#i have an exhibition wednesday so ill be busy busy for a while too

[zero-is-nebulous]

The artist

Funny creature Gloom belongs to @sonicexelle-junkary !!

[awhilesince]

Monday, 13 September 1824

7 50/60

1 35/60

Breakfast at 9 – Mrs Mackenzie came and sat with me 1/2 hour she is in doubt whether to stay here or not seemed to ask my advice and be inclined to stay if her father is pretty well I would not speak decidedly but was evidently in favour of her staying she has had much unhappiness married against her choice from convenience a man thirty years older than herself who made her unhappy tho she always tried to do her duty her daughter cleverer than she is and rather the upper hand it seems Mrs Mackenzies being so communicative struck me – Mrs Mackenzie gave me a ticket given to her by Mr Brande that will always admit me to the Jardin des Plantes – Miss Mackenzie, too, came in and sat with me a few minutes – 

on this account, it was 12 before I had read over my 3 letters finished last night, and had no time to make any extract from them – they must be in the general post office Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau before 2, or could not be taken in today, and then there being no English post tomorrow, must have waited till Wednesday my letter to my aunt (begun on Wednesday, 3 pages, the ends, and under the turn-down) giving an account of my journey, my being very comfortable here, of Madame de B–‘s (Boyve’s) being handsome – of our sitting in the Tuileries gardens, and of the Champs Elysées, and of the fête at St. Germain gave an account of the shawls worn and their prices – excerpt this – 

My letter to M– (Mariana) on the same subjects only giving a more regular account, rather journalwise, and adding short answers to M–‘s (Mariana’s) last letter – Merely said on the subject of Mrs Henry Stephen B–‘s (Belcombe’s) management of the going-to-York business, I did not understand it, but she and Steph had my best wishes – Entreated M– (Mariana) not to pother herself about Petergate money matters – Mrs B– (Belcombe) knew what she was, and would take care of the girls – I did not think Dr. B–‘s (Belcombe’s) practice could now be sold for much – he was not likely to be well enough to introduce anyone – but Steph’s name and kinship would serve him – affectionate to π (Mariana) kind about Miss Pattison but much more the former to Miss Maclean very much so to her tho anybody might see it perhaps she herself may muse over a line or two in the first page – Told both my aunt and M– (Mariana) and Miss Maclean of my having Madame Galvani, that she alone was worth coming to Paris for; and all my time – would be taken up in endeavoring to gain the French language – 

my letter to Miss Maclean begun at Shibden Wednesday 18 August, resumed and finished yesterday – foolscap sheet 3 pages, long ends, and under the turn-down – very small and short – Treated of my journey being comfortable here, the Tuileries Champs Elysées fête of St. Germain etc etc very briefly – all the rest bavardage amical – 

went out at 12 1/4 (took Cordingley with me) direct to the general post-office in the rue Jean Jacques Rousseau – put in my letter to my aunt (Shibden) 22 sols. and to ‘Mrs Lawton Lawton hall etc 22 sols. and to ‘Miss Maclean of Coll Tobermory North Britain (Ecosse)’ 28 sols because letters here are paid for according to their weight, and I had sealed this letter and wafered the 2 others – wafers always used here because lighter than sealing wax, and for the same reason the French choose thin writing paper – saw the man who took my letters, and those of the crowd standing round the wire grating of his bureau, weigh each letter in a pair of scales hanging close to him – 

from the Post Office walked thro’ the halle au bles, and the church of St. Eustache for Cordingley to see them – then along the rue de Grenelle direct thro’ the palais of the Louvre to the Pont des Arts – crossed the Pont neuf, and returned over the Pont royal thro’ the Tuileries gardens and got home at 2 –

the porter gave me a letter charged only 5 sols (brought by some private conveyance –sent thro’ our ambassador) from Miss Maclean (Tobermory) – Oh! that I had had it before I went out – 

on coming upstairs to Mrs Mackenzie to ask what they were going to do, found them going to the Louvre to try to see the exhibition there of the new (modern) pictures – done by living and I believe all French artists; for the King’s death was hourly expected, and all public places would be closed for 6 weeks – his majesty had taken leave of his family, and received extreme unction – the garde du corps to be changed – Monsieur the next King will go to St. Cloud, and there will be no fête there – what a stupid place, says everyone with one accord, will Paris be! Away we went to the Louvre – shut already, sans aucune exception, till further orders – Sauntered in the Tuileries gardens –

Got back at 4 – read my letter from Miss Maclean – very kind and affectionate – I know not any of her letters that has given me more pleasure – perhaps the receiving it here, might add to my delight – I shall keep and read it by way of stimulus for see the end of the crossing Breadalbane thought me ‘almost quite handsome at Esholt’ and Miss Maclean evidently likes and admires me  visited by an old admirer ‘you once said you thought I would have been happier in the married state no no you are mistaken unless with a mind and he art like your own the married state would have been misery to me  far happier as I am ‘ – see the bottom of page one – and the last end for the following  after desiring continuation of the extracts from my journal ‘you know not how I was tormented at home about you Miss Bs (Belcombe’s) manner of speaking half did this  she only poor soul jested but very little difference of manner in you would have made me dislike you at that time I believe it was mostly occasioned by a little tincture of jealousy at home’..... thought I to myself this lets me into much the Belcombes are no advantage to me I now really dislike Anne not tho on her own hearts account for she is good but for the disagreeableness of her manners I would not for worlds be thought a friend of her poor soul she too was jealous I guess the style in which she would mention me – Breadalbane by thinking me almost handsome at Esholt has perhaps got over her prejudices and and I may conciliate her perhaps entirely with a little care – she must have some idea of Miss Macls (Maclean’s) partiality for on the arrival of my letter she threw it into the room with ‘there be happy’ see the first page at the bottom of the second is the more than permission to write Sibbella  Mrs Grieves would have been most happy to see me –

Miss Maclean inclosed me a letter from her niece Miss Hobart – I should fancy her a nice good hearted fashionable girl the superior cleverness I have somehow expected would not strike one from her letter she is in first rate nobility society evidently – I am to burn the letter at the end of the envelope is the following ‘I certainly do spend a good deal on dress but if I had all to buy I think I could manage very well surely a single woman can live very comfortably on nine hundred a year which I under stand I have at my disposal uncle Sullivan told me before I went to Paris as worth eighteen thousand pounds and rather more’ – 

At the 4th page of Miss Hobart’s letter (dated ‘13th’ August) 

‘Now as to your dear picture, your friend whose name I forgot is perfectly welcome to it now, I will with pleasure lend it for a short time, but you may tell her she is much more welcome now than at the horrible time you mention, for if I survive you, I shall not then spare it.’ – 

Reading and musing over my letter till near 5, then came the Irish girl and another young person from Madame Romatier to try on my new gown – not only my stays, but my petticoats ill made (true enough) – French stays would cost 30 francs and upwards – such calico as my petticoats are made of, so strong and good, not to be got in Paris – the best I could get would be thinner and finer 5 francs an aune an aune wide tho’ this of mine was 1/3 in England this and 1/2 wide – it would take 3 or 4 aunes for a petticoat; and the making (at Madame R–‘s (Romatier’s)) would be 5 francs – 

Dinner at 6 – A Mr Moore who would speak nothing but desperately bad French all the while made his debut at table – to stay for how long, I know not – does not dance now in England – does not like the present style of dancing in England except at Almacks – rather a would-be-prig – nothing great, methinks, ab origine and at home – Madame de B– (Boyve) would teach me Ecarté, and after a game or 2, set me down to play with Mr Moore (not for money) and I played with him (the better of the 2 I think) for surely about an hour – 

In the evening had Monsieur Bellevue; a Swiss count, a handsome young man; Monsieur Denappe, and Monsieur St. Auban – after playing at finding out words and talking to 1 or other (have not sat next Madame de B– (Boyve) these 3 or 4 nights) 

came up to bed (leaving the party) at 11 35/60 making memoranda of my accounts – read and mused over Miss Maclean’s letter – all much kept me up so late – Very fine day – the sun out – very warm – Fahrenheit 69° at 12 3/4 – [E two dots O two dots, marking discharge from venereal complaint] –

reference number: SH:7/ML/E/8/0042, SH:7/ML/E/8/0043

[uniarycode]

Takari Week, Day 1 - Confession

Takeru has spent weeks trying to confess to Hikari but somehow he can never actually get it out.  Hikari has a different interpretation on how they’ve been spending their time.  Done as part of @takariweek 2020

Today was the day.  Today everything would change for better or for worse.  Today marked the first sentence of a new chapter of his life.  Today was the day he was going to confess to Hikari.

Unlike all those other sentences he had to re-write.

This was not the first day this month Takeru had planned to confess.  However, he was a romantic at heart, and no matter how much resolve he had beforehand somehow the moment never felt right.  He would always be able to tell their grandkids about how they met, but he wanted to be proud or the story of how he first asked her out.  And none of the opportunities so far fit his taste.

It was either that or he was afraid.  

Even if his confession was successful, it would still mean a fundamental change would occur in his and Hikari’s relationship.  And Takeru had a mixed relationship with change. Change meant the loss of his father and brother.  Change meant the introduction of a strange world filled with monsters.  Even the first time Patamon had changed into a new form had led to one of the most traumatic events in his life.

But change also led him to meet Patamon in the first place, something he wouldn’t trade for all the riches in the world.  Change meant moving to the same school as Hikari, and meeting Miyako, Iori, Daisuke and Ken.  Change meant that one day society might accept Digimon as a whole.

And whether he liked it or not, change was coming.

It was still surreal to him; his brother and Taichi had always seemed so close.  They had never been part of the same cliques, and they spent almost as much time fighting as hanging out.  But their friendship always eclipsed everything else, social standings, heated disputes, none of it mattered; they were best friends, through and through.

Then college happened. Now the legendary duo’s primary means of communication was via their siblings.  Hikari would learn some new fact of her brother’s life, tell Takeru during the course of casual conversation, and Takeru would update his brother of the going-ons later that week.

It wasn’t just them.  Even Mimi, who had an incessant talent for attaching herself onto someone and refusing to let them go, seemed much further from the rest of the chosen then she’d even been while she lived in America.

Takeru knew their bond was strong, that what the eight of them had done could not be forgotten or replaced.  But even if distance could not destroy the bridge holding them together, it could certainly increase the hassle of travelling back and forth.

The last thing Takeru wanted was for that distance to appear between himself and Hikari.  This was their final year in highschool, if he didn’t at least try now he might not ever get the opportunity again.  He needed to try, despite the inherent risks.

Besides, Hikari had rejected Daisuke dozens of times, and they were still friends, right?

Gathering his courage, Takeru had asked Hikari if they could have a day to themselves, ‘just the two of them’.  He’d suggested Wednesday, when neither club duties nor pressing assignments devoured too significant portions of their time.

Ever the romantic, he had it all planned out: First, karaoke.  A good, private way to judge the mood, and get Hikari to let her hair down.  Next, they had tickets to a movie, the new Disney flick that Hikari had been dying to see but never gotten around to (and without someone pressing, likely would not until it became available on dvd.) Finally, a romantic stroll on the boardwalk at sunset.

The boardwalk overlooking the bay.

The bay where they fought Ordienmon.

The bay where they’d been forced to kill one of their friends.

It was only after beginning his long-rehearsed spiel that Takeru had this epiphany, and, fearful that his date may have been quicker on the uptake than himself, he scrambled for a plan B.  

Salvation came in the form of a nearby cat café, he knew as soon as he suggested it that Hikari would lose herself in the felines, paying more attention to the four-legged critters than she did to him, but it was worth it to avert potential catastrophe.

Fate still deigned to mock him however, from the instant he sat down a maine-coon attached to him, refusing to move from his side, or to let the memories of past failures escape.

All cats attached to Hikari, she merely shared them with the other customers as she saw fit.  There was no doubt she enjoyed herself, but the moment had been well and truly ruined.

Takeru had managed to obtain an opportunity of redemption. ‘Same time next week’ had been the agreement, and he had near instantly resumed planning.  Whatever he came up this time had to top what he’d just done, or else he might have to explain away his mistake.

But even the most perfect plan does not survive contact with the enemy, and the enemy presented itself as an ill-timed phone call from his father.   One of his coworker’s households had apparently been graced by the appearance of a small white blob with a voracious appetite, and Hiroaki was wondering if his son could stop by after school and help calm the panicking mother, perhaps also giving tips for digital care.

Hikari would not allow him to say no, and insisted on tagging along.  But the TV station itself held a lot of painful memories for the girl, every year she returned with an offering of flowers and incense for Wizardmon’s grave.

It was far from a total waste since an idol Hikari had been following was also present.  Somehow the idol had overheard their arrival, and considered themselves interested in the pro-digimon cause.  In fact, the idol had been downright helpful, asking questions of him and Hikari that the coworker was likely to embarrassed or too naïve to think of.  Hiroaki ended up taking them all out for dinner, and they chatted for hours, finally assuaging the fear of a parent whose daughter now had a dog-head as a life partner.  

By that point, he had to take Hikari home, with no real opportunity to confess, even if Wizardmon wasn’t on her mind.

The third attempt was a no go from the beginning, Hikari had been sent into a rare, foul state.  All she wanted to do was eat ice-cream and rant, so they went to a dairy-bar overlooking the beach.

He’d let her vent when she wanted to vent, and when she was done he did what he did best: deflecting the conversation to some odd antics of Daisuke or his brother, anything to get her happy and cheerful again. Even after her mood had recovered, steering the conversation towards a confession felt like he might be taking advantage of her, or putting her on the spot somehow.

Cheering her up was reward enough, even as he paid for the forty-flavor super-jumbo, bottomless Sunday that they’d managed to make a liar out of.

(He’d eaten perhaps an eighth of it, there was no doubt in his mind that Hikari could have eaten the whole thing; but she at least wanted the plausible deniability to claim that he’d consumed half the calories.)

The fourth attempt was similarly doomed, he’d been too sick for school that day, and while Hikari had dropped by, he was too delirious to form a real confession, or for her to take any confession seriously.

The feel of her hand stroking his hear as she tended to him had been so heavenly though.  He couldn’t regret the experience.

By this point Takeru was convinced their Wednesday gatherings were cursed.  There was little reason Hikari would even see them as special.  And while he always enjoyed spending time with her, especially just the two of them, he was worried that regularity may dampen the splendor he’d initially been going for.

This week he requested to move their weekly hang out session to Saturday.  It would allow more time for them to be out at night, and thus more time for him to enact his perfect confession.  Hikari’s father was away on business, and her mother had already agreed to be rather lax on her daughter’s curfew.

His mother had not, but she would not punish him if he told her he was out on his first date, nor would she punish him after getting rejected, yet another reason he needed to actually spit it out today.

And it seemed all the stars were aligning, on top of her father being out of town: a photography exhibition at a local gallery was going for half price, and her favorite indie group were headlining a public concert at the beach until sundown.  Finally, there was a forecast for a clear, bright moon, and a local botanical garden was advertising a moonlit stroll through their flowers.

Hikari had agreed on one condition: they could wade through the shallows, but not do any real swimming at the beach.  It had seemed odd to Takeru at first, but the beach had been more about the free concert than seeing her in her swimsuit.

***

When Takeru arrived at the Yagami apartment he was stunned by the vision of beauty that graced him.  Hikari was wearing a strapless dress, black with accents of pink and white, that he’d never seen her in before.   Based on how high her head was coming up his body, she had to be wearing quite daring heels as well.

And her makeup had been done with so much precision and effort he had to wonder if perhaps Mimi had come back to town to help her.

“T-Takeru?” she asked, and he realized he must have been staring.

“I’m sorry, have you seen Hikari?  Brown hair, about yea tall,” he held his hand about three feet off the floor, “may have a family of ducklings following her around.”

“That was one time.” She scolded.

Takeru stood on his tip toes and moved one hand to sit above his eyes, like a visor.  “Hikari? Is that you?  Are you trapped behind this radiant goddess in front of me?”

A tell-tale pink infiltrated her cheeks as she turned around.  “It’s too much isn’t it?  I could still maybe change and-”

His hand shot out and grabbed her arm before she could escape. “You look perfect.” He said sincerely, pulling her in for a hug. “Besides, people at the exhibit will be expecting beauty and art.  They just may not be expecting the source.”

“You’re just saying that.” She deflected.

He wasn’t.

Takeru was not the same connoisseur of photography Hikari was.  When push comes to shove, he wasn’t sure anyone was the same connoisseur of photography Hikari was.  That said, he enjoyed exhibits well enough.  He liked to look at the pictures, and soak them in.  Try and memorize every detail to regurgitate later.  

Or occasionally, he would find a particular picture, and write a story in his head.  How had they gotten here, to this moment, what did picture mean to the squirrel which was the focus?  What was he doing immediately before?  How did this moment change his life?

Such joys eluded him today, instead his focus was solely on the brunette accompanying him.  The pictures only mattered in how they changed the expression on her face as she examined them.  

After exiting the gallery, there was still about an hour before the band started playing at the beach, they stopped for a bite to eat, and Takeru did his best to fake his way though her questions on the exhibition.

What was his favorite photo?  He named one on the left wall of the one she stared at for ten minutes, that had framed her head the whole time.  Why?  He made up some impromptu story he’d concocted about the scenery involved.  It won him a laugh from her as he turned the questions around.

When they got to the beach, Hikari replaced her heels with flat sandals she kept in her purse.  Takeru noted that he at least recognized the heels this time, unlike her dress, but he’d still never seen her wear them before.

Despite her insistence they not swim, (something Takeru now realized had to do with the amount of time she’d spent on her makeup,) hikari had instantly dragged him towards the water, to wade in the shallows.  They didn’t go much more than ankle deep, anymore and they risked getting hikari’s dress and his shorts wet, but it had been romantic nonetheless.

When the main act began to play, they collected their shoes and moved towards the stage, communications dampening as the speakers drowned out all sounds but the band on stage.

Takeru didn’t need words, the sight of Hikari, framed by the sunset, losing herself in the moment was more than enough for him.

It was twilight when the band’s ‘second encore’ had concluded and the crowd began to peter out.   There was a small ice-cream sack on the beach, and Hikari rarely turned down an opportunity for more of the frozen delight.

They talked about the concert, the waves on the beach, of everything and nothing all at once, until the residual light from the sun faded and the moon came in full force.  In the city like this, there was always a glow of artificial light, but it did not diminish Tsukuyomi’s splendor.

Meandering towards the botanical gardens, continuing their chatter about daily life.  Just outside Hikari stopped him, finding a bench to switch back from flats to heels, insisting it was more ‘proper’.  Takeru didn’t let her get away unscathed, suggesting that if she wanted to feel taller, stilts would be more appropriate.  She responded by playfully warning him that he may ‘wake up one day, two feet shorter’.

Neither comment had nearly as much effect as when the woman at the counter remarked on ‘What a beautiful date this would make’ and how she ‘wished her boyfriend had been so romantic at that age.’

Hikari’s face could be mistaken for a tomato, and Takeru adopted an uncharacteristic stutter as he paid their admission and ushered Hikari outside.

The woman’s words had a chilling effect, the natural conversation had all but dried up, replaced with subtle pleasantries and tepid remarks about the moonlit flowers.  Before long Hikari had her camera out, taking pictures of the various plant life, abandoning most conversation all together.

Was this it, had such a small, well-meaning action already cursed him?  Everything was going so well.  Was he a modern Sysphus?  Doomed to forever push himself up the hill of a relationship with Hikari only to fall down at the pinnacle and start all over?

“Takeru?” Hikari asked, snapping him out of his monologue, “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Takeru replied “Just thinking.”

She grabbed his arm, pulling him towards a nearby bench. “Come on, let’s take a break, these shoes are killing me.”

“The price of fashion.” Takeru said sagely.

After they reached the bench, and Hikari had relieved herself of her footwear, they paused, focusing on some hydrangeas flow in the wind, accented by moon light.  A weight appeared on Takeru’s shoulder, where Hikari began to rest her head.

“Right now.” She said “This moment just feels so…perfect.”

Takeru took a deep breath.  He had the most wonderful girl on his arm, after spending nearly eight hours with her. “Yeah, perfect.”

A perfect moment.

It was unlikely a better opportunity would present itself.

“Hikari.” He said suddenly, just as she chimed in with his name. “Sorry,” they said in unison.

Her head pulled off his arm, quite disappointingly in his opinion, as she turned to face him.

“Ladies first.” Takeru said “I insist.”  She gave him a soft look, knowing that he wouldn’t let her win this one.

 “Okay.” She started “This last month, has just been so wonderful, so amazing.  I know I’m not the most experienced with this, and I know we haven’t really put a name on it, but it’s still been like something out of a novel.  I guess I should expect that from you.”

She had begun to look down, rummaging through her purse, as takeru tried to sort out exactly what she was talking about.  Had it already been a month since they started these ‘friend-dates?’

Hikari continued obliviously, “It’s not much, especially since you seem to do all the planning, but I thought you’d like it.” She pulled out a tightly-wrapped box. “Happy  one-month anniversary.”

Ani-what?

Dates rolled back in his head as he began to piece things together; the dress, the makeup, the heels, those were all for him?  Had she always been considering these less friend-dates and more dates-dates?

And he, in a move of pure coincidence, had moved this week’s date to Saturday, one month to the day of that first date, and even asked her mother for permission to stay out late.

Takeru did the only thing he could think of in the moment.

He laughed.

“Tak-Takeru?” she asked, and he could already sense fear and hesitation begin to well up within her as she saw her (boyfriend?) laugh at her anniversary gift.  He grabbed her and pulled her into a hug to dissuade any doubts.

“Happy anniversary,” he said when his hysterics died down.  “One month, I’ve been trying to confess for a month, and you hit me with that.”

“Wait, confess?” Hiakri said, begging a laugh of his own that quickly spread to Takeru.  “All this time and you didn’t even think we were dating?  You completely stopped flirting with everyone else.  Did you really think I didn’t…”

“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” Takeru teased in response.

“Yeah,” Hikari agreed. “Well, if you finally managed to confess after all that, maybe I can do something I’ve been too scared to do for the last month.”

Takeru looked down at her, “What would that be?” he asked leaning in close.

“This.” She pressed her lips against his.

[skgway]

1824 Sept., Mon. 13

7 50/60

1 35/60

Breakfast at 9 – Mrs. Mackenzie came and sat with me 1/2 hour. She is in doubt whether to stay here or not. Seemed to ask my advice and being inclined to stay if her father is pretty well. I would not speak decidedly, but was evidently in favour of her staying. She has had much unhappiness. Married against her choice from convenience [to] a man thirty years older than herself who made her unhappy, tho she always tried to do her duty. Her daughter cleverer than she is, and has rather the upper hand it seems. Mrs. Mackenzie’s being so communicative rather struck me – 

Mrs. Mackenzie gave me a ticket given to her by Mr. Brande that will always admit me to the Jardin des Plantes – Miss Mackenzie, too, came in and sat with me a few minutes – On this account, it was 12 before I had read over my 3 letters finished last night, and had no time to make any extracts from them – They must be in the general post office, Rue J.J. Rousseau, by 2 or could not be taken in today and there being no English post tomorrow must have waited till Wednesday. 

My letter to my aunt (began on Wednesday, 3 pages, the ends, and under the turn-down, giving an account of my journey, my being very comfortable here, of Madame de B– [Boyve]’s being handsome – Of our sitting in the Tuileries gardens, and of the Champs Elysées, and of the fête at St. Germain. Gave an  account of the shawls worn and their prices – excerpt this – 

My letter to M– [Mariana] on the same subjects only giving a more regular account, rather journalwise, and adding  short answers to M– [Mariana]’s last letter – Merely said on the subject of Mrs. H. S. B– [Belcombe]’s management of the going-to-York business, I did not understand it, but she and Steph had my best wishes – 

Entreated M– [Mariana] not to pother herself about Petergate money matters – Mrs. B– [Belcombe] knew what she was, and would take care of the girls – I did not think Dr. B– [Belcombe]’s practice could now be sold for much – He was not likely to be well enough to introduce anyone – but Steph’s name and kinship would serve him – 

Affectionate to 𝛑 [Mariana], kind about Miss Pattison, but much more the former to Miss Maclean. Very much  so to her, tho anybody might see it. Perhaps she herself may muse over a line or two in the first page – Told both my aunt and M– [Mariana] and Miss Maclean of my having Madame Galvani, that she alone was worth coming to Paris for; and all my time – would be taken up in endeavoring to gain the French language – 

My letter to Miss Maclean began at Shibden Wednesday 18 August, resumed and finished yesterday – Foolscap sheet 3 pp [pages long ends and under the turn-down – Very small and short – Treated of my journey being comfortable here, the Tuileries, Champs Elysées, fête of St. Germain etc. etc. very briefly – All the rest bavardage amical – 

Went out at 12 1/4 (took Cordingly with me). Direct to the general post-office in the rue J.J. Rousseau – Put in my letter to my aunt (Shibden) 22 sols and to “Mrs. Lawton Lawton hall etc. 22 sols and to “Miss Maclean of Coll Tobermory N[orth] B[ritain] (Ecosse)” 28 sols, because letters here are paid for according to their weight, and I had sealed this letter and wafered the 2 others – Wafers always used here because lighter than sealing wax, and for the same reason the French choose thin writing paper – 

Saw the man who took my letters, and those of the crowd standing round the wire grating of his bureau, weigh each letter in a pair of scales hanging close to him – From the Post Office walked thro’ the Halle au blés, and the church of St. Eustache for Cordingly to see them – Then along the Rue de Grenelle direct thro’ the palace of the Louvre to the Pont des Arts – 

Crossed the Pont Neuf, and returned over the Pont Royal thro’ the Tuileries gardens and got home at 2 – The porter gave me a letter, charged only 5 sols (brought by some private conveyance – Sent thro’ our ambassador from Miss Maclean (Tobermorey)

Oh! That I had had it before I went out – On coming upstairs to Mrs. Mackenzie to ask what they were going to do, found them going to the Louvre to try to see the exhibition there of the new (Modern) pictures – Done by living, and I believe, all French artists; for the King’s death was hourly expected, and all public places would be closed for 6 weeks – 

His majesty had taken leave of his family, and received extreme unction – The Garde du Corps to be changed – Monsieur the next King will go to St. Cloud and there will be no fête there – What a stupid place, says everyone with one accord, will Paris be! 

Away we went to the Louvre – Spent already, sans aucune except, till further orders – Sauntered in the Tuileries Gardens – Got back at 4 – Read my letter from Miss Maclean – Very kind and affectionate – I know not any of her letters that has given me more pleasure – Perhaps the receiving it here, might add to my delight – I shall keep, and read it by way of stimulus, for see the end of the crossing. Breadalbane thought me “almost quite handsome at Esholt” and Miss MacL[ean] evidently likes and admires me. 

Visited by an old admirer, “You once said you thought I would have been happier in the married state, no, no, you are mistaken. Unless with a mind and heart like your own, the married state would have been misery to me. Far happier as I am” – See the bottom of page one – 

And the last end for the following, after desiring a continuation of the extracts from my journal “You know not how I was tormented at home about you. Miss B[elcombe]’s manner of speaking half did this. She only, poor soul, jested. But very little difference of manner in you would have made me dislike you at that time. I believe it was mostly occasioned by a little tincture of jealousy at home” ..... 

Thought I to myself, this lets me into much the Belcombes are no advantage to me. I now really dislike Anne, not tho on her own hearts account, for she is good, but for the disagreeableness of her manners. I would not for worlds be thought a friend of hers. Poor soul. She too was jealous I guess, the style in which she would mention me – 

Breadalbane, by thinking me almost handsome at Esholt, has perhaps got over her prejudices and I may conciliate her perhaps entirely with a little care – She must have some idea of Miss MacL[ean]’s partiality, for on the arrival of my letter she threw it into the room with a “There be happy.” See the fir[s]t page and at the bottom of the second is the more than permission to write Sibella. 

Mrs. Grieves would have been most happy to see me – Miss M[a]cL[ean] inclosed me a letter from her niece Miss Hobart – I should fancy her a nice good hearted fashionable girl. The superior cleverness I have somehow expected would not strike one from her letter. She is in first rate nobility society evidently – I am to burn the letter. 

At the end of the envelopes the following “I certainly do spend a good deal on dress, but if I had all to buy I think I could manage very well. Surely a single woman can live very comfortably upon nine hundred a year, which I understand I have at my disposal. Uncle Sullivan told me before I went to Paris, as worth eighteen thousand pounds and rather more” 

At the 4th page, Miss Hobart’s letter (dated “13th” August), “Now as to your picture, your friend, whose name I forgot, is perfectly welcome to it now. I will with pleasure lend it for a short time, but you may tell her she is much more welcome now than at the horrible time you mention, for if I survive you, I shall not then spare it.” – 

Reading and musing over my letter till near 5, then came the Irish girl and another young person from Madame Romatier to try on my new gown – Not only my stays, but my petticoats ill made (true enough) – French stays would cost 30 francs and upwards – Such calico as my petticoats are made of, so strong and good, not to be got in Paris – The best I could get would be thinner and finer, 5 francs an aune. An aune wide, tho’ this of mine was 1/3 in England yard and ½ wide – it would take 3 or 4 aunes for a petticoat; and the making (at Madame R– [Romatier]’s) would be 5 francs – 

Dinner at 6 – A Mr. Moore who would speak nothing but desperately bad French all the while made his debut at the table – To stay for how long, I know not – Does not dance now in England – Does not like the present style of dancing in England except at Almacks – Rather a would-be-prig – Nothing great, methinks, aborigine and at home – 

Madame de B– [Boyve] would teach me Ecarte, and after a game or 2, set me down to play with Mr. Moore (not for money) and I played with him (the better of the 2 I think) for surely above an hour – In the evening had Monsieur Belleveue; a Swiss Count, a handsome young man; Monsieur Denappe, and Monsieur St. Auban – 

After playing at finding out words and talking to 1 or other (have not sat next Madame de B– [Boyve] these 3 or 4 nights) came up to bed (leaving the party, at 11 35/60 making memoranda of my accounts – Read and mused over Miss McL– [MacLean]’s all which kept me up so late – 

Very fine day – The sun out – Very warm – Fharenheit 69º at 12 3/4 – E [two dots, treading venereal complaint] O [two dots, marking discharge] –

[prettyboy-jimin]

Appreciate The Art

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: You and Taehyung are on a museum date because you’re both art geeks but for some reason, the Mona Lisa doesn’t seem to take his breath away

Note: I’m an art freak and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t imagining myself on a museum date with Taehyung ever since those Van Gogh photos came out.  EDIT: Someone on my AO3 was so nice and so patient to comment about the mistake I made, considering the gravity of what I did. They have my deepest gratitude and this edited version of the fic is very much dedicated to them.

+  I really believe that it's a human mistake to romanticise things we aren't supposed to, most of the time we do it unconsciously. I never intended to do that and I want to take this new platform and opportunity I'm given to say I am so so so sorry to anyone and everyone I've offended by overlooking my own mistake.

“Look! It’s the ‘Portrait of Patience Escalier 1888’! Oh the colour is so much more vibrant than the pictures!”

“They’re duller due to old age, actually.”

“Holy shit! It’s his ‘Portrait as an Artist 1888’!And the ‘Peasant Woman Portrait of Gordina de Gredoot 1885’! And the ‘Portrait of Adeline Ravoux 1890’!”

“Honestly, Jagi. You’ve been here a thousand times, do the paintings really still amaze you that much?” Taehyung asked, watching you fret over the various Van Gogh paintings positioned on the pristine walls of the museum.

You were walking down the portrait section of the exhibit for what Taehyung counted to be the seventeenth time ever since he first brought you here a few months back, ogling in amazement over each painting you were familiar with—which happened to be all of them. You and Taehyung were both art geeks, you loved to stare at motionless paintings created decades ago, days ago, months ago, centuries ago; each piece of art having their own story to tell, each person having their own version of that same story. You weren’t an artist yourself but that didn’t hold you back from understanding what people wanted to tell you through their strokes and colour choices.

Vincent Van Gogh was a personal favourite of yours. His extensive display of various painting styles never ceased to amaze you no matter how many times you’ve seen the particular work; always so engrossed with the same story you couldn’t entirely decipher. You had heard of how the tragic artist was said to eat yellow paint in his pursuit for happiness. An explanation being that he didn’t know how to look for real happiness and contentment, feeling as if his insides were darkened and sad he ate yellow paint to contradict the feeling; yellow was a happy colour, found in the sunflowers and the sun’s warm rays, Van Gogh wanted that, desperately, maybe even more than anyone else.

But that’s merely what you’ve heard. Van Gogh was suicidal, believing that there was nothing for him in his life. He was born in the wrong era, you believed.

You weren’t a sad being, you were stressed with university, exhausted from your job and gradually losing touch with old friends but none of these took a serious toll on you. Most nights you would come home to an empty apartment, Taehyung busy being an idol or out on tour. You didn’t want this relationship, not at first at least. Taehyung was your best friend since high school and you knew his career would take off soon, not wanting to ruin a good thing going by testing the waters to see if both your feelings were valid. Yet though you had known him for such a generous amount of time, this specific occasion you had forgotten just how persuasive he could be; sweeping you off your feet as you tried and failed to deny his advances. Dating him had its ups and downs, more ups than you’d allow downs.

You stared at the Portrait of Dr.Gachet, tilting your head to see the cool undertones in a different light and angle. You wondered if the top strokes of paint were all in a clockwise formation, the idea making sense as they all pointed in one course. But you could never know for sure, the creator wasn’t born in the same generation as you for you to ask. His droopy eyes had drawn you in a sense of sadness and boredom washing over you. You noticed how the two books on the table contradicted the stoic colour of his suit and background, the bright yellow being the first to lure you closer to the painting. You wondered if Dr.Gachet was desperate for happiness, you wondered what he did to achieve it if he was.

Taehyung slid his arms around your waist smoothly, his chin perched on your shoulder as your head was still tilted to the side in thought. He had watched you fix your eyes on every single painting here over a thousand times over but he had never seen you so engrossed in thought over one before. Taehyung knew you loved the sceneries more than the portraits, but he wasn’t aware of how you thought when you looked at the paintings. He could only say as much since the sceneries were the first things you wanted to see as soon as you’d step into the museum, his thoughts and opinions of the works differing from yours to a scale neither of you knew.

“What are you thinking about?” Taehyung asked, barely above a whisper as he planted a soft kiss on the side of your neck, making you hum in appreciation and smile a little.

“How we’re happy despite everything” you mused, contentment encasing itself in your voice as you spoke. Taehyung didn’t quite understand, resting his cheek against your joint and silently urging you to explain further. “Van Gogh was untiring as he searched for real happiness, he just wanted to be okay... like everybody else. He practically came to the point where he ate yellow paint; he was suicidal... people never understood why, and most times nowadays they still don't.” Your eyes were still trained on the portrait in front of you, picturing out your next words in your head as Taehyung’s gaze never left your face. “And as I notice the cold choices of colour for this portrait, I can’t help but think of how artists paint people and things the way they see them, I wonder if Vince saw this specific subject as sad while he painted him.”

“Vince?” Taehyung asked, playfully as he chuckled.

“I’m lazy okay, Van Gogh is a syllable too long.”

You both laughed, Taehyung taking his place once again on our shoulder as your hands folded over his around your stomach. You continued to stare at the near-ancient portrait, not entirely sure what more you wanted to know from Van Gogh’s unmoving gift to man.

“Notice how the green is incorporated into his face,” you said, lifting your hand lightly, gesturing to where Taehyung’s eyes should follow. “Green is almost always associated with sickness, right? But so’s paleness, so that can’t mean that he’s physically ill.”

Taehyung took in your words, understanding what you meant as you continued to speak.

“And then look at the books on the table,” you lowered your hand, “see how they’re so vibrant and in absolute contrast to the background as well as his suit. Blue is strongly related to sadness, yellow to happiness. What if his subject was sick of his life, because he wasn’t happy? His droopy eyes already tell so much, perhaps he hadn’t been getting enough rest before he met with Vince, or maybe it was a particularly rough day for him…” you paused, noticing Taehyung’s immobility beside you “but the fact that the books are there, bright and jovial, as well as the plant which frankly I have no idea what it is but it’s alive. It makes it seem like he still wanted to try… and be happy. It's like he was depressed, but he knew there were better things around him, waiting for him... but he just couldn't have at it that day”

Taehyung stayed silent for a few moments, letting your words sink in as you continued to imagine what kind of life the painter’s subject had led. You were an art-enthusiast that much was as sure as the sun rising in the east but you weren’t one who died to know every original story behind every painting you fell in love with. Trying to understand on your own was more than enough.

“Well shit” Taehyung muttered

“What?”

You turned your head to the side as he pulled his away slightly, giving you only a breath of space to look at each other comfortably and making your eyes cross slightly at the closeness.

“I just remembered why I’m so fucking in love with you.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed on your face even if you tried your hardest, Taehyung always knew how to sweep you off your feet with a few words. You leaned in to give him a chaste kiss, Taehyung pushing in further when you tried to pull away. Your lips were slotted between his soft ones as your eyes drifted close, enjoying the feeling. You bit his lower lip playfully and pulled away before anyone would call you out, the museum was strangely filled with a considerably generous amount of people for a Wednesday afternoon.

“I love you too” you whispered, your grin settling into a wide smile as you nudged your nose against his.

He untangled himself from you, straightening his back as he pulled you towards another artist’s exhibit.

Leonardo Da Vinci.

Another personal favourite of yours but a ways worth from Vincent. Your jaw went slack as Taehyung continued to pull you through the various displays, your eyes not knowing where to look first. There were models of miniature vintage airplanes, Da Vinci being the inventor, mathematician and painter that he was, never stopped at one; always starting a new project if he whether he was happy with his last one or not.

“Art is never finished, only abandoned” you said quietly, eyes still roaming the premises as you quoted the late artist.

Taehyung turned his head to look at you, you didn’t catch the affection he had in his eyes still yours were still trying to catch a good look at every invention and painting you passed by. Finally, he stopped at a painting that was situated near the doorway that opposed the one you came through. Your back turned to it as you tried to take in the entirety of everything you just walked through. Taehyung wasn’t a person who stopped at every display, but rather was someone who went straight for the displays he knew or someone had mentioned to him, devoting his time, attention and thinking effort into something that had made its way into the grooves of his mind.

You breathed in praises as you processed everything Da Vinci had made, their imitations anyway, there was a multitude of museums in the world and you never knew which one held the original work up for display. You were aware that even the paintings in the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam weren’t the original ones, the real works locked and kept away for their safety and preservation. You never had time to appreciate other artists, your favourite ones always taking up too much of your time every visit you made and right then was the first moment in the longest while that you had really seen anything from anyone else apart from Gogh and Monet.

You turned to see that Taehyung was staring at you, his ogling only make you blush a deep red as he didn’t even try to hide it. He nudged his head to the side, silently telling you to look at what he wanted you to see. You fixed your body straight only to have the wind knocked out of you, your mouth hanging open as you tried to take in its dark colours.

Behind a velvet railing, its frame encased in glass, and a CCTV camera position by its head, was the Mona Lisa. Her gentle smile looked so much more friendly, pristine, and reverent than it did in all the books and articles you’ve seen it in. You’ve heard of the possibilities of Da Vinci’s legendary painting being of his muse, a lover he never quite stayed for; you also heard of how the painting could be a self-portrait, depicting a human’s possession to be both feminine and masculine, wherein one trait was simply more dominant than the latter. None of these hearsays were vouched to be true, everyone knew Da Vinci to be a trickster. He created contraptions that took scientists years to decipher, only to find that there was either nothing inside, or a few rocks or dead flowers. It wasn’t a surprise that the mystery of the Mona Lisa proved to be unsolvable, the secrecy only making the art even more beautifully disastrous than it originally was; practically a story in every colour the artist used, if not stroke.

Your eyes never left hers, amazement clouding your better judgement and almost making you forget how to breathe. Taehyung wasn’t bothered, if it meant he got to see you look at something with the same amount of love he looked at you with, he would gladly have you like this for hours. It was refreshing to see you engrossed in something you were so passionate in, like how he was with his music.

“What?” You asked, looking at him with curious eyes as you finally found your breathe and closed your mouth. “Do I have something on my face?” you reached up, patting your cheeks to feel anything out of the ordinary. Taehyung chuckled, his wide smile making an appearance and pushing his cheeks upwards as he shook his head no. You were perfect in that moment just as you were.

“Then what are you looking at, Tae? Enjoy the art while you still can.”

“I am.” He said gently, his smile growing bigger as you blushed and turned your eyes to look anywhere else but into his.

“Cheesy” you punched his shoulder lightly, making him take a step back as he grip the place you had hit. Laughing as he pulled you into his side and exiting the exhibit.

It was late afternoon when you and Taehyung had done with the museum, exploring exhibits by artists like Klimt, Monet, Munch and Hopper. Taehyung dipped you mischievously as you stood an admired ‘The Kiss’, playfully imitating the well-known work and earning a few low claps and light-hearted teasing from the people around you.

You walked down the front steps and onto the street with his arm around your shoulder, the hand of which you interlaced your fingers through. As you strolled up the familiar path to your apartment, Taehyung pulled you in closer to his body and planted a soft kiss on your temple. His voice gentle and eyes sincere as he asked you, “Did you enjoy today?”

You smiled at him, your eyes crinkling slightly as your grin grew to its largest. You kissed his shoulder, laying your head on his as you continued to trek.

“I'll always be happy as long as I’m with you, Tae.”

[sophieoliviab-blog]

Wednesday Lecture - Mike Pratt & Q&A

Mike Pratt was born in 1987 in Seaham, North East England. He graduated from Northumbria University in 2009 where he was awarded the Paul Mason Sculpture Prize, in 2014 he completed a two-year postgraduate programme at De Ateliers in Amsterdam, Netherlands. Solo exhibitions include Deep Pond, Galerie Juliette Jongma, Amsterdam, Rubberhead/Rubbernecking B.M.W. Edinburgh, Good Mourning Bell Workplace Gateshead, Cumberland Sausage Extraspazio, Rome, and HUBBA HUBBA, Satellite, Newcastle.

lecture - Pratt talks about each painting he created, he suggests he uses expressionistic approaches such as splats and the strokes he makes on his large canvas’s. Mike said he Never left comfortable leaving the painting as it is like its missing something so he said he added text in his work which is shown on the paintings above. in his work he finds theres many problems and having it in his studio as an activity and taking it out of the studio to finish the piece makes it like two different worlds. 

After he graduated he did a show in Rome which he had alot of paintings in his studio which were unfinished and his intention was to always cover it with text and he wanted to push it further by sending out doodle paintings. Mike said he felt more like he let go and worked more freely instead of the system he created. During the lecture he commented he likes repitition and going back repeating himself and by doing this it gave him the freedom to work around. His work is mainly in a series about 4or 5 paintings on the go at once. He worked around the idea of taking one of the paintings and blowing it up in scale and screen printing it. Pratt reads books such as pop art and abstract which have influenced his work today. 

I absolutely loved Mike Pratt lecture I felt so inspired by his work and see the relations between both our artworks and how we work. Mike suggested how creating works on a bigger scale really pushed him out of his comfort zone and since on my second semester the work I have produced this term is so different from what I normally do but for the better. In the Q&A later he said just have fun with what you are doing and what is exactly what I am doing. I'm trying not to to think too much in it what I want to say or express but seeing the work produced everything links as a whole. I was worried about my work because a lot of tutors said its better to have a concept around the work your creating but some of my paintings just happened in the moment by repeating the same painting and adding or just simply the fact I'm enjoying what I'm doing and I was worried if that makes me less important or not doing my best I can but its exactly what mike said If your enjoying what your producing the work will speak for itself and link as a journey. 

Although what I didn't like about Mike Pratt work is some paintings where too busy and if he took a step back and had a moment he would find the painting looked finished before the text was added but thats just my opinion. I prefer work that doesn't involve text because its like knowing the story before you even attempt it. I like paintings that are unknown and a puzzle. I feel like he didn't really know when to stop and carried on until he couldn't do anymore over the text. 

Q&A

Do you have an idea in your head soon as you start painting or how do you actually start the idea?

“I would get a really big canvas and get a big sheet of paper and I just make a start and not worry what its about, just enjoy it and then I would get my canvas I just like canvas haha I just love priming canvas’.”

“sometimes ill have an idea like a sculptor of an ear and ill attempt it but a lot of the time Im along the way of the journey or get cut in half. so my best intentions rarley stay. 

Did you just come up with the ear just now or ?

“no I've done this before I did a painting of an ear and it changed for the sake of the exhibition.”

while I've been here at uni I've had quite a lot of pressure from my tutors and stuff to find a message or a meaning in my work and sometimes I struggle with that do you think art only has value if you say something and not what you make?

“ I felt the exactly the same thing while I was at uni then I remembered someone telling me the subject was just a red herring. It doesn't matter what its about as long as you get something from it and someone else does.”

I struggle with working on such a large scale and I never know when to stop. how do you know when to be like okay thats enough now?

“ill carry on with a painting until I think its great and by the next day I would of ruined it. its just a guess you have to take.”

[bountyofbeads]

Trump’s Message: The Economy Is Great. But We Need a Big Stimulus. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/08/21/upshot/trumps-economic-message-conflicted.html

Trump’s Economic Message: Everything Is Great, but We Need Huge Stimulus Now!

A tension between preparing for bad outcomes and scaring the public.

By Neil Irwin | August 21, 2019 Updated 3:47 p.m. ET | New York Times | Posted August 21, 2019 4:18 PM ET |

Every time the economy trembles, the president and White House staff face a quandary.

On one hand, they wish to instill confidence and project optimism. No president wants to talk down the economy, and a pessimistic tone from the highest office of the land could be self-fulfilling.

On the other hand, they need to be ready with the right policy plans in case things do start to sour, to help prevent a mild downturn from becoming a severe recession. The problem is that publicly talking about those contingency plans tends to undermine the goal of projecting optimism.

Rather than try to finesse that tension, the Trump administration has elected to ignore it.

President Trump and his aides are sending two simultaneous, contradictory messages about the economy: That it is booming, and everything is fine. And that it is time for emergency measures to keep this boom going.

Even more curiously, the administration has focused its public comments on actions over which it has no direct control.

Remedies rooted solely in the executive branch might assure investors and business leaders that an economic downturn could be swiftly addressed. In the last few days Mr. Trump has instead mentioned possible actions for which he’d need help that could be hard to get — specifically, new stimulus measures from the Federal Reserve and from Congress.

And while discussing the trade war with China — a key cause of the rising recession risks that Mr. Trump controls directly — he indicated no intention to change direction in the event the economy worsens. On the contrary, he said Tuesday that tariffs on China were essential even if they caused temporary economic pain.

“Whether it’s good for our country or bad for our country, short term, it had to be done,” Mr. Trump said.

The president and senior administration officials spent the weekend pushing against the possibility the economy could be heading toward a downturn. “I don’t think we’re having a recession,” Mr. Trump told reporters in New Jersey on Sunday. “We’re doing tremendously well.”

It is understandable that the White House would want to play down reports of a downturn.

“You can’t expect them to come out and say ‘We’re really worried about the economy right now and think we might be seeing a recession,’” said Tony Fratto, who led the George W. Bush White House’s communications about the economy as the 2008 recession began. “It’s tactically not the right thing to do, would be irresponsible to do, and would make the problem worse” by potentially causing economic decision makers to panic.

But there is a striking juxtaposition between that strategy and the administration’s words and actions since then.

On Monday morning, President Trump tweeted that the Federal Reserve should cut interest rates by a full percentage point and restart its “quantitative easing” program to stimulate the economy by buying bonds. Those are moves that the Fed, which operates independently from the White House, would undertake only if its leaders saw a major downturn on the horizon.

Later Monday, The Washington Post reported that the administration was considering a temporary cut in payroll taxes in the event of a worsening economy. After a denial by White House staff, the president on Tuesday affirmed it was being studied.

“We’re looking at various tax rate deductions, but I’m looking at that all the time,” Mr. Trump told reporters during a White House event. “Payroll tax is something that we think about, and a lot of people would like to see that.”

That was an approach used in the Obama administration to increase peoples’ take-home incomes as a form of fiscal stimulus. But to make it happen, the Trump administration would need to persuade both the Democratic-led House of Representatives and Republican-led Senate to go along.

There is precedent. The Bush administration succeeded in securing a bipartisan fiscal stimulus in early 2008. But there were important differences. The president was not up for re-election that year. Also, this administration has shown little capacity to strike deals with Democrats, even on areas where there could be natural alignment.

Exhibit A is an ill-fated effort to develop a bipartisan infrastructure legislation. The notion of “infrastructure week” has become a running joke, and the last effort to reach some kind of agreement between Congressional Democrats and the White House blew up in spectacular fashion in May. (Had a major infrastructure bill been passed in 2018 or early 2019, its economic dividends might have started to emerge ahead of the 2020 election.)

On Wednesday, Mr. Trump backed off his comments of a day earlier and said he was not considering a payroll tax.

President Trump also said Tuesday that he has the authority to effectively reduce capital gains taxes without going to Congress, by indexing the amount owed to inflation. As a stimulus measure, this has two problems: It would most likely get tied up in court over legal challenges, and would benefit only those taxpayers who have investment gains, and not those who rely on wages for income.

If the economy begins to slump and Mr. Trump seeks some form of fiscal stimulus from the Democratic House, Speaker Nancy Pelosi would probably strike a hard bargain, if she is willing to deal at all.

“Even if consensus emerges on the need for fiscal stimulus, Democrats may not embrace a payroll tax cut exclusively,” wrote Krishna Guha and Ernie Tedeschi, analysts at ISI Evercore, in a research note. “They may insist on other provisions such as a federal minimum wage hike or further infrastructure spending that would be very hard for Senate Republicans to swallow.”

The most plausible narrative for how the 2019 trade tensions turn into a 2020 recession involves a policy response that is inadequate to the task of offsetting weakness from overseas. So far this week, the Trump administration has shown that it is doing at least some contingency planning for that possibility.

The open question is whether it is a type of planning that is likely to instill more confidence, or less.

Fed Was Divided About Interest Rate Cut

By Jeanna Smialek | Published Aug. 21, 2019 Updated 4:02 p.m. ET | New York Times | Posted August 21, 2019 4:12PM ET |

WASHINGTON — Federal Reserve officials were sharply divided when they voted to cut interest rates for the first time in a decade in late July, newly released minutes from their meeting show.

Officials lowered borrowing costs by a quarter of a percentage point at the meeting, citing slowing global growth, uncertainties from President Trump’s trade war and stubbornly low inflation.

Notes from the gathering, released Wednesday, show that “a couple” of participants at the meeting — not all of whom get to vote on monetary policy — would have preferred a half-point cut in the federal funds rate to shore up inflation.

But “several” wanted to hold rates steady, noting a strong job market and low unemployment. Two Fed officials voted against the decision to cut.

The division highlights the challenge of setting monetary policy when Mr. Trump’s trade policy is clouding the outlook for an otherwise decent-looking economy. Because it is unclear how much trade tensions will slow growth and whether they will eventually ease, Fed policy must aim at a moving target as it tries to keep the economy expanding steadily.

The president’s next round of tariffs on Chinese goods is expected to take effect Sept. 1, and Mr. Trump has shown no sign of backing down, even as global growth shows cracks and after a powerful recession signal flashed in bond markets.

While consumer spending and overall economic growth are holding up in the United States, household confidence declined in preliminary August data as Americans became less positive about the economic outlook. Some businesses are holding off on investment as Mr. Trump’s trade war fuels uncertainty.

Given that backdrop, officials wanted to make sure they “avoided any appearance of following a preset course,” minutes from the meeting show. “Members generally agreed that it was important to maintain optionality” in setting interest rates.

Jerome H. Powell, the Fed chair, indicated at his news conference after the meeting that the Fed could make additional rate cuts, but did not commit to the timing or extent of future decreases. His comments, and in particular his characterization of the July move as part of a cyclical adjustment rather than the start of a series of cuts that will return borrowing costs to rock bottom, disappointed some investors.

The Fed’s target rate — currently 2 to 2.25 percent — is already much lower than in previous economic cycles.

Market pricing suggests that investors anticipate two or three more cuts this year, based on a tracking tool from CME Group.

Mr. Trump, who has criticized the Fed’s decision to raise rates last year, has increasingly pressured Mr. Powell to lower borrowing costs more aggressively, telling reporters on Wednesday told reporters that Mr. Powell “raised rates too fast, too furious.”

He repeated his view that if the central bank cuts rates further “you will see a rocket ship.” Earlier in the day, Mr. Trump lamented on Twitter that German government bond yields were negative while the United States continued to pay interest.

“WHERE IS THE FEDERAL RESERVE?” he wrote.

Mr. Trump has also criticized the Fed’s decision to continue reducing the huge volume of government-backed bonds it bought to help prop up the economy after the financial crisis a decade ago. Fed policymakers decided at their July meeting to bring an early end to the process, known as “quantitative tightening.”

That decision was also complicated, based on the minutes. While ending the runoff avoided the “appearance of inconsistency,” one in which rate cuts were loosening monetary conditions but policy on bond holdings was tightening them, ending the reduction early might create the “erroneous impression” that the Fed was trying to slow the economy.

The committee wanted the reduction to be seen as a project on autopilot, happening quietly in the background.

Because the effort ended only slightly earlier than planned, officials concluded that there were “only small differences” between the two options, economically.