “Neat or on the rocks?” Both men chose neat, which lead to their plastic cups being disposed of and replaced with glass tumblers.

“I’ll be back to check on y’all in a bit.” You said before sashaying away from them and walking over to a group of undeniably drunk men at the other end of the bar.

“She was nice.” Steve mused quietly.

Bucky grunted in reply. You had been very nice to be so patient with them; of course, your motives were most likely tip related. It still made him feel warm inside, or maybe that was just the sweet whiskey he was sipping.

“She’s cute.” Natasha said casually, admiring her nails.

Steve and Bucky both jumped a little, neither had noticed Natasha show up.

“Where did you come from?” Steve asked, stuttering slightly. Natasha was one of the few people who could sneak up on him, and it hadn’t helped that maybe he had been a bit distracted by the cute bartender.

“Since Wild Turkey.” She snarked, spinning her seat to lean her back against the bar so she could analyze the crowd. Steve’s cheeks reddened and Bucky’s eyes narrowed at her revelation. “I think she likes you.” She didn’t bother specifying which of them.

The dark haired man immediately wanted to change the subject and clearly, Natasha was talking about Steve. Which, maybe, disappointed him. “What’re you drinking?” Bucky questioned, pointing to her mason jar.

Natasha eyed it curiously as if she was seeing it for the first time. “A Cowboy Killer.” She sent a smirk in the soldier’s direction.

The blond super soldier squinted at Natasha’s head. “Where did that hat come from?” She hadn’t shown up in a cowboy hat, but now she was wearing a sleek black one, perched easily on her red curls.

“A cowboy gave it to me.” She stated simply.

“Gave?” Bucky asked, raising a brow and shooting her a lopsided grin.

She looked offended for a minute before standing up and narrowing her eyes. “… Yes.” The redhead walked away, venturing back out into the fray.

“Hey, man? What’s that?” Sam asked, materializing out of seemingly nowhere between the two soldier’s.

Bucky tried to stop himself from making a snarky remark, but was just a little too late. “A drink.” He replied wrinkling his nose at the lanky man.

“It’s called Bird Dog Whiskey.” Steve answered, shooting Bucky a disapproving look. He held his cup out to Sam, offering the other man a sip.

After savoring the taste for a second Sam blinked, confusion taking over his features. “Why does it taste like peaches?”

“It’s peach flavored whiskey.” Bucky snapped, an implied ‘duh’ at the end of his sentence.

Steve sighed, giving up on trying mediating. He wasn’t entirely sure how the two’s relationship worked. They seemed to antagonize each other to no end, sometimes he feared they would start throwing punches. But, oddly enough, it seemed to work for them. Bucky seemed genuinely at ease around Sam, which filled Steve with a great sense of relief.

There was a few minutes of bickering before You approached them again right as the song changed. The new song singing something about God making cowgirls.

“Hey, soldier’s. Y’all still doing okay?” You leaned against the counter, maybe, just maybe, slightly showing off your exposed cleavage. It came with the job, but you also just kind wanted them to check the girls out.

Steve looked at you incredulously, “How’d you know?” After noticing how you were leaning against the bar his cheeks flushed and he began staring at the wall directly behind you.

Bucky risked a glance at your chest before swallowing thickly and averting his eyes the wall beside him.

Mission accomplished. You thought smugly.

“Most of my family is military. I recognize it in your eyes.” You shot a slightly sad look at Steve and Bucky, causing both men to shudder. For a second you placed your hand on Steve’s, before straightening up again behind the bar.

You would have done the same thing to Bucky, but you were getting the feeling that he wasn’t a fan of being touched.

You then brought your warm eyes to rest on Sam. “Airman.” You nodded at him.

“Okay, that’s impressive.” Sam said, tipping his beer bottle in your direction. “I’m Sam.” He gave you a charming grin as he settled into the seat Natasha had abandoned beside Steve.

Instead of immediately replying, you refilled the men’s drinks, not even needing to double check that you was pouring the right drinks. You answered with your name, giving him a curt smile.

Your expression brightened as you looked over at Bucky, he was continuously sweeping his too long hair behind his ears. Every few seconds the strands would fall back into his face, causing him to get slightly frustrated. The faint gleam of his metal hand could be seen as it rested on the bar, gently holding his cup. He had spent the last few months carefully practicing with holding breakable things, just to make sure his left arm wasn’t completely destructive.

“Interesting name.” Sam laughed, giving you a flirty look that you didn’t bother acknowledging. You already had your eyes on someone, or someone’s.

You kept your eyes on Bucky. “I have a non-traditional family.”

Suddenly, your hand appeared in front of him holding a black hair tie. “Take it.” You said, giving him a gentle smile.

Instead of immediately grabbing the hair tie Bucky set his glass down and dropped his arm to his lap, not wanting to scare you. He smiled apprehensively back as he gently plucked the hair tie from your outstretched hand, making sure to use his right hand. He still didn’t pick up his drinks at Starbucks using his left-hand. He was still too worried about its destructive properties to risk touching anyone else with it.

Truthfully, as you watched him put his hair up all you could thing about was threading your fingers through the strands and giving them a good hard yank.

Your eyes darted to a man several stools down from them, sitting with a group of friends, all of them drinking beer. He had a prosthetic hand and leg that went from the thigh down. Immediately your eyes returned to Bucky, giving him a warm look. What you had tried to portray was that this was a safe place, you hoped he understood.

Steve watched this short exchange, his eyes softening as Bucky hesitantly wrapped his metal hand around the glass again. He was already planning on how to invite you to lunch, once he saw something that made his friend happy he tended to leap on it.

Sam had already backed off; clearly noticing the vibes you were putting out were not for him. They seemed to be for Bucky, or maybe Steve? However, he could still ask you questions that he knew Bucky and Steve would never ask. Just as a little help to his friends.

“How old are you?” He asked giving the two a cheeky grin as your back was turned. Both replied with frowns, though Bucky’s looked slightly more murderous than Steve’s.

“Twenty-six. But, my birthday is in a few weeks.” You replied casually as you tidied up behind the bar.

Sam thought it over for a minute, before reaching for his phone and quickly typing a few things into google. “So you’re a Taurus? You know that means you’re really compatible with Cancers and Pisces.”

You turned and raised an eyebrow as you dried a tumbler. “Yeah? You know any?”

“These two.” He replied, cheekily pointing his thumbs at his two companions.

Steve and Bucky had honestly no idea if they were actually what Sam said they were. Wanda sometimes read them their horoscopes, but it was usually in one ear and out the other.

You looked Steve and Bucky over before giving Sam an unimpressed look. “Yeah? What are you? Their wingman?” God, you hoped he was.

Steve and Bucky both snorted, oh if only you knew that’s exactly what Sam was.

“You could say that. So, which one do you think you’re taking home tonight?” That one got him an under the table smack from Steve who was now looking anywhere but at you.

Bucky was staring into his glass, already knowing the answer.

“Por que no los dos?” You answered with a wicked grin.

Steve and Sam were rusty at best with their Spanish, but Bucky had been trained in multiple languages and was fluent. His eyes widened comically as he stared at you, his mouth slightly agape.

Women now were so forward, he saw that every time he went anywhere with Steve. Women would throw themselves at the blonde super soldier, which usually left Bucky sitting on the sidelines. He supposed that was how Steve had felt all those years.

“Shit.” Sam said, laughing. “She speaks Spanish. I need to get Nat over here to translate.” The phrase sounded weirdly familiar to him, but he couldn’t place it.

Bucky considered offering up the translation, but he decided to be selfish and keep it to himself. Your words made him feel warm, girls didn’t like him anymore, Steve was the desirable one now. But you had wanted both, which meant Steve and Bucky.

“Did someone call me?” Nat asked, walking back over to the bar. She had been observing from the sidelines while babysitting a drunk Clint. She hadn’t heard anything that was said, due to the drunk man’s babbling, aside from her own name.

“Hey, Nat! I need you to transla-” Sam started only to be cut off by Clint.

“Well, hello, cowgirl.” Clint slurred, sauntering up to the bar. He shot an easy smile towards you. It was clear that he was decently intoxicated; such was to be expected as they had now been at the bar for almost two hours. “Whose bed are your boots gonna be under tonight?”

You wrinkled your nose slightly. “Referencing a Shania Twain song about cheating to hit on me, classy.”

“Classy is all I kno-” Clint started. He was cut off as a burp rose in his throat, which he released, burping loudly near your face.

“Good one, Clint.” Sam groaned, shaking his head disdainfully.

Steve immediately started apologizing for his friend. You were used to it, in fact worse had happened, much worse. You resisted the urge to shudder at the memory of a customer defecating on the bar.

The man felt another burp coming up, only to realize at the last second that this one felt suspiciously like more than a burp. In an instant you were holding a small yellow puke bag in front of him, which Clint graciously accepted.

“Sorry, boys, I think we’ve gotta go.” Natasha said apologetically.

The others reluctantly got up, Steve pulling out his wallet. “How much do we owe you?” He motioned to Sam, himself, and Bucky. Natasha and Clint had set up a tab as soon as they walked in the door.

“Free for some fellow Bird Dog lovers.” You replied with a wink. “Which means you have to pay, Sam.” Your tone was teasing.

“Damn you, woman.” The former Airman replied, shaking his head.

Steve pulled out three twenties, “Then take these as a tip.” He gave you his signature all-American-boy smile that unbeknownst to him usually caused the panties to drop.

“I’ll see you again soon.” You replied, grinning as you slid the money into your back pocket. You leaned against the counter as you watched the group gently guide their drunk friend out.

You were a little disappointed that they had to leave, but you were confident that they would return.

Steve drove them back, Bucky sitting up front with Sam and Natasha sat in the back on either side of Clint.

“Man, I’m telling you, I was this close to sealing the deal for them.” Sam said, shaking his head ruefully as he glared at Clint.

“I’m so-sorry. I ruined Bucky’s only chance of getting laid- I’m the worst friend.” Clint drunkenly whined. He continued on, babbling nonsense while Natasha simply chuckled and gently patted his arm.

“We’ll just have to go back then.” Natasha said casually.

“By the way, Nat, what does ‘por que no los dos?’ mean?” Sam asked.

“Taco…commercial.” Clint mumbled.

“It means ‘Why not both?’” Both Natasha and Bucky supplied at the same time.

Steve accidentally tapped the brakes too hard, causing them to lurch to a stop at a red light. His cheeks were bright red and he coughed to cover up his embarrassment.

“Shit! From the taco commercial!” Sam exclaimed. “That’s where I know it from!”

Clint let out a loud wail, “I ruined their only chance at a threesome! I’m the worst!”

The car erupted into laughter. Steve continued coughing while Bucky chortled under his breath; Natasha laughed a full belly laugh and Sam simply let out a pained laugh as he shook his head.

“We’ll definitely have to go back then.” Natasha said as the laughter died down. There was mumbled agreement from the others in the car.

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky x Reader #the winter solider x reader #bucky barnes imagine #Steve Rogers x Reader #Bucky Barnes x You #the winter soldier imagine #Steve Rogers imagine #Steve Rogers x You #Captain America imagine #Captain America x you #Fanfiction #Captain America fanfic #Lexa Writes

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confusedunit · 4 years ago

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A Faint Divergence - Day 8

12 Days of Ficmas - Day 8 Gen, as always. Fluff Characters: Tommy, Bubby, Dr. Freeman, Dr. Coomer, Isaac, Eli, Barney Calhoun, Mr. Coolatta, Sunkist

Most nights at the Morally Gray, Tommy was more than content to take part in the festivities. But sometimes, he liked to sit back and just take in the vibe, and the memories.

The Morally Gray was what the guards had named the under the table bar they'd put together in the lower levels, named in 'honor' of the scientists above. 'Because the Morally Bankrupt didn't roll off the tongue as well' had been quipped more than once, but each time he thought it was funny. They'd stocked it with resources they gathered on their own, though once Tommy had found out about it he'd put some of his own money into it. He liked their entrepreneurship!

Drinks had a cost, but just for them to be able to pay for more alcohol. And non alcohol, of course, mostly mocktails. But the guard who ran the Morally Gray half the nights made sure she always kept a stock of soda for Tommy. He stirred his drink with a smile, a 'Sunkist on the rocks', with an umbrella and an orange twist. Not too much ice, of course, so he still had room for his silly straw.

Sure, he technically worked in some of the more administrative areas of the building, but like, he wasn't a cop about it. His job was to keep people safe, which is why he'd invested money into the little bar, to make sure it was up to code. After that? Literally not his department's problem.

And how much it had grown. It was one of the most bumping places on the lower levels, though it wasn't quite difficult to manage that. They'd covered the windows to the room with blackout paper and curtains, hooked up neon lights of various colors and shapes, and had even managed to install some tables and seats. The bar was still left over from built in storage cabinets and two desks put together, but Tommy had put in a work order to his father, which they both planned to have filled by Christmas. There were two TVs near the bar, but neither were on. They tended to only get turned on when someone brought their game systems in for community tournament night, or if someone brought a VHS tape to watch.

Tommy sighed, content to watch and listen from his booth near the door. Sunkist was with him, lying down on the booth and his lap, also watching the people. He was a curious pup, but well behaved, especially when he wore his Service Dog vest. He wasn't allowed in the upper levels, other scientists getting upset about an animal in the labs, and Tommy hadn't known enough about the ADA to argue his case at the time. Now that he did, it wasn't worth the trouble. At least he could have Sunkist in his dorm, and he could come with him here.

He took another sip of his soda, looking to the table pulled up against the bar. Dr. Freeman and Calhoun had fallen into their usual pattern, slowly having drinks while playing poker and trash talking each other. Bets were between the two of them, but they always played with chips regardless. They usually operated on a 'whoever has the most points wins' kind of thing for their bets. Dr. Freeman laughed and ran a hand through his hair, which was loose that night, and sipped at his second rum and coke of the night. Calhoun groaned and complained about something or other, sulking a bit dramatically as he drank some local craft beer from the town far above.

Bubby was with the two this time, hollering and cackling as he cheered on whoever was actively winning at the time, moving over to stand behind whoever actively had his support. His drink often varied, though it was always alcohol free. They weren't entirely sure if it was safe for a guy who could just make fire to drink flammable liquids, and no one wanted there to be a night they really tested it. Usually he went for a lemonade and iced tea drink, but that night he was drinking a Shirley Temple, with extra cherries.

Dr. Coomer was at another nearby table, talking with Isaac and Eli animatedly about some recent research he had done. Isaac was already drunk on Manhattans, but he was always just happy to be out and spend time with people he cared about, and relaxing had always been hard for him since he was so high strung. When he was able to actually just loosen up, he was happy to just listen. Eli on the other hand was still drinking his first, and likely only, tequila sunrise of the night, and gladly talked with Dr. Coomer about his most recent hyperfixation.

Dr. Coomer himself was drinking the bar's most recent attempt at a 'punch'. Every month they would mix up a new batch of punch with different flavors, originally wanting to figure out something that could stick on the menu, but ending up with a rotating monthly pick which people liked anyway. He laughed, holding his mug with both hands to keep it steady. That month was fig punch, and the purple liquid would definitely stain if it spilled.

Eventually, Eli stood, holding out a hand to help Isaac to his feet as he invited Dr. Coomer to a Virtua Fighter 2 battle. Dr. Coomer laughed, standing and accepting his challenge. They both moved over to the more 'lounge' part of the bar, Isaac held up between them, before they got him situated on one of the nearby couches so they could play.

Calhoun finally gave up on their poker game, tossing his chips into the middle of the table and slowly standing with a stretch of his back. Bubby moved in to taunt and banter, and quickly challenged the other man to a few rounds of Area 51, while Dr. Freeman almost laughed himself ill. Calhoun moved over quickly to help steady him from his wheezes, before grinning at the other and accepting his terms. The three moved across the room, Dr. Freeman lying down on one of the other couches to recover from his laughing fit. He occasionally would whistle to get the two's attention, signing something to them that they would respond to, otherwise slowly playing with his Tangle.

Tommy closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the joy in his chest. When he opened them again, the world was blue, and his father was sitting across from him. He smiled. "I thought you didn't like bars?"

"Usually...I do not." He reached out to where the bartender was frozen, taking the seltzer water she had poured and taking a sip. "But I wished to...see where you, have, been...spending your time."

He smiled brighter. "It's- it's really great. They're- these humans are more resourceful than a batch of honeybees!"

His father's mouth twitched slightly, the closest to a smile he ever usually got these days. "They really, have...made a place for themselves, here." He took another sip. "Likely why you, spend your time here, correct?"

He laughed. "Am I really that- that obvious? I can't help it!"

"I know, Tommy. It's one of, your, more wonderful...traits. Your awe, with humans, and their...ability to, persevere, against all...odds."

He finished his soda, hand bouncing a bit as he set it back on the table. "They're just- just so- they're so interesting!"

"I know." His mouth twitched again, before he looked around the room. "The, supply request, will...be completed soon. I, look forward to...seeing how this looks, after, they have them put, in."

"Thank you, dad. They- they really need this." There's more meaning to his words than just the words themselves. They both know that.

"I know." His mouth twitched once more, and the two of them sat in silence in the frozen bar for a while, enjoying each other's company. Eventually, however, his father finished his seltzer, and set the cup down on the table.

"...Heading back to work?"

"Un, fortunately...yes." He reached out a hand to ruffle Tommy's hair. "However, I...hope you enjoy, the, rest of your...evening."

"Thank you, dad. I will."

The world shimmered and twisted, and the blue faded away. The bartender looked for her glass and blinked, confused as to where it had gone. Bubby turned to call for Tommy, complaining about Calhoun having cheated at the arcade cabinet. Calhoun and Dr. Freeman laughed, almost falling to the ground and off the couch respectively.

Sunkist hopped down off his lap, staring up at him with a calming but encouraging look.

Tommy smiled and stood, walking over to join his friends.

#*confused fanfiction noises*#UoU AU #A Faint Divergence #12 Days of Ficmas #12 Days of Ficmas 2020

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newtothewaywardparty · 7 years ago

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The Ghost of an Idea 5

Read Stave One: Bobby’s Ghost, Part 1

Read Stave Two: Bobby’s Ghost, Part 2

Read Stave Two: The First of the Three Spirits, Part 1

Stave Two: The First of the Three Spirits, Part 2

Stave Three: The Second of the Three Spirits

The clack of hooves were the first sound to penetrate Dean’s dreamless sleep. “Huh?” he snuffled into his pillow as he canted his ear towards the motel window. The unmistakable sound of a horse blowing air through its mouth? Nose? Whatever, Dean wasn’t really a rural kind of guy, cowboy fantasies notwithstanding. Anyway, that was definitely a horse within earshot of his room. He groggily pushed himself up off his stomach and stumbled towards the window. It was still open, cigarette-scented curtains waving in the sharp December Kansas wind. Dean peered out, wiping sleep from his eyes. Yep, that was a horse all right.

A big fucking white horse stood outside his window. Atop it, resplendent in velvet green Renaissance-style gowns, sat Charlie Bradbury, her auburn hair long again and styled with a circlet crown of twisted gold. She haughtily peered down at Dean. “Hop on, Handmaiden,” she ordered, tacking a crooked smile on at the end.

Dean eyed the horse warily. Again, he was more comfortable around engines than livestock. “Uh, I don’t really…” he began weakly.

“Shut up, bitch. Atreyu can smell fear.” Charlie said, suppressing laughter. She pat the horse’s flank behind her, indicating where he should sit. She extended the hand to assist him up.

Dean was expecting an embarrassing interlude that would rack up a lot of hits on YouTube (He could picture the headline now: Dad vs. Horse, Who Would Win?) Instead, the instant Charlie’s hand touched his, he felt the same weightlessness Jo’s touch had bestowed upon him. In a blink, he was seated, comfortably if not confidently, astride the brilliant white horse. Bow-leggedness had its advantages at times.

Charlie leaned forward in the saddle. “Engage.” she whispered with a smile in Atreyu’s ear, and they were off, flying through the air back to the bunker.

Dean tried not to enjoy it but it was hard, grasping Charlie’s warm green robes, watching the countryside float past in the darkness below. He had always hated airplanes but this felt almost nice. Secure. Maybe it was just Charlie. He adjusted his grip on her waist.

“Don’t get fresh, cowboy” Charlie teased, glancing back at him enough to wink. Dean grinned. Damn. He had really missed her.

“I wouldn’t dare.” he solemnly replied. He swallowed. Stingy. The word ricocheted around inside his head, fresh from his encounter with Jo and his trip down memory lane. “I, uh, really” Dean took a breath. “Missed you, Charlie,” he finished haltingly. See? He could use his words like a grown-up.

Charlie threw a knowing look over his shoulder. “Enjoy the clip show, did ya?” Dean avoided her gaze. “Yeah, Jo can come on a little strong. You should know, though; Bobby told her to not take it too easy on you. That’s how she got chosen for that part of the mission. I wanted to do the flashback sequence but he thought I’d be too nice.” Charlie scoffed. “As if.”

She whispered a command for Atreyu to come out of Warp and they descended. “You know the drill here, right?” Dean loved that about Charlie. She never acted like he was dumb. And she was almost as allergic to chick flick moments as he was.

Dean swallowed. “Yeah. Ghost of Christmas present, right?” She nodded and they hit solid ground, Atreyu smoothly trotting to a stop in front of the bunker door.

“Ladies first,” Charlie said, indicating the door. Dean rolled his eyes and opened it. They descended the stairs together, unnoticed. The scene was exactly as Dean had left it earlier in the night. An assortment of found and recycled ornaments adorned the Christmas tree’s branches. Lights were evenly distributed throughout the branches, except for where Sam had obviously tired of detangling them. A large knot of lights clumped in the back, where Sam probably figured no one would see them. Dean bit back an affectionate smile.

Dean’s eyes were immediately drawn to Cas. He was the brightest thing in any room. His posture was unusually relaxed back in his chair, which was pushed back from the table so he could watch Jack by the tree. He had loosened his tie, and gripped a beer bottle’s neck loosely in a hand. His eyes were wide and warm, focused on Jack.

Jack was stringing popcorn with an intensity and focus Dean associated with Cas. Dean noticed the needle in use had been liberated from their medical stash, probably last used to give someone stitches. Jack’s tongue was sticking out slightly as he aimed the needle toward the center of a kernel. Dean’s chest tightened in that predictable way when he thought about the nephilim and his relationship with his chosen father.

Sam sat at the war table. He leaned back, jamming his chopsticks with finality into a take-out container, and pushed his chair back, humming in satisfaction. Dean peered into the white box with Chinese characters on it, frowning at the veggie tofu dish inside. “Typical” Dean muttered, under his breath. Charlie elbowed him.

Cas took this as his cue, and pushed his chair back. He cleared his throat, looking at Jack, who dropped his craft project. “I’d like to propose a toast,” began Cas formally. Dean couldn’t help smiling. What a dork, he thought. He could practically hear the air quotes.

Sam looked surprised, then amused. He picked up his own beer bottle and waited for Cas to continue. Cas looked at Jack and raised an eyebrow, waiting. A few seconds ticked by before Jack picked up his own beer bottle, looking sideways at Sam to copy him. Dean was grinning now. That was just fucking adorable. Not like when Jack was trying to learn by imitating Dean. His grin slipped a little at the memory of how hard he had pushed Jack away at first.

Cas nodded, satisfied now that all members of their little party were participating in this social ritual. “To Dean,” Cas began. Dean’s mouth fell open in shock. Cas was still talking. “Even though he wasn’t able to be here tonight, he’s in our hearts. Always.” Cas raised his bottle a bit at this and made to drink when Sam interjected loudly:

“In our hearts?!” Sam’s eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline. “I wish he was here right now. I’d serve him a piece of my mind.” Sam scoffed. “Shit, I’d shove it down his throat.”

“Sam!” Cas said in a warning tone, cutting his eyes at Jack who was watching, nervous and confused. “It’s Christmas.”

“Yeah, yeah.” said Sam, running his fingers through his hair in a familiar gesture of frustration. “Just another Winchester holiday to remember; drinking a toast to a cowardly, weak man who ran out on his family.” He was as angry as Dean had ever seen him, lips pursed, pacing up and down in front of the tree, clenching his beer bottle tightly.

Cas put out a placating hand and repeated: “Sam. Christmas.” in a gentle voice.

Sam raked his hair back from his face, stopping his route in front of Jack. “I’ll drink to Dean for your sake and for Jack’s” said Sam, indicating them both with his beer bottle, “but not for his. A very Merry Christmas, big bro, wherever you slunk off to.”

Sam tipped his bottle up and Jack and Cas followed his lead, subdued. Dean’s face burned. How could Cas defend him like that? Why would Cas bother toasting Dean at all, like he was a worthy man, in the face of all evidence pointing to the contrary? He felt a flood of affection for his friend.

Dean felt Charlie’s elbow jostle his side again. “Aw. That was cute.” Charlie’s words held real affection. Dean gazed at Cas, who in turn was beaming at Jack, hanging up grody old socks for Santa. “You’re in his heart!” she practically squee-d, smacking his arm. Dean blushed furiously and looked away.

The truth was, Cas deserved better. He always had, and recent events did nothing to convince Dean otherwise. Why wouldn’t Cas get the hint and move on? Maybe he just needed time. Time away from Dean. Time to listen to Sam’s fairly accurate assessment of Dean’s strength and courage when it came to emotional intimacy.

But what if he didn’t move on? “What will happen to Cas?” Dean asked Charlie suddenly. Now that the worry had entered his head, he found it impossible to forget. Dean could always run; he had the Impala, he had hunting, he had alcohol and one-night stands and long- and short-cons and violence. He had Sam. In short, Dean had a lifetime of experience with unhealthy coping mechanisms for heartbreak and loss. Cas had no such practice.

Charlie just gave him a look of pity and understanding. “C’mon” she urged, dragging him up the stairs. Dean gave one last look at the trio around the tree, now exchanging presents wrapped in old magazine paper. He caught a flash of Cas’ teeth as he smiled broadly at the assorted-flavored Osage honey sticks Jack had bought him at a convenience store in the Ozarks. The metal door of the bunker clanged, cutting off the beautiful sight of that smile.

With a snort and a whoosh, Atreyu bore them aloft and they landed in a field outside the bunker. Charlie dismounted with an imperious air. She strode away from Dean a few paces. “I want to show you something” she said, grimly.

She whisked her green velvet skirts out of the way to reveal two tiny figures huddled by her legs. One was a person of extremely advanced age: emaciated skin dotted with skin sores, balding head peppered with white stringy hair, mouth puckered with toothless gums, hands tipped with claw-like yellowed nails, eyes cloudy with cataracts. “This is loneliness” Charlie intoned.

The other was an emaciated young teen, bright red scars lining their arms and legs. Their eyes were red with tears and their hair was greasy and unwashed. They were curled in on themselves, clutching their stomach and rocking themselves. “And this is self-loathing” Charlie said carefully, piercing Dean with a knowing gaze.

Dean moved on instinct. He rushed forward to help, but Charlie halted him with a ghostly strong hand. “Can’t you save them?” he shouted at her angrily.

“Dean,” Charlie began in a mockingly cheerful tone sharper than any Dean had ever heard her use in life, “Better for them to be alone, to be the ones pushing others away, right?” Dean grit his teeth. He had never said those words aloud, had only thought them to himself every time he wanted to gather Cas in his arms.

Her face softened and she said “I know you like to pretend to be functionally illiterate but even you’ve heard the Tennyson quote. ‘Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.’”

Dean snorted in derision. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the opposite of my life motto.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Again, Charlie threw his words back at him. “Why do you think I’m doing this for Bobby? We’re trying to get through to you, bitch.” She rolled her eyes dramatically, re-covering the shrunken nightmare figures below her skirts.

Dean retorted ‘I’m as free as a bird, now, and this bird you cannot change.” He crossed his arms across his chest with a defiance he did not feel.

Charlie’s look was pure pity. “Did you really just quote ‘Free Bird?’ What’s next? You going to tell me how when it’s time for leaving you hope I’ll understand that you were born a ramblin’ man?” She stage-whispered, “Do you ever think learning about love and relationships exclusively from your grief-addled father and classic rock lyrics might not have given you the healthiest outlook?”

Dean meant to sigh dramatically, to cast his eyes skyward, to give a witty retort, preferably with a nerdy pop-culture reference. Instead, he found himself reaching forward to pull Charlie into a hug. To press his lips into her red hair, to tell her just how much she meant to him. Just as his arms extended, she abruptly disappeared. A glance behind him showed Atreyu was toast, too. And now he was choked up with the loss of her.

He saw the glint of light off metal across the field had Dean prepared to flee. As the figure drew closer, Dean relaxed, if only minutely. It was a woman with a glorious crown of black curls, perfectly painted red lips lips, and a leather jacket Dean could find himself coveting. It was Billie. Death.

Read Stave Four: The Last of the Three Spirits

#destiel #deancas #A Christmas Carol #Dickens Crossover #Supernatural #Season 13 #Charlie Bradbury #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #jack is too precious for this world #futurefic #fanfic #feelings #angst

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mygreatestgood · 5 years ago

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One Stroll Of Many During COVID-19 (03/22/20)

I went out for a walk this weekend. Because of the virus, the roadways weren’t crowded with its usual hustle & bustle. You could cross every corner with ease, and the whooshing noise of tires against asphalt was strangely minimal and sporadic. The occasional passerby came near, and quickly diverted to their mandated six-feet-away distance. Don’t really know how affective the six-foot rule is when applied to a passerby, but the elderly and middle aged are terrified and I feel for them. No one really smiled in my direction, or acknowledged me, with the exception of two people: a some-odd 80 year old with a walker and a middle aged man who was singing a rock tune aloud for the residents on Summit Avenue to hear.

The season is transitioning into spring, and the smell in the air washed over a feeling of nostalgia. As it does with every change, as the last days of a season slowly dissipate, you can feel the impending linger of the one to follow approaching; the familiar smells of emerging plants, a light breeze floating throughout the air, the sight of new blooming and budding florals and the warmth from sunlight. These things, they tend to cause me to recollect the times I’ve experienced this environment before. It’s been quite a few springtimes since I thought about my previous years during this season as a child. I think it was the emptiness of the roads that led me to remember. And as soon as my memory began its regaling, just as abruptly, I could feel a trace of sadness etching itself throughout my body, magically slaloming its way. I felt like I was remembering something I loved, and deeply realizing that I would never be able to relive that love again. And yeah--no shit. I never will, in the sense that I’m no longer a child and can't time travel back a couple decades. But I wasn’t exactly wishing I could be a child again, or have my youth suddenly reappear.

In the 90′s, and early 2000′s, quality of life was different. My parents moved to the suburbs of New Jersey as it was what they could afford that was in relatively close distance to New York. They were musicians; my dad, a pianist and composer, and my mom, an opera singer. They wanted to do the family thing too, so they also acquired full-time jobs that granted them a steady earning. At the time, New Jersey made sense. It was a reprieve from city life. Life was of a slower pace in this region. We lived in a two-family on one of our town’s main roads that had a large backyard with a small gathering of woods. Stray cats were always making their way through the holes in our fence. We had a patio, complete with a barbecue grill and yellow metal furniture, which sounds heinous, but was surprisingly adorable. There was ample room all along the sides of the yard for my mom to pursue one of her hobbies--gardening--and still, there was leftover space for a swing-set and for my neighbors and I to run around and play a game of kickball.

As a kid, I did things. I rode my scooter to the park to play basketball, and we’d wait for the ice cream truck to sound it’s irritating yet welcoming melody. We’d go to the concession stand near the baseball diamond and get slushies and cheese fries. I would try to learn how to skateboard. The park was always crowded. Everyone from athletic kids to swarms of third and fourth grade girls obsessing over nail polishes and Lip Smackers chapsticks would rally around this place. I could see everyone from babies learning the concept of sand castles, to kids my age from school that I undoubtedly had no desire to run into. I loved walking into the neighboring town and going to the comic book store, or the game zone, where I’d collect pogs and crazy bones and pokemon cards and beanie babies--whatever I happened to be into hoarding at the moment. I’d go to book stores and pick up random young adult novels. I’d go to the movies. I’d go rent movies. There was a roller rink ten minutes away, and every weekend it was the cool place to go and whiz around (or in my instance, hold onto the railing and wall while everyone sped by me) while the edited version of Mase’s current single blasted from the DJ’s speakers. I’d go bowling. I’d visit arcades that weren’t Dave & Buster’s. I loved just being outside, meeting up with friends, walking to go get pizza. Flipping through magazines at the local convenient store. Having slumber parties and shutting the lights off while everyone took a turn at singing karaoke. Everything was an adventure and an all-senses-engaged experience. Even if it was just standing in a store parking lot and talking. Even if it was stealing someone’s aunt’s cigarettes and sneakily trying them behind a building in a schoolyard. Not just because I was young and new to the world, but because everyone was presently living, truly experiencing and sharing one another’s company. Communicating. Discovering commonalities. Making jokes about ideas or things happening in that very moment. Even when I was alone as a kid, I MADE things. I wrote stories, I would film movies on our camcorder and write scripts. I would try to do arts and crafts like things, like make tye-dye shirts or fiddle around with play-dough. I would be immersed in one thing at a time. If my friends and I were stuck hanging out indoors, we would prank call people. We would make up dumb card games or come up with something creative to unpack and figure out together as a team.

Everything has just always felt more loose in the past. Even during high school and college years. House parties were incredible. Yes, nowadays, I do get invited to a house for a “party” but its not the same. It feels more like we’re elitists corresponding over dinner and bottles of wine. There’s no more house parties where you’re meeting a bunch of strangers. There’s no more hosting house parties where you’re wondering, “who the fuck is that in my house playing beer pong?” (I held a couple of those in the mid 2000′s.) The best parties are ones that were an extended invite where you barely know anyone that’s there. I remember how my parents held parties in their 40′s and 50′s and it was so much more lively and energetic. The need to take a photo to put on Facebook has altered that.

Block parties were a thing. Not only throughout my town for children, but in other towns for teenagers and adults. I remember going to one in Mahwah where an entire town house community threw a block party and everyone was running in and out of everyone’s houses. People were dancing in the streets. Liquor and pot were flowing and stinking up everything. And everyone was friendly and receiving--you didn’t have to live in that community to be invited to that event. Where are block parties like that now? We would go play billiards--there was such a thing as a pool hall then. We would go on walks just to get away from our homes and have in-depth conversations about life. We’d find dead-ended roads to smoke pot on. I used to love driving around when the weather would start to make its way towards a warmer climate, and play an upbeat song from my stereo, with the windows rolled down. I didn’t need a place to go. I could just enjoy being, and driving, with the wind knotting my stringy hair and the sun smoldering my legs.

It trickles down to this inescapable feeling that over the last few years, we were not, and are not, really living. Everything is all about social media posting, taking selfies, being a celebrity and voice of the generation in some capacity, or any capacity that any individual can grab ahold of. Physical appearance and beauty has taken things to an insane measure with eyelash extensions, wigs, botox, heavy makeup and more things I’m probably unaware of becoming the norm. None of these statements are new streams of consciousness. I don’t deserve a high five for stating the obvious. I just can’t shake this feeling that as the human race, we are failing to enjoy being alive, in a tremendous amount of aspects. Besides lacking basic communication and abilities to live and experience each other wholly, we also do not experience anything else singularly and in entirety.

There was a time you had to work for things. You made mixed CDs or mixed tapes for people you cared about. Discovering new music and performers was an art form. You’d have to catch a song on the radio, or a music video on television, or scope out and take a chance on an artist by purchasing an album at a record store. The thrill of the hunt is gone with resources like Spotify and Apple music, and with so much accessibility to so many artists, it in someways makes it more daunting to find the diamonds in the rough or those with innovative sounds. People watched movies or television shows without simultaneously being on their phone. (Most people couldn’t wait for their favorite show to air!) People went on vacation and stared at a sunset without feeling the need to snap a photo for an immediate publication. People went out on actual dates instead of meeting their date with all their friends at a club or only getting coffee for 45 minutes. People used to walk around a mall instead of ordering everything online. Shopping was an actual activity that involved your whole body as oppose to just your finger clicking a mouse, or your thumb hitting your phone. People would physically hold books, and turn pages, and smell that “book smell” instead of staring at a screen. People used to go over a friend’s house and not be on their phone. People used to go anywhere and not be on their phone. What the fuck is going to happen to our retinas in the coming years?

Now, in the town I was raised in, the roadways are crowded.

I remember as a kid, staring out the window and watching local residents hop off the bus and walk down our road. Men carrying briefcases and sauntering off as if they were on a mission. There was a guy we called “army man” as he always was fully suited in a camouflage uniform, and marched back and forth daily on our block. Cars would drive by, but it wouldn’t be an endless supply of them. Now, it’s endless. There can be bumper-to bumper traffic on the road in that one-square mile town during certain hours. It’s rare to see people gallivanting the sidewalk today, unless it’s 3 am and they’re a townie staggering home annihilated from the local bar. Or they’re walking their dog, I suppose.

What I’m trying to say is this: I miss the simplicity of being in the moment. I don’t think we all need to mediate and take on yoga to understand how to do that. We just need to hold respect for all the incredible activities, people, experiences and memories we are gifted in this lifetime, and when you respect something, you pay attention to it. We need to pay attention to each other, and ourselves. The need to be alone and completely still became so abundantly clear on this stroll. I walked for an hour and a half. I looked at the houses. I noticed the trees that now had flowers sprouting with undeniable joy. I didn’t let anything cloud my mind except what wanted to swim to the surface. It was the best moment of my day, and given the absurd craziness we’re engulfed with now, quite possibly the best time of my week.

This virus outbreak--it’s terrifying. It’s plaguing not just our country, but the entire world. I cannot speak for how other countries live their day to day, but I can speak from my perspective, and it seems to me that we have run this world tired. It’s depleted, and can no longer rise from it’s crippling plunge. We take our offerings from Earth for granted. We take our gifts from God for granted. We take each other for granted. We now deem everything as urgent, and need everything to be so nonsensically fast. The deaths of those we love come across as a consequence of our actions. It is a wakeup call, and a call to action at that. And by action, I don’t mean make a post to create awareness--take action by literally changing and reverting ourselves back to a more minimalistic and simple way of life. Happiness shouldn’t stem from items, the ego or entrepreneurship--happiness derives from that indescribable satisfaction of doing nothing. Of being. Of taking risks and reveling in the company of those whom you wish to keep.

I can’t visit my parents or my family dog, and I miss them. We are waiting to hear if a family friend has passed away from this virus. It is scary and sad to think it hit him so rapidly, and that he arrived at the hospital alone, and potentially died alone with no visitors and no one surrounding him. This is a horrible catastrophe and I can’t understand the reasoning behind it. But I so want to believe that something beautiful will be built from this gloomy and discouraging time. I so want to believe that as people we have the power to take these ruins and make life more graceful and resplendent than it was before.

Despite my wanting, it’s evident that we all need to.

Please stay safe. Prayers up. xo

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exploringatlanta · 5 years ago

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Fall in love....with Atlanta!

With Valentine’s Day just around the corner and there’s lots of ways to celebrate whether you’re a couple or single. Share your love with both friends and lovers with these cool events around town!

Romeo & Juliet at Shakespeare Tavern. 1/31-2/22. $15+

Just in time for #ValetinesDay - the star crossed lovers return to Midtown for an amazing performance of the classic Shakespearian tragedy - Romeo & Juliet.

Heart/Beat - Cobb Energy Center. 2/7-15. $20+.

The sweeping rhythms and infectious energy of jazz music intertwine the three works making their Atlanta Ballet debuts in February.

Valentine’s Day Shows at Dad’s Garage. Thurs 2/13 & Fri 2/14.

Hilarious improv and variety shows across two nights! Don’t miss out when Vavianna Vardot's Valentine's Sex Party takes over the stage with burlesque and improve at 8pm on Friday. Nothing gets the love juice flowing faster than laughter.

Tommy Blaze- The Punchline. 2/13-16. $20+.

Singles and couple both agree that relationships can be hilarious! Tommy Blaze is a top comic who will keep you laughing all night long.

Love Stories of Oakland at Oakland Cemetery. Friday 2/14 & Saturday 2/15 tours. $16+

For the hopeless romantic, the history buff, or just someone who loves Atlanta - get tickets for this annual tour that is always a gorgeous afternoon in one of the city’s most gorgeous parks. This hourlong tour explores some of the frequent symbols of love and devotion found throughout the cemetery and reveals poignant epitaphs that speak to enduring love. Tix go on sale later this month and sell out fast, so don’t delay!

Valentine’s Weekend with Once at Horizon Theatre. 2/14-16. $110/couple.

Reserve your Valentine's Weekend package to see Horizon’s romantic show Once. Evening out includes two tickets, reserved seating, two drink vouchers, and a special treat!

Tony Bennett: The "I Left My Heart" Tour with special guest Antonia Bennett - Atlanta Symphony. Fri 2/14 7:30pm. $59+.

The legendary singer performs here in Atlanta, celebrating the 70th Anniversary of his professional recording career when he made his first record, "Boulevard of Broken Dreams".

Valentines in the Garden at Atlanta Botanical Garden. Friday 2/14 7pm-11pm. $50+.

This year’s theme transports visitors through eighty years of romance through themed music, food and decor throughout the Garden. Dress to impress for the decade of your choice! Dancing, giveaways, an exclusive nighttime viewing of Orchid Daze, and more.

Valentine’s Dinner at Waffle House. Friday 2/14 - several locations around ATL.

Have a smothered and covered Valentine’s Day with a special dinner your local Waffle House! Selection locations roll out the red carpet and the white tablecloths for one night only. Don’t miss this!

Wild at Heart Valentine’s Dinner at Zoo Atlanta. Fri 2/14 6pm & 8:30pm seatings. $220+.

Memorable dinner in the brand-new Michael & Thalia Carlos Ballroom, overlooking the African Savanna in the newly-renovated historic Savanna Hall, with live music, appearances from ambassador animals and a special “Love in the Wild” talk on wildlife courtship and mating rituals from Zoo Atlanta’s Animal Care Team.

Prince: One Kiss concert at Venkman’s. Fri 2/14 9:30pm. $25+.

On this night, come enjoy an evening of Prince's beloved songs about love, romance, and the feeling you get when sharing space and time with someone special.

Nocturnia: My Gothic Valentine at The Highlander. Fri 2/14 10pm. $10.

Atlanta’s Premier Gothic Party returns to Midtown. Dance out your angst in the backroom with DJs Moz, Lechter, and Celebrytie.

Galentine’s Day at Wild Heaven Avondale. Sat 2/15 10:30am. $39+.

Ladies will enjoy Waffle House brunch, 3 beers, custom stemmed glass (new!) and flower crown crafting station. A fun alternative to Valentine’s, tix will go fast since there is limited space!

Sips Under the Sea at the Georgia Aquarium. Fri 2/14 7pm. $30.

Enjoy cocktails at full-service bars, a live DJ, and access to all six of the Aquarium’s galleries!

Silly Love Songs with VJ Captain Love at Park Tavern. Fri 2/14 9:00pm-11pm. $5+.

Lovebirds and singletons looking for a fun-filled night of yachty music, video, tasty eats/drinks overlooking the Midtown skyline and Piedmont Park.

Valentine’s Cabaret: A Tribute To Heart at Aurora Theatre. Fri 2/14 8pm. $20+.

Enjoy and evening of girl-rock anthems as our mistress of music Ashley Prince and a bevy of bad-ass lady vocalists pay tribute to the legendary band Heart.

Girl Scout Cookie Pairing at Second Self Beer. Sat 2/15 1-5pm. $15.

This popular local craft brewery has pair delicious beers with Girl Scout cookies Good for singles, couples or crowds!

#ValentinesDay #atlanta #atlevents #loveinatlanta #events #holidayevents

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nashvillesingersblog · 7 years ago

Photo

Ken Hatton shares his insight about performing with the Bluegrass Student Union, the Louisville Thoroughbreds, his experience as a director, solo performer, and arranger, and his very candid opinions about the evolution of the music industry and the Barbershop Harmony Society.

Top photo: Ken Hatton

Bottom photo: Bluegrass Student Union 1978 International Quartet Champion of the SPEBSQSA (DBA Barbershop Harmony Society) (L to R) Ken Hatton, Allen Hatton, Dan Burgess, Rick Staab

Todd Wilson had a chance to interview Ken Hatton for our email newsletter. Todd is one of our founders and serves the Nashville Singers as Executive Director and Artistic Director.

You can subscribe to our newsletter by texting the word SINGERS to 42828

DISCLAIMER: Some of our readers may find Ken’s responses to a few of Todd’s questions a bit edgy. Due to the length of this interview, only a small portion was published in the Nashville Singers newsletter. Hatton’s views do not necessarily reflect the views of the Nashville Singers organization.

TW: When did you know you wanted to be a singer?

KH: It’s impossible to remember not being a singer. Granddaddy and Dad were both “song-leaders” in the Church of Christ (“Minister of Music” was considered too “uppity”), and Dad joined the Louisville #1 Chapter of SPEBSQSA, Inc. as a tenor with his high school gospel quartet, in 1951. Mom was a fair pianist and could hold a tune pretty well too. Brother Allen was born in 1954, and I came along in 1955.

The Church of Christ held that instrumental accompaniment was a sin when making a “joyful noise,” so all the worshippers sang in 4-part harmony, you know, just like that original quartet, “Matthew-Mark-Luke-and-John.” It was all we knew as toddlers, so I can’t really recall when I learned to sing harmony. It just always was. Dad taught us to use our “musical ear” to find the harmony, using the shape-notes in the hymnal. His advice was, “When the note moves up, sing higher, and when the note moves down, sing lower, until it sounds good with the melody-note.” That was how we learned to woodshed; it was a spiritual thing.

I do remember at the age of five, when I learned my first popular song. Allen was in the first grade, and I would wait for his school bus every day on the front steps. I really missed my playmate! Each afternoon, he would teach me all the things he had learned that day in school. On one of those afternoons, he sang me a song that some of his fellow first graders had heard on the radio. Within a few minutes, we were singing it in unison, and with some occasional improvised harmony. “When I was a little bitty baby, my mama would rock me in my cradle, in them ol’ cotton fields back home.” I’m not sure that’s when I knew I wanted to be a singer, but that’s when I realized that I was one.

TW: What can you tell us about growing up in the Hatton family?

KH: We were encouraged to participate in music-programs in school by our parents, and we enjoyed those activities. Perhaps talent at a given discipline affects one’s motivation (For some reason, I did not really dig long division or algebra). Allen learned to play the trumpet, and both of us took piano-lessons as youngsters. Later, our younger sisters displayed similar talents for singing, and the oldest of the three, Jo Anne, played piano. Dad was one of the original Thoroughbreds, when the chorus was formed out of the old Louisville Chapter, and Mom sang with the Kentuckiana Chapter of Sweet Adelines, Inc. (later, Sweet Adelines International). Both parents dabbled in quartet-singing from time to time, and their ensembles always sounded musical, but never seemed to stay together long enough to earn rank in competition.

Dad took Allen and me to an occasional chorus show, where we would be seated in the audience and admonished not to move. Then, we would watch the chorus rehearse for their performance, and would enjoy the show. I can recall getting an unexplainable lump in my throat whenever that chorus of men would sing with reckless abandon. The highlights of those shows were the several chapter-quartets, including the Derbytowners and (later) the Citations, both of whom were really good competing quartets. We didn’t realize that the goose-bumps and throat-lumps were being caused by the ringing of chords. The big thrill for us, as kids, was to experience the Club House Four. They were a pretty good singing District Champ quartet, but those guys really worked at entertaining. Their jokes and routines were not as “edgy” as the Brian Lynches of the world might prefer, but old folks and kids alike just couldn’t stop laughing whenever the “Club House” was on stage.

The Thoroughbreds’ Musical Director was a guy named Bill Benner, who had moved to Louisville for work, after having directed the Lake Washington Skippers to a second place finish in international competition in 1957. Over a four year period, he took the brand new Thoroughbred Chorus to 8th, 6th, 2nd and 1st place finishes, winning their first chorus championship in 1962. Soon after that competition, Bill resigned as director, though he still conducted the Sweet Ads for a while. It seems he had been so focused on barbershop that he had ignored his wife and his job, and they both sort of fired him. He needed to get paid for directing the chorus, and the 1962 T-breds didn’t like that very much. So, our family took him, in, and Dad provided him with a job at his real estate company.

The saddest part was that Bill was being considered for the Society’s Music Services Director position. The Thoroughbreds’ 42 singers had finished second in 1961 to the 160 voice Chorus of the Chesapeake, under the direction of Bob Johnson. It was revealed later that year that a certain judge was a member of the winning chorus, and he had over-scored the winners and underscored the ‘Breds. The judge was kicked out of the judging program, and the Thoroughbreds received a secret apology, which was delivered in person by the new Music Services Director – Bob Johnson! It probably was a good thing, as Bill’s tunnel vision personality might not have been a good match for that position.

Bill proved not to be much of an agent, but he sure was fun to have around the house! While he was thinking about what he was going to do with the rest of his life, and eating Mom’s home-cooked meals every night, Bill would teach us tags. The guy was a savant, carrying all four parts in his head, and could teach the whole song by rote – eight bars at a time, with no “spots (That’s what we called sheet music back then).” In fact, that’s the way Bill had had taught most of the charts to the Thoroughbreds for four years – by rote.

So, Allen and I had one of the Society’s premiere musical smart-guys in the bedroom next to ours, and we got quite an education during his year and a half long visit. It turned out that we were pretty quick studies, which was a good match for a bipolar type, like Bill. There were five us in the house at that time who could hold our parts, and it was fairly easy to sing one of Bill’s tags after very little teaching time. The first one we learned was “I Found in My Mother’s Eyes.”

Bill moved to Chicago, and none of us ever heard from him again. Jim Miller and Joe Wise had been appointed co-directors, and with the help of coach/arranger Ed Gentry, ushered in a new era of barbershop chorus singing through the Thoroughbreds. Meanwhile, Mom took Bill’s place as Musical Director of the Kentuckiana Chapter of Sweet Adelines, Inc., later directing Falls of the Ohio Chapter, Derby City Chorus and Song of Atlanta. She served as a judge in SAI contests, and sang a pretty mean baritone.

Most choruses had a rule back then that excluded men under the age of 16. The exception was that one could join at 15, if your dad was an active member. The thinking was that the members looked forward to their night out with the men (not with the women or the children). They didn’t watch their language, and if they felt like having a beer or a smoke, they didn’t have to worry about being a role-model for just that one night each week. Boy, I miss those days!

Allen and I both joined at 15, and sang in our first Chorus Contest in Atlanta, in 1972, in which the chorus placed third. We were disappointed, as the Thoroughbreds had won the championship without our help in 1962, 1966 and 1969, and were tied with Pekin, IL for the most international wins. Allen headed off to Morehead State, and back home, Rick Staab, Danny Burgess and I got our feet wet, singing with an “old” Thoroughbred named Paul Morris on tenor. Paul was 28. We sang together for about six months. Rick went away to attend Georgetown University, breaking up the group, and Allen came home to attend University of Louisville. Then, Rick surprised everybody, and came home to attend U of L as well. That’s when the final combination of the Bluegrass Student Union was formed, with Allen on tenor. Now, we had four guys about the same age, with similar skills and education.

Mom (Mary Jo Hatton) was our first coach, and refused to let us work on craft, focusing instead on singing with the right muscles. She knew we wouldn’t go back and do that grunt-work after we had earned the “cheap” points. Mom was concerned about us damaging our young voices, so she demanded that we master vocal production first – a smart move.

TW: What got you interested in barbershop harmony?

KH: One could say, “See Question #2,” and just stop there, but there is a twist. As a young teenager during the hippie-years, barbershop was associated with the establishment, and we young people had our own subculture. We were told not to trust anyone over 30, and pop music was progressing in a different direction from Tin Pan Alley and the Great American Songbook. I perceived barbershop in those days as a fun hobby for older fellows, but the quartets and choruses I had heard didn’t seem like a good fit for the musical trends I was following as a baby-boomer.

Allen and I attended our first International Convention on our parents’ coattails in 1964. Later, we attended our second one in 1968 (I was twelve), and discovered that barbershoppers had lots of pretty daughters in the “Barberteens” room, but didn’t appear to have very many sons. That turned out to be handy for us. We enjoyed attending those conventions, and sang some tags, but didn’t really pay much attention to the musical goings-on – too many distractions.

Fortunately, Mom and Dad had a library of recordings of the Society’s Top Ten quartets, as well as recordings of live shows and Long Play (LP) record-albums produced by top quartets like the Renegades, Roaring Twenties, Boston Common, Dealers Choice, Regents, Gentlemen’s Agreement, Sundowners, Sidewinders, etc.. We listened to them all, and enjoyed some more than once. But far and away, the quartet whose records I fell in love with were produced by the Sun Tones (later the “Suntones”). My headphones and I spent hundreds of hours poring over their fantastic renditions of popular songs set to barbershop, and that music convinced me that this particular a cappella style could actually be “cool.” Later, I would wait by the mailbox for each new Suntones-record, as it was released. I listened until I had accidentally memorized all four parts to all of the several “Sunspots” records that we had. That was the final piece of the puzzle. I then joined the chorus, because I simply had to.

TW: You were a member of the Thoroughbreds, considered one of the most successful barbershop choruses in history. Can you share a few of your own experiences with the T-breds?

KH: Like you guys, I could write a book. Most of my experiences would be similar to those of other long time barbershoppers, and if I started telling about funny things that happened, we would never be able to list them all. I will mention one general happening that helped create my personal mission and philosophy.

Our 120 man chorus showed its best face during competitions, but after winning each trophy, about half of the guys would take a “break” for a couple of years. We would be left with 60-70 active singers, who did the business of the chorus, week in and week out. That core of “lifers” sold the tickets and program-ads, built the scenery, commissioned and tweaked the arrangements, rehearsed the show-tunes and performed the package-shows. The rest of the guys came back only to compete.

To our director, Jim Miller, it didn’t matter how small the audience was, or whether it was a prestigious event. He spent the same energy in preparation and performance, whether we were singing for a banquet of 75 people or a stadium of 10,000. I can recall many tough shows for small audiences who were not expecting the entertainment to be some barbershop group. Jim would plan the show carefully, knowing that we would have to work hard and smart, in order to please the “tough” crowd. Then, he would rehearse us for a couple of hours before the performance, to see which key people were missing, and would change his plan accordingly, moving certain singers to different voice parts to achieve balance, and substituting some second string MCs, soloists and quartet-singers.

After a complete run-through, the chorus would hit the stage, and Jim would let the audience know with his body language and apparent effort that we wanted to please them. He would work up a sweat, and motivate us to dig in, so as to deliver the most emotional and exciting performance we could muster. We always exceeded the expectations of those tougher (smaller) audiences, and each performance made the event seem more important to them and to us than it really was.

BSU followed Jim’s example in that regard, and, with few exceptions, we exceeded the expectations too. For three decades, our quartet did a complete run-through before every performance. We found that our percentage of remembered lyrics and accurate intervals went up, while our number of seconds of dead time went down.

Music Educators generally teach singers to perform without showing any apparent effort, but that was exactly the opposite of our approach. We always wanted the audience to sense how hard we were working for them, so we made sure that all of our effort was apparent. That made our audiences feel special, which is supposed to be “the job,” isn’t it? Jim’s and our approach was one of the things that set our chorus and quartet apart from most others, who tried to hide their effort during performances, for some unknown “sophisticated” reason.

One exception? We sang for a United Nations General Assembly dinner at the Waldorf Astoria in the early 1980s, and we gave ‘em our best stuff, performing with reckless abandon. We never got more than a white gloved golf-clap from those diplomats. Our host explained that they had all been taught to be very reserved, when in the presence of each other. But our job was to make them forget their emotional training, so we failed that day. There were no whistles, shouting, hats in the air, money or room-keys on the stage, and no tears or laughter from anybody. It was miserable. Later, at the reception, the audience-members were quick with the compliments flattery, but I just wanted to crawl under a rock.

The rest of the 33 years of shows pretty much run together in my mind, because they were the same in this regard: We gave everything we had in preparation and performance, and fell across the goal line each time, totally spent and exhausted… victorious! Looking back, our experience was a lot more fulfilling than if we had taken some drugs, skipped across the stage, and tried to hide our efforts from the crowd. Thanks, Jim!

TW: What were the names of some of the quartets and quartet-singers you sang with before the Bluegrass Student Union? Compared to those quartets, what was different about the BSU?

KH: BSU was the first organized quartet of which I was a member. Years later, I sang in several other quartets; Kids at Heart, The Sensations, The Exchange, Four for the Price, Bold Venture and The Daddy-Ohs! One difference with BSU was trust. Since I knew that the other parts would always be where they were supposed to be, I was free to think about the message of the song and our emotional connection with the audience, instead of being preoccupied with a few synchronization errors, out of tune chords or horizontal tuning (song going sharp). The other main difference was the fact that BSU was all business. When the last man arrived at rehearsal or at the studio, we started singing, and we didn’t quit until the first guy had to leave. On the road, we didn’t sight-see or attend a lot of parties. We discussed future plans on the plane or in the car, had our carb-dinner together, rehearsed at the hotel, went to the venue early, set up our recordings in the lobby, dressed and made up, did our complete run-through, and gave our performance. Then, we repeated the process before the afterglow. We often listened to the show tape on the way home, and discussed improvements for the next show. Every action was designed to maximize the quality of performance. In some of those other quartets, we spent a little time more enjoying ourselves, and that was fun, too, but in a different way.

TW: What can you tell us about a few of your most memorable BSU performances?

KH: There was a sameness about our performances over the years that makes them all kind of a blur. The common denominator was the audience-reaction. We started with a short, fast, high pitched opener, designed to get the audience’s attention away from whatever had preceded us on the show. We followed with self-deprecating humor, to make them like us personally. Then, we sang a swing-tune to charm, and followed with a sincere love-ballad, for the “kill.” After that, we could sing our novelty songs, to demonstrate virtuosity, and repeat the process ad infinitum. We were never really a one-song standing ovation kind of quartet. Our approach was a selling process, designed to earn the audience’s respect and love over the course of the performance. Typically, the long or standing ovation would come at the end, as designed, and only then would we agree to perform an encore. Incidentally, you never saw BSU take cups or bottles of water on the stage. What’s up with that? Do beta-blockers dry you out?

Of course, we saw our share of far-away places and prestigious venues, but prestige and exoticness were not what made a performance memorable. Again, it was the audience. One that stands out was in Viborg, South Dakota. This community had one hotel, made of unpainted concrete blocks. There was no phone in the room, and a black and white TV was advertised at 50 cents extra per day. The venue was a high school gymnasium, and our expectations were low. Nevertheless, we prepared according to our training, and when we hit the stage, we realized there was standing room only in the place; people were hanging from the light fixtures to get a chance to see this show. We didn’t know that South Dakotans rarely got to see any kind of live entertainment. People had driven to Viborg from several hundred miles around. It was such an appreciative crowd, and we were able to deliver a solid performance because we had not taken them for granted. Carnegie Hall was nice, but this crowd was deafening!

We were invited to sing on the Saturday evening show at the Buckeye Invitational, in Columbus, Ohio, 30 years after our first performance. It was to be our second appearance at the Buckeye, which was rare, so we were excited about the opportunity, late in our long career.

We decided to dress and make up in our hotel rooms, and arrived during intermission, knowing that there would be a feature quartet before our spot as the headliner, which was traditionally the final act. The stage manager excitedly welcomed us into a dressing room, expressing surprise that we were so late, and advising that we were scheduled to open the second half of the show. I apologized, and asked, “Who is headlining?” “Max Q,” he replied (who at that time was a silver medalist).

Barbershop-etiquette calls for the International Champion to headline the show, which should have been us. It was (and is) a slap in the face for any champion to play second fiddle to a second place quartet. Of course, it was possible that the show producers were neophyte barbershoppers who didn’t know any better. However, there is no way that Max Q would not have known that tradition. They should have declined immediately, when asked to headline, but evidently, they had decided it was appropriate for them to be the stars of the show, for some reason that was more important than good manners.

We decided that the only thing to do was to remain quiet about their offense, and to simply do our “talking” with our performance, as we had been trained to do. We spent a few minutes in the dressing room, rearranged our song-order and palaver for maximum effect, and went through the curtain with big ol’ grins, about half pissed off. We opened with “Back in Business,” and the crowd went wild. We just banged every song, and there was nothing left for Max Q, but a pile of juice. In the lobby after the show, our recording table was mobbed, and theirs had four lonely guys in tuxedos holding pens, with a couple of crickets chirping, and no autographs to sign. Second again!

As we were packing up, Jeff Oxley ambled over, and said sheepishly, “I guess you guys probably should have headlined this show.” Ya think? Yeah, that one was memorable. We never told anybody about it, until this writing.

In the 80s, we did some research by surveying the various chapters. There were over 800, and about 600 of them held an annual show, with a guest quartet. If you took out the holiday weekends, on a given Saturday night, there were 15 annual chapter-shows going on in the country. All of the show-chairmen wanted a champion, a past-champion or a top ten quartet as their headliner. As one of the most popular show-quartets, we had our choice, so we conducted a survey, and began to be selective about which bids we would accept. Our goal was to maximize fun and profit. We started to perform only where the chapter had a larger crowd (good for recording sales) and a reputation of hospitality where other guest quartets were concerned (good for the fun).

We pitched in with the Citations, the Harrington Brothers and eventually the Suntones, to organize three special weekends. We approached chapters about sponsoring special shows that would feature BSU and each one of those other quartets, with only quartet-singing – no choruses. The idea went viral, and the three weekends were spectacular - so much fun! The last one was in 1991, with the Suntones. We performed on a Friday night, two shows on Saturday and one on Sunday afternoon in the southern Michigan and northern Ohio areas. What a kick to ride around for the weekend with our idols, and get to know them personally! We included a set as an octet, since we knew all of their tunes, and we traded two of our guys for two of their guys at the afterglows. It was a dream come true, and BONUS – we all became good friends.

TW: What BSU CD recording project generated the biggest sense of pride, and what about that project was different?

KH: We were proud of all of our recordings, because we took great care in the production of each one. From a young age, we knew that our quartet was finite, and hoped that people would listen to our recordings, long after we were gone. That thought was on our minds with the planning and execution of each project. Bobby Ernspiker was our recording engineer, and he was also the son of a Thoroughbred.

On the first two albums, “After Class” and “The Older the Better,” we had a largely technical approach, caring more about the accuracy of the notes, the ringing of the chords and the intelligibility of the lyrics than about the art. We were making pretty good bucks on the road, so we decided to give Bob unlimited control over the duration of sessions. Bob was our fifth set of ears, and was instrumental in capturing the best performances we could muster. Unlike other quartets, we spent six months to a year in weekly recording sessions, to do our best work. It was our perception that those albums were not perfect, but they were better than most others. We made money, although our sales were not yet commensurate with the expense and effort we had invested.

Having met Walter Latzko, we decided to do our first theme album, which would be the first one created by any barbershop quartet. We chose Meredith Willson’s “The Music Man” as the theme, and set to work on Walter’s fantastic arrangements. We spent more time listening to Bobby’s guidance in the studio about emotional performance. It took a year to take the tunes from the paper to the stage, and another year to record them. This time, we spared no expense on the studio time, the costuming, choreography, graphic art and photography, in an attempt to create the best show-package and recording in the history of the Society. The result was an artistic success, but again, the sales were no better than those of any ol’ past champion.

In spite of the apparent unwillingness of the buying public to notice any difference, we were pleased with the product, and decided to look for another theme. We eventually settled on the songs of the 40s, and the idea for our “Jukebox Saturday Night” album was born. Latzko and Waesche, our two faves, collaborated on the charts, and we applied the same attention to detail (and spent the same moneys), to create the best product possible. We accelerated our attention to capturing the right mood for each song. When that recording hit the streets, the sales went through the roof. It was puzzling; perhaps the barbershoppers were tired of the Music Man theme, but excited about hearing tunes adapted to barbershop that they had not heard before. For whatever reason, this particular theme appealed to them, and Jukebox catapulted us to a new level of acclaim that left the other past champs behind. The perception was that we were progressing, improving and pushing the edge of the envelope musically, just as our great examples, the Suntones and the Buffalo Bills, had done twenty and thirty years before.

We continued that approach with a collection of tunes written by George Gershwin, whose chords and progressions had earned his songs taboo-status in previous Society competitions. But we liked them, and so did Walter (Latzko) and Ed (Waesche). The result was our album, “Here to Stay,” the first one we did not release as an LP record, but only as a CD and a cassette. The songs were more sophisticated, the arrangements were arguably better, and the performances were emotional. The singing demonstrated greater savvy, while our technical execution was just a hair less precise than that of the previous two recordings. The perception was that this was a lateral move, kind of an extension of Jukebox, and the sales were just as strong as those of the previous album.

In 1998, we introduced “LEGACY,” a 25 year collection of audio recordings in a 3-CD box set, including all five studio-albums, several previously unreleased tracks and a recording of a live show, complete with declamatory stuff between songs. In 2006, we created our final recording product, called “COMMENCEMENT,” a 2-disc set (1 CD and 1 DVD). The audio disc includes a few tracks that we were messing around with when we decided to retire for good. The video disc includes the best performance of each song that we could find on video tapes we had collected over the years.

Fans of “Here to Stay” and “Jukebox” have since gone back and checked out “Music Man,” and found it to have been under appreciated by past generations. We understand that our video of the Music Man show-package has been used by teachers at Harmony University for decades, to demonstrate showmanship, the way to put a show together, avoidance of dead time and the use of costumes, props, lighting, effective pauses and voice-over-music, to enhance a quartet’s performance. That pleases us very much. All of our tracks are available perpetually and digitally through iTunes, CDbaby.com and Pandora. We have discontinued production of all hard copy CDs, etc.

We are certainly proud of all of the products, since those five (original) releases each represented our best work at a certain stage in our development. By design, many of the songs in the second half our career had a timeless appeal that continues to pay dividends. Thanks to some good taste in song selection, great arrangers, hard work, outside-the-box engineering and professional artwork, our collections of recordings are still being purchased and listened to today. We anticipate that people will enjoy our music a century or two after we start keeping each other company at the ol’ marble orchard.

TW: The Nashville Singers had a chance to sing your arrangement of “Manly Men” a few years ago, and the audience loved it! When did you complete your first vocal arrangement? Do you remember the name of the song?

KH: Glad you liked that one, but sorry, I really don’t remember the first one. When BSU started, I was not adequately educated to sight-read. That skill was developed slowly, and by necessity, over the years. BSU was a hybrid quartet – that is to say, we were products of the woodshedding generations of the 40s, 50s and 60s, but were also affected by the work of genius-arrangers of the 70s and 80s. As a result, we did not trust some aspects of the written arrangement, and always reserved the right to woodshed our own changes. Sometimes, they were necessary, to facilitate breath-points and “covers” of pickups. Other times, they were swipes that we heard and felt, as we learned the chart. Helping to create the tune was a big part of the fun that we simply refused to give up.

Most arrangers think it is presumptuous of others to change anything about their work. That attitude is hypocritical and presumptuous in itself, since an arrangement, by definition, is composed of changes from the songwriter’s original work, who is the real (and legal) artist in question, anyway. As we experienced different arrangers, we figured out which ones had a problem with our changes, and we quietly declined any and all opportunities to sing their charts. Ed Waesche was the first to exhibit an appreciation for what he called our “musical sensibilities,” and endorsed our changes, unless we committed a form-error, which he would help us to correct. Later, Walter Latzko encouraged those same sensibilities, so we had two of the smartest geniuses in our corner, which was more than anybody else had. Those who wanted to dictate every aspect of the way we sang a song could go find their own quartet. This one was ours!

The woodshedding accelerated my learning process, and over the years, I learned to spell some of the chords, identify intervals, tell a major key from a relative minor key, make up simple key-changes, etc. Before long, I could sight-read all four parts, and would know them cold before we had our first rehearsal on a given song.

It wasn’t until 2002 that I bought my first Finale software. Friend Walter, had suffered a stroke several years prior, but was still writing arrangements daily, using his left hand to operate the mouse of a computer. The Finale system would enable me to be of assistance to him.

In his salad days, Walter could write an arrangement with his lead pencil and some blank staff-paper while on an airline flight that lasted a couple of hours. He could see the notes on the page in his head, could hear the tune being sung (also in his head), and he could write it down as fast as you or I could write a letter to Mom. That was his genius, and it explains why only a handful of our Society members were respected arrangers in those days. In no case did it take Walter longer than a few hours to hand write an arrangement of a single song.

However, the stroke had robbed him of the use of his strong writing hand and of some of his energy. On the computer, it then took Walter about twelve hours to write an arrangement. It became a two day job, so he would sometimes tire of the piece before he finished, and would send it to me for ideas from my old “musical sensibilities.” We collaborated on a lot of charts during the last years of his life, and he taught me a lot about arranging.

Lacking formal musical education, I am certainly no match for the geniuses who have that special (in their head) kind of talent. However, with the aid of the Finale program, I found that I was competent to write a chart that included some original ideas. With the computer, I could listen to my work through speakers, instead of “in my head,” and, with effort, could tweak the chart until it met my own standards as a top quartet singer.

It was a labor of love, and I was mentored by a guy whom I loved. I found that, even as my performing ability began to slow down, my strong imagination produced the same endorphin-rush, while writing, that I had enjoyed as a performer. Over the past 14 years, I have compiled a modest library of 60 or 70 charts. However, I was not the only one who discovered that Finale can take the place of those certain genius-skills. There are now more competent arrangers than there used to be, all competing for the attention of the top ten quartets and choruses. Of course, there only ten of them, right? So, my catalogue has been placed with friend Jay Giallombardo and his wife Helen, in the hope that some hot shot quartets might notice them. Some of those charts are listed on Jay’s web site, but I am not writing much these days.

Some favorite arrangements that I wrote include a medley of songs from “Paint Your Wagon,” a millennial song popularized by “Five for Fighting” called “100 Years,” and a five part solo (with barbershop chorus background) called “I’m Gonna Move to the Outskirts of Town.” My favorite collaboration with Walter is a contest-chart of a song written by Mel Tormé and Bob Wells, called “County Fair” for an obscure Disney film called “So Dear to My Heart.” We finished that one shortly before my old friend passed away. All of those tunes have matching learning tracks, which should be available from Jay. You can hear full mixes of several of them on my album, “Walter and Me,” available on iTunes and CDbaby.com. Thanks for the commercial.

TW: From 2004 to 2011, you released four recordings as a soloist. What/who inspired you down that path? How would folks purchase some of those products?

KH: In January of 2002, the phone rang, interrupting a BSU rehearsal on a Sunday evening at Thoroughbred Hall. A tiny voice said, “You don’t know me, but my name is Chilton Price, and I’ve written a song to honor the fallen firefighters from the 911 disaster. We would like for the Thoroughbreds to sing it.”

Usually, such a phone call resulted in an embarrassing experience, because I would have to tell the person that they had written a bad song. This time, such was not the case. Ms. Price faxed me her song, and on Monday, I sent it to Walter, who wrote a chart that same day. That evening, I passed it out to the chorus, and we learned in the same night. Two weeks later, we performed it for a thousand attendees of a convention of the National Association of Retired Military Officers and their bejeweled significant others, at the Grand Ballroom of the Galt House Hotel, in downtown Louisville. The place came apart.

I visited Ms. Price the following Tuesday evening, to present her with a recording of that performance, and to thank her for thinking of us. She said,” Ken, I didn’t tell you who I really was, because I wanted you to judge my song by its own merits. I have several gold records hanging on the wall in my hallway. I wrote ‘You Belong to Me’ and other hits from the 1950s. They stopped recording my music when Elvis came along, because I refused to change my writing style. But I have continued to write new songs that sound just like the Great American Songbook tunes for the last 50 years. No one with talent has ever heard them before. Would you be willing to listen to some?”

Chilton played, and I sang. I felt as if I had won the lottery. The first song made me cry, and each one was better than the last one. This was the start of a beautiful friendship that lasted 400 Tuesday nights over an eight year period, until her death at the age of 96. We catalogued her music, and wrote verses and extra lyrics together. We collaborated on new original songs. And we talked about every aspect of our lives, keeping no secrets. You guys should know by now that when you make music together, it is one of the most intimate things you can do with another person. When writing together, we had to communicate the same feeling to the listener, so we had to compare our feelings and life-experiences, in order to tell the same story. It really was one of the thrills of my life, to become friends with an accomplished songwriter, and Chilton, in particular, was a genuine person, with great wisdom and class. She taught me how to write songs.

Along the way, Chilton expressed her desire to have other artists sample her work. We were already familiar with the freshly budding careers of Michael Bublé and Josh Groban, so she was inspired to hire a pianist and record a demo-CD of original songs, with me doing the singing. We called it “Pure Price.” The project turned out well, but we were advised that new songs presented by a new singer was a tough sell. So, we went back to the studio, and recorded a CD with half original songs and half familiar songs, called “The Best Is Yet to Come.” Then, we were advised that, while piano-vocal was charming, the tunes really deserved more accompaniment. So, we went back a third time, and recorded yet another CD of half familiar and half original songs, but this time with a full 17 piece big band and a dozen string-players. The original band-charts were written by our favorite pianist, Jay Flippin, who also put together the best musicians in Louisville for the project. Man, this was a dream come true! To be the Sinatra-guy, with a studio full of hot players and the actual songwriter, smiling behind the glass. It really was heaven. We got to meet with Michael Feinstein for an afternoon, but so far, none of Chilton’s and my unpublished works have been recorded by anyone famous.

By that time, BSU had slowed down, and in December of 2006, we called it quits for good. Another singer who was working at the studio had a steady gig, fronting a big band on the Cunard cruise-ship “Queen Elizabeth II,” and needed some relief, so he could spend more time with his family. So, he got me set up to take his place on several trips for 35 days at a time over the next two years (2007-2008). That was a real learning experience. I was surprised to learn that those musicians do not rehearse. They don’t need the practice, because they can sight-read it the first time, and make it sound like some guy on the radio. The only question was, could I keep up with them?

We had several thousand passengers on the ship, and several hundred of them came on board strictly for the ballroom dancing in the ship’s famous Queen’s Room, which was designed and furnished in the style of the Titanic, from the original White Star Line. It was a classy joint, full of rich folks from several continents, who were very sensitive to the tempo required for each different kind of dance. We performed two one hour sets each evening, seven days a week, and we were not to repeat a song during any certain cruise, some of which lasted for more than two weeks. I had the opportunity to perform several hundred different songs, and I had a whole four measures to figure out the key, tempo, meter and rhythm of each one, before coming in on time and in tune.

The international montage of musicians was mostly fresh out of college, using their talents to work their way around the world, before settling down with a job and family. These guys were all pretty jaded, and showed it with their playing. Everybody was in business for himself, and not enjoying the room, the crowd or even each other. It became apparent that they had been taught by their university professors to look down their noses at the listeners and at other musicians who could not play as well. We had a trombone player who was a great sight-reader, but who was not an experienced improviser. They would “throw him the ball,” and then laugh hysterically (in full view of the audience) at his feeble attempts to play a trombone-solo.

I dressed them down pretty good during the next break. I let them know that this was unprofessional behavior, and I expected them to get a haircut, be sober, stop showing up with spotted ties and wrinkled clothes, and to act like pros, instead of amateurs. They could set me off the boat in Tahiti, and I could fly home – no problem, and they could explain the absence of the singer for the rest of the month. Then, I began to recognize horn players from the stage whenever one would distinguish himself with a solo. I gave them nicknames, like “Mr. Incredible (Ukrainian)” and “Lady-Killer (Canadian).” Before long, those guys were smiling at each other, calling out the measure-numbers and enjoying playing as an ensemble. We didn’t feature the trombone player anymore.

It was a little nerve-wracking at the start, but after three or four days, I was comfortable enough to look up from the music-stand and perform. After another few days, the music-director in charge of all the acts asked me to handle the speaking between songs. At the end of our first 17 day cruise, the passenger-evaluations gave us a score of 85 out of 100, which turned out to be the highest score ever awarded to that particular room. The musicians and the bosses were pretty doggone happy, and the band-director got a raise. All that resulted from a barbershopper – an amateur with a professional attitude – being thrown in with a bunch of professional musicians with bush-league attitudes. I found out from the band-cats that singing in tune on that ship made me an anomaly, which helped.

We made some good noise, and I learned a lot. The favorite tunes we played turned out to be a samba called Quando Quando Quando, with lyrics by Pat Boone, and a waltz-rendition of “If You Were the Only Girl in the World.” The young cats had never heard of the latter, but played it well, and told me, “Dude, you sang that tune like you wrote it!” It was fun! I was able to stick and jab – to back phrase – whenever I felt like it; much different from singing homophony with a quartet. No rehearsal was necessary.

After each performance, we had a midnight buffet, and then I would stay up all night in my cabin, writing band-charts. What was cool about that? The band would play the chart the next night, and would then give me pointers about my writing. It was a great experience, but after two years, I had enjoyed a lot of songs, and had learned everything the ship could teach me. I came home, and fronted for the Don Krekel Orchestra, a big band in Louisville, for a couple years, before retiring from solo-singing. It was a kick, but in the music biz, “you is either famous, or you is pore!” My last gig was a party for some rich folks at the Galt House on New Year’s Eve of 2015. I looked marvelous, but filled the room with mediocrity. Time to move on.

By that time, I had collaborated with Walter on some great charts, and I had written some myself that I liked, so I produced an a cappella recording, singing all four parts. I called it “Walter and Me, and it appears with my three solo recordings on iTunes and CDbaby.com, under the artist-name Kenny Ray Hatton.

TW: Can you talk about some of the choruses you have had a chance to lead over the years? What advice could you give to aspiring choral-directors?

KH: It was always a dream to someday be front-line director of the Thoroughbreds. At the same time, I had watched as the guys who followed John Wooden at UCLA and Adolph Rupp at University of Kentucky do well, but fail to come close to the records of the great ones. I did not relish the thought of following Jim Miller with the ‘Breds.

Brother Allen got his shot when Jim resigned in 1985, as co-director with Ken Buckner. Then, when Bunk left town to work for the Society in Kenosha, Allen was the man! He did well, and if you listen to the recordings, the chorus did some of its best singing ever, under his direction. But certain other choruses were getting better exponentially, and even though the T-Breds tied for first in 1990, the proverbial “coin-toss” went to Dr. Greg Lyne and his Masters of Harmony. Egos, trends and politics divided our chapter after that. Choruses have a way of assigning all the credit for a chorus’s success and all the blame for its failures to the director, neither of which is true. But directors and chorus-members know that going in, so I suppose it’s fair.

When Allen resigned in December of 1992, I was not active in the chorus, but the BOD sent guys to talk to me. I had recently started my own business, and was not prepared to discuss the matter until August of 1993. They had appointed a guy as “interim director,” while they conducted a “search.” The Board asked me to keep quiet about their approach, so they could make that guy think he was getting the job permanently, while they waited six months for me. I refused to make that promise, but I did not go out of my way to let him know. I regret that.

That’s the thing about chorus-directing that I detested – the politics. The official BOD of our beloved Thoroughbreds deceived that poor fellow, an action which was, in their minds, “in the best interests of the chapter.” I never understood how lying to a guy could ever be in the best interest of any chapter. But that’s what you get, when you put humans in charge.

A seasoned judge once wrote, “You get good marks, and win a scholarship. You finish pre-law, and get into a great law-school, where you graduate with honors, and land a job as a clerk for a Federal judge. You get on with a prestigious firm, and after several years, they make you a partner. Then, you run for circuit-judge, and win the election. Your first trial is almost over, and who makes the decision? Two retired guys, three housewives, a file clerk, a bricklayer, a schoolteacher and ditch-digger!” That’s kind of the way a barbershop chorus works. The Board of Directors searches to find the most skilled and knowledgeable person they can to be the Music Director. Then, knowing they are less qualified, they complicate your efforts with frequent attempts to micromanage. Unless you can earn enough implied authority with the troops, it is a built-in recipe for failure.

Regardless, I showed up to accept the directorate in August, and we went to the Cardinal District prelims a few weeks later. We won handily, with a group of about 70 men, and began to prepare for our annual Christmas Show, as well as the 1994 International Chorus Contest in Pittsburgh, with 92 guys on stage.

International competition was a different story. Our ranks had been decimated during the prior year by the formation of the Louisville Times Chorus by David Harrington and Mark Hale, along with a couple of dozen of our better singers. The new group had a tough audition for admission, and didn’t invite any of our “average” singers to participate. Wonder where that idea came from?

That loss of so many good singers gave us a tougher row to hoe, but we started in earnest on the fundamentals. We tackled a new Ed Waesche medley of Hoagy Carmichael’s “Billy-A-Dick” and Jule Styne’s Rat-Tat-Tat-Tat,” along with a new chart of “Till We Meet Again.” We had Sally Whitledge, of International SAI Champion “4th Edition” fame as our choreographer, and her husband, Bob, of the “Gentlemen’s Agreement,” was our bass section leader and one of our associate directors.

We worked hard, but the resulting performance was scored in the mid-80s; not up to the chorus’s reputation, nor to my standards. I was privately embarrassed by the singing, even before the scoresheets revealed a 6th place finish. Another year and two new contest songs later, our 1995 contest performance in Miami was equally embarrassing (to me), and the rank was identical (a gift, in my opinion). In the meantime, we had done a lot of exciting B-level singing on shows, and held on to most of our local following.

When Ken Buckner announced that he was moving back to Louisville, I was sure that he could lead the chorus to greater heights than I. As it turned out, the performance we gave in the 1995 fall contest was the best singing the chorus had ever given under my direction. I had my letter of resignation in my pocket, and handed it to the Chapter President immediately after we came off stage, and before the call-off. I was finally proud of a contest-performance, even before I learned that we had won, and we had beaten the second place chorus, the Louisville Times, by 20 points. I handed the baton to Bunk, and wished him well.

Three years later, in February of 1998, the chorus was struggling even harder, and I was approached by the president and one of the associate directors to again serve as front line director. When I showed up at the Board meeting to respond, both of those guys denied in my presence that they had approached me. Once again, they didn’t want to hurt the feelings of the guy who was in charge at the time. More politics – more lying.

I then announced to the Board that this idea must have come to me in a dream during the night. I would be out in the parking lot long enough to have a smoke – about four minutes, and then my offer would be withdrawn. They came out and got me to serve as director three minutes later, but explained that they had to complete their “search,” so it would be a couple of months before I would start my term. That wasted time led to a slim defeat in the fall contest at the hands of our rivals, the Louisville Times – more embarrassment. We weren’t even the best barbershop chorus in town! Still, we received a “wild card” bid to participate in the International Chorus Contest, where they finished eighth, and we finished fifth.

This time, I quickly got Brother Allen on Board, appointing him as co-director for the duration. The group improved exponentially in preparation for the 1999 chorus contest in Anaheim. We commissioned a new Waesche arrangement of the Irving Berlin tune, “Pack up Your Sins, and Go to the Devil,” and dusted off Ed’s old chart of “Over the Rainbow.” The Anaheim contest saw the Thoroughbreds return to the medals, although it was a bronze, awarded for a 5TH place finish. In the old days, it would have been disappointing, but our guys jumped for joy, as they had failed to even qualify for the dance the previous year (for the first time ever).

We seemed to have a tiger by the tail, but that’s when the wheels started to come off. Allen and I agreed to implement individual performance-accountability, and divided the chorus into two groups – one performing group and the other remedial. This was our way of competing against the “hand-picked” choruses – by focusing our teaching efforts on smaller groups and individuals where they were needed most. We had not predicted that the remedial group would be embarrassed to the extent that they would vote as a political block. The following year, we competed with fewer singers, and dropped out of the top ten choruses, and in 2001, in Nashville, finished 14th. That was it! Allen and I were pretty much out on our ear.

We left the chapter with about 30 guys, and formed the New Horizon Chorus, leaving the ‘Breds in even worse shape. We had allowed ourselves to be affected by the individual performance accountability standards which were running rampant around the Society, but our Thoroughbreds were not willing to accept them. In retrospect, we would have been smarter to have continued the path of John Henry against the steam drill. We still would not have won the championship, but we would have gone down swinging! Instead, we joined the plethora of chapters who had divided themselves in the interest of the elitist-singer. We had become what we had previously scorned. We ended up with three “also-ran” choruses, in lieu of the mighty International Champion Thoroughbreds.

In 2013, I moved to Alabama for work, and also accepted the job of Music Director of Voices of the South, in Birmingham, Alabama. We started with sores of 68%, and (several times) raised those scores to the middle 70s. We finished second in our first spring chorus contest, and three years later. We tied for second, one point out of first, in my final contest performance as a director. We sang some good shows during our three years, and the guys were kind enough to sing some of my arrangements, along with some written by my late pals, Walter and Ed, as well as two original songs written by my dear departed friend, Chilton Price and me. I retired in 2016, because some physical ailments made it difficult to perform the athletic tasks associated with conducting. Also, I had not been able to figure out how to grow the chorus. We started with 22 active, and we ended with 22 active. I thought perhaps a younger guy could do better.

What did I learn that I can share with aspiring chorus directors? I was not smart enough to figure that out. All hail Jim Miller! He used to say, “I hate when you guys whine, ‘I don’t know what to do, Jimmy.’ Maybe I’ll smack you in the balls, and then you’ll sure know what to do. You’ll say, ouch!” I wrote an e-book about Jim’s life called, “If Not for Jim,” available on Amazon and iBooks, which was released in 2012, a few months after his passing, at the age of 87. Read the book, and maybe you can get some advice from Jim. My advice is, if you don’t know what to do, stick to quartet-singing, or you might get smacked in the balls.

TW: You’ve had a chance to work with so many amazing coaches over the years. What is some of the best advice you have been given by a coach?

KH: Well… not so many. In the 70s, Jim was too busy directing and singing in the Citations to coach us as a quartet. Ed Gentry was already coaching the Citations, the Thoroughbreds and the Cardinals quartet. My mother was our first coach, as previously mentioned. Her lessons had to do with breath support and using the right muscles, which held us back at first, but raised the level at which we would perform later. We failed to qualify for International in our first two attempts, in 1974 and 1975. However, we had won the Cardinal District Championship, in the fall of 1974, a year after our formation. Back then, there just weren’t many good singing young quartets. Most good ensembles were in their thirties, forties and fifties. The hot-shots of our youth had been the Sundowners and the Grandmas Boys, who were six to ten years older than we.

The Johnny Appleseed District had scouted us at our convention, and invited us to an all-expense paid trip to the JAD spring convention, in 1975. There, we sang for the quartet contest audience, while the scores were being tallied. Let’s just say, we were having a good day. We sang almost everything we knew, and there were money and panties thrown on the stage. We got to our dressing rooms, and already had our jackets off, when the MC came to get us, and said, “They won’t stop clapping until you guys come back out here. They don’t care who won the quartet contest.”

So, we went back out, and sang the only other song we knew; the Suntones’ “Lollipops and Roses,” being sure to apologize in advance for the fact that it wasn’t suitable for the contest stage. In the judges’ pit that night was a man named Don Clause. When we left Dayton on Sunday, he was our new coach. Don was one of the writers of the category description of the new “Sound” category, and was getting ready to be C&J Chairman, which we didn’t care about. He was also the coach of the 1973 and 1974 International Champions, the Dealers Choice and the Regents. We recognized him from his picture on the back of the DC’s first album, which we did care about.

Within a year, Don had introduced us to several original Ed Waesche contest-arrangements, had us as his guests on Long Island for a weekend coaching session, had interpreted all four of our new contest songs (which we recorded), and had challenged us to master our craft, using the Society’s “green book,” a craft-manual patterned after the one Ed Gentry had written for the Thoroughbreds.

We didn’t always sing every phrase the way Don had instructed, but he never noticed that. What Don did for us was to convince us that we could master our craft, and provide a tie-breaker to keep us from arguing about how to sing each phrase. We did all of our homework within six months, having applied our new craft to the four Waesche charts, including “Midnight Rose,” and “I’ve Found My Sweetheart, Sally.” In the spring of 1976, at the ages of 20 and 21, BSU won the Cardinal prelims, and in San Francisco, in our first International Quartet Contest, we were awarded a 4th place medal. That was the biggest thrill in my quartet career, to this day. It was so unexpected by so many people, including us!

Don’s impact was the greatest, but not the only one from great coaches. He put each of us in touch with our weaknesses. Mine was pushing down low, instead of trusting my fellow singers to help create my note. Ricky’s was forgetting the dynamic plan. Danny’s challenge was to be firmer with his diction. Allen’s was to keep his falsetto tenor balanced (softer).

Our visual presentation coach was the great Ron Riegler, from the Roaring Twenties, who came in fifth to our fourth, at the San Francisco Convention. Ron taught us to move to the outside when singing louder, and move to the inside when singing softer. He taught us to do a preparatory move in the opposite direction from which we intended to move, like Jackie Gleason before he would say, “And away we go!” Sadly, Ron became gravely ill in early 1977, and passed away after the 1977 convention. We recruited my high school drama teacher, Gene Stickler, to choreograph four new tunes for the 1977 and 1978 contests. You would have sworn that Gene was Ron’s brother; they were so much alike!

The third coach was a more modest fellow, also from Cincinnati, Ed Weber. Ed was a stage presence judge, who specialized in facial expression, focal point and the fundamentals of stage presence. He taught us that it mattered where we looked in the audience during each phrase, and that our facial expression should be planned to mirror the emotion suggested by the changing message of the song. Ed taught us never to raise our hands above the waist, unless there was a planned reason for them to be up there. And don’t ever close your eyes. They are the windows to the emotions.

Our makeup guy was Joe Bruno, who taught us which stage makeup to buy, and how to apply it modestly, so that we looked normal and handsome on stage, rather than like a bunch of clowns. The makeup was a part of our ritual of preparation, which helped us to feel an aura of invincibility before we took the stage. The longhairs coming out of the universities to save us all from ourselves have since convinced our lazier members that such efforts are unnecessary. Consequently, their faces wash out in the stage lights, and we can see their expressions only by watching the big screen – when there is a big screen, that is. We miss you, Joe.

Our costume-designers included Louise Cecil, a professional, who made the brightly colored thrift-store knickerbockers that we wore during our three contest years for $143.75 – for all four them! Another was clothier and barbershopper Mike Mazucca, who designed our unique kelly green tuxedos and our rose colored (pink) tuxedos for the other two contest sets. Our last costume-designer was Dan’s wife, Cyndy Burgess, who had a degree in Home Economics from the University of Kentucky. She designed and built our Music Man costumes – the ones that appeared in the photograph, with the plumed hats and reversible jackets. We wore them on stage for many years.

TW: What are your thoughts on the evolution of the music-industry and songwriting over the course of your lifetime? Are you happy with this evolution?

KH: Well first, let me say that Irving Scrooge Berlin was a greedy SOB. Besides refusing to allow barbershop arrangements of his songs because our genre was not “legitimate,” thanks to that stuck up, crusty old curmudgeon, who never learned to read a note of music, and played piano only by ear in the key of F sharp, and thanks to his lawyers, the term of a song-copyright was extended from 50 years after the copyright started to 90 years after the death of the longest surviving collaborator. I don’t like that very much.

I am glad to see the money-people, whose only talent is to recognize and take advantage of the potential of others, finally being left out of the mix, thanks to technology. With the advent of cell-phones, video and social media, any artist can reach the public directly with his or her songs, voice and instrument, from the safety and obscurity of his bathroom or basement. He or she no longer needs cow-tow to the David Fosters and Phil Specters of the world, in order to be “discovered.” If his or her talent is special, it will now be noticed by the real judges. In the words of the late George Gershwin, “It is not the few knowing ones whose opinions make any work of art great; it is the judgment of the great mass that finally decides.”

Of course, I detest licensing agencies BMI, ASCAP, SESAC, and abhor publishers Hal Leonard and Alfred Publishing for what they have done to the undiscovered songwriter and hobby-singer/player of music, and I am embarrassed and angry that our Society is playing ball with them. By the way, BHS is both a licensing agency and a publisher. The former group of pariahs caters only to the writers of songs featured in blockbuster movies, the top 100 grossing concerts annually and of protected works that get radio, TV and internet airplay. The latter group is squeezing the rest of us out of mere participation by the high cost of permission to arrange, perform, record and promote, and our Society is helping them do it by agreeing to their terms.

Our better option is to join together to boycott all protected works, and resort to Public Domain songs and original songs copyrighted by our own members, and to make sure not to allow any of those publishers or licensing agencies (or our Society) to participate in even partial ownership of our protected works. This happened once before, you know, when ASCAP got too big for its britches in the late 1940s, and took all of its catalogue off the radio airwaves. That’s what gave birth to the country music industry and caused BMI to be formed. Perhaps such a boycott now, would birth another industry called a cappella. There are thousands of public domain songs that are very fine vehicles, and we are perfectly capable of writing our own songs that fit the style.

Meanwhile, if you want to adapt any protected work to the barbershop style represented by one of these licensing agencies or publishers, just so your quartet or chorus can sing it in a show or a contest for which you might earn no moneys in exchange, please be prepared to pay several hundred dollars to the copyright owner, just in exchange for permission. Of course, another way is to woodshed your own arrangement of a protected work, which constitutes “fair use,” under the law, as long as it is not written down. We used to all know how to do that!

TW: What personal accomplishment are you most proud of outside the world of barbershop harmony?

KH: Many people like to say they are proud of their families. I cannot take the credit for the successes of my children, and I will not take the blame for their failures. We lead the horses to the water, but it is up to them to make the choice to drink. I feel good about having done my job. They did not ask to be brought into the world. Their mother and I made that decision, and all three arrived kicking and screaming mad about it. We owed them good food, clothing, shelter, education and love. We paid our debt and provided additional things like cars and money after they were grown. Since then, it has been up to them. To their credit, they are all paying taxes, and none are drug-addicts or criminals. I am glad for their varying degrees of success, even while meeting different levels of hardship, because I love and want only good things for them. But to be “proud” would claim responsibility for their success, which I cannot do. There are people close to me who have had adult children who made wrong choices that resulted in incarceration and even death. Those children enjoyed the same benefits that mine did. If I claim credit for my own children’s success, I would be blaming other parents for the failures of their kids, which would be over-the-top inappropriate. That’s why I cringe when I see parents bragging about “pride” in their adult children’s successes, and it’s why you won’t see claims of pride in my kids’ accomplishments on my Facebook page.

That being clarified, I suppose I am proud of the fact that I work hard every day, and that I am not a burden on my family or on society. I am proud of the kind of work I do, and that makes it necessary for this answer to overlap the answers to your good question numbers 15 and 16.

TW: Barbershoppers probably know you best as the energetic performer and lead singer of the Bluegrass Student Union, the 1978 quartet champs of the SPEBSQSA, now known as the Barbershop Harmony Society. What are a few things that folks may NOT know about you?

KH: I can juggle. I discovered as a teenager that I could isolate overtones with my voice, and play tunes with the overtones while holding the same note, simply by changing my mouth opening and tongue position. I speak fluent Spanish. I have not been able to walk farther than a block and a half without resting for ten minutes since 2003. That will likely never change. I didn’t like Irving Berlin when he was alive, and now that he is dead, I still do. Oh yeah, we covered that.

I have worked as a loading dock equipment and industrial doors application-expert on and off since 1986. When I entered the industry, I was sent to a school held by our main factory, which was called KELLEY, inventor and manufacturer of the hinged lip dock leveler, a bridge between the loading dock and the trailer bed. The fellows who taught that school were the same ones who had been around since the invention of the device, in 1953. They had been the first generation of sales persons, who introduced the product to American industry, and they imparted to me their noble mission. Their product had revolutionized the safety and comfort of the loading dock worker, and, along with a later invention by a competitor (the trailer restraint), had saved the lives and limbs of countless people around the world, none of whom realized that they would have died or been maimed without it.

Most businesses provide goods and services that help people in some way. We don’t all get to be astronauts or Supreme Court Justices. Most of us make our contributions to humankind in smaller, less famous ways. On our tombstones, it won’t say, “He laid a lot of brick,” or “She counseled a lot of crazy people.” On mine, it won’t say, “He sold a lot of levelers, restraints and overhead doors, and made sure they were properly installed.” But that is exactly the thing of which I am most proud. Funny how one can attain something akin to immortality by doing a little singing, but the day in and day out saving of lives by most of us who do it goes unnoticed.

When I was a kid, I didn’t imagine growing up to be a dock leveler salesman. The job sort of found me, instead of the other way around. But I developed a keen interest in the product and in applying and installing it correctly. I found that once I embraced the noble motivation, my clients could sense that sincerity. When I get the job, lives are saved, the work area is more comfortable, the customer’s management enjoys the savings that comes with increased productivity, and my commissions take care of themselves. It’s a great business, because my degree of personal fulfillment just happens to be commensurate with the financial rewards. What a great country! I have to believe that unless you are a criminal, or you work in the liquor- or tobacco-industry, your job probably offers similar fulfillment. We are all here to serve each other, and most jobs allow you to do that. I can only hope that it brings you similar rewards.

TW: What’s the next item on your bucket list?

KH: That’s a tough question, because I have had such a great life! I had two marriages that lasted a total of 36 years, and 29 of them were pretty darned good. I loved me some women. I am now divorced and single, and life is really stress-free these days. My three kids are healthy and standing on their own six feet. I have a special relationship with my son, Mike. I always treated him as an equal; not as a child. As a result, he is now my friend, in addition to being my son, which pleases me very much. I enjoy my work, and will never retire, as long as I can walk and think. I have lived many of my dreams, helping the Thoroughbreds to earn four gold medals and some other colors too, winning quartet contests with my three “brothers,” Allen, Danny and Rick, and then going on to join the Suntones-Buffalo Bills-Boston Common-club. I got to direct the Thoroughbreds in competition on several occasions, although it didn’t turn out as well as I had envisioned. I traveled around the world a few times, and got to visit 47 states, most of them multiple times. I directed a chorus across mainland China for four 2-week trips, and coached my way across New Zealand and Australia. I learned how to arrange music, with no formal education, and I sang professionally in jazz clubs with a great accompanist. I became friends and wrote songs with a real award-winning Great American Songbook writer. I met idols, heroes, presidents and other famous people along the way, who all turned out to be regular guys, just like me. My quartet recorded some of the best-selling barbershop-recordings of all time. I recorded a big band album with 33 top musicians that sounds like it belongs on the Sirius Sinatra channel. I wrote a biography about the life of my mentor, Jim Miller. I made a barbershop recording dedicated to my other mentor, Walter Latzko. I made three recordings that honored yet another mentor, Ms. Chilton Price. I wrote original songs and arrangements, and heard them sung by others. On occasion, I even got to perform on the ‘lectric television. Hoo-wee!

I promise you that I have done everything that I wanted to do, and more. I have a few regrets, but owe no amends. There is no bucket-list, but I discovered something else that I enjoy, just this past year. You see, I moved to Alabama five years ago, for my work, and I have no “old friends” here. New friends are nice, but there is nothing like the friends with whom you share some history. I see Allen, Rick and Dan once a year, at a reunion at Allen’s lake house. I hate to think that I might see those guys only a handful (or two) more times before one of us takes a header.

I have other friends around the country, with whom I stay in touch. Still, there are others who I care about deeply, but don’t get to see anymore. Last June, I visited Marjorie Latzko at her home in Lewes Delaware, where she lives, with her daughter, Melanie and her husband and two boys. Marjorie is one of the tenors of the Chordettes, of Mr. Sandman fame, besides being Walter’s devoted wife for over 50 years and one of my dearest friends. After a great three day visit, I took the ferry across Delaware Bay, to Cape May, New Jersey, and drove to Brigantine, where I met with old friend Carol Plum. We took her parents, Ellen and Neal, out to dinner, and enjoyed reminiscing about his quartet, Sound Revival, back in the 70s and 80s.

The next morning, I met pal Jack Pinto, of Old School quartet, for breakfast, and we traveled to New York City, where we had dinner with genius arranger, judge and quartet-man Steve Delehanty and his wife, Connie, along with medalist lead singer Scott Brannon, of the Cincinnati Kids. I enjoyed spending time with these many good friends, and made a new friend, Keith Harris, the barbershopper and professional opera-singer. It took some effort and expense on my part, but this was more fun and fulfilling than going around the world. I did that already, and got paid for it – twice! It couldn’t be as much fun the third time, especially if I’m paying. But this trip was a gas, because I got to see those lovely people one more time.

So, I don’t have a bucket-list of things I want to do and experience. I just want to see my old friends one more time. So, I have already planned my trip for 2018. In February, I will see Todd and Jennifer Wilson, in Nashville, and then hop on a plane to see Holly and Brian Beck in Colorado Springs. With any luck, Bobby Gray and Terri will be available for dinner, and maybe I can sneak in a luncheon with George Davidson, Terry Heltne and Kurt Hutchison in Denver, before visiting old quartet-buddy, Vince Winans and his wife in Salt Lake City. After a couple of days, I will head for Palm Springs, California, to visit former Thoroughbred Jonathan Friedman and his wife, Annabelle, where they will introduce me to their new baby girl, who is to be born next month. Then, it’s on to Oakland, where I will spend a few days watching some of my grandkids play soccer and volleyball.

I might try to visit old pal Greg Lyne, while I am there. He always tries to tell me that the Thoroughbreds should have won that contest in 1990. I like that about him.

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roundtheworldrambles · 5 years ago

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Tasmania, Australia - Part 1

Day 86 – Brisbane to Hobart, Tasmania

In the morning, I boarded my Jetstar flight down to the southernmost state of Australia, Tasmania! An island state, Tasmania is located 240 kilometres south of mainland Australia, and is known for its natural beauty, protected natural parks and coastlines, and diverse vegetation. My hosts for the following week, the wonderful Mulcahy Family, were there to meet me at the airport. Eleven years earlier, when my younger sister Christie was 16, she and the Mulcahys’ middle daughter Alice did a multi-month exchange – where Christie came to live in Tasmania for a few months, and Alice returned to live with our family in Canada! Over the years that followed, the Campbells and Mulcahys have stayed in touch, and I was very fortunate for their hospitality in Tasmania.

Leonie and Andrew, the mom and dad of the Mulcahy clan, came to pick me up at Hobart’s airport – an overdue reunion long in the making! As we drove into the capital of Tasmania, I began to see the impressive Mount Wellington rising above the small harbourside city. The second oldest city in Australia, Hobart was originally settled by the British in 1804. It was first established as a penal colony, where prisoners from both Europe and Mainland Australia were sent to serve time.

Nowadays, Hobart has a distinct charm to it that was immediately evident. Home to a world-class culinary scene, bustling markets, modern art, craft breweries, and historic buildings – the small portside city packs a lot in! We drove through the small city centre into the hills of North Hobart, where the Mulcahy Family lived in a stately, red-bricked Victorian Home. On my first night, I enjoyed dinner with the extended Mulcahy Family – Andrew and Leonie, their son David, his wife Siska, their newborn son Frederick, and finally Alice (my sister’s exchange buddy), and her husband Alex. It was lovely catching up with this wonderful family after so many years!

Day 87 – Hobart, Tasmania

I spent this day wandering the sunny streets of Hobart, and running a few errands. I wandered along the waterfront, popping into art galleries and exploring the city. It was a lovely day without much of an agenda – aside from a good wander. Taking advantage of the sunshine and blue skies, I popped into Hobart Brewing Company, and enjoyed a few pints of beer in the sunshine – before being quickly roped into a multitude of games with my fellow patio-goers! Famously friendly, the Aussies of Tasmania were generous with their alcohol – and as their new Canadian friend, I was on the receiving end of many free beers! Comically – this trend continued into well the evening, with many more free drinks to come.

Hobart Brewing Co

I headed to Salamanca Square as evening fell to meet my Canadian friend Emma, who had flown into Hobart from Sydney to spend the weekend exploring Tasmania with me. Emma and I had gone to Western together, but she had been living in Sydney for about 3 years by the time I was travelling through Australia. Emma’s friend from Sydney, Andrea, and her brother Christopher were also travelling in Tasmania that weekend, and joined us for a patio dinner at Barcelona in Salamanca Square. We had a terrific evening, and somehow wound up having our entire drink tab for the evening covered by the bartender!

Day 88 – Hobart, Tasmania

Needless to say, the following morning, I woke up with a bit of a hangover! Getting ready for the day, Emma and I joined the Mulcahys for a delicious brunch at The Glass House, suspended at the end of Brooke Pier on Sullivan’s Cove.

As it was Saturday morning, we walked over to the nearby Salamanca market after brunch. This vibrant outdoor market operates weekly, and is home to one of Australia’s largest markets, where hundreds of stalls pop-up along the tree-lined boulevard of Salamanca place to showcase their wares: artisan goods, freshly baked goods and produce, antiques and collectables. Wandering the stalls, Emma and I enjoyed some Aussie-themed Christmas shopping as we waited to board our afternoon ferry to MONA, the Museum of Old and New Art.

Returning at Brooke Pier for our boarding time, we embarked on a catamaran ferry for the twenty-five minute journey up the River Derwent. Travelling to Berriedale, the home of MONA, the ferry ride in and of itself was quite an experience! The passenger-only boat was painted in a blue camouflage design and was eclectically decorated with graffiti art, setting the tone for the equally eclectic museum visit to come! We sat above deck, admiring the scenery of the river and distant mountains, while sitting next to life size sculptures of sheep and tigers (which you can actually sit on instead of seats!).

Approaching the jetty at MONA, I was initially surprised, as the museum did not seem very large. Perched on the cliffs of a small, green peninsula, we only could see a single-storey building at first. It was only later that we found out that the museum is largely underground, with three levels below the surface, most without windows, setting a dramatic, somewhat ominous mood as we toured the gallery.

The current MONA museum was officially opened in 2011, and was privately founded by a Tasmanian Millionaire, David Walsh. A man who is very well known in Hobart, I had actually seen David Walsh from a distance the day before, where he was pointed out to me at Hobart Brewery! He continues to be heavily involved in the exhibits and operation of the museum, and is an avid art collector and philanthropist. The museum experience created at MONA is hard to explain – first off, the building itself is a work of art. Designed to start your tour in the basement, and gradually walk upwards, the lower floors have floor to ceiling carvings of sandstone, reminiscent of Petra or the Egyptian Pyramids. There is no chronology to the art that is displayed – and also no captions or titles next to the art. Upon arrival, all visitors are provided with headphones and an iPod-like device to navigate the different works of art, and learn about the exhibits on display.

The art itself covered every genre and style I could imagine – from traditional artefacts and antiques to eclectic modern art. Emma and I had a range of reactions to the art we saw – with some exhibits being very provocative and unconventional! For example, there was a machine that replicates the human digestive system, turning food into feces, and excreting it daily. The museum also houses a massive mural of a serpent, composed of 1620 smaller paintings. “Old Art” exhibits included ancient Egyptian artefacts, such as a sarcophagus from B.C.E., and “New Art” exhibits included The Great Wall of the Vagina, where 151 sculpted porcelain vaginas were presented, based of the anatomy of real women. David Walsh, the founder of the museum, has focused the exhibits of the museum around the themes of sex and death, and I could quickly see why it is also know as a “subversive adult Disneyland”. While exploring MONA, some exhibits I loved, and some I found to be quite off-putting - but certainly none were boring! Overall, the galleries at MONA absolutely exemplified for me how “art” is the eye of the beholder.

Snake Mural

Finishing our tour of the gallery, Emma and I grabbed a drink and a snack from the nearby Museum Café, and lounged outside in the sunshine for a while, enjoying the beautiful scenery around us. Boarding our return ferry to Hobart, we sat above deck, taking in the views along the River Derwent as we returned to the city. We met up with Andrew and Leonie for dinner in Salamanca, enjoying the summer evening on yet another picturesque patio in the historical district.

Emma and I at MONA

Day 89 – Hobart, Tasmania

Emma and I pulled on our running shoes and exercise clothes in the morning, and packed our bags with snacks and water for our hike up Mount Wellington that day. Leonie kindly offered to drive us to the foothills of the mountain, where we embarked on the Pinnacle and Zigzag Treks, a series of trails winding up the side of the mountain. We began our hike (or “bush-walk”, as they call it in Australia!) in a thickly forested grove, criss-crossed with multiple hiking trails and fire routes. We made sure to pay close attention to where we stepped, as snakes and small lizards were commonly found along these paths. Here and there, we would spot small wallabies, bounding through the thick brush. As we ascended towards the peak, the vegetation gradually thinned out, and the trail began to twist around towering reddish-brown rock formations. Mount Wellington is famous for its soaring dolerite columns, better known as the “organ pipes”. A very popular climbing spot among Tasmanians, these impressive rock formations can be easily seen from the city below.

Mount Wellington

As Emma and I reached the summit, we navigated through a boulder field to the viewpoint, where we had a panoramic outlook over Hobart and the River Derwent, with the Tasman Peninsula in the distance. We were thrilled to have a clear day at the summit, with 360 views surrounding us. Emma and I enjoyed some snacks and rest at the top, relaxing and taking in the spectacular scenery. Descending the Panorama Track and Pinnacle Road, we returned to our trailhead at the Springs, where we met Leonie and enjoyed coffee in the sun at the Lost Freight coffee shack. We spent the rest of the day relaxing, and joined Andrea and Christopher for a dinner at the Glass House, complete with interesting local dishes such as wallaby carpaccio!

Hiking up the Pinnacle Track

Day 90 - Port Arthur, Tasman Peninsula

Emma left in the morning to board her flight, returning to Sydney. It was terrific having her join me for a long weekend trip in Sydney, and I was looking forward to spending more time with her in a few weeks, where I would spend New Years in Sydney!

For the follow four days, the Mulcahys were generous enough to lend me their car to tour around Tasmania! Fortunately, their right-hand drive car was an automatic, so all I had to get used to was driving on the other side of the road! I had done this a few years earlier when travelling in the UK, and it was amazing how quickly I was able to get used to it again. I headed out towards the Tasman Peninsula, located about an hour and a half from Hobart.

Leaving town and meandering down the Arthur Highway, the views along the road were simply stunning, as I passed along spectacular coastlines and through beautiful bushlands. Most of the Tasman Peninsula is a protected national park, as it is home to many unique species, including wallabies, wombats, bandicoots, possums, echidnas and parrots. Unfortunately, along the road, this also meant that I would often see roadkill, and I tried to be very careful as a result when driving.

I made my first stop at Port Arthur Lavender Farm, a family-run business next to the ocean, where they farm more than 16,000 lavender plants in a year. The seaside homestead was spectacular, with fields striped with purple lavender plants rolling down to the ocean. I spent some time wandering around the peaceful property, inhaling the fresh sea air as I admired the endless rows of lavender. I went into the farmhouse, where the family has created a whole experience centered around the flower, with lavender oils, handmade products, and baked goods with lavender infusions. I purchased a lavender score and a cappucino, and settled myself into an outdoor table, relaxing in the sunshine.

Onwards to my next stop – the Tasmanian Devil Unzoo! This “Unzoo” was created as an innovative nature experience, with the focus being on the conservation of the endangered Tasmanian Devil. Unfortunately, prior to the 1940s, the Tasmanian Devil was seen to be a threat to livestock of the farmers who had settled in the area, and they were aggressively hunted. In 1941, The Tasmanian Devil became a designated endangered species in Australia. The “Unzoo” continues to rehabilitate animals, and they have designed a unique space to do so. There are no boundary fences around the “Unzoo”, and free-ranging local wildlife can also access the site. Native vegetation and naturalistic wildlife habitats have been created, along with enclosed rehabilitation spaces to protect at-risk species as they recover. It was a refreshing place to see these incredible animals in a near-natural habitat. I wandered around the grounds of the “Unzoo”, with dozens of unique birds swooping overhead – honeyeaters, parrots, scarlet robins, green rosellas, blue wrens, and fire-tail finches – in every colour of the rainbow. It was fun to try and spot the different varieties of birds! I returned to the main area to observed an attendant feeding a Tasmanian Devil who was currently undergoing rehabilitation. The Tasmanian Devil was living in an open air den, with no more than a short dirt wall separating us from the animals. Hearing them eat was quite a unique experience, as their jaws are so strong we could hear the bones from their meal crunching in their mouth! Tasmanian Devils are the largest carnivorous marsupials in the world, and have a thick neck and tough, muscular build. This anatomy contributes to their bite strength, as they remarkably generate the strongest bites per body mass of any mammal in the world! It was very special to see this rare animal so closely, while also supporting the conservation efforts of the Unzoo.

Tasmanian Devil

I continued onwards down the Tasman Peninsula to reach Port Arthur. This small town is a former convict settlement, and is among 11 penal sites built across Australia in the 18th and 19th centuries. During this time, the British Empire expanded their colonial power through massive convict transportation from Europe to their colonies, where these convicts provided much-needed labour. Today, Port Arthur prison is a well-preserved ruin, and has been turned into a museum and historical site. It was a natural site for a prison, as the Peninsula is surrounded by water on all sides, (and rumoured to be shark infested by the prison staff!). Ironically, the site was surrounded by beautiful landscape – idyllic beaches and turquoise blue waters, blue gum trees and low–swinging willow trees.

Port Arthur was well known for being the destination for many of the hardest criminals, many of whom had reoffended at another penal site in Australia after they had arrived from Europe. As a result, Port Arthur had some of the tightest security measures, and most severe punishments. I joined a tour of the grounds, where we were able to go into several buildings, including a building where all prisoners were isolated and forced to be silent, wearing burlap sacks over their heads – a primitive form of psychological torture and sensory deprivation. It was fascinating and eerie to learn about the harsh conditions that these prisoners were subjected to, and the scope of some of their crimes. For example, a “re-offence” might be something as simple as branding the incorrect cattle, or multiple murders. Port Arthur Museum also had a wing dedicated to famous escapes – including one prisoner who tried to disguise himself as a kangaroo!

Port Arthur Penitentiary

Our guide explained that the hard labour sentences of prisoners were essential to building Britain’s colonial power in Australia – as the duties completed by these prisoners included construction, ship building, and stone carving - essential labour required to build strong colonies. That said, the guide also noted that some of these prisoners served out their sentences, and were released, going on to be productive members of the new colony.

In the afternoon, I boarded a small boat which toured visitors to Port Arthur around the inlet adjacent to the prison. We passed Point Puer, which was a separate boys prison, and the Isle of the Dead, the destination for all who died inside the prison camp. Of the over 1500 graves on the island, only 180 are marked, which were those of prison staff and army personnel. Out on the water, the mid-afternoon sun was very hot on the boat, beating down on us as we returned to port.

At Port Arthur, it was fascinating taking an inside look at this darker side of Australian history, knowing that convicts were essential to this country’s evolution. Given that my grandmother was from Melbourne, Australia – I couldn’t help but wonder if I have any ancestors who spent time at a prison camp such as Port Arthur.

In addition to its penal history from the 18th and 19th century, Port Arthur also has a devastating chapter in its modern history. In 1996, a lone gunman opened fire on tourists and residents in Port Arthur, killing 35 people and injuring 21 others – the worst mass shooting in Australia’s history. Immediately after this shooting, the political parties in Australia agreed to an immediate tightening of gun laws. A simple, touching memorial has been built on the grounds of Port Arthur, dedicated to the victims of this tragedy.

Leaving Port Arthur behind, I drove through the thick bush and dirt roads into Tasman National Park, occasional black tiger snakes (yikes!) slithering off the road as my car approached. Arriving at Fortescue Bay, I was mesmerized by the sparkling blue ocean, with the towering forest rising up from the soft white beach, which encircled the bay. Small wallabies bounded around the nearby campsite, always making sure to keep a safe distance from humans. From Fortescue Bay, I began to bushwalk along the trail to Cape Hauy, one of the destinations on the 3-Capes Track, a Great Walk in Tasmania. Unfortunately, after such a full day, I did not have enough time to get out to Cape Hauy, but walking along the coastal trail was spectacular nonetheless.

Fortescue Bay

Returning to Fortescue Bay (and thrilled I had not met any tiger snakes face to face!) I began my journey back to Hobart. I stopped along the way for some delicious Aussie meat pies for dinner, and accidentally lost my debit card along the way! I spend the evening trying to coordinate a replacement card with my bank – which turned out to be a particularly challenge feat when you are overseas!

#australia

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