#public library quilts

[garadinervi]

Many Hands Make a Quilt: Short Histories of Radical Quilting, Written by Jess Bailey (Public Library Quilts), Edited by Laura Moseley, Design by Chris Shortt, Illustrations and first edition design by Saffa Khan, Common Threads Press, [Norwich], (2022-)2024, Second Edition [SpazioB**K, Milano. Idea Books, Amsterdam]

[4letteraroace]

"the club would make me worse" ANDI YOU'RE SO REAL

the club would ruin my life actually i think

we all say “oh. they should be at the club.” but no one thinks about the people that need something completely different. if i were at the club, i would be on the floor in a corner having a meltdown due to sensory overload.

so, instead of going to the club, i am taking you to a nice and quiet seaside cottage where we can be free from the bullshit life throws at us.

[stoneantler]

I'm really surprised how many young fiber art people don't know that they can get pattern books from their local library. So as a PSA:

Your local public library has pattern books! They have crochet, knitting, weaving, and quilting pattern books! If they don't have the book you want, or the craft you want, you can ask for us to get it for you! It's free!

[bananna-threads]

Star #7/? complete! (One is not pictured because it is already sewn onto the dress bodice)

This star was pretty tricky to get done, not because it was any more difficult to cut or sew, but because I could not get a copy of Carol Doak's 50 Fabulous Paper-pieced Stars. I put it on hold on at my local library, only for the library to fall victim to a cyber attack while it was in transit LOL. I called around, and I have no idea where that book ended up. Who sends ransomware to a library??? They are notoriously under-funded. Whoever it was is undoubtedly a huge asshole because now people who rely on the public computers are SOL...but anywho, since I didn't want to buy the book only to use two patterns, I basically had to reverse engineer them using the power of geometry❤ and GIMP. I actually really enjoyed it, although it took much longer than I expected. I'd post them here, but idk if I'd be breaking some sort of copyright law 😅

Looking forward to finishing the next one too because they both have this very cool refracted look that I was jazzed about 🎷🎶

Credit once again to Wombat Quilts for her Starry Night Quilt

[samimarkart]

Excited to announce my first solo exhibition 𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴 opening in July at the Downers Grove Public Library in their North Gallery. So happy to be showing art in the town where I live, in a building I am so thankful for! Will share more details as the show gets closer, for now I’m busy finishing (and starting) quilts, and getting them ready to hang. Meet the artist event details are available on the DGPL website here

(Chicago friends, the library is a 2 minute walk from the metra BNSF Downers Grove Main St. stop, accessible from Chicago Union Station. If you ever wanted to play Sami Simulator and experience my old daily commute to school now’s your chance LOL)

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

promptober day 7: betray

Every day has been the same. 

Dean wakes up alone in the old, rickety house. He’s always up with the sun; he never sets an alarm. The secondhand quilt on his bed always ends up on the floor, because he never sleeps well. There’s nightmares and restlessness and the witching hour. 

Downstairs, he makes coffee and takes it out onto the porch if it’s not too cold. He reads a book, always from the library. His library card has his actual name on it, which is always weird for him. Luckily, no one in small-town Kansas asks too many questions. 

He doesn’t need a job–he had more than enough to get by after trading in his bit of the bunker. Even so, he works part time at the local auto body shop to give him something to do with his mind and keep him from being alone all the time. Sam and Eileen come and visit, but they’ve got their own life. The guys at the shop call him “Dean Winner,” and he never corrects them, because it’s nice to have a nickname and be a part of something. He never really got to be normal.

Dean doesn’t feel like a winner, though. He’s forty-five, battered and bruised, living alone in a house that was cheap because it needed–and still needs–so many repairs. Sometimes he wonders why he’s still alive, why the Empty didn’t take him too, why only knowing about how Cas felt at the very end seems like such a betrayal from fate itself.

They could have had so much more time. 

On the fridge, under a magnet for the tiny supermarket in the next town over, is a photo of them from Dodge City, in their cowboy hats. Dean always wishes he had more–time, photos, memories, mementos. He can’t watch Looney Tunes, dodges every car that even vaguely resembles a Lincoln Continental or a maroon truck. There’s a hole that he can’t fill.

But he keeps trying, doesn’t he? He makes eggs and bacon for breakfast, has a friend or two, frequents the public library. He visits the hardware store three or four or five times a week, keeps his house up. Drives around listening to the songs he remembers putting on Cas’s mixtape in the Impala (when he can bear it–Cas must have had the tape in his pocket when he…because Dean couldn’t find it anywhere). Goes to bed not long after sundown. Avoids bourbon but has a beer or two. 

Dean keeps trying. At the very least, he can do that for Cas’s memory.

[rederiswrites]

It's not exactly a secret that I love love love traditional European, especially Eastern European and Slavic, folk art. Luckily for me, there is a pretty healthy USAmerican survivor of those traditions in PA Dutch country, which is so close to me it's actually apparently growing south into my neighborhood. And PA Dutch art is just a joy. I've loved it ever since I was...maybe less than ten?! On one of our periodic trips into Washington DC for the museums, my mom and I went to the Folger Shakespeare library, which happened to have a beautiful display of Fraktur and PA Dutch art in the lobby. Stayed in my mind forever. Take your kids to museums, etc. etc. Not the point.

Fraktur is a specific form in the broader "art created by culturally German immigrants to central and south Pennsylvania", characterized by a ton of detail and usually specific German-style lettering. Most Fraktur were created between 1740 and 1860.

This chest was attributed to one John Bieber in 1789.

This document was created by Andreas Kolb in 1785.

Personally, I absolutely love PA Dutch hex signs, which are simpler and more graphically bold, but draw on many of the same motifs and meanings. Those you still see to this day on barns and houses. They are not actually associated with Amish and Mennonites particularly; they're just a cultural remnant of the heavily German immigrant population. One wonderful artist is Ivan Hoyt, who is still active today.

I would love to own a Hoyt piece one day.

Another thing you see around here, which is unrelated and entirely modern in origin, is the barn quilt. Here's one I've passed several times and enjoyed a great deal:

The story goes that Ohio quilter Donna Sue Groves came up with the idea inspired in part by the Dutch Hex Signs, and translated that into quilting patterns. They are usually very large, between 4' and 8' square, and generally placed so that you see them from the road, so they're a fascinating bridge between public and private art. When I pass one, I feel I've been told, "Look, we created this thing that gives us joy, and placed it so that we can all feel that together. For this moment, we are connected in appreciation of this beauty."

There are quite a few around here now, as well as a publicized tour trail for them. I have had one designed and intended to make it for over a year now. There's a perfect spot over the door of Jacob's shop.

Here are a couple more:

I feel very fortunate to have access to these beautiful traditions, and hope in time to add my own threads to the tapestry.

[follow-up-news]

New Jersey Democratic Gov. Phil Murphy signed a law Monday to prohibit public and school libraries from banning books in the state and to enshrine protections against civil and criminal charges for librarians who comply with the law. New Jersey becomes the latest Democrat-led state to enact a ban on book bans, joining Illinois and Minnesota. Murphy signed the bill at Princeton’s public library, a short walk from Princeton University’s ivy-draped campus and cast the legislation in the context of Republican-leaning states that have prohibited certain books in recent years. “It’s the antithesis of all these book banning states that you see,” he said. “I’m incredibly proud to have signed it, but also acknowledge that America — and this is yet another good example — is becoming a patchwork quilt country. It really matters where you live.” Under the law, public and school libraries are barred from excluding books because of the origin, background, or views of the material or of its authors. Censoring books will also be prohibited solely because a person finds them offensive. The bill permits restriction in the case of “developmentally inappropriate material” for certain age groups. The measure also requires local school boards and the governing bodies of public libraries to set up policies for book curation and the removal of library materials, including a way to address concerns over certain items.

[missathlete31]

Did I go to my public library’s summer reading party tonight- YES

Am I the youngest person here by about 50 years? ALSO YES

But did I almost cry when a little old lady gave me this quilted book heart? ABSOLUTELY 🥹🥹

Also another little old lady came up to me and said “you want to be a writer right? You have the look of an author to you” and now I just want to stay here forever. 😭😭😭

[gumballavocadoharry]

First lesson; wit:

*This is Yn's POV*

The tall stone building seemed to collapse around me. I was standing in front of the castle like university in front of me, my legs trembling in discomfort, heart pounding out of my chest and stomach turning like I saw a billion maggots sliter under my shoes. My backpack was slung around me, and my suitcase full of my clothes and other things were tightly gripped into my hand. Any minute, I could tumble over and it would be the first embarrassment of my new school as luck would have all my classmates see the clumsy schmuck fall onto the hard pavement of concrete mixed in stone.

This was my first choice. I never had to face the despair of not being accepted into the school of my dreams, considering how much work I would have to put in to be a exceptional author. This was one of the best schools that was a recommendation from high school once I graduated. A chill crept down my spine before I carefully opened the large green tinted doors and walked into something so futuristic, that it shouldn't be exposed to the public now. Like Black Panther type technology. I swallowed my breath and managed to make it into the main office where I was given a number to my dorm room and and passes to the cafeteria, the library, gym, special classes and of course my main class. I was also handed three sheets of paper; one with the list of classes I had, the second was the classes I took and the third was a mini map of the entire school.

"I'm Mrs. Beachem, just let me know if you need anything." The older lady flashed a kind smile, which I courteously reciprocated. "Thank you very much." I gasped before darting off the elevators and taking the bridge to the dorms. 825, My room. A solo room; no roommates or anyone, just me. I laid out some cheap lavender sheets with a plum quilt over the mattress and started adding pictures on my walls. The frames complimented the room decor I was going for and the aesthetic. Lavender, plum purple, blue and gray were all the colors that took my plain white dorm to the next level. Classes didn't start until tomorrow, so that left me plenty of time to scan the different classrooms and shortcuts on how to get to them.  

I sat on my bed and looked at the first paper that was stapled to the other two of my classes. My homeroom teacher- main class I took- was directed by Mr. Styles. He was one of the new professors on campus, only starting here three years before I did. I had heard about him from other students who went here and said he was one of the best teachers and that he was very resourceful in his knowledge of writing. The other two classes were taught by Mrs. Campbell and Mrs. Vincent. I grew nervous just thinking about the morning ahead of me tomorrow. The thick river of vile held me at knife-point to spill up from my stomach in complete fussiness.

Maybe it was just my stomach gurgling in hunger. I checked the map again and practically uprooted myself from the soft mattress and walked to the cafeteria. 

After filling my belly with banana pudding, a chicken burrito, diet coke and a bag of fritos, I promptly started walking through corridors to find the complex classes I was destined to take. I found Mrs. Vincent's class first. It had this cozy, quell aroma to it. The room was a piece of Mrs. Vincent, making the class as relaxing and educational as possible. Next was Mrs. Campbell's room which looked like any classroom. But with elfin traces of friendliness. Last was Mr. Styles's class. Entering it was like entering a lecture hall from a movie. This was nothing like some little kiddie high school classroom, but something from a movie. The class was the size of an auditorium with seats that has tables attached to them in rows. It wasn't stadium huge, but big enough to feel overwhelmed by it all. 

I ventured back to my dorm across the bridge and settled into bed for the night as the sky was turning it's dark navy blue color with faint glint twinkles spotting around in the background. I took one last look around the room, darting my eyes all over the walls of my brand new shelter for the next year or so. I crawled into bed and rubbed my eyes hard enough to fall asleep.

I awoke to the sound of my blaring alarm and the morning birds chirping their usual matinal melodies. My first class, Mrs. Campbell's, started around 9:30. It was 8:30 now, so I didn't hesitate to rush into the shower, change clothes and run across the bridge to the cafeteria for a small bowl of cereal. I scanned my pass, grabbed a tray and plopped a bowl, a carton of milk and a small buffet box of cereal onto my tray and picked a random table by the window. I consumed my breakfast before grabbing a small cup of coffee and leaving straight after for class. Upon entering the first classroom of the day, I was greeted with cheerful smiles and the smell of cake.

My eyebrows pinched themselves together wondering where that smell was coming from until I realized it was a lit candle that was blooming on Mrs. Campbell's desk. I took my seat towards the back and unpacked my yellow notebook with a pattern of daisies and hearts. I assigned this particular one to the English class because it had a springtime theme to it, while my teddy bear one was assigned to Mrs. Vincent and a stone royal blue was to Mr. Styles. "Hello class." She walked in; floral print dress, beige cardigan and black flats with the most cheerful smile and professional demeanor. She took her stance at her chalkboard, writing her name and introducing herself to everyone.

"I'm Mrs. Ann Campbell, but you can all call me Mrs. Campbell." She sat perfectly ladylike at her desk, shining off the top layer of it for any dust particles that may have collected. Her perky tone in describing the basics of English literature made it seem anything but a dull pointless subject. At least, not to the credits who predicted that English was a key point in writing......which was correct. I jotted down as many notes as I possibly could before the bell rung and the class was dismissed. I slung my bag over my shoulder and followed the stream of students pouring out of the door. My next was Mr. Styles.

I entered the classroom-styled lecture hall- and took my seat towards the middle. A slew of students crammed themselves into the large hall, taking their seats just as the young teacher entered the class. He wore this white dress shirt tucked into some black slacks with a thick black watch almost riveting up his entire wrist. "Hello, I'm Mr. Styles," He wrote his name slickly across the chalkboard in a tight pinched manner. "And this is creative writing." His voice almost had this monotone echo that snapped all eyes in his direction. He was nothing like Mrs. Campbell, and her warm cheerful smile and cake scented classroom. No, this was a rigid college class that expected...demanded full attention and the best of your intelligence. And Mr. Styles fit that description perfectly.

The man's chalk sketched across the green board with speed; not stopping to take a breather in for even a slight pause for the sake of his wrist. "Mark Twain was a famous author; famous for writing short humoristic stories about his character's misadven-" Mr. Styles paused to see a boy in his front row giggling from a note he passed. He didn't hesitate to snatch the note, rip it up and slam the pieces of it back on the boy's desk. 

"Young man, your first day of kindergarten is over. This is a complex class that details writing, its history of it and knowledge to be a writer," He leaned in closer, eyes squinting only a little, "You can come to this class fully prepared or not at all to this class, this school, this university. But don't think for a minute I'll tolerate anything in between!" He sneered spitefully, before gathering back over to the chalkboard and continuing the lesson. 

He cleared his throat and continued his Mark Twain lesson, despite leaving the boy in such engrossed humiliation that tears torrent over. But no one was watching him....they were all focused on Mr. Styles and his very comprehensive speech of how Mark Twain's writing influenced how much nuance writers used to this day. The class was of a quiet echo; only Mr. Styles's voice was heard throughout the class. I looked down at the royal blue notebook on my desk.....Yep. The notebook matched the class's theme perfectly; straight to the point, no nonsense, and solid. If there were any mistakes, there would be a whip across the back....if not a flat out execution.

The bell had rung, stripping everyone's cast iron focus on Mr. Styles to their bags and books. I scampered out with everyone else, only glancing back to see Mr. Styles looking upon his pupils in a now deserted lecture hall.

I took a breath in, trying hard to release the pent up tension from the suffocating walls of Mr. Styles class. I've had strict and unruly teachers before....but this was something singular. With the snap of his fingers, Mr. Styles could make the universe look into his aloof, stolid eyes. A chill quivered through my body like a snake slithering against its tree. It was lunch time, and then next would be Mrs. Vincent's class. 

I managed to make it to the cafeteria where it seemed like everyone was on the dot. I grabbed a tray and plopped a couple sandwiches, a bottle of gatorade, doritos and blueberry yogurt onto my tray before snatching a table by the back windows. My neighbor was no other than the boy who had his handed to him by Mr. Styles. We were both diffident, reserving our eyes to our plates that we somehow had a hard time manipulating into moving the food into our mouths untouched.

"That's some class?" I finally broke the ice, showing the boy that I wasn't a snoot who blindly agreed with Mr. Styles harsh correction. "Yeah," He gave a soft chuckle, still in shame from the latter incident, "The guy seems to be fond of Mark Twain right?"

I giggled, "Yeah. He described him so vividly and passionately, that I was beginning to wonder if he was there with him in person and had a personal conversation with him." The boy laughed, "Yeah....." He was still unsure of my interaction, so I had to let my cards fall onto his lap. "Look, what happened in class....I didn't agree with. Mr. Styles seems like one of those teachers and you seem really nice. I'm Yn by the way." The boy finally gave a full beam. "I'm Lucus." I returned the smile and suddenly stuffed my sandwich into my mouth, finally enjoying the savoring flavor of a mitigate stomach. And I think Lucus did too.

I remembered my shortcut across the way to Mrs. Vincent's class. The motherly like class that had the aura of protection, yet didn't slack in education. But I knew this would be the easiest class. It was nice break from the parky dry institution that was to be Mr. Styles class. Speaking of the devil, on my way to Mrs. Vincent's class, Mr. Styles walked past me; skimming a tight lipped smile with quiescent intractable eyes. But even his polite expression was dry. There was no real passion inside of it. But yet, the very presence of this man demanded obedience and austere behaviour. The aura of his presence still haunted me as I took shattered steps into Mrs. Vincent's cozy haven. "Good afternoon class!" She squealed with such warm sugary vocals.

"I'm Mrs. Vincent. And this is American literature," She wrote it on her whiteboard, easing the eardrums of the brash blackboard sounds of the chalk against a chalkboard. "Before we start, does anyone have any questions?" I held back from anything as I just wanted to get this class over with so I could squirm back into my dorm and bury my head in my studies. Mrs. Vincent started the class and from I learned so far- her class was the easiest. Not too much homework, nor too much fast talking and just an overall laxed mien in the environment. I took notes and once I finished my last page, class was over. The bell rang and we were dismissed. 

I followed the wave of students out of Mrs. Vincent's classroom before breaking off independently onto the bridge. It was like a glass tunnel where you could see everyone on campus walking around with their schoolbags and their schedules. I made it back to my dorm where solitude surrounded me. There was no chatting or yelling among students, teachers, or staff members....just peace. In exhaustion, I flopped onto my bed after dropping my bag on the floor. I circled face up and stared at the ceiling. Can I do this? Is this worth it? Two classes are amazing and the other....no....I took his class to challenge myself. He's one of the best professors on campus....give it a chance. Besides....you didn't screw up with him...yet. 

Those thoughts raced through my head like a hamster on a wheel. But my mind couldn't help but ruminate over Mr. Styles. He's a demanding to please....but what about everyone else? Was he married? Did he have kids? I bet he's a total sweetheart to them; giving them big hugs and using a more soothing reserved tone, never daring to speak one harsh critical word to them.  I uprooted myself from the bed and glued myself to the cotton swivel chair at my desk and took out my first book of creative writing. After all, Mr. Styles said either "come to the class prepared or not all" but he will refuse to "tolerate anything in between." Out of sheer fear, I swallowed as much information about Mark Twain that I could cram into my brain.

I almost missed dinner. I sped down to the cafeteria and grabbed leftover lasagna with a glass of lemonade and salad. I figured I needed the brain food. The cafeteria was mostly empty except for the last few people trying to gather in the last traces of their meal. I ate quickly before taking my tray up to the counter and returning to my dorm. "Yn!" I turned to see Lucus heading towards me on the bridge. "Hey," He caught his breath a little, "I just wanted to say thank you again for being so nice to me. It was a rough day but.....I appreciate your kindness," I smiled, "You're welcome Lucas....I know....I took Mr. Styles class for the challenge. I knew he was an excellent teacher and very detailed in teaching creative writing....if you can ignore his style of teaching that is....you'll make it."

Lucas swallowed hard, "You're right. I shouldn't have passed that note in class," "That doesn't excuse Mr. Styles of course, but.....you seem really smart. My point is- don't let that get to you or ruin the class. Give yourself a chance to rise up to the challenge and make it worth your while."

Lucas looked at me like I was some all knowing elder. "Thank you again Yn...you're so wise." I knew it. I smiled and gave Lucas a pat on the shoulder. I watched as he walked away to the left side of the dorm area. I turned right to mine and locked myself in for the night. My studies continued until I fell asleep after barely taking off my clothes.

I arose to the freckled spots of sun hitting my face. I rung into the shower, got dressed, grabbed my backpack and headed to the cafeteria. Everyone seemed to be celebrating Friday. I guess me and Lucas weren't the only ones who had a grueling first day. Tomorrow would be the weekend and that meant I was free to visit friends, family go to the movies or even just study. I know how it sounded. I didn't want to be one of those book dependent people where you only ever just studied and totally shut out life itself. But it was just creative writing. The thought of it made my heart beat faster and my stomach twist itself into my throat. Even if I wasn't the one getting scolded, just the thought of some clown deliberately testing the waters with Mr. Styles made my legs ping.

That man could stare Satan in the eyes and make the devil himself shudder in terror. The hand-me-down feeling of watching someone get punished by him was different than some uptight high school teacher letting one of her students have it. They usually deserved it. But the slightest offense in Mr. Styles class would be a lesson that one would learn very quickly: Your second chance is sitting in that chair and still being able to finish the class. Not taps on the wrist, no timeouts. Nothing. Either you sink or swim.

This chapter is sooooo long that I figured I'd make a part two...

[fieldtomatoes]

2024 was my year of participating more in community activities :)

classroom volunteer work (grades 2/3 and 3/4) + helping with the newly formed "rainbow club" at my old elementary school

community choir session 1

church pop-up sale volunteer cashiering 1

craft market 1 (vendor)

craft market 2 (vendor)

church pop-up sale volunteer cashiering 2

community quilt show

summer night market

annual powwow

community choir session 2

church pop-up sale volunteer cashiering 3

church pop-up sale volunteer cashiering 4

craft fair 3 (vendor)

craft fair 4 (attendee)

community fundraising christmas tree forest walk

community theatre christmas singalong

christmas market

local christmas light garden

in 2025, I want to incorporate more community theatre and more events held thought local public libraries :)

[talkstothemoonandstars]

The National Film Registry Adds 25 Films

It's a most wonderful time of the year for classic film buffs and preservationists. The National Film Registry, which is part of the Library of Congress, announced on Tuesday the latest movies it plans to archive for posterity.

Each year, 25 films are added to the registry. Usually, it's a mixture of blockbusters, obscure-but-important independent films, and historical footage, all selected to highlight the depth and breadth of American film.

"Films reflect our nation's history and culture and must be preserved in our national library for generations to come," said Librarian of Congress Carla Hayden in a statement. "This is a collective effort in the film community to preserve our cinematic heritage."

For the first time, a Star Trek movie is joining the list, in part because of enthusiastic lobbying from fans. (Although selections are made by the National Film Preservation Board, nominations from the public are encouraged as part of the process.)

Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, starring Ricardo Montalban as the titular villain, came out in 1982. In a press release, the Library of Congress pointed out that the film is often considered the best of the six original-cast Star Trek theatrical films. It's also among five movies selected this year featuring prominent Hispanic artists or themes, including American Me, Mi Familia, Spy Kids, and the first Cheech & Chong movie to be added to the registry, Up in Smoke.

The complete list of films selected for the 2024 National Film Registry, in chronological order, follows:

Annabelle Serpentine Dance (1895) KoKo's Earth Control (1928) Angels with Dirty Faces (1938) Pride of the Yankees (1942) Invaders from Mars (1953) The Miracle Worker (1962) The Chelsea Girls (1966) Ganja &Hess (1973) The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) Uptown Saturday Night (1974) Zora Lathan Student Films (1975-76) Up in Smoke (1978) Will (1981) Star Trek II: Wrath of Khan (1982) Beverly Hills Cop (1984)

Dirty Dancing (1987) Common Threads: Stories from the Quilt (1989) Powwow Highway (1989) My Own Private Idaho (1991) American Me (1992) Mi Familia (1995) Compensation (1999) Spy Kids (2001) No Country for Old Men (2007) The Social Network (2010)

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 18

Story: superhero siblings (original) Prompts: Coming home — Kitchen dancing — Sleeping in

There was nothing more luxurious than sleeping in on a weekday and waking up to the pattering of raindrops on the window. Sophie kept her eyes closed, snuggling deeper under the heavy quilt as she listened to the drip-drip-drip of water in the gutter, or the downspout, or wherever it was.

It had been so long since Sophie had allowed herself such simple comforts. For weeks, the only sleep she'd gotten had been a few sporadic, fitful hours on a bus or train or in whatever hidey-hole they managed to find. But it was never particularly comfortable, and she never really felt like she could let her guard down completely. Because what if Dr. Clementine's men found them? What if they had to jump up and start running again?

Even before they'd run away, Sophie had never felt completely relaxed in the big, plush bed in Dr. Clementine's mansion either. There was always that lingering unease, even before Dr. Clementine had shown his true colors, the sense that they didn't really belong.

But they belonged here. They'd only been here a couple days, and already Sophie felt like they'd finally come home. The stairs creaked and the floor creaked and the ancient beds sagged in the middle, and there were still so many things they didn't know about Dr. Kartal or how they would slot into his life.

But he promised that he would take them shopping for new mattresses and new clothes, and it didn't feel like a bribe. He didn't assure them he could buy any book they wanted, but every room in this house had at least one overflowing bookcase, and when he'd realized he had very few books that would interest six- and eight-year-old girls, he took them to the public library almost before he'd even restocked his pantry.

And most importantly of all...he made them feel safe. That was probably the most important thing, Sophie decided. Her heart didn't seize up when she heard Dr. Kartal's footsteps creaking across the floor. His smile didn't make her feel sick to her stomach. She didn't know what the future held for them, but somehow she knew that as long as they had Dr. Kartal, everything would be okay.

A tugging on the quilt made Sophie crack her eyes open. “Sophie!” Grace said in a loud whisper. “I'm hungry!”

With a yawn and a full-body stretch, Sophie reluctantly emerged from the warm cocoon of her bed. Across the room, Rebecca sat up in the bed she was sharing with Grace, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Okay, let's go see what we've got for breakfast.”

Sophie reached over and nudged the bundle of blankets on the couch that was Jack. Dr. Kartal had suggested making up a bed for him in another room, but none of them wanted to be too far apart right now. “C'mon, sleepyhead,” she said, slapping the thick blanket with a dull thwap.

“Huh?” With a loud snort, Jack rolled over and fell onto the ground, still tangled up in blankets.

Laughing, his sisters helped him untangle himself before he could tear the blankets in a sleepy misuse of strength. And in a few minutes, they all trooped down two flights of spiral stairs to the kitchen. Sophie opened the fridge to see what their options were, shivering and wishing she'd thought to put something on over her pajamas. Rebecca, who hated wearing socks when she could get away with it, was sitting on her bare feet on a chair at the kitchen table.

“No Lucky Charms,” Grace said morosely from the pantry. “He's only got corn flakes and oatmeal.”

Rebecca made a face, but Jack said optimistically, “Corn flakes aren't so bad. If you put sugar on them it's basically the same as Frosted Flakes. And we could make toast,” he added, opening the bread box, which they had filled the day before.

“I know!” Sophie said, pulling out some eggs and milk. “Let's make French toast!”

Everyone perked up at that, but then came the debate about how exactly one made French toast. Sophie knew it involved dipping bread into a mixture of eggs and milk, but it had been so long since she'd helped their mother make any, she couldn't remember how much of each they needed. And she was pretty sure their mother used to put vanilla and cinnamon in too.

The whole French toast plan threatened to come crashing down when Rebecca cried out in horror, “Wait! He doesn't have syrup!”

Sophie frowned at the big sugar jar sitting on the counter, wondering if she dared try her hand at making syrup of her own, even if it wouldn't be maple syrup, when suddenly a voice in the doorway brought them all up short. “What's all this, then?”

They all whipped around, frozen as if caught with their hands in the cookie jar, to find Dr. Kartal standing there tying the belt of a plaid dressing gown, his greying hair all askew and making him look even more disheveled than usual. He pushed his glasses farther up his nose, peering around at them all.

“S-Sorry, sir,” Jack stammered, stepping forward as if to take the brunt of the blame, like he always did....

But those sharp black eyes were twinkling behind his spectacles. “Making French toast on a Tuesday morning and you didn't invite me?”

Warmth suffused Sophie from head to toe as she remembered all over again that none of them had to worry about anything they said or did being used against them. “Well, that was the plan,” she said sheepishly, “but I'm not sure I know exactly how to make it....”

“Tut, tut!” Dr. Kartal bustled forward. “I've got you. Not to worry, made it a thousand times myself. But first!” He held up a finger, raising one eyebrow sternly as he looked them in the eye one by one. “We need some music.”

He pulled out a CD and fed it into the dusty CD player sitting on the windowsill, and in moments the whole room filled with exhilarating music played on instruments Sophie had never heard before. It put her in mind of sun-warmed hills, tall mountains in the distance, golden grasses swaying in the wind. And it was almost impossible not to start swaying herself in time to the music.

She glanced around and saw Jack's foot tapping to the beat, Rebecca drumming her fingers on the table, Grace swishing back and forth in her nightgown in the pantry door. Seeing this, Dr. Kartal began snapping his fingers and breaking into exaggerated dance moves that had them all laughing.

“Come, all of you!” he said, sashaying towards Sophie and holding out his hand as if to lead her onto a ballroom floor. “Many hands make light work!”

And so Sophie let Dr. Kartal spin her in a clumsy pirouette, and they all danced around each other as he directed each of them to measure out the ingredients. The rain beat against the window, the morning light dim and grey. But inside, the kitchen was full of laughter, warmth, and music.

[wutbju]

The State reported this weekend that Ellen Weaver's Department of education "retained a private attorney" to help it limit schools from choosing their own books for their own libraries.

The attorney? Class of 2005 Miles Coleman.

The State did a good job of covering Miles' deep ties with the "intellectual" side of Klandamentalism:

Miles Coleman, an attorney with the prominent Nelson Mullins law firm and president of the Columbia chapter of the Federalist Society, a conservative national legal group, was contracted by the Department of Education to represent it regarding the new regulation. Coleman, who the Education Department described as a nationally recognized expert in First Amendment law, was retained at a rate of $225 an hour, according to a request to employ outside counsel that state Superintendent Ellen Weaver filed with the state Attorney General’s Office.

They continued:

Coleman, a partner at Nelson Mullins in Greenville, also specializes in appeals, business litigation and complex civil and criminal litigation, according to his bio. Among other clients, he represented the Pickens County school district in a lawsuit brought by the NAACP concerning the district’s decision to ban the book “Stamped: Racism, Antiracism, and You,” by Jason Reynolds and Ibram X. Kendi. He also represented the Christian Learning Centers of Greenville, a private religious education provider, in their fight to obtain a $1.5 million state earmark. A 2009 graduate of the University of South Carolina School of Law, Coleman has been heavily involved in conservative organizations. In addition to being a member of the executive committee of the Federalist Society’s Religious Liberties Practice Group, Coleman was a fellow at the National Review and is currently the secretary of the board of directors at School Ministries, an organization that provides support for public school students to go off campus during school hours to study the bible. While in law school, Coleman also received a 2007 Blackstone Legal Fellowship. The fellowship is a summer legal training program run by the Alliance Defending Freedom, a Christian legal advocacy group, which was designated an anti-LGBTQ hate group by the Southern Poverty Law Center. The ADF has strongly denied this characterization and describes itself as a leading Christian law firm “committed to protecting religious freedom, free speech, marriage and family, parental rights, and the sanctity of life.” “Mr. Coleman is a nationally recognized First Amendment expert whose work has been cited by the U.S. Supreme Court. Mr. Coleman was engaged by the SCDE regarding the State Board of Education’s instructional materials regulation to help ensure it protected students’ and teachers’ First Amendment rights,” Raven said. While the Department of Education has a general counsel, it’s not unusual for state agencies to work with outside counsel when special expertise is needed, Raven told The State. Coleman also appeared to take a leading role in pitching the new rule to legislators. In April, Coleman appeared at least twice before legislators to explain the need for the new rule, saying that it aimed to fix a “patchwork quilt of 80 or more different policies,” according to the South Carolina Daily Gazette. He also defended the regulation’s sweeping prohibition on “sexual content” in library books and classroom materials. By keeping the definition broad, Coleman told lawmakers that the Department of Education was trying to avoid lengthy debates about what did or did not meet standards, according to the Daily Gazette. “It’s simple enough that it’s not going to get bogged down,” he told lawmakers.

We all know Miles. We know his parents:

And remember his grandfather too.

And do you remember what his grandfather said about Chuck Phelps after we alumni were up-in-arms about his defense of a violent rapist?

This is "justice" in Klandamentalism. It's all connected. Tightly connected.

[landwriter]

a few of my favourite things

tagged by @virgo-dream - thank you for the tag i hope this lives up to it!

sun, in the morning

natural textiles

brewing coffee

seeing people love each other

damp soil

sun, in the winter

growing things

kissing

the metro/underground/subway

woodsmoke on clothes

public libraries

new leaves unfurling

the sound of an orchestra tuning

sun, in the late afternoon

growing calluses on my hands

dancing

handwritten ephemera

the smell of warm wood

thunder you can feel

stained glass and quilts (same thing actually)

everyday objects that are very old

artefacts of tenderness

sun, in the rain

the sound of crunching through frozen puddles in spring

soft leather older than me

laugh lines around eyes

collective anticipatory energy

loading the woodshed

discovering a person or a place you will come to love at the moment of knowing that

sun, through the trees

running down a hill

making someone laugh when they didn't mean to

mildly sore muscles

watching morning mist burn off rivers and valleys

sun, on my skin

sun, on yours

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

"The candles are made locally, though, which I suppose is nice for customers."

Dean, still holding the log cabin one, gave Cas a thoughtful look. "You buying this one?"

Cas blinked. "No."

"Hmm," Dean said again.

"What?" Cas cocked his head.

deancas ust, snippetfic fluff for the last day of winter 

Please see also: this wonderful comic @clenster made ❤️

Cas never ceased to be amazed by how many stores sold candles. While Dean and Sam spoke to the rattled florist, Cas investigated the large window at the front of the store. The pane had cracked in the exact shape of a man, presumably the missing employee, and the sill was lined with candles in heavy glass containers, none of which – suspiciously? – had been damaged. 

One of the candles featured a label depicting a small, quaint looking log cabin in a snowy forest. It was the sort of scene Cas admittedly was drawn to. Something about a cabin in the woods appealed to him; he could imagine himself there with happiness, sitting in a comfortable swing on a porch and watching deer be nosy at the treeline. If he imagined someone else sitting on the swing beside him, maybe even with his hand in Cas's, he and Cas wrapped up together in a thick old quilt, well, that harmed no-one.

"'Haunted Cabin'?" Dean, having snuck up alongside Cas, picked up the candle in question. "That doesn't give you any clue about the scent." He took off the metal lid and sniffed dramatically. "Hmm."

"The artificial pinene and limonene molecules are reasonably reminiscent of evergreen trees," Cas said. He could smell the candle from several inches away.

"When did candles start having themes?" Dean muttered, putting the lid back on.

"Apparently these candles have stories," Cas informed him, having already read about the Black Death and Cursed Looking-Glass varieties at the other end of the windowsill; they smelled like fake blackberries and melted plastic, respectively.

"That got anything to do with this?" Dean pointed at the damaged window and then threw a thumb over his shoulder. By a refrigerator full of loud daisies, the florist was dabbing her nose with a tissue. A few feet away Sam was checking his phone and somehow still exuding puppy-dog sympathy in her direction.

"I don't think so," Cas said. "The candles are made locally, though, which I suppose is nice for customers." 

Dean, still holding the log cabin one, gave Cas a thoughtful look. "You buying this one?"

Cas blinked. "No."

"Hmm," Dean said again. 

"What?" Cas cocked his head.

"It's just, you like cabins." Dean acted this like it was a well known, much discussed fact, and just because it was true didn't make the statement less disconcerting to Cas. When Cas declined to respond, Dean said, "You've checked out at least three different books on the topic from the public library back home, buddy."

"They were…" Cas felt, if not judged, then caught out, and hoped it didn't show on his face. "The books were interesting. Relaxing to thumb through." He wanted to leave it at that.

"Hey, a little cabin by a lake in the snow?" Dean shrugged good naturedly. "Nice crackling fire going in the hearth. Maybe you'd take a short hike and then have a good drink afterwards to warm up? Maybe." He put the candle back on the sill. "Maybe there'd be someone there to warm up with, you know?" He wasn't quite looking at Cas, but he wasn't quite looking away either. "Sounds pretty damn perfect to me." 

His eyes landed on Cas's more fully, something vulnerable in his gaze that pressed an ache into Cas's throat.

After a long moment, Cas decided it was safe to say, "Yes. I think so too." The quiet stretched between them, comfortably.

"I might have a lead," Sam said, having appeared like an apparition. 

Cas was probably imagining the disappointment that flitted across Dean's expression. "The florist was helpful?" he asked Sam.

"Ah, yeah," Dean said, sounding slightly sheepish. To Sam he asked, "You already found her ex-husband's address?"

"In a manner of speaking: according to the online obituary, he's buried in a cemetery over in Caneyville," Sam said in a lowered voice. He tipped his head toward the front of the store. "Pretty sure she doesn't know he died last year."

"Oof." Dean glanced at Cas and at Sam and back to Cas. "We can go check out the graveyard while Sam hits up the coroner's office."

"Lucky me," Sam said, rolling his eyes before he headed to the door.

Dean and Cas followed, falling into a matched stride. Dean's arm brushed against Cas's at least once more than was strictly coincidental. By the time they were out on the sidewalk, Dean had shivered a couple of times and moved even closer, like allowing any space between himself and Cas was risking a wind tunnel on such a cold late winter day. They didn't talk in the car. Dean's hand found its way into Cas's anyway.