#mamma mammy mother

[fieldofdaisiies]

well, this is also important…also very important

[oldisnewradio]

Happy Mother's Day from Everything Old Is New Again Radio Show and me. Join me for our Mother's Day Broadcast tonight at 10PM(ET) on WBAI 99.5 FM New York and online at www.wbai.org

Some of the song suggestions from listeners & Facebook friends:

My Mammy, Ma, She’s Makin’ Eye At Me, Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah, Blues In The Night (My Mama Done Told Me), My Yiddishe Momme, Pistol Packin’ Mama, If Momma Were Married, Chief, Cook And Bottle Washer, Stop Time, Becoming My Mother, La Mamma, Mother Knows Best, A Mother Doesn’t Matter Anymore, My Mother’s Eyes, Mama, Do I Gotta?, Don’t Ah! Mom Me!, Motherhood, Mama Told Me Not To Come, Don't Tell Mama, The Story Goes On, Mother, Rose’s Turn & More!

#EverythingOldIsNewAgainRadioShow#45thYear#PopStandards#GreatAmericanSongbook#Jazz#Showtunes#Cabaret#broadway#happymothersday

[captious-solarian]

What is the longest five-letter word?

The longest five-letter word is generally "momme" (a unit of weight equal to 3.75 grams, used in pearl and paper trading) or "mummy". Other very long words are "momma", "mamma", "mommy", "mammy" (all terms for "mother"), and "mumms" (what a mummer does).

The shortest five-letter word is usually "filii" ("sons" or "of the son" in Latin), or sometimes "lills" ("lill" is a dialectal form of "loll"). Next shortest can be "frill", "villi" (bumps on a membrane), or "flitt" (alternate spelling of "flit", to dart about).

Fonts tested: Arial, Arial Black, Comic Sans, Georgia, Impact, Tahoma, Times New Roman, Trebuchet, Verdana, Atkinson Hyperlegible, Apple Chancery.

[familyloverstee-blog]

This mothering role will teach you more about yourself than you ever expected.

[prendimilamanocomeieri]

Forza mamma, io credo in te

[fernandors69]

E o dia foi assim: #Aniversário da #Mamãe #Mãe #Bday #Birthday #Mother #Mamma #Mammy #Niver (em Zilu's House) https://www.instagram.com/p/B0uhvvUgRW2/?igshid=1jg0n2ni5w3d2

[sabrinafeige]

Mothers tough . . . . . Model Marie . . . #fotografie #portrait #baby #newborn #mother #mamma #mammi #careful #family #familie #cute #picoftheday #instapic #blumen #folwers #kiss #kuss #lovely #❤ #fotograf #fotografie #nikon #studio #wiesbaden #sabrinafeige #familylife

[carnelianns]

(Ikesen and Ikevamp) Sorry if this has been asked before. But how about an MC who went back to her own time only to find out she was pregnant. How would the boys reaxt if she comes back somehow a few years later but with a young child she says is theirs.

im sorry for keeping u waiting this long anon huhu,, i only did the vamps but, if my askbox allows, i’ll come back to do the sen boys too ! i didn’t have a specific gender for their children so jus imagine the lil rascal any way u want

Napoleon Bonaparte

When you come back through that door with a fascinated child holding your hand, it’s him you meet first again, and the tears are already glossing his eyes over before you can say anything.

He literally has no words when you smile gently, saying it’s his. Napoleon swallows the bump in his throat before making his way to the both of you, holding the two of you in his arms for only god knows how long.

“I.. can’t wait to live my life with you both, nununche,” he mumbles into your hair, ears slightly tinged, only causing you to laugh at his adorable antics.

As a father, he isn’t very strict, and he isn’t all that good in child-rearing, either. But he tries — you have to keep reminding yourself of this when you catch them in a compromising position, usually when you see your child holding a foil with a goofy smile.

“Nunuche.. I can explain,” Napoleon says calmly when you first find the two of them — well, three; it seems Jean was in on this little practice, though he quickly bolted when he saw you — parading around the training room with the foils.

“Mamma, papa said he was the King! He teached me how to be King!” Your child exclaims, flailing the weapon around excitedly as your gaze only darkens.

“Well, you see, I meant emperor, but—” his words die down when he sees your unimpressed face practically dripping with the murderous intent he’s so used to fighting against on the battle field

Slowly kneeling down to meet your child’s eyes, you see him whispering something incoherent before the little one nods seriously, slowly putting down the foil.

Then, as if counting down ‘3, 2, 1′, Napoleon immediately hoists your child up in his arms, running out of the room as both his laughter and your child’s squeals echo throughout the halls.

“Napoleone di Buonaparte, get your ass back here right now!” You scream, running after them.

“3, 2, 1 — Vive L’Empereur!” The two of them scream back, before bursting into laughter. They’re always in sync. It’s exasperating.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

“That child is.. mine?” He asks, slightly jaw-slacked, pointing at the child that undeniably looks like him, if the identical beauty mark or violet eyes are anything to go by.

“Do you.. not want—”

“I never said that,” he instantly cuts you off, going over to kneel at the confused child. With a slight smile, in an attempt to hold his tears back, he manages, “So.. how was spending time with that clumsy mother of yours?”

Mozart doesn’t really know how to spend time with his child, though he’s clearly not opposed to carrying the little rascal around on his shoulders, or dragging the child clinging onto his leg around when stubbornness bites.

You often don’t know what he’s thinking whenever he spends time with your child, or the whole situation, but rest assured, he wouldn’t change it for the world, despite how he may look.

A clear example of this is when you once walked into the piano room only to see your little darling on top of the grand white piano itself, snoozing on top of a small comforter whilst your lover plays the soft tunes you’ve grown to love.

Shock holds you captive as you stare at the lovely sight, before finally trailing off, “Mozart..”

Without so much as glancing at you, he replies, voice hushed in a soft tone you don’t hear so often. The blissful smile on his face speaks thousands of words.

“I thought you were the only one foolish enough to let your guard down in front of me… It seems I was wrong.”

Leonardo da Vinci

He had an inkling the moment he saw the child sporting caramel eyes so similar to his own, tawny gaze regarding the large mansion with wonder.

And when you did reveal that the child is actually his, he only pulled you close to his chest, hoisting the little one up with his other arm.

“Papa has a lot of time to make up to you, doesn’t he?”

Leonardo is good with children, if it isn’t obvious. Not in your conventional dad way wherein he brings the child to school — in fact, he probably fell asleep in the hallway just when the two were about to leave — but he's awfully good at keeping his child entertained.

Running around the mansions, creating new inventions, learning a new language — sometimes, you have to remind yourself that this child’s father is literally Leonardo da Vinci.

A position you often see them in, however, is snoozing on the floor, probably near the library, your child a small ball curled into Leonardo’s arms and head in the crook of his neck.

“Again? Really?” You can only huff, though that doesn’t stop the small smile from spreading on your face as you brush the locks of hair out of your lover’s face.

“Cara mia,” he rasps out, cracking a bleary eye open and gripping your wrist softly. Then, he smiles, all sorts of soft and lovely and.. unguarded.

“You two.. are the best things that have happened to me.”

Arthur Conan Doyle

Arthur tries swallowing back the lump in his throat when he sees you standing in front of that damned door, though to no avail as a tear slips.

He starts full-on crying when you say that you’re back for good and that the child is his, and he’ll have to be comforted by yours and your child’s tiny arms before he even plans to stop.

“Ah, crying like that on our first meeting… Don’t you think your fath — I’m a bit embarrassing?” He asks, sniffling as he musters a smile.

Your child giggles, blue eyes crinkling. “No! Mommy told me a whooooole lot about you, daddy!”

He has to stop himself from sobbing again.

Arthur wastes no time in making up for what he’s missed, and every single day is one you’d find the two of them either in town or messing about at home.

If not, then they’re probably just chilling in the comforts of his room, doing god knows what. The day you peek in to see what exactly they were up to was a blessed day.

Maneuvering yourself in a way that lets you see through the tiny crack of the open door, your jaw drops at the adorable sight of your child in a tiny deerstalker and trench coat far too big for his form, Arthur nodding with a serious look on his face.

“So, Watson, do you think crepes make mummy happier?” Your child asks, holding his magnifying glass up — one you’re sure is from Leonardo — like a mic in front of Arthur’s face.

He strokes his chin for a moment, before answering, “Seeing her reaction when we gave her the ones we bought yesterday, I deduce they do, Sherlock.”

“Good dedoo – deduck – deduction, Watson! I thought so too.”

Your heart literally melts. The two are far too cute for you, you having to calm yourself before walking in with the widest smile on your face. Dorks. 

Vincent van Gogh

When you meet those familiar, cerulean eyes from your place in front of the door, they’re already glossy in seconds, a flurry of emotions clear on Vincent’s face, though his smile says it all.

“Is it too much to say I’ve been waiting for you this whole time?”

Vincent would be practically wallowing in regret that he wasn’t able to be a part of his child’s life for the first few years, leading him to do any and everything that will cause his child to smile. In simpler terms, he’s basically wrapped around the little one’s finger.

He’s so adorable and happy that he’s blessed with your lovely child, and there’s an immediate smile on his face when he so much as thinks about the little blondie.

He literally makes the other residents question whether or not they want a child too.

Their bonding time is painting and, more often than not, it ends up with all three of you cramped in the shower, scrubbing furiously at the sticky paint on their skin.

“I’m sorry for having you do this all the time,” Vincent’s soft voice only makes you sigh in relaxation as he massages your shoulders from behind you, causing your fingers to halt in their journey of rubbing some blue paint off your child.

“It’ll take more than that if you wanna make it up to me,” you hum, leaning back into his chest and looking up into his bright eyes.

Your lips were just about to meet, when —

“Mam, I’m not clean yet!”

You groan, Vincent only laughing as you meet the crossed arms of your child pouting child.

“Don’t give your mammie too much of a hard time, okay?” He never forgets to take care of you above all, of course.

Theodorus van Gogh

When he first sees you after years with a child, his child, grasping your hand, Theo has to literally disappear to cool his head off because he’s angry.

Not at you, no, never, but at himself. That he wasn’t there for his child, for you, and god, even if he were, would he have been a good father?

“Hon — Schatje,” he starts, running his fingers through his already messy hair and staring at you with eyes that practically bleed insecurity, his voice breaking. “How am I supposed to take care of a child when I couldn’t even take care of you?”

After many reassuring words and gentle touches, Theo’s finally okay, holding up and scrutinising your child much like how he does a painting. He’s, well, awkward.

Theo is surprisingly very gentle with your child because he honestly doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.

He’s also very grounded and doesn’t fall for cute little tricks that much either, so out of the residents, he’d be one of the better fathers.

“Nee.” “Papje, pleaaase?” “No. Non. Nee.”

Your lover’s fixed refusal causes you to peek your head into a lovely picture. Theo was holding a chocolate bar high above his head, steely gaze fixed on your young child with his puppy dog eyes in full view.

“Je mama said no chocolate, right?” Your heart warms when you realise he remembered your scoldings, though you can’t help but to feel bad for your whining baby.

“Theo,” you say, both their heads turning towards you. “How about you give the little baby some chocolate and we all enjoy some pancakes, yeah?”

The way both their eyes shine almost identically is adorable.

Dazai Osamu

When you showed up again with the child in hand, one he knows is his, his first thought, first wish, is that for that tiny thing to not be his. Because no one knows how harsh this world is more than the man who wished to end it all, so much more than once.

But Dazai makes up his mind when he sees you and your — his child staring up at him with those eyes that look so much like your own. He makes up his mind, despite his own continuous suffering, that he’ll never let this child go through what he had to.

“Was I staring too much?” He smiles, slightly sad and, well, empty. “I suppose it’s because the little one looks far too much like you.” Bright. Too bright for me.

As a father, he’s surprisingly really good with children? He quite enjoys seeing your child smile more than anything, and one way he knows how to do so is by perching the little one on his shoulders, running around the mansion as his hands intertwine with small, tiny fingers.

You don’t know whether to yell at him and his close-eyed grin, or simply laugh at the resonating giggles of your child. Probably both as you chase the two down the halls.

Dazai often zones out whenever he’s playing with your child, a look you can only describe as pure bliss on those handsome features of his. As you stare up at him, confusion clear on your features, you ask, “Hey, Dazai, why do you.. Zone out so much? Whenever you’re with, you know,” you motion to the snoozing one in between the both of you.

“Why do I zone out, you ask?” He gives you a smile, a real one this time, and gently pokes at the little ones cheeks. “I think.. I’ve found a wonderful reason to live, is all.”

Isaac Newton

“That’s… mine??” “That?” “... It?” “It?” “The.. child?”

Isaac is very flustered, for lack of better terms. He can barely manage the children he and Napoleon go see intermittently, but his own child? Lord, help him.

He gets awfully flushed whenever he’s carrying his child around the mansion because even then, he isn’t spared by Arthur and Dazai’s teasing remarks — in fact, it only seems to have gotten worse.

Isaac is surprisingly good at getting your rascal child to sleep with his bedtime stories, which are usually all his unsaid rambles.

“And did daddy get that bruise on his forehead because he slipped while chasing Uncle Dazai and Uncle Arthur?”

Your child nods, bright eyes sparkling and toothy grin showing. “Daddy also said, ‘Get back here, you devilish imbeciles!’”

Your accusatory gaze turns towards Isaac, who averts his eyes, holding an ice pack to his bruising forehead.

“I-In my defense, they were—”

“One more time, Isaac, and I’m changing this baby’s legal godfathers to the two imbeciles you love so much.”

Gaping, his eyes widen to the size of saucers, “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

He is now a grumbling mess when the two are around his child, but the lack of chasing them around with a stick in hand can be counted as an upgrade.

Jean d’Arc

When you walk through that door once more, nervously telling your lover that this child is his, you’re afraid of his reaction — after all, Jean is, despite his vampiric aging, barely an adult himself.

His jaw drops and he can’t stop staring at you nor the child with his inky locks, and you have to help him sit and calm down.

“Papa?” Your child asks, staring up at the still slightly panicked Jean as you hold your breath.

He stares for a moment, mouth wide, before finally, finally smiling, albeit a little awkward and rough around the edges. “Yes, little one?”

He’s extremely unaccustomed to this whole parent thing and can barely do anything without asking you first, so he feels bad quite often for having to lean on you so much.

Although he barely knows how to handle a sobbing child, nor can he entertain the child very well, you find that the both of them are quite content in each other’s presence as is.

Jean, well, looks ethereal as the sun shines through the windows in his room, a gentle smile gracing his face as he stares at his sleeping child.

He utters your name, causing you to look up, only to find him tracing circles around your child’s soft skin.

“Is this.. how it’s like to be happy?”

William Shakespeare

When Shakespeare wakes up to the news that you are, in fact, back at the mansion with a little surprise, he’s already there in no time.

He didn’t expect the little surprise to be a little child that’s practically an identical copy of him. But he’s always been more of a shoot first, ask questions later type of guy, so he immediately whisks you off to his manor, much to the exasperation of the residents who were surprisingly enjoying their time with the little Shakespeare lookalike.

Except he doesn’t really need to ask questions, because he’s already figured everything out through your soft, slightly nervous gaze, and your lovely little mannerisms.

“Alas, it seems the Heavens were kind enough to grant my wish,” he says as he stares at your child, only smiling to meet your confused gaze. “For I only wished you weren’t too lonely without my presence.”

William is always with his child, whatever the circumstances. Though he quite enjoys showing off his child, he’s also keen on spending his every waking second with the little tyke because he knows how it feels like to grow up lonely, and he wouldn't bestow that upon his own little one.

“Darling, it appears I has’t gotten myself into a slight predicament.”

If you could, you would have snapped a picture of your smiling lover practically itching to get up, yet unable to do so due to the sleeping child in his lap.

“And how did you get yourself into this predicament, my love?” You tease, your own smile on your face. He has a habit of reading his writings aloud, and it seems the little one fell asleep to William’s gentle voice.

“My works seem to be but a mere bedtime story to this little one,” he motions to the child, his smile softening. “I wonder why it does not dishearten me.”

Comte de Saint-Germain

“I was hoping you’d be back, ma chérie.” His perfunctory smile betrays the inner flurry of emotions inside him as he glances towards the child. “With a lovely little thing in hand.”

“Your lovely little thing,” you say gently, and the surprise outlining his normally composed face is something you’d forever save in your mind.

Comte is wrapped around the little one’s finger, his rotten spoiling being the effect of not being in your child’s life for a good while, and, of course, his indispensable regret for having you come back to him.

Many times have you asked Sebastian the whereabouts of your lover and your child, only for him to give you the look, responding that they were out yet again, and are probably not coming back without a few shopping bags in hand.

Then, to finally put a stop to it all, you decided to conduct a harmless experiment.

Placing a few coins on one side of his desk, a toy in the middle, and a beloved fruit on the side. After explaining to him that it’s to see what your child’s fate would be — picking between fortune, fun, and, well, snacks, you think — he simply leans back, interest shining in those eyes of his.

Unsurprisingly for you, your child pushes all these away in a second, opting to hug the wide-eyed man on the soft armchair behind the desk.

“And what.. does this mean, ma chérie?” He asks, honest-to-god confused as his hands slowly wrap around your child’s form.

You smile softly, “Isn’t it obvious, silly? The little rascal loves you more than anything.”

His eyes are suspiciously glossy before he laughs it off, preparing for yet another shopping spree — you regret everything.

Sebastian

He only gives you a knowing smile when you pass through the door with a young child gripping your hand.

“So.. this is the little one, is it?” He asks, tone soft as he walks towards you, wrapping a sturdy arm around your waist and meeting eyes with his child. “I’m a strict father, mind you.”

“Sebastian!” “I was joking. Slightly.”

Despite being a father, Sebastian is as strict and precise as ever around the mansion, rarely having to leave either his work or his family unattended due to his impeccable time management skills.

And if he struggles with both, well, he just has to merge them into one task, doesn’t he? Many are the times wherein the residents catch Sebastian working, his little runt on his tail or on his hip.

“They’re at it again, you know,” Mozart says in passing, only causing you to groan.

“Sebastian! How many times have I told you not in the kitchen?” You exclaim, walking into the kitchen to find your lover and your child tackling yet another chore together.

It seemed to be baking this time, if the flour on both of their faces says anything.

“Mama!” Your child exclaims with powdered hands as Sebastian says blankly, “We’re doing chores.”

You merely roll your eyes, sighing as you walk out the room. Your apology comes later when a sloppy cupcake makes its way into your view.

Your eyes move up to your proud looking child, hair obviously patted down in an attempt to look presentable while your lover sports a tiny grin on his own face.

“We made this for you, mom! Papa said he wanted to make you reaaaally happy.”

Sebastian’s head instantly snaps down, eyes narrowing, “Hey.”

You can only laugh at your two babies, taking a bite of the surprisingly good and sweeter than an average cupcake.

[tcm]

The Talented Actors of Pinky (’49) By Constance Cherise

The year 1949 brought “Negro Problem Pictures” that, according to the book Hollywood Black by Black film historian extraordinaire Donald Bogle, “... had compromises. In a covert manner they still relied on modified stereotypes such as the tragic mulatto and the mammy.” After Black soldiers returned from WWII, expecting a somewhat equal slice of the American pie, the American film industry attempted to reflect what was thought to be a truer to life depiction of the Black experience. According to the Christopher John Jones’ article “Image and Ideology in Kazan’s ’Pinky’”:

“The culmination of the trend toward black realism in the American cinema of the forties awaited the year 1949 with its unique cycle of pictures that tackled the race problem of America.”

The blacklisted director Elia Kazan was no stranger to controversial subjects, and PINKY (‘49) certainly was not his only contentious film. Films in 1949 like PINKY, HOME OF THE BRAVE, INTRUDER IN THE DUST and LOST BOUNDARIES, based on a real-life tale, were brought to the big screen in an effort to create a more appropriate depiction of the Black demographic, that was somewhat reluctantly evolved from the stereotypical roles of the prior years. Directed by Elia Kazan, PINKY is a film about a fair-skinned mulatto woman who is able to pass as white and the cast includes a cast of exceptionally talented Black performers.

Ethel Waters

The second Black actress to be nominated for an Academy Award for her performance in PINKY, “Sweet Mamma String Bean” Ethel Waters endured a harsh childhood and rose to become the most famous Black female performer of her era. She crossed over into white venues that allowed for massive exposure. During the 1930s, Waters became the highest-paid performer of both the Cotton Club and Broadway, as well as the first Black woman to star in a weekly television series, Beulah. In the film PINKY she portrays the long-suffering role of Dicey Johnson, the grandmother of Pinky portrayed by Jeanne Crain, a white actress. Known for her lilting vocals, distinct laughter, religious fervor and disagreeable temperament, Waters’ “Stormy Weather,” one of her most famous songs, was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1993. However, her performance of “Supper Time,” first performed in 1933’s AS THOUSANDS CHEER, is emotionally haunting. The song is about a woman who has just learned her husband has been lynched while preparing the dinner table for her children.

Frederick O'Neal

Frederick O’Neal was quite the antithesis of the character he portrays in PINKY: Jake Walters, a smooth-talking innocuous scoundrel. With his brooding, stalky 6-foot frame, O'Neal was well known for his mild-mannered and amiable disposition. O'Neal, along with colleagues, organized the Black theatrical group the Aldridge Players in 1927. In 1940, he became the co-founder of the American Negro Theatre, located in Harlem, producing and performing in the play Anna Lucasta, which later became a film in 1958 starring Sammy Davis Jr. and Eartha Kitt. A political activist and staunch supporter of the arts, O’Neal’s viable efforts through the American Negro Theatre constructed a path for such actors as Sidney Poitier, Harry Belafonte and Ruby Dee during the Black Art Movement of the 1960s. O’Neal would go on to become the first Black president of the Actors' Equity Association from 1964 to 1973. In addition to PINKY, O'Neal’s other film credits included SOMETHING OF VALUE (‘57), FREE, WHITE AND 21 (‘63) (a telling title) and TAKE A GIANT STEP (‘59).

Nina Mae McKinney

Petite, angelically beautiful and best known for her role in one of Hollywood’s first all-Black films HALLELUJAH (‘29), Nina Mae McKinney was approached by MGM's King Vidor after being seen in the chorus line of the play Blackbirds, which earned her the leading role in the film. Dubbed in Europe “The Black Garbo,” McKinney’s subsequent Hollywood roles were stereotypically devised and her talents were underutilized, as with most Black actresses of her time. Her role in PINKY as Rozelia, Jake Walter’s feisty girlfriend, was more than likely McKinney’s “most notable role” notes Donald Bogle. She found more success on the American stage and even further success, as did the majority of Black artists, performing throughout Europe.

Juanita Moore

Juanita Moore is best known for her iconic performance as Annie Johnson, which garnered her an Academy Award nomination, starring alongside Lana Turner in the moving film IMITATION OF LIFE (‘59). In the film, she portrays the live-in maid to Turner and also the mother of a daughter who passes for white (Susan Kohner). Like many Black actresses of the era, Moore began as a dancer in the famed Cotton Club. Her film debut was as a nurse in PINKY in which she appears very briefly during the film’s end. By the end of her career, she would appear on film and television in over 80 performances, including small and often uncredited roles in THE OPPOSITE SEX (’56), THE GIRL CAN’T HELP IT (’56) and THE SINGING NUN (’66)

[simply03060745-blog]

They Call Me Cat Mommy Mug Gifts Funny Gag Gift Coffee Mug Tea Cup White 11 oz https://amzn.to/2SexN9v

[jayd-iii]

My mother is someone special, Who shows me love, And for this I thank God up above, At this time I just want to say, Much love mom and Happy Mother's Day!! . . . #mothersday #momsday #mom #mother #mammy #mummy #flowers #prose #poem #poems #happymothersday #writing #poetry #writer #caribbean #caribbeanartist #artsy #pink #ma #mamma #poster #mothersdaycard #artist #trini #tobago #3jp (at Arima) https://www.instagram.com/jayd_iii/p/BxWbQPhhgNF/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=c08prp3lpp49

[weemsbotts]

A Love Story During the 1918 Pandemic

By: Lisa Timmerman, Executive Director

 Driving through Dumfries provides a curious mix of 18-20th century buildings depending upon where you look. While you can visit The Weems-Botts Museum (face-to-face and virtually!), you may miss or overlook the rich and unique character of our charming small town in the early 1900s.

According to our oral history records, Myrtle Virginia Rainey met Elvan Fitzhugh Keys at Dumfries United Methodist Church in 1917. Mr. Keys bid two dollars on a boxed lunch prepared by Ms. Rainey, an auction that featured a homemade lunch with the chef! The lunch of fried chicken and cake made with fresh coconut led to a lifelong romance and companionship. Thanks to family records and the Dumfries community willingness to share their stories and letters with HDVI, we can read some of the letters they wrote to each other during the flu pandemic.

Dumfries, Virginia. 02/10/1918, Myrtle Rainey to Elvan Keys:

“Dearest Elvan,

Hope you got back to Quantico all OK last night. But I guessed you was tired and sleepy when you got there. All the school have gone to Quantico to see Billy Sunday they come after me but Mamma and Papa is both sick now and I have so much work to do. Don’t let that old Spanish Influenza keep you away. I am not a bit afraid of it. Hope you can come up Wednesday nite for preaching. I am going to preaching tonight but it is so lonesome without you. Please bring me your picture you come over next time. Mammie Sisson has just looked over my letter for mistakes. If there are any left consider them kisses.

I remain as ever your true friend. PS. Please answer real soon.”

Quantico, Virginia. 02/11/1918, Elvan Keys to Myrtle Rainey:

 “Dearest Myrtle,

I went to the office at noon and got your lovely little letter. I think it was so sweet of you to write me and I was awful glad to get your letter. I was sorry to hear your father is now sick. How is your mother? I got back safely Sunday night but it was a lonely walk with nothing but my ugly shadow to keep me company. I am always lonesome when I leave you. The snow looked like diamonds glittering from the trees. I most know you are skipping all over this letter to see if I am coming up Wednesday night so I might as well tell you now as later on that I will be unable to come. But I would only be able to stay one hour. It takes me so long to walk there and back. I would come if I could stay longer. No I won’t forget the picture.

As ever yours”

By the fall of 1918, the Influenza pandemic noticeably hit Virginia and at least 16,000 Virginians died. Jumping from military bases to cities to small towns caused mass disorder, and health officials advised Americans to wear masks and remain socially distant. Highly contagious with severe symptoms ranging from high fever to aches, many people also caught pneumonia and subsequently died. The Virginia State Board of Health reported that in thirteen months, the virus infected 326,195 people, killing 15,679 of them. Keep in mind that some rural and isolated areas did not file death certificates and many people may have remained ill at home, further spreading the infection in the family. Thanks to the nurses, doctors, and volunteers, Virginia eventually reopened (when they lifted the ban on public gatherings in late October 1918, another surge occurred early in December 1918). Interestingly, people petitioned Governor Westmoreland Davis to allow the selling of more alcohol to pharmacies as officials hoped alcohol could aid in combating the illness. Sadly, this pandemic faded from American memory due to a combo of factors: avoidance from the government whether to directly respond or even acknowledge it, other historically significant events, such as the Depression, WWII, etc.

While we can empathize with the frustration and desire to see our friends and family, we can also open our tablets, phones, and other devices to stay connected with our communities. Instead, Mr. & Mrs. Keys relied on memories, mailed letters, and pictures to not feel so lonely and remind themselves of better times. Mr. & Mrs. Keys survived the pandemic and by all accounts led a very happy life. For their 25th wedding anniversary, Mrs. Keys spared no expense to throw a party. “She was famous in the town for entertaining and she wanted this one to very special. She wanted to celebrate a quarter century of a happy marriage in a big way…One hundred invitations were sent, the cake ordered, the house cleaned from top to bottom, special clothes purchased, menu planned, the silver polished, tables and chairs borrowed, tablecloths bought. The house hummed with activity for two months before the party.” Mrs. Myrtle Keys died in 1969 at the age of 66 and Mr. Elvan Keys in 1977 at the age of 80.

Special thanks to the Keys family, Jeff McGlothlin, and Jeanne Martin for sharing their wonderful stories and reminiscences.

Note: You can help Historic Dumfries Virginia by joining our non-profit organization today! Thanks to all HDVI members that continue to support us and local history. Interested in a virtual presentation on Dumfries? Set your price with a donation ticket to our “An Artful Fellow: Slavery in Dumfries in the 18th Century” presentation – tickets here).

(Sources: HDVI Archival Files; Encyclopedia Virginia: The Influenza Pandemic in Virginia (1918-1919)).

[theworldgonecrazytshirts]

Happy Mother's Day 5! 🌼

There is someone who I love so and Mommy is her name. Happy Mother's Day, Mommy. And I love you so!

👉 Only at www.theworldgonecrazytshirts.com

#mom #mother #mothersday #childrensdrawing #mum #mommy #mummy #mammy #momma #mama #mamma #theworldgonecrazy #twgc #tshirts #camisetas

[princessgemma12]

Character Info: Hamato Yoshi

This is for Comparisons, my tmnt2012 genderbend au. This is all of the basic info about Yoshi--sex, age, orientation, race/species, basic relationship info, etc..

Information under the cut.

Name:

Hamato Yoshi.

Information on the name Yoshi:

Gender: Masculine & Feminine. Usage: Japanese. Scripts: 吉, 義, 良, etc. (Japanese Kanji). Pronounced: YO-SHEE.

From Japanese 吉 (yoshi) meaning “good luck,” 義 (yoshi) meaning “righteous,” or 良 (yoshi) meaning “good, virtuous, respectable,” as well as other kanji with the same reading. (Behindthename.com/name/yoshi)

Nicknames:

Mother, Mama, Okāsan*, Okusan**, Sensei.

*Okāsan (Japanese text: お母さん) translates to Mom, as well as other variants of mother such as mammy, momma/mamma and mam.

**Okusan (Japanese text: 奥さん) roughly translates to Ma’am.

Aliases:

Splinter.

Gender, Age/Birth Date, Sexuality, Race, Species:

Female; 42/Spring, 1971; heterosexual, biromantic; Japanese; human (born), mutated rat/human hybrid (currently).

Physical Description:

133 lb., 5’11; brown, white, black fur; athletic, inverted triangle shape (body type chart); dark brown eyes (eye color chart), close set (eye shape chart).

Personality:

Calm, relatively even-tempered; slightly playful; strict but generous in what she allows in her sewer house; moral high ground; mama bear type.

Counterparts:

TMNT Canon - any incarnation of Master Splinter/Hamato Yoshi, specifically TMNT 2012 Hamato Yoshi/Master Splinter.

Non-Canon - Any incarnation of Hamato Yoshi/Master Splinter, specifically TMNT 2012-based incarnations of Hamato Yoshi/Master Splinter.

Relationships:

Family:

Children (biological) - Hamato Masami/Oroku Katsuro.

Children (adoptive; unofficial) - Hamato Leandra, Regina, Daniela, Michelangela, Rochelle/Oneida.

Parents (biological) - Hamato Yuu (mother; deceased).

Siblings (adoptive) - Oroku Saki/Shredder (sister).

Spouse(s)/Partners - Hamato Sora (husband; deceased).

Students:

August O’Neil, Hamato Clan.

Enemies:

The Foot Clan, Oroku Saki/Shredder, the Kraang, various mutants.

Origin:

A mere month after recovering from the birth of her child Hamato Masami, Hamato Yoshi clashed violently with her adoptive sister Oroku Saki. The ultimate result of the battle was the fiery destruction of their family home in Japan, the Hamato Clan dojo, and the death of Yoshi’s husband Sora. Masami was believed to have passed in the fire also. Yoshi then moved to New York City, in tribute to her husband. A dojo was purchased but the widowed, childless mother felt something was missing: it needed something, someone to grow with her students. A trip to the pet store later and she had four baby turtles, all female, all red-eared sliders. During her walk home, as she lived in an apartment above her new dojo, she encountered a strange woman. Suspicious, Yoshi followed her. This decision, however, resulted in her first battle in New York, a spilled canister of strange green ooze, a new body for her, and four new younglings for her to care for. A life in the shadows was born, as well as a war that would last half her lifetime.

Also, if you’re interested, I’m working on an ask blog for this series, which will be open (or re-opened, as I probably should say) in about a month, give or take a couple weeks. If you’re interested in checking out the series, you can find a link to a complete list of all works on my blog. There, you’ll find links to chapters and/works depending on platform.

Additionally, I’m accepting asks right now, so if you’re wondering anything about Comparisons or anything else relating to my work, feel free to ask. I’m also doing an ask meme, so send me a number and I’ll answer to the best of my ability!

[jomiddlemarch]

Accurs’d they were not here

She’d never liked Mrs. von Olnhausen, but she had taken a care that it wasn’t widely known. She practiced her bland expression in front of her looking-glass for what seemed like hours, until someone called for her, and she couldn’t have done without the practice. The wide brim of the out-moded bonnet she was forced to wear could only help at church, when most people were either listening to Mr. Hopkins or giving their best impression of doing so, while wondering about whether the custard had set or whether the cow had colic. She always pinched her cheeks and bit her lips before she went down, because she had standards, despite the War and its privations.

She’d never liked Mrs. von Olnhausen but she positively loathed her the night of the ball. Somehow, the widow managed to make everyone forget her monstrously ugly black dress with the whiteness of her skin, her bright eyes, her tightly laced waist, and the cluster of flowers at the low point of the bodice. Gentlemen and ladies alike offered compliments, though her sash was so long it nearly trailed on the floor and she’d obviously dressed her own hair, given the simplicity of the braids. The tall Confederate captain, dashing in his butternut, squired her about as if she were Varina Davis herself! No one seemed to notice how Mrs. von Olnhausen bit her lip when the young soldiers sang and caroused, how she turned her face away when the party spoke of routing the Yankees, making them turn tail and run home. Perhaps the captain did, he watched her quite steadily until he slipped away while she danced with clumsy Mr. Squivers who’d naturally forgotten to bring a pair of gloves.

She’d never liked the woman and yet, she could not admit to being anything other than shocked when she glimpsed her held close in the captain’s arms through the door one of them had forgotten to shut tightly. They waltzed around the room in a small circle, taking care not to jostle any of the ornaments left on the tables, but still Mrs. von Olnhausen’s wide skirts brushed the feet of the chairs just as it did the captain’s polished boots. His hand was visible against her back, their posture something beyond what was allowed for by the rules of the dance. She could not see the captain’s face but she could see Mary’s, turned up to gaze upon him; she could see an expression in Mary’s eyes that ought not be there, certainly not so undisguised it could be seen across a dim room. She was lit up like a candle, her mouth curved in a tender smile, cheeks flushed; the credit could not be given to the exertions of the dance. It must be her partner, it must mean…

“Alice Henrietta! What do you mean by lurking here in the hallway?” Mrs. Green exclaimed. Alice frowned and saw Belinda beyond her mother, watching her with those dark eyes. How long had her mammy stood there, how long before she’d gone to fetch Alice’s mother? Who was she protecting—and why?

“I couldn’t bear to dance with Mr. Squivers again, mamma! His hands are like a pair of rainbow trout, just wriggling around and so wet—even in a quadrille!”

“Yes, well, that may be, but you mustn’t keep the other gentlemen waiting. You mustn’t let anyone wonder where you’ve gone off to—and whether you’re alone. You’re not married to a brave soldier like Emma—anyone may pass a remark about you and then where will you be?”

Where would she be, if someone thought she had gone off alone with a Confederate officer, to dance in a shadowy room, to have a conversation none would overhear—what might be said, what intelligence conveyed without interruption, supervision? With only the gaze of a dark-eyed man who’d face death and feared nothing, who could see beauty in the deepest gloom, despite the drabness of ribbons, the loose curls freed by being swung about and caught suddenly. Or by a hand gentle enough to stroke each silken strand, deft enough to slit a man’s throat.

“I’m sure you’re right, mamma. I wouldn’t want anyone to speak ill of me,” Alice said, tasting the words. They were sweeter than any apple-cake, than candied angelica, more intoxicating than Mr. Squiver’s fine liquor. She savored them and let herself smile. Who would think anything of a smile?

[fernandors69]

#Mãe #Mother #Love #Amor #Mamma #Mammy #Mamãe #Family #Família (em Gonzaga, Santos - SP) https://www.instagram.com/p/B0Zkx10g7J5/?igshid=1vv7th04587b1