#remember kids- don’t donate to Salvation Army

[milfdarthrevan]

People like seeing the Salvation Army???

[the-ethereal-serpent]

Litha : Ways To Celebrate

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Host A Bonfire

Litha is all about the fiery aspect of the sun, so why not celebrate the fertility of the gods with a blazing, roaring fire in your back yard? It's the longest day of the year, so stay up late and host a bonfire for your friends and family. 

Get sparklers too, and light them after dark. Make an offering to the gods of your tradition. Be sure to follow basic Bonfire Safety Rules, so no one gets hurt at your celebration. You can even incorporate your bonfire into a Litha rite, with the Midsummer Night Fire Ritual.

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Leave An Offering Of Honey Cakes Outside

Preferably somewhere away from your house, as they will attract insects and even wildlife. Litha is said to be one of the two times of year when the “Veil Between Worlds” is the thinnest (the other being Samhain.) According to legend, the fairies and forest spirits are especially active on the night of the summer solstice, and honey is favorite treat.

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Get Back To Nature

Go for a hike in the woods with your family. Enjoy the sounds and sights of nature. Take lots of pictures, or plan a scavenger hunt—have each of the kids bring a "nature bag" to fill up. Remember, don't pick any live plants, unless you're deliberately wildcrafting.

Before you head out, grab a field guide to local plants, and turn it into a teaching exercise, learn to identify what you see out there in the woods. If you take your hike in a public park, bring along a plastic sack to help pick up garbage on your way. If you get the chance to do this alone, try a Nature Meditation in a quiet spot somewhere on your journey.

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Go Camping

If you’re feeling adventurous, but don’t want to leave luxury behind, try glamping and spend a night under the stars in style.

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Get Your Body Moving

Litha is a magical, mystical time of year. Why not host a drum circle or spiral dance? You'll need a large group for this, but it's a lot of fun once you get everyone moving. In addition to being entertaining (and a great stress reliever), a drum circle or a ritualized dance serves another purpose—that of raising energy.

The more you build, the more people will feed off of it. Invite a group of friends over, let them know there will be music and dance, and see what happens. Be sure to provide refreshments for afterwards—drumming and dancing can be draining for some people.

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Go Wildflower Picking

Identify and harvest some wildflowers to use in your summer spell work. Press them in your Book of Shadows if you have one.

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Do Something For Others

Do something for charity. Organize a yard sale and donate the proceeds to a local homeless shelter. Collect gently used summer clothing and give to a local children's hospital. Host a dog-wash for your favorite shelter, and ask customers to either donate cash or pet food. Plan a neighborhood cleanup, and trim and weed common areas in your community. If you don't have time to coordinate a big project—and not everyone does—do things on a smaller scale.

Visit an elderly neighbour and help with her housekeeping. Offer to do grocery shopping for an ill relative. If you know a mom with a brand-new baby, help out with childcare so she can get a few hours of rest. There are any number of things you can do to help others, and with the days being longer, there's plenty of time to get things done!

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Read A Good Book

Summer can be a hectic and chaotic time of year. Maybe you're someone who needs to slow down and take a break. Litha is a good time to rejuvenate, so why not sit out in the sunshine and immerse yourself in a good book. Keep reading material handy all the time, so when you need a little down time, you can work through few pages. If your local library has a summer reading program, sign up.

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Attend A Summer Festival

Litha is the week for pagan festivals. Find one. Attend it. You’ll have a blast, I promise.

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Celebrate Family

Turn off the phone, step away from the computer and television, and spend time just having fun with the people who love you most. Take the day off work if possible and spend it any way you like—go to the zoo, a museum, a ball game, etc. Make this a day that you can do anything you want, and put the schedules away just for one day.

If you're worried that money might hold you back, there's plenty of stuff you can do for free: check your local metro parks for activity schedules, go fishing at a nearby lake or river, and watch the local newspaper for free admission deals at nearby attractions. If getting away for a day isn't possible for you, spend the afternoon at home—play board games, do jigsaw puzzles, and cook a meal together.

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Make A Batch Of Sun Cakes

If you’re a kitchen witch, celebrate this Sabbat by baking! Sun cakes are perfect for the “cakes and ale” portion of a Litha ritual if you celebrate with a coven, or you can use them for offering.

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Clean Things Up

Clean your house. Take advantage of the warm weather to have a garage sale and get rid of all those things you don't want. You can also organize a swap with your friends, or donate all your stuff to charities like Goodwill or Salvation Army. You've got plenty of daylight at Litha, so you can accomplish a lot in just a short period of time.

If your house is a bit daunting, select one room to work on at a time—preferably the one that needs the most help! Wash windows, wipe down baseboards, get rid of stuff you know you'll never use. Organize as you clean, putting donatable items into one pile, and trash in another, so you don't have to sort it later. Turn the project into a ritual with a House Cleaning Rite.

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Make Herbal Candle Rings With Herbs

For the green witch : with your herb garden in full swing, it’s time to make some creative use of it.

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Host A Barbeque For Friends And Family

Have a barbecue, and invite all your family and friends over. Decorate with colors of the sun—yellows, reds, and oranges. Feast on lots of summery food, like watermelons, strawberries, and fresh green salads. Add outdoor games like horseshoes, ladder golf, and backyard volleyball.

While you're at it, set up some kind of water activities—water balloons, super soakers, a pool to splash in. All of these are great outside activities in the heat of summer, and help celebrate the balance between fire and water, as well as welcoming friends and family to celebrate the season.

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Try Cloud Scrying

Find a warm, grassy spot and look up to see what messages the sky might have for you.

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Learn & Grow

Spend some time on spiritual growth. Use this time of year to learn something new about your tradition, develop a new skill, or take a class in Tarot, Reiki, yoga, or whatever appeals to you. Create a daily plan of study to help you focus on what it is you want to do next. You've got plenty of extra hours of daylight this time of year, so there are no excuses.

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Visit A Honey Farm

If you’re not allergic to bees (or deathly afraid of them!) this is a nice activity. Be sure to stock up while you’re there.

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Honor The Season

Many ancient cultures marked the summer solstice with rites and rituals honoring the sun. Celebrate the significance of Midsummer with ritual and prayers that recognize the sun and its magnificent power. Set up your Litha altar with symbols of the season—solar symbols, candles, midsummer fruits and vegetables, and more.

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Article Sources :

https://moodymoons.com/2016/06/15/10-ways-to-celebrate-litha-2/ https://www.learnreligions.com/great-ways-to-celebrate-litha-2562249

[oldshowbiz]

Steve Armitage: The blue Hockey Night in Canada blazers…

Jim Hughson: I got one right away and I still have it.

Steve Armitage: I own two of them. I will probably donate them to the BC Sports Hall of Fame, of which I am a member, or give them to somebody to take care of.

Jim Robson: I had three. I gave two away for charity auction. I don’t know if they got much for them. I gave one to the Salvation Army. I could just imagine some guy stumbling down Cordova Street [Vancouver’s skid row] wearing a Hockey Night in Canada blazer.

Gary Dornhoefer: I think the moths got mine. Long gone. You know, that blue blazer reminds me of my first year in Philadelphia [playing for the Flyers]. Ed Snider bought everybody an orange blazer. I wore it after a game to a restaurant and some guy thought I was a waiter. I never wore it again.

Steve Lansky: Blue blazers were not kind if you sweated (laughs).

Mark Askin: I’ve got mine. It’s in a glass frame and it’s sitting in my office.

Bill Good: I think mine disappeared in subsequent moves and clean-outs. I had it for quite a while because my kids wore it from time to time to costume parties.

Mark Askin: I had it at the office until about a year ago because I would run seminars for kids at Leafs TV and I would say, “Your goal should be to be as proud of one piece of clothing in your career as I am of this.”

Dick Irvin: I still have it and it’s hanging upstairs in one of the closets.

Doug Sellars: I still remember the place you had to go to get your jacket. It was called “His Place” on Yonge Street. It was right across from our offices in Toronto. You went over, you got measured, and your jacket got delivered. It was quite something. God, awful ugly jackets when you look back. I’ve still got mine. Doesn’t fit as well.

Steve Lansky: I remember being handed the blue blazer for the first time and, really, not even being able to handle the magnitude. Both the blue blazers are hanging up in my closet because I couldn’t bear to ever part with either one of them. I have the one I got when I started and I have the one I got after I had had a few meals on the road (laughs).

Steve Armitage: We used to get a new one every year. The color never changed and the crest never changed, but you do twenty or thirty games a year, the thing would have to be dry-cleaned, the thing would fall apart. I probably went through, in my career, half a dozen of them. I kept two. You put them in the back of your closet. Those days of the robin’s egg blue jacket are long gone, but I can tell you that it was a magnet.

Mark Askin: I’ve seen a couple on Ebay. I don’t know if that would be [from] a crew member or what. I don’t know  … but you’d have to tussle me pretty damn hard [for me] to even think of giving it away.

Bill Good: I wore it proudly.

Steve Lansky: They’re actually in the suit bag I got them in, together in the closet, and will remain there until the end of time.

Steve Armitage: You would walk into an American rink where they really wouldn’t know too much about Hockey Night in Canada, but they would recognize the Hockey Night in Canada jacket.

Harry Neale: If you wore them [through] some parts of New York you could get shot. I guess they looked good on television, but when you used to go for a five-game trip … you couldn’t wear your jacket. You couldn’t wear that on the plane. So you always had to pack the damn thing. I never liked it, but that was part of the deal. I don’t think I have it. I don’t know why if I do. I was never a big fan of them … Those powder blue ones. I don’t know who came up with those ones, but I was never a fan of them. It might have looked good on television, I don’t know.

Steve Armitage: That was Ralph’s invention, the choice of the color.

Harry Neale: Next time I see him I’m going to give him my old coat and say, “You can wear this damn thing. I’m not wearing it!” They were strange looking outfits.

John Wells: You know, I had blue blazers and peach blazers and CTV purple blue, and CBC gold blazers… I had them all saved at a point and time. Somehow or other they ended up being tossed. I don’t have any blazers left. And black TSN ones too. There were a lot of blazers … I had a Hockey Night one with the faded blue – the lighter blue blazers – I think it actually ended up hanging in a sportsbar somewhere … As I say, the piece of paper Ralph handed me … I think I bought the blazer for forty-nine bucks at Eaton’s. It was almost in the kids department … I bought that one with my own money. I was pretty excited to get the job so I never really thought about expensing it.

Mark Askin: When you were given it, you didn’t need a pass. It was the pass.

Steve Armitage: It opened more doors quicker than anything I’ve worn representing the CBC because of that distinctive color and crest.

Steve Lansky: The 1985 All-Star Game. I was working on the players’ bench and Ralph was doing the world feed. John was doing the domestic feed, but Ralph was doing the world feed, so ESPN was probably involved and who knows, maybe Sky Channel to England. I can’t remember. Anyway, player introductions finish. Everyone goes to commercial. Andy Van Hellmond [the referee] drifts to center ice. Wayne Gretzky comes to him from one side, Mario Lemieux from the other. I hear Ralph yell, “They can’t drop the puck!” So I hit my key – I’m sitting on the bench – and I say, “What do you mean, Ralph?” “Not everyone’s back from break – he can’t drop the puck!” I said, “Well, Ralph, he’s going to drop the puck!” I’ll leave the [cussing] out, but he says, “Kid! He can’t drop the puck!” So I start yelling, “Andy! Andy!” It’s too loud. Andy can’t hear me. Now I’m in full panic mode. Wayne and Mario are basically five feet from that dot. So, I throw open the gate and I walk toward Andy. I’m wearing my blue blazer. He literally crouches down to drop the puck and I yell, “Andy!” I’m about fifteen feet away from him now. Iremember he mouthed a profanity like, “What the eff are you doing here?” I said to him, “You can’t drop the puck … not everyone’s back from break! You can’t drop the puck!” At this point I realize I’m standing in the middle of the ice and he goes, “Okay!” He turns to Wayne and Mario and says, “Skate around.” They skate around. I said, “I’ll wave to you when you can drop it.” He says, “Okay, kid.” I go back to the bench. I stand on the ice because I know he won’t drop the puck if I stay on the ice. I put my headset back on. Ralph goes, “Oh my God, we’re back. He can drop the puck!” I point at Andy, I hop over the board and Ralph goes, “Good job, kid.”

Mark Askin: When you wore it, there was nowhere you couldn’t go. When the lights went out in 1988 in Boston, I was doing stats in the booth. When the lights went out – I jumped out of the booth and went down to the Oilers dressing room. Not one person said, “What’re you doing?” That jacket was your pass.

Dick Irvin: The last time I wore it was two summers ago at the Just For Laughs Comedy Festival. They hired me to do a skit with William Shatner. The guy that was running the show was a big hockey fan and thought I should walk out and do my shtick wearing my Hockey Night in Canada blue jacket. I couldn’t button it.

Mark Askin: When you wore it – you felt like you’d made it. You felt important – real important.

Steve Armitage: Yes. It’s strange. When you put it on you became - Hockey Night in Canada. It symbolized to the guys that wore it – you were a breed apart. You were different from the team broadcaster, the mid-week broadcaster. This was Hockey Night in Canada. It was big.

[theres-no-you-and-i]

GUIDE TO ETHICAL THRIFTING

Hi! You've probably seen some posts floating around about ethical thrifting, but they're usually focused on one aspect of it. Thrifting is more complicated than you think! When you thrift because you want to and not because you have to, be conscious of every decision you make at the store! These are spaces & merchandise there to help low income communities, and you are a guest in that space. Be respectful. As your resident Person Who Only Had A Childhood Bc Of Thrift Stores, here are some things to keep in mind :)

• Choose your store wisely! Stay out of low income areas where thrifted clothes might be more needed or in higher demand. When people unnecessarily thrift in low income areas, it limits options and raises prices. And see where your money is going! Look to shop at non-profits like Goodwill that look to support & create change in their communities. Avoid Salvation Army. They're abusive, homophobic, and transphobic.

• Stay in your size range. There is a massive shortage of plus sized clothes and kid's t shirts. Plus sized clothes are typically more expensive, which means fewer people who need them can afford them at retail price. If you want a crop top, buy one. Don't get a kid's t shirt from a thrift store, where you're taking it from someone who needs it. If you want an oversized t shirt or jeans, get them somewhere else. Plus sizes and kid's sizes should be reserved for the people who fit in them. If for some reason you absolutely NEED them in those size ranges, try a regular store (wild fable brand at target has good crop tops!), someone's depop (as long as it's not a re-sold thrift store fine), or a higher priced, for-profit thrift store that's targeted towards higher income customers.

• Some things are just off limits. Stay away from socks, sneakers, winter boots, rain + snow gear, and cleaning supplies. These are things people NEED, and if you can afford to buy it elsewhere but don't, you're taking life saving resources away. If you want to buy anything listed above (except the cleaning supplies) used for ethical reasons, try Play It Again sports! They've got no shortage of products, they're slightly cheaper than retail, and buying second hand is good for the environment! If you have winter gear in good condition that you don't want anymore, you could bring it to a ski swap and trade it out for new things!

• Don't buy just to re-sell on Depop. Buying in bulk just to raise prices on Depop/Poshmark/Mercari is not okay. Lots of people doing this raises prices at the stores themselves, the clothes are less saline than what you're settling them for (which is unfair to the customers) and you're making good clothes inaccessible to the people who need one. It's totally fine to sell old clothes online, but they should be your clothes or your friends'/family's clothes. If you're going to sell clothes you thrifted at a higher price, they should be enhanced or transformed somehow. Adding a button or one ribbon isn't enough. Do something creative. Embroider a jacket, rip some holes in those jeans, rip that t shirt up and patch it with safety pins.

• Give back. When you shop at thrift stores unnecessarily, remember that you're using a service meant for somebody else. In order to keep the system running and not hurt it by thrifting, you need to replace what you take. That doesn't always mean donating to thrift stores (although that's always a good plan!). It could mean donating money to an organization that gets low income students in your community access to new clothes and school supplies. You could volunteer at a local school to help pack meals for low income families over the weekend. You could take time to sew new clothes and donate those if that's something you enjoy. (Bonus points for donating clothes to thrift stores: you're throwing out fewer clothes & reducing your carbon footprint!)

• Avoid the toys, the caps and gowns, the kid's books, the prom dresses, and the wedding dresses. Obviously some of this is seasonal! If it's Halloween and you need a dress or a cap & gown or something for a costume, if you can't get it cheap anywhere else, go for it! I'm not about to tell you to go buy a several hundred dollar dress for your zombie prom queen outfit. But when you hit the second half of the school year, leave that shit alone. It's not cheap, so if you can afford it elsewhere, do it. Low income kids deserve a prom dress and a cap and gown just like you do, and the thrifted supply is really limited already. As far as toys and kid's books, those are important developmentally! All my books as a kid were from Goodwill. It was most of what we could afford, and they weren't being bought up too quickly so I loved reading. Most of our games were from Goodwill, too, which is how my parents kept my sister and I occupied so they could work, and how we spent a lot of time together. Little kids deserve those things no matter how much money their parents make. If you want older books, go to a secondhand bookstore (more expensive than Goodwill & generally more books). For games, try eBay!

If anyone has anything to add,let me know and I'll put it on the post!!!

[duchessofostergotlands]

As someone in the charity sector do you have any advice for the average person looking to donate? What should we look for when determining if the money will actually help people in need. I’ve heard negative stories about Red Cross/Salvation Army & other night names but during tragedies they’re the names everyone mentions to donate to! I want to help but don’t sure the best place to start.

Hello :) This is a very interesting question. I remember volunteering in Calais at the refugee camp and being shocked that MSF were the only major NGO there. The Red Cross weren’t there even though all their adverts made out like they were. Everything was done by local or small scale refugee groups like L’Auberge des Migrants while MSF provided medical services. 

A few years ago, people really didn’t pay much attention to which charities they supported. It tended to be based on name recognition. In recent years people have become much more conscious but I still think there are completely massive misunderstandings about how charities operate and what is helpful. I’m going to do a few bullet points I hope are helpful!

If you are interested in providing funding after something like a natural disaster or a humanitarian crisis I personally would not give money to a major organisation. I would try and find the local groups on the ground. That might even mean searching news articles and google in foreign languages or putting a call out on social media. These organisations are not well funded, they are much better at understanding and supporting local need, and they don’t usually have the same entrenched issues major NGOs in the development or aid fields have like the culture of exploitation Oxfam have had to deal with. 

If you’re interested in a more chronic problem which requires a societal or generational shift I think funding bigger organisations is a better approach, personally, because they have contacts and influence smaller charities don’t have. They can often pick up a phone and be in contact with a government minister which small charities just can’t do. 

Don’t rely on what you think a charity does. There is a major organisation I won’t name who get a fuck ton of funding because people have been helped by local branches. What they don’t realise is that the national branch and the local branches are all totally separate legal entities who do different things and essentially are charity franchises. That national body makes its money from people’s misunderstanding, from people who want to give back to a local charity that helped them but don’t realise that charity will never see a penny of the donation. Visit their website, check out their annual reports, and find out what they actually do every day. Then you can see if it aligns with what you value

 Read the small print. If it’s important to you to know that your money is going towards a certain cause or project, this is a really important thing. So for example, a lot of people who are part of Sponsor a Child programmes think that their money goes towards that child. In reality they could be using the same child for 100 different people and the money goes towards projects supporting similar children. That doesn’t make it bad, it’s more efficient tbh, but it may mean people feel cheated if they thought they were really the only one connecting with this child. I think this also plays in to impact figures. Every charity lies about their impact. It’s just a reality. But if you look at the small print or dig deeper in their reporting and accounts you can see how they arrived at that figure. 

How do they portray the people they support- this is a big one for me, especially in the international development world but none of us are immune. I will not donate to organisations if I see them engage in what we call “poverty porn.” Essentially it’s the adverts you see where little African babies are shown with their ribs visible, crying, maybe a fly lands on their face, a sad voice over talking about how Kwame cries for days in his mother’s arms. When I see those adverts it makes me wonder whether they had Kwame’s mum sign a consent form like they would have to for a kid here. Does she know that her baby is as a poster child for malnutrition and suffering? They perpetuate the idea that African people are a homogenous mass of starving, voiceless people and that’s not true. And even those who are starving are also people with human dignity. If I’m going to donate to an organisation I look at their branding and advertising and the way they talk about their target population and think “would I be ok being talked about this way?” If not, I won’t donate. You could go even further and see if they have Participation/Involvement groups where service users can feed into their work, do they have any of their service users on their board etc. An organisation that works exclusively in Africa having 100% of their board being White Brits is a red flag. 

Unrestricted funding- I talk about this all the time to anyone who will let me haha. A lot of times people will judge based on the amount of money that goes straight to service users. You hear all sorts of drama about how only 7p from every 10p goes to service users etc etc. But the thing is everyone wants to fund that 7p and if you’re an ambitious organisation you cannot even spend that 7p if you don’t have the other 3p. So for example my salary is part of that 3p. But if I was the one who did the application and got us the 10p in the first place, we wouldn’t have that 7p to spend on service users if we didn’t have that 3p. We also have HR people whose job is to do background checks to make sure people legally can work for us. That keeps children and families safe. If we didn’t spend part of that 3p on them, the 7p we spend on children could fund salaries of dangerous predators or people who aren’t qualified. Unrestricted funding is really really valuable and most charities would rather have a smaller donation that’s unrestricted than a larger one that’s project specific. So if you see those things and think “only 80% of their funding goes directly to service users?” remember that the other 20% is really really valuable too. 

I’m not really sure where to put this and it may be more relevant for major funding organisations rather than individuals but let’s go with “not all charity is created equal.” I have a colleague who runs a charity supporting kids in Africa and he was talking about how projects often don’t consider the real world ramifications of their funding. The example he gave is a charity that provides computers to schools in African villages. What they forgot is most of those places they were donating to don’t have internet access. So they spent a lot of money to give people fairly useless computers instead of looking at how they could ensure that connectivity first. Look at why they’re doing the things they’re doing. Ask them if they have evidence, where they got the idea from, have they tested it?

[rosethornewrites]

When I was 12 or 13 (about 25 years ago) my parents were separated for a while. During this time, my mom decided to go on a spree of donating stuff to Salvation Army, without asking what we wanted to keep.

My tub of all my childhood Barbie dolls, and my tub of all my My Little Ponies disappeared without my consent. All those personalities I built as a kid, gone. I only found out the next time I went to my dad’s and wanted to play with them.

I was, honestly, heartbroken. To the point that I still bring it up, and my mom still feels guilty.

We actually found one of my Barbie dolls in my grandmother’s attic, gently wrapped in a cloth napkin and placed in a Marshall Fields box, probably from one of our moves.

A few years back, Mom offered to replace as many as I could find on eBay, so I chose the ones I especially missed.

The adult ponies I had were the so-soft, I remembered. I found a mint in box Wind Whistler, and my mom grabbed her. I had Megan and Molly, with a so-soft Sundance and a baby Sundance with eyes that opened and closed. I found those. North Star was another favorite, also so-soft, so I found her. And I distinctly remember these baby ponies and their accessories, and was thrilled to find them. Milkweed and Tumbleweed are the bassinet twins, and Rattles and Tattles are the stroller twins.

Mind, I had about 30+ more, it I’m happy to have found these. At some point I might look for more, but these are the core of what I remember.

I still miss the rest, like Shady (I had so-soft), Seawinkle, Starshine, Gusty (I had so-soft), Whitecap, baby Glory, Lofty (so-soft), baby Lickety-Split (first tooth), Up Up and Away, Wingsong, baby Graffiti, Sun Glider (winged), Tootie Tails, Skydancer, etc. I know I had one of the brush and grow ponies, too, but I don’t remember which one. I had a couple flutter ponies, too. I think I was given the Party Gift Pack because I remember all those ponies.

At some point I might look for more of my ponies, but it’s really cool to see that people are restoring them now.

[cookinguptales]

I've a small query (if it doesn't float your boat, no worries!) I was interested in how you got into learning languages, what led you to it? I've become curious since learning a new language as an adult has only increased my awe of multilingual folk (additionally, I vaguely remember a post about a request in exchange for a donation to charity, and wondered if there were any you'd like a donation to)

First of all, good luck with the language learning! It’s not easy as an adult, but I do think it’s worth it, both in terms of cultural fluency and brain elasticity.

My answer to the language thing is actually extremely complicated, so I’ll be putting it under the cut. I’ll put the charity stuff above the cut so more people can see it.

— I’d just like to warn you, though, before I start, that I have been locked in this house for over a month with no respite and I HAVE A LOT OF WORDS AND FEELINGS IN ME SO THIS POST HAS SO MANY OF BOTH OF THOSE THINGS!!

anyway

There are so many charities that I want to donate to now that it honestly makes my head spin. Every time I look at a site like GoFundMe it kind of makes me want to cry. So a lot of donations I’ve made have been to like local businesses, restaurants, etc. who will close down without help. (Also a lot of local native groups, who are disproportionately suffering right now.) I’ve also been donating to various food banks — Philabundance, a Philly-centric charity that deals with food insecurity in general, is a good one. That was a regular of mine even before the outbreak. I’ve also donated to a lot of the local services in the small town where I’m in now, though you’ll need to PM me if you want the name of that. (It’s… very small.) 

Off Their Plate is another great charity that’s been working with small restaurants (who can’t open for business) to get food to first responders. They’re partnered with World Central Kitchen, which is another fantastic charity that helps out during disasters. Plus well-known ones like Feeding America, No Kid Hungry (important while school is out and kids aren’t getting breakfast/lunch there), Direct Relief, etc.

(I uhhh may have overstrained my charity budget the past couple months. It’s odd how that adds to stress and relieves it at the same time.)

I tend to avoid religious charities, especially Salvation Army, because they’re occasionally discriminatory in how they distribute resources and we no longer have laws & oversight to make sure they don’t do shady shit. So I just avoid them in general now. I also avoid the American Red Cross because they’ve been known to misuse funds. Research is key!

I also worry about some of my regular charities, like Immigration Equality & Rainbow Railroad (helps LGBTQ people in dangerous countries immigrate to less dangerous ones), the Native American Rights Fund, various local abortion funds, RAICES (provides legal services to immigrants & refugees), the ACLU, Dysautonomia International, the Rainforest Action Network, etc… A lot of them are getting fewer donations than they’re used to because we’re in the middle of such life-shattering events.

If you are really interested in making a donation (please, please, please do) those are all good options. I also fully recommend looking up needy organizations, services, people, etc. in your own area. I try to donate to a healthy mixture of national/international organizations, local needs, and temporary issues du jour. (Disaster relief, bail funds for protesters, fighting new discriminatory laws, etc.) I would genuinely appreciate any donations, especially if you find a cause near and dear to your heart that I would never even hear about. Anything along these same lines, y’know? If you have anything you’d like me to do in return, just hmu.

I constantly stress about who to donate to — there are so many good organizations and so few dollars to give them — but at a certain point, every dollar to a cause you believe in counts. Every dollar you donate helps to make the world a little bit better for at least one person. That’s what I have to tell myself to calm myself down, haha. So even the smallest donation you make to any of these groups would mean a lot to me.

Anyway, onto the language stuff:

For me personally, I grew up bilingual. Deafness runs in my family, so I learned sign language from a very young age. Note: I say “sign language” rather than ASL. I learned sign language kind of organically, which ended up making a mess later in life. My parents mostly taught me, but so did my daycare (at a deaf school) and so did my babysitters and so did other family members, etc. The point is, not all of them used the same sign language. There was a wide mixture of ASL, SEE, and home signs and my current signing style is… problematic. lmao. My family all understands it (hey, they taught it to me) and I can have conversations with American sign language users, but I know they can’t love my signing lmao. I’ve considered sitting down and taking a legit ASL class for years, but there are so many classes I want to take… I don’t know.

After that, it largely became a case of taking languages whenever they were made available to me. I’ve always liked them. We moved around a lot when I was a preteen so I went to a lot of different schools. (4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th grade were all different schools.) It was rough at home and hard to make friends so I guess I threw myself into academics a lot. My sixth grade school was an odd one; it was a 6-8 grade school and you were supposed to take a crash course in three different languages in sixth grade so you could choose one and take it in 7th and 8th grade. I ended up taking Spanish, French, and German that year. I liked French best! But then we moved so it was kind of moot. (And I hated German, sorry Germans. My mouth doesn’t like the noises. It didn’t help that my teacher was weirdly sympathetic to Nazi-era Germany…? But I guess that’s another post.)

When we moved to Florida, you had to have special permission to take language classes in 7th grade. (FL doesn’t have great academics.) But since I’d already had some Spanish in NC, they let me take it! And then I moved schools again. This new school, my 8th grade school, I’d be in until I graduated 12th grade years later — but the employee turnover at that school was almost comedically bad?  I took Spanish for like a year and a half there and had three different teachers. So at this point I’d had 5 different Spanish teachers, all from different countries (where they spoke slightly different Spanish!), all reteaching the same ideas over and over again because they didn’t know where the last teacher had left off. In the end, my last Spanish teacher sent me to the school library with some textbooks because he felt like I was very good at languages and he couldn’t adequately teach me in the environment he’d been thrown into. (My high school was very terrible. So he was right.)

SO I SWITCHED TO FRENCH. I took French for 3-4 years in high school (can’t remember when I started) but the same shit started happening. By the last year, my French teacher had the French I, II, III, and IV students IN THE SAME CLASS and she just put the advanced students in small groups and had us do independent study. Sigh… Around this same time, I started three other languages. At this point, I was getting kind of accustomed to self-study so I applied for a Latin class in the Florida Virtual School and took a year of that. I also spent a summer studying at the University of Chicago when I was 16-17 and learned Middle Egyptian then. (Yes, I was an ancient cultures nerd even back then.)

The Japanese has always been an odd case. Like I said, my 8-12 education was fairly terrible. They had this thing where they used a computer program to teach kids math and the teacher kind of taught along? When I transferred to the school in the middle of 8th grade, the teacher didn’t know what to do with me so he just plopped me in front of a computer and told me to do as much as I could. They started me in… Pre-Algebra, I think? Which I’d already taken in sixth grade. So I ended up getting through Pre-Algebra, Geometry, Algebra, and Algebra II, which… wasn’t in the teacher’s plans. I’d kind of finished several years of math in like a quarter. And then they didn’t have any more classes. So he just told me to like. Sit quietly and amuse myself for the last few months of school?? (Terrible, terrible school.) So I went to the library and found a book about Japanese and started teaching myself that. I really, really liked Japanese! Like it’s a language that just clicks really well with the way my brain works, I think. It’s very logical, I like the syllabary, etc. And I think growing up signing helped me with pictographic languages like Middle Egyptian and Japanese. My brain easily connects visual symbols with concepts.

When I went to college, the plan was honestly to learn more Egyptian and start translating, and I kept taking French to help me read old research in various ancient study fields. I ended up transferring out of the NELC major, though, due to some ethical problems… I guess that’s another post. Several years into my RELS/FOLK degree I went to my parents like. Look. I love learning this stuff but none of it’s useful. Remember how much I loved Japanese? Can I go back to learning that? I could translate that and that’s a legit skill. So I applied to a program through my school and studied in Japan for a while and ended up really doubling down on that language. Weird how I came back to it years later, but I guess it was always the one I loved best.

I have a mind that’s very pattern-based, so I guess I’ve always loved learning languages and the patterns behind them. (This may be why languages with a lot of rule exceptions, like French, irritate me.) They’re like puzzles that I’ve always enjoyed teasing out. Unfortunately, the way my education bounced around meant that I never got a good grounding in most of those languages, so I’ve largely lost them. I can still read French fairly well and my Japanese is good… My Spanish is like. Enough to get me around in the southern US. My German is abysmal. I remember very little Latin & Middle Egyptian. (It’s been over 10 years, I guess.)

So I guess what I feel the need to say to you is that if you don’t use it, you will lose it. I did well in all my language classes. They’ve always been fairly easy for me. Like. Straight As, no problem. I don’t say this to brag. I say it so you know that even for someone like me, whose brain is fairly well-wired for languages, it’s very, very difficult to retain languages when you’re not using them. If you’re not used to taking languages or you started late in life, it’s even harder. So even on the days you don’t want to practice! You gotta practice! Ganbare! Bon chance!

[homecleaningservice56-blog]

Preparing For The Big Spring Clean Out

There’s more daylight. The weather is getting slowly better. It’s that time of year again, a time that some enjoy and others dread. But both groups of people, I think, are relieved when it’s over. I’m talking, of course, about spring cleaning time. Before jumping into it, use these steps to get yourself mentally prepared.

Step One: Don’t Get Overwhelmed

I’ve know borderline hoarders in my time, as well as people who have a really hard time cleaning their home. Stuff piles up year after year, and whenever they look at the mess, they feel helpless. You don’t have to have ten years of newspapers or mounds of garage-sale items littering up your place to feel that way, though. Even if your place is immaculate, the first step for many people who are getting ready for a deep clean is to despair. Don’t do it; it will be OK.

Step Two: Set Up a Game Plan

Take a day or a weekend and schedule it just for cleaning. Then, try to get a head start on it so that you have time left over to relax. Some people are so linear with Deep Cleaning Services NYC that they create a task list (which I’ve always found helpful). Brainstorm ahead of time the items you want to clean so that you’ll know how much time to set aside.

Step Three: Delegate

Gather minions… I mean, helpers in your family or who live with you, and delegate certain tasks. If you have kids, either get them involved with chores or make sure they’re away so you’re not constantly distracted.

Step Four: Create a Cleaning Playlist and Get Yourself Pumped

Entice yourself to have fun while you work. Another part of setting up your game plan might be to create a cleaning playlist to keep yourself entertained. Plan to rock out with your vacuum cleaner!

Step Five: Make Appointments

If your cleaning plan includes getting a deep cleaning of your carpets, hiring a maid service like ours, or other types of professionals, now is the time to make appointments.

Step Six: Gather Supplies

Make sure you have all of the products you need to get the job done. Remember that you don’t necessarily need to go heavy-duty; you’ll likely have natural cleaning products lying around the house already. Do you have baking soda? How about vinegar? What about some essential oils or lemon juice? You’ll likely be able to solve most cleaning issues with those types of products.

Step Seven: Start Decluttering Now

Don’t do what a lot of my friends do, which is to slack off on cleaning because you know you’re doing your “big clean” in a few days. Don’t wait until the day you need to clean your whole house to get on top of little messes. Declutter now so you can actually clean later. Clear off tables and surfaces of unnecessary stuff, put away toys, pick up areas like that messy place beside your phone, for instance, and start going through closets. Donate your gently used furniture, clothing, purses, or other items to local NYC charities like Goodwill, Salvation Army, or The Bowery.

Step Eight: Create a System of Rewards

Plan on celebrating when you’re done, or at the very least taking multiple breaks. Arrange for food; don’t plan on cooking on top of everything else. Get pizza, and give yourself some time to relax every few hours.

Step Nine: Plan to Take it Room by Room

If your house is in a really bad way, plan to tackle each room one at a time. This is really the best way to go about it. And if it’s really, really in a bad way and if you don’t have a lot of time, schedule different days for each room. Just make sure your good work doesn’t go undone with clutter in the meantime.

[dearmrsbitch]

March 5, 2020 - And the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table...

 Q. Can’t support a pagan friend: I’m a thirtysomething who lives in a midsize West Coast city with very liberal sensibilities that I share. There’s a reason I moved here! I am also a Christian who goes to a mainstream Protestant church. I’ve never seen much disconnect between the two and I have many friends of other faiths, primarily Muslim and Jewish, whose religious functions I sometimes attend, like a wedding or a child’s entry into life or their religion. I value getting to experience these things with my friends and learning more about them, their religions, and the world. I grew up poor in the South but was lucky that we were always clean, well-fed, and warm. A good friend who lived in my neighborhood could not say the same and her unfortunate start in life has affected her ability to thrive as an adult. She is divorced from an abusive husband, in recovery for alcoholism, and trying to support two children with little help from her ex and often active hindrance from her dysfunctional family. Health issues make it hard for her to work, and poverty gets in the way of her work as well, as she sometimes can’t afford a uniform she needs or fix her car to get to work, and has been fired from one position because of her bad teeth that are a result of years of not having money to care for them. I have a lot of sympathy for her and her children.

 She has written a few children’s books about her faith and has set up a small independent internet business to offer services connected with her belief system. I would love to support her, but she is pagan/Wiccan. This isn’t exactly a problem, as I don’t think it’s immoral. I just don’t want a children’s book on spells or to spend money on a tarot reading. My old friend spends a lot of time online talking about things like her “marriage” to a Norse deity that just make me roll my eyes in a way I know I should be ashamed about. I could probably get over my aversion to this and at least donate to her nonreligious crowdsourcing page that is just asking for money for utilities and food for her kids, but she also spends a lot of time online talking about how awful Christians are. Just Christians. While I know I’m not fully supportive of her faith, at least I know it’s bad of me to judge her on hers. I would never publicly demean her or her religion, much less do it several times a week. I feel so bad for her and would like to help, but every time I get close to donating, I just think about how much she hates people of my faith. Should I donate anyway?

Dear Christian type person,

Well, I think you’re all being deluded, but that aside....

Look, I’m a hardcore atheist, but when I get invited to a religious event, like a baptism, Bat Mitzvah, etc., I bring a gift, I spend money, I sit through nasty religious wedding services that declare marriage only between a man and a woman and bite my tongue because I don’t want to interrupt my friend’s vows with the priest their mom told them to get or she wouldn’t pay, etc.

If you’re comfy buying a gift for a Bris, you can buy a book from her.  Donate it to a library or the Spiral Scouts, or something pagan friendly.  It’s all the same.  If you’re spending money on a Muslim themed gift for your friend, you can spend money on a Pagan book.  Because from the outside, it looks like you’re okay with conferring with other “People of the Book,” but like, fuck them pagans.

Most of your rituals come from the Pagans by the way, your religion at this point, besides the Monotheism (with a trinity?) has more in common with modern day Wicca than you think, except, you all hate gays and women, where most Pagans are cool with that. 

Light your Christmas tree, worship your chocolate bunnies.. burn your incense in temple.

Now, let me surprise you. I’m not anymore a fan of Paganism than of any other religion, they just sit a bit higher because they aren’t as much of assholes as the rest of the faiths usually.  They drink more, fuck more, dance more, etc. Less hateful usually.  But I laugh as much as being married to a Norse god as you do - however, how are those nuns doing that are married to Christ?   Cause either you see the hypocrisy there, or you’re just prejudiced because one is you, and one is them.  Pagan religions invented the idea of being a “bride of a god,” long before the big three were a blip on the map. 

Her ideas pre-date yours, and even if they’re not mentally healthy, you have to remember that they don’t seem normal because you live in a heavily Christian society.  A society that she has to contend with on a daily basis.  One that mocks her, one that discredits her views.  ONE WHERE DAMN NEAR EVERY POLITICIAN LEGISLATES IN ACCORDANCE TO CHRISTIANITY WITH NO RESPECT FOR OTHERS. 

People are allowed to be upset about the dominant view of a society if they are a minority group that is essentially - doing nothing wrong.  She’s existing as a pagan, and maybe her religious beliefs are that churches should pay their taxes, child genital mutilation should be outlawed, etc etc., and she has no chance to see her religion respected in the same way that yours is.  You may be liberal, but, little one, you are still adhering to a system that is overall, highly conservative, demeans women, donates to vicious shock therapy programs that cause teens to kill themselves when they can’t “pray the gay away,” and HIDES THE SYSTEMATIC RAPE AND ABUSE OF CHILDREN.  (Protestants too, Catholics just like to rape boys more.  Get the sexism there?  Our society cares less about the little girls raped in Protestant churches than the little boys in Catholic ones.)

God damn.  Fuck.  How do you not see this?  I have a friend whose husband is a super hippy Christian dude.  He had to vet every charity he gave to.  You know why?  Because even the most progressive looking Christian charities can have their money funneled to gay conversion therapy, or to the Salvation army that turns away gay people and transgender individuals who need a place to sleep.  He didn’t find one really good religious charity that he felt he could trust beyond a shadow of a doubt to trust with his parishioners donations.  No matter how liberal you are - you still sucking on Chick-Fil-A and acting like bigot chicken ain’t a big deal.

She has a right to criticize the religion as a whole.  If she lived in Israel, she’d be upset about Jewish law, in a Muslim country, Sharia law.  Because the big three aren’t fair and just in their application of law.  Sure she’s got a chip on her shoulder and maybe her whole life is her fault, but she still gets to complain that the dominant religion of the country, one that professes “Love your neighbor,” does not have national healthcare, and churches are basically tax shelters for money that could do so much for all of us, and that evangelicals cheer on the caging of children just because they are brown.  If you love Jesus so much, then FUCKING ACT LIKE HIM.  Christians in this country, by and large, would be hated by Jesus, loathed even for the sheer hypocrisy.  Watch “Jesus Camp,” those are the fucks she’s railing against.  

And you, you my dear liberal Christian.  What would he say about you?  He picked up several people maligned by society and took them in, and fed them, and helped them.  He commanded you to do unto others, and do good in his name.  And she is asking for donations to help with utilities and food for her kids, and you’re upset because you don’t like her Facebook quotes. 

People like you are why I left religion finally, entirely.  I realized there was no amount of religion than can make a good person do more good, but religion will make a good person do bad things, in its name.

Mrs. Bitch

[harttohartforever-blog]

I Left My Hart in San Francisco

Jennifer hugged her pillow, dozing lightly. Jonathan had left early this morning and promised to have Max bring her breakfast on a tray so she was trying to get back to sleep for a few more minutes. The sun streaming in the big windows was making it difficult. Then the phone rang. She had ended up over on Jonathan's side of the big California king so she grabbed his extension without opening her eyes.

"Yes?" The smile spread across her face at the sound of his voice. "Hello, Darling."

"Have I thanked you for starting my day off in such a lovely way?" He asked her from somewhere on the 405.

"The pleasure was all mine." She assured him. Her voice still held that same sleepy arousal he had heard an hour ago. The voice that caused him to delay his shower for thirty minutes or so and make love to her even though it meant he had to forego his breakfast. Max had smiled knowingly and handed him a foil-wrapped package on his way out the door.

When he had realized Jonathan was running behind he had brought the Bentley around and had it idling by the front door. His regular Tuesday morning omelet had been wrapped in a warm tortilla to become a Tuesday morning burrito instead. Barring any traffic incidents, Jonathan should still make his meeting. Assuming of course, that he could resist the siren song of his sleepy wife.

 The meeting with the Chinese team had gone well, Hart Telecomm would be expanding into the Asian markets in the coming year. Jonathan had just finished dictating some correspondence for Deanne when the intercom buzzed.

"Mr. Hart, I have a Sister Domenica from the Mission Street Orphanage on line two. She says it's an emergency."

"Put her through Deanne." Jonathan hadn't spoken directly to Sister Domenica in several years although they still exchanged Christmas cards every December and Jonathan paid the tax bill on the orphanage he'd grown up in every April.

"Jonathan, I need your help. I don't know who else to turn to. There's a young boy, Charlie, who lives here. He's very bright. Actually, he reminds me a lot of you. He's disappeared. The local police aren't doing anything about it, they think he's just a runaway. But I'm worried.

"His parents have been coming around lately, ever since the judge placed him here permanently. They have substance abuse issues and Charlie was dreadfully neglected when he lived with them. They were using him to panhandle on the streets. Imagine, eight years old and he'd never been to school. I know you have some pull with the police and I was hoping you could make a phone call." The kindly nun sounded frantic.

She had been the one to recognize his talent with electronics and had encouraged him. She had often brought him various gadgets that had been donated or she found at the Salvation Army, helping him take them apart and explore how they worked. She took note of his boundless curiosity and took him to the library every week. She had urged him to read up on all sorts of topics and learn everything he could. By the time he had left the orphanage at seventeen, his education would put a third-year college student to shame.

He owed a large part of his success to Sister Domenica, that was part of the reason he paid the property taxes for the orphanage and the convent it was attached to every year.

"I'll take care of it." He promised the Sister now and hung up the phone. "Deanne, would you get Mrs. Hart on the phone. And ask Stanley to come up as soon as he can, please." He clicked off the intercom and looked at the scant information he had gotten about the missing boy. If San Francisco cops were as overworked and understaffed as Los Angeles police the boy might never be found. Just then his phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts.

"Darling, do you have anything pressing in the next few days? I need to go up to San Francisco to look into something and I'd like your input as well." He paused a moment then smiled at her response. "Aren't they always? I'll tell Frank to get the jet ready and be home in an hour or so. Yes, I love you too Darling." He clicked the disconnect then asked Deanne to call Frank for him. He was just hanging up again when his office door swung open and Stanley stumbled in breathless.

"Stanley, I need you to do some digging for me. I have a police case number. I need all the files related to this case from San Francisco PD. Make sure you cross-reference any files on the parents as well. And there should be a family court file too. I don't know if it will be linked to this case number or not, you may have to access the court records separately. And I need it as fast as possible."

"Right away Mr. Hart." Stanley tripped on the rug as he turned and hurried out of the room.

 Jennifer hadn't asked any questions, she simply packed a bag for each of them. Whatever was going on, she trusted that he would explain eventually. Once they had made their way to the airport and Frank was winging them up the coast, Jonathan filled her in. He didn't have much to go on yet.

Charlie Grant, eight years old, removed from the custody of his parents, Willie and Crystal Grant (current address unknown) and placed in the temporary care of the Mission Street Orphanage eight months ago. Stanley was trying to get the court files unsealed. He couldn't go through official channels but there was always a backdoor into any computer system, he just had to find it.

By the time they landed at SFO Stanley had emailed the Grant's criminal files to Jonathan. It was mostly small crimes, petty theft and panhandling. Crystal Grant had several arrests for prostitution but the charges had always been reduced to misdemeanor solicitation, probably due to Charlie's existence.

At the orphanage, Sister Domenica was able to fill in a little bit more. The Grants had been arrested panhandling in Russian Hill. Charlie, ill-dressed for the November night, had been standing on the center island at Van Ness and Lombard streets holding a ragged cardboard sign, Willie and Crystal were passed out under some shrubs on the corner. The boy was filthy, malnourished, and very nearly illiterate. He couldn't remember when he had last eaten and he coughed terribly from chronic bronchitis brought on by sleeping outdoors.

The Sisters had fed his body and mind with as much as he could hold. He was still small for his age, and very thin, but he had lost that pinched, skeletal look and he devoured books as fast as he could get his hands on them. Sister Domenica had recognized the boy's potential and had been shepherding him gently, just had she had steered Jonathan all those years ago.

But over the past few weeks, the nuns had seen Willie and Crystal loitering by the gates, watching Charlie play. They had tried to lure him away when the nuns' backs were turned on several occasions and Sister Domenica suspected that was what had happened this time. The police had no time for one missing boy who probably ran away. She gave Jonathan a photograph, one of those stiff posed, plain background school pictures. Of a solemn-looking boy with grey eyes and a shock of dark brown hair sticking up in the back.

"He's a delightful boy, a little withdrawn still, but he always tries hard. Sister Dorcas was teaching him to play her guitar."

"May we keep this?" Jennifer held up the photo.

"We are going to the police station next. Harry Grey has given us the name of a local detective to speak to." Jonathan added.

"Thank you, Jonathan, Jennifer. It means so much to me that you would drop everything to come up here and help." Sister Domenica clasped each of their hands in turn and made a sign of the cross as they turned to leave.

 "I'd like to speak to Detective Montgomery, David Montgomery," Jonathan told the desk sergeant.

"Please let him know that Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan Hart would like to speak with him." Jennifer knew that Jonathan was reticent to trade on his name but something in the boy's thoughtful grey eyes had gotten a hold of her and she would go to any lengths to find him. On the plane, she had told Jonathan that she didn't want to find the kid's body in a dumpster but now she knew they had to try.

Predictably, the desk sergeant perked up at the mention of Jonathan's name and they were ushered past security to a gritty bullpen crowded with battered desks. Detective Montgomery had a desk under the air register, his craggy face looked tired in the harsh fluorescent lights. But by the time he had crossed the room, with an armload of file folders, to where they stood his smile was right out of a press release.

"Mr. Hart, Mrs. Hart. Why don't we talk in the conference room." He led the way to a small room at the end of the hall and closed the door. "So what can I do for you folks?" Jonathan filled him in on everything they had learned from Sister Domenica and added their own concerns for the boy's safety.

"So you see Detective, my wife and I would consider it a personal favor if you would make every attempt to locate Charlie forthwith."

"Mr. Hart, I can assure you that everything possible is being done to find Charlie Grant. It was, even before I got a phone call from one Lt. Grey. He spoke in glowing terms about your assistance with some of their cases and asked that we extend you every courtesy.

"Now I can't share case files with you because of privacy laws so I'm going to have to ask you not to open these while I am getting a cup of coffee." He patted the stack of files, "the coffee maker on this floor is crap. Philz Coffee Truck is usually down in the courtyard by now. I guess it will take me about fifteen minutes." He glanced pointedly at the thick stack again and walked out of the room.

"There is no way we can read all of this in fifteen minutes." Jonathan worried.

"I know," Jennifer said. "I can take a photo of each page with my phone and we can blow them up and read them later. Here, you turn the pages and I'll take the pictures." She quickly adjusted the settings on her phone and started snapping a photo of each page. They made it through a little more than half of the stack before they heard Detective Montgomery's voice approaching the door.

"I'm sorry about that," He told the Harts. "If there is nothing else I can do for you folks? Thank you for coming by, and we will keep you posted." He escorted them back to the lobby then winked and added: "and I hope you will keep us posted as well."

When they arrived at the Fairmont Hotel Jonathan asked for a printer to be sent up and they spent a couple of hours printing the pages and looking for clues.

"Ah-hah," Jennifer yelled triumphantly. "There's a notation here in the CPS report that the parents are known to sleep in an encampment next to the reservoir a few blocks from where they were arrested." She pulled up a map of the area and printed it while Jonathan called a car service to take them to Russian Hill.

When they pulled up near the encampment Jonathan had to do the old tear-a-hundred-dollar-bill-in-half number to get the driver to wait and Jennifer had to stifle her giggle while he did.

"I thought they only did that in the movies." She spoke quietly, moved by the extreme poverty she saw. Only a few blocks from two and three million-dollar homes were people who were so destitute that they often didn't even have a tent, just a ratty tarp spread over some boxes or stretched between signposts. Even though the Harts had dressed down for this excursion they still stood out simply because their clothes were ironed and in good repair.

They walked up and down the rows asking about the Grants and pressing folded bills into the hands of anyone who had information. Or, at least Jonathan did. Soft-hearted Jennifer was giving money to anyone who had children with them whether they had information or not.

"Darling, come on," he urged. "Mike here says that he saw the Grants panhandling by the cable car turn out a couple of blocks east of here. He said they will sleep here if they don't get enough to rent a motel room for the night." They hurried back to the car but when they arrived at the cable car stop the Grants were already gone. Another panhandler was able to confirm that they did have a young boy with them in exchange for another of Jonathan's folded twenties.

"Come on Darling, there's nothing more we can do tonight. Let's go back to the hotel. We will try again in the morning. Since their driver had actually waited, twice, Jonathan gave him the other half of the c-note and then tipped him a second one when he secured a promise to return in the morning and drive for them again.

"Darling, what would you say to some room service supper and early to bed?" He asked her as they walked through the lobby.

"I would say 'hello lover'." She smiled her saucy smile at him and entered the elevator. They dined on grilled ribeye steaks with potatoes lyonnaise and Caprese salad, with chocolate cake for dessert. Then Jennifer went to run a bubble bath.

"Jonathan, it's deep in here. What if I drown? There's not even a lifeguard." Her laughter floated through the air and he quickly shed his clothing to join her in the big tub. Jennifer looked fantastic in bubbles. She was right, the tub was deep. And plenty large enough for two.

"I'll save you, Darling." He promised as he stepped in opposite her.

"Jonathan, move your foot."

"Sorry." He assumed a look of fake contrition and she leaned forward to kiss him. They soaked until the water began to cool and Jennifer very deliberately stood up. Bubbles and foam slid sensually down her body, drawing his eyes up her legs, her flat stomach and high breasts, the heat in her eyes nearly enough to rewarm the water. He stood and pulled her into his arms.

"You are so lovely." He spoke as if he was seeing her for the first time. She loved that about him. He always made her feel cherished. She put her hands on either side of his face and kissed him very sweetly. The fluffy white bath sheet was big enough to wrap around them both and their drying each other off looked more like dancing in the steamy bathroom.

The big bed felt like an island and there was just the two of them in the whole world. They made love slowly, continuing the dance they had started. Wrapped in their own universe that expanded beyond the joining together of their bodies.

The next morning after breakfast they met their driver again and returned to the homeless encampment. This time they were lucky. Many people remembered their prior generosity and were more willing to talk to them today. The Grant's tent was pointed out in fairly short order. Willie and Crystal Grant were nowhere to be seen but Charlie was sitting just outside the tent flap reading an old paperback.

"Darling, get a little ahead of me and go make conversation with the boy. See if you can move him a little bit away from the tent. I've called Detective Montgomery to meet us here but I would rather Charlie not have to see them arresting his parents. I'll hang back a ways as not to frighten him."

It was a sad commentary on the state of young Charlie's life that he assumed Jennifer was another social worker and expressed no fear, only a tired sort of resignation when she began to steer him away. It broke her heart to watch him not showing any emotion when the police arrived and his parents were arrested. Crystal was as apathetic as her son but Willie Grant broke free and made a run for it. A high school track star before the drugs had taken hold, he was able to pull away from the pursuing uniforms until he broke free of the encampment and straight into oncoming traffic.

Jennifer twisted Charlie against her as the sickening thud echoed back to them. She held him tightly in case he tried to run but the child wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face deeper into her waist. Something shifted in her as she awkwardly patted his head and she decided that she would speak to Jonathan about establishing a trust for the boy, perhaps something Sister Domenica could administer so the mother couldn't touch it.

The look on her face was as clear as neon to Jonathan. There was no mistaking her arms wrapped around the child so he approached Detective Montgomery and secured permission for them to drive Charlie back to the orphanage. The smile on Sister Domenica's face when she saw Charlie was worth everything they went through. He launched himself out of the Towncar and raced across the blacktop to hug her.

"It's a terrible thing when a child is better off in an orphanage than with the people who brought him into the world." Jennifer spoke quietly but her low tone only enhanced the importance of her words. Jonathan made no reply but to reach for her hand. They stood like that, watching the children play, for a long time without speaking.

Detective Montgomery met them in the hotel lobby with bad news.

"Crystal Grant committed suicide in her cell an hour ago. She hung herself with her bedsheet."

"Oh no," Jennifer cried.

"Detective, what will this mean for Charlie?" Jonathan asked.

"He will remain at the orphanage until a suitable home can be found for him. Unfortunately, prospects are not good for a boy his age. There aren't enough foster homes to go around and most adoptive parents want babies, not older kids."

"Has Charlie been told?" Jennifer asked.

"I called the orphanage before I came over. A Sister Dorcas said they would handle it. I came by because I wanted to let you know personally. I'll be going now. Thank you for the assistance finding Charlie." Jonathan signed for the check as soon as the detective left them in the lounge and took Jennifer upstairs.

"Jonathan ...?" He cut her off before she could finish her thought.

"I already spoke to the bank and set it up." He assured her.

"Set what up?"

"A trust for Charlie. I named the orphanage as his trustees. They can always reassign it if he gets adopted. I knew from the look on your face at the reservoir that you were thinking about it."

"That's lovely Darling, but it isn't what I was going to say. I ... I was wondering ..." Jennifer bit her lips. Jonathan couldn't recall ever seeing her look nervous before. " ... Well, I was thinking about what Detective Montgomery said about there not being enough foster homes, and that Charlie would probably have to stay at Mission Street ... couldn't we take him home with us?" She finished in a rush.

"He seems like a fine boy Darling, but we don't actually know anything about him."

"But Sister Domenica does and she thinks he has real potential. You heard her, she thinks he is a lot like you." She argued. When they had decided not to have children it had seemed an easy choice. They didn't live a life that was exactly baby-friendly. But something about Charlie wouldn't let her go. Maybe it was because of what Sister Domenica had said, or maybe just his dark hair and quiet manner, but she fancied she could see the young Jonathan in him.

"It would mean some major changes in our way of life. And we don't know how Max would feel about having a kid in the house." He cautioned.

"Protest a little longer before you agree, Darling." She patted his shoulder and gave him a quick kiss. Jonathan opened his mouth to say something more then shut it abruptly. He knew that the boy needed a family, he just hadn't let himself consider it before now.

The thought of having a child had sort of been in the back of his mind for several years, ever since Jonathan Jr. had stayed with them for a few days. He had known he wasn't that boy's father no matter what the mother had claimed in the beginning. But the way it had felt when Jonathan Jr. kissed him goodnight and called him Dad had made him wish the boy was his.

"How about if we go see him tomorrow, spend a little time actually getting to know him. And if you still think it's a good idea then I'll make some inquiries. Sound good?".

"It sounds wonderful. Thank you, Darling." She hugged him tightly then kissed his lips again and again. The sweetly innocent kisses deepened into something more. There was a need in their caress. Their kisses grew hungrier, their touch more heated. The desire which had brought them together all those years ago had never waned. no matter the years that passed between them, Jonathan had never stopped wanting his hands on her body. Jennifer never stopped needing to feel him moving within her, the heat in his gaze scorching her.

They came together now. Leaving a trail of clothing and mild disaster in their wake as they moved blindly across the suite. They couldn't bear to stop kissing, stop touching each other for even a second. His senses were filled with her, her thoughts overwhelmed with him. Something soft bumped their knees and at first, they didn't know if it was bed or sofa but they tumbled onto it just the same.

Jonathan had the presence of mind to twist their bodies on the way down so that he absorbed the impact and she landed safely on top of him. Protecting her was something he did as automatically as he breathed, it didn't require thought or intent, it simply was. Now as they sank into the bed together he fell even more in love with her again. Every time he thought that he loved her as much as one human being was capable of loving, he found a way to love her more.

Jennifer felt his love, the tenderness in his care, no less than the heat in his kiss. He was her safe place as she was his wild one. This was the true strength of their marriage. His need to protect her made her stronger, not weaker. And now, as he moved over her, and in her, she looked in his eyes and felt the love they were making expand into something so much larger than just the two of them. Their joining made them part of the river of life, rushing, tumbling, ever-flowing to the ocean.

They fell asleep still joined together, only slipping apart after hours of sleep. And in the morning their bodies found their way together again almost before they were fully awake. There was a sweetness in their lovemaking as the sun rose through the window, no less intense than last night, but slower, richer. They dawdled over their waking just in case they were dreaming together.

Breakfast was a hurried affair after their slow waking up. They both knew without speaking that they wanted to spend this day with Charlie, and Jonathan called for the Towncar again as soon as they finished eating. Mid-morning found them sitting in the Mother Superior's office at MIssion Street, inquiring about taking the boy out for the day.

It was Sister Domenica who brought them to the large sunny dayroom where the children passed their non-school hours. Charlie was draped over a squashy chair, the same paperback in his hands and Jennifer marveled that only 24 hours had passed since their first meeting.

"Hello, Charlie," Jennifer spoke with quiet confidence in their decision. There would be paperwork, and interviews, and the inevitable delays of any governmental bureaucracy, but she knew this child would be theirs, that he was meant for them as surely as if he had been born to them. She only hoped that yesterday's trauma hadn't linked them forever with pain in Charlie's mind. "Jonathan and I were wondering if you wanted to come out with us for a while. Maybe see a movie and have some lunch." She deliberately didn't touch the boy, wanting to give him time to process his feelings. But Charlie had no such reservations, he dropped his book and ran into her arms. Unlike her fears, Charlie saw them as his only shelter in a horrific day.

Many foster kids wanted only to return to the family of their birth, preferring the familiarity of chaos and pain over the unknown even when it was pleasant, but Charlie was different. He had harbored no desire to return to his parents. He had only approached them at the gate that day to tell them to leave him alone. But they had grabbed him, covering his mouth so he couldn't cry out and dragging him away before the Sisters noticed what was happening.

Sister Domenica and Sister Dorcas and the others had opened his mind to a world of possibilities and he knew he didn't want to end up like Willie and Crystal. Jennifer and her husband were kind. They obviously didn't have to beg strangers for change or scrounge through dumpsters for food. He hoped they would take him to the library, or maybe the zoo. He had read about all the animals at the zoo when he was first learning to read, Sister Domenica patiently waiting for him to sound out the names under each picture.

"Yes, ma'am." He answered politely the way Sister Rebecca had taught him. He couldn't know how the simple phrase would affect Jennifer, his 'ma'am' sounding so similar to 'mom' but worlds apart. She hugged him close, furiously blinking back a sudden rush of tears before anyone could see. Only Jonathan, who knew her body language better than his own, noticed the sudden tension in her body and laid a steadying hand on her shoulder.

After the zoo, with a lunch of hot dogs and dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets with french fries, they stopped by the Barnes & Noble. Jonathan had decided that Mission Street should have a library of its own so that all of the children could have free access to books. He had spoken to Sister Domenica to confirm how much space they had for such a venture and ordered shelf units, now they faced the pleasant prospect of stocking it.

"Charlie, would you please take Jennifer upstairs to the kid's section and help her start picking out some good books? I'll be up as soon as I speak to the manager." Jennifer loved the easy way he had with Charlie. The way he knelt down to the boy's level, and how he put Charlie in charge to make him feel important. She knew she already loved the child but it would take her some time and practice before she could just reach out and casually tousle his hair the way Jonathan did.

Charlie was having a blast. Jennifer had staked out an unused table in the children's area and started stacking up all of the books he selected. Every time he found a new one he liked he would bring it to her and shyly ask if he could add it to the growing pile. Every choice had a small story of why he chose it and who it was for. She learned a little bit more about him with each small confidence.

For herself, Jennifer made it a priority to seek out the series' and chapter books that she had loved as a child. Anne of Green Gables and Little House on the Prarie. Madeline, and Mark Twain, and Marguerite Henry. By the time Jonathan appeared with a manager pushing a wheeled library cart, the small table was almost visibly groaning under the piles of books.

"It looks like I got here just in time," he exclaimed.

"Is it too much?" Charlie looked suddenly worried.

"No it isn't, we have a lot of shelves to fill. I promised Sister Domenica enough books to fill a library and she assured me that you are the man for the job." The fearful look had melted off of Charlie's face as soon as Jonathan had begun to speak. By the time he finished, the boy was grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh, yes sir. I can do that." He scampered happily back into the stacks.

"You are so good with him." Jennifer marveled.

"He's a great kid. I think your instincts were right on, Darling. He's very easy to love."

"He's so bright too, Jonathan. Sister Domenica said he couldn't read at all nine months ago, now he's reading young adult novels, two or three a week. And he can read music also."

"Speaking of Sister Domenica, I spoke to her about the possibility of adopting Charlie. It turns out that the Mission Street Orphanage is a private agency, not a state institution. That means they have the power to expedite the process somewhat given our history with them. It will take a few months for all of the paperwork, and we still have to do some interviews. But we can take him for a weekend visit if you would like."

"Darling, that would be wonderful. That way he can meet Max and Freeway."

"Tomorrow is Thursday, We can fly out in the morning and bring him back Monday," Jonathan promised.

Charlie had finally succeeded in filling the rolling cart thoroughly. Jonathan handed the boy his credit card prompting another huge grin.

"Why don't you and the manager take these down to the register and get started and we will be along in a minute." Jonathan suggested.

"Your credit card?" Jennifer asked dryly. "Aren't you a little worried he might lose it?"

"I guarantee that card will still be clutched in his fist when we get there. It's going to take at least thirty minutes for them to ring up all those books. I thought we could select a few to keep separate so he will have some at our place. Sister Rebecca says he has only read the first two Harry Potters and none of the Hunger Games yet. Or maybe some Isaac Asimov, apparently he is a big fan of sci-fi." They quickly selected the chosen novels and Jennifer took them to another register while Jonathan went to join Charlie at register one. As predicted, the cashier was only halfway through the great piles of books and Charlie held onto the credit card tightly. He looked so proud of himself that Jonathan gave the clerk a nod when they finally rang up the last of the books.

"Thank you, Sir. May I have your credit card please?" The young man said to the boy. Charlie's grin threatened to split his face in two as he puffed out his chest and looked for Jonathan's approval before he handed the card across the counter. Once the receipt had been signed for and Jennifer had rejoined them with her own bag of goodies, Jonathan confirmed the delivery address. The manager assured them the boxes would be delivered to the orphanage by 6.

Charlie couldn't stop talking about the books he had chosen, who would be most excited about which ones, and how they would arrange them on the shelves. The Harts took him to a restaurant that specialized in build-your-own burgers and super-thick milkshakes for supper. Back at the orphanage, they arrived to happy chaos as children carried boxes and stacks of books from the delivery truck into the new library.

Workmen had spent much of the day turning the former storeroom into a bright, cheerful space, with shelves along the walls and comfortable chairs and beanbags scattered around. While Jennifer had been helping Charlie choose books Jonathan had arranged for several new computers to be delivered with study carrels and an assortment of learning software and games. But for Charlie, the best moment was when Sister Domenica revealed to lettering freshly painted on the door, which read 'The Charlie Grant Library'. Tears filled the boy's eyes and he buried his face in Jennifer's jacket again.

Once things had calmed down as much as possible. The Harts sat down with Sister Domenica and Charlie in the little sitting area of Mother Superior's office.

"Charlie, Jonathan and I were wondering if you would like to come and spend a few days at our house?"

"That would be super! Oh wow! Can I? I mean ... Sister, may I go, please?" The nun kept a tight rein on her smile as she nodded at the boy.

"You may go, but you must pack tonight as the Harts will pick you up quite early in the morning. Say your goodnights and run along now."

"Goodnight Mr. Hart, Goodnight Mrs. Hart, thank you for such a great day." As he addressed each of them he shook Jonathan's hand and gave Jennifer a big hug. "Goodnight Sister, thank you for letting me go."

After he left and closed the door, Sister Domenica opened a file folder and handed over a sheaf of papers for the two of them to sign granting them temporary guardianship of Charlie. Jonathan noticed that she filled today's date in the first space but wrote 'until revoked' in the second space before she passed the stack across to him. Once the papers had been signed, copied, and filed, with a set of copies handed over to the Harts, they said their goodnights and returned to their hotel room.

Jonathan was already in bed when Jennifer emerged from the bathroom in a short robe of dove grey silk. It was one he hadn't seen before. That in itself was a surprisingly rare occurrence, as he bought her so many negligees that she rarely needed to add anything to her lingerie chest. She must have been saving this one for a special occasion and he took the time to admire it thoroughly. The silk was so finely woven as to be nearly sheer with dyed-to-match lace trim on the hem and sleeves.

She paused by his side of the bed for dramatic effect and he saw his opening. Reaching for her waist he untied the sash very slowly, letting the silk ribbons slide through his fingers as the robe fell open. Her hair had gotten long again he noticed, and the thick red curls fell past her shoulders. He loved her hair long like this, it framed her face so softly.

She moved slightly and the robe slid down her arms to land in a puddle on the floor. His heart was racing a mile a minute and his mouth was suddenly dry at the sight of the slip-style gown skimming over her curves. She reached to click off the bedside lamp, leaving only a soft glow spilling from the bathroom, the outline of her legs backlit through the fine silk. She stepped out of her slippers and into the bed and his waiting arms.

The traffic sounds outside the window were soon drowned out

by his breathing. He moved to lie down but she stilled him with a touch, so he was sitting upright, pillows piled behind his back to soften the heavy wooden headboard. She knelt over him, silk sliding beneath his fingers. the scent of her perfume driving him crazy.

Her kisses were sweet on his lips. He couldn't stop running his hands over her body. Going from cool, slippery silk to her warm skin, his fingertips were sending braille messages of pleasure to his brain. And he touched her as a blind man would. Gently. Devouring her with his fingertips as if seeing her anew. She sat quietly, watching him, watching his hands moving on her body.

There was a time not long past when she would not have been comfortable just letting him look at her, or having the lights on when they made love. But since she had hit the backside of her 40's things had changed. She realized that she truly didn't care what other people thought. The only people she had to please were Jonathan and herself. Jonathan already thought she was beautiful so she really only had to accept herself. It hadn't happened overnight, she still tended to see only the flaws when she looked in her mirror. And Jonathan's gaze still made her blush and want to squirm but she took a deep breath and forced herself to remain still.

Jonathan didn't know what had brought about the recent changes in her attitude. He only knew that he liked looking at her. Whether she was puttering in the garden, reading aloud to him, or making love like they were right now, he couldn't help but stare. She was so lovely. Even after eleven years of marriage, he was still floored by her beauty.

It took only a slight shift on her part for him to slip inside her, his hands skimming under her gown, once again letting his fingertips guide him. Inch by inch he stroked her soft skin, watching the way her eyes flared when he touched her like this, how her pulse raced when he kissed her that way. They moved together with the ease of old lovers seeing each other with new eyes. They fell asleep tangled together in the middle of the big bed.

 Jonathan awoke to the sensation being watched. Jennifer, never an early riser at the best of times, was staring at him. A glance out the window showed an indigo sky, barely touched with pink and gold.

"What are you doing awake so early?" He groaned and tried to pull the pillow over his head.

"I can't help it, I'm excited."

"Well go back to sleep. It's too early."

"No, it's not, the sun is coming up. What time is it anyway?"

"It's half past too damn early." But she would not be swayed and eventually, he gave up and got into the shower.

"Darling is the shampoo out there? I can't find it."

"Here you go." Her slender arm thrust the black bottle past the curtain.

"Why don't you come in here and soap my back for me?" He teased, but she moved out of reach.

"I want to get going. I'm going to order room service. What do you want for breakfast?"

"Darling, the kitchen won't even be open for another forty minutes. Besides, I'm sure Charlie is going to be hungry so we will get some breakfast after we pick him up. At worst, we can eat on the plane. I know you are excited, I am too, but we cannot pick the boy up at 5:15. I told Sister Domenica we would be there around seven."

"Seven!" She exploded. "What am I going to do for another hour and a half?"

"See. Back to my original suggestion. I could still use some help washing my back." He pulled the curtain open and dangled the loofah. She sighed theatrically then dropped her robe with a teasing smile.

 "Didn't I promise you we'd be on time?" The Towncar pulled up in front of the orphanage at four minutes to seven.

"Well, we wouldn't have made it if there had been an accident or something."

"But there wasn't."

"But there could have been." She insisted with a teasing smile, unwilling to concede that he had been right.

"Oh, you ..." He playfully reached to throttle her which somehow became a kiss. She jumped out of the car as soon as it came to a stop, even before he could come around and open the door for her. Charlie was waiting just inside the lobby, a suitcase at his feet and the floppy ear of a stuffed toy hanging out of the zipper of his hoodie.

"You came back." He hurried to hug Jennifer and shake Jonathan's hand.

"Were you afraid we wouldn't?" Jennifer asked him now.

"Well, I hoped you would." He was staring at his shoes like he had never seen them before and Jennifer's heart broke all over again for him. She knelt down on the floor heedless of her skirt and gathered the boy into her embrace.

"I will never break a promise to you." She told him solemnly. "Neither will Jonathan. Not ever. Okay?"

"Pinky swear?" Charlie asked just as solemnly, holding out his fist.

"Pinky swear." She hooked her little finger around his and their smiles looked remarkably similar as Jonathan helped her to her feet. They both turned to say good morning to Sister Domenica.

"I won't keep you, I know you have a schedule to keep. Charlie, behave yourself and be helpful. Go with God" She made the sign of the cross as they moved back toward the car.

Suddenly a boisterous crowd of kids spilled through the doors, surrounding Charlie and the car, all of them telling him good-bye and thanking the Harts for their new library. Sister Domenica gave them a chance to say their piece and then blew two short blasts on the whistle hanging around her neck. The kids obediently lined up by the door and waved excitedly as the Towncar pulled away.

Jonathan was correct about Charlie being hungry, the boy had been too nervous to eat much breakfast. Rather than continue to keep their driver tied up, he called ahead to the Amoura Cafe inside the airport terminal and ordered a selection of breakfast sandwiches to go, then called Frank and asked him to pick them up en route to the plane.

Charlie had never flown and he was craning his neck wildly trying to see everything as they approached the airport.

"Hey, look. That plane says Hart Industries on the side. That's like your name."

"That's our jet," Jonathan explained. "Hart Industries is our company and we do business all over the world. The jet lets us get wherever we need to be."

"Cool." The boy sounded awed as they pulled up next to the rolling staircase. The tarmac was already smelling hot and sticky as Frank came down to help with the luggage and Jennifer took Charlie aboard. They were sharing bacon and egg sandwiches and a bowl of grapes when Frank and Jonathan came aboard for takeoff.

After the jet had reached cruising altitude and they were able to move around Jonathan took Charlie on a tour of the plane culminating in the cockpit where Frank let him sit in the co-pilot's seat and 'fly' the plane. Charlie often seemed older than he was but this morning Jennifer glimpsed the little boy who had just embarked on what would become a lifelong love of flying. Jonathan looked almost like a little boy too, introducing the next generation to his favorite hobby.

The two of them spent most of the flight in the tiny cockpit. Jonathan gallantly folding himself into the tiny jump seat so Charlie could stay in the co-pilot's chair.

"Missus Hart, Missus Hart. Mr. Hart and Captain Frank showed me how the plane works and I got to help FLY!" Charlie's hair was even more disheveled than usual from the headset and he was hopping from one foot to the other in his excitement.

"Mrs. Hart sounds awfully formal. How about if you call us Jennifer and Jonathan." She suggested.

"I don't think Sister Rebecca would like that." He told her seriously. "She says it's disrespectful to call adults by their first name."

"Well then, let's compromise and say Aunt Jennifer and Uncle Jonathan? I'm sure Sister Rebecca would agree with that. And when we land you will get to meet our good friend Uncle Max, he takes care of us. And our dog Freeway will be at the house."

"Oh wow, a dog! You guys sure are lucky."

"I wasn't much older than you when I learned that the harder I worked, the luckier I got," Jonathan said, coming up behind him.

"What's that mean?"

"I'll explain it later. Right now we need to get this luggage unloaded. Do you think you can carry Aunt Jennifer's suitcase if I carry your's?"

"Sure but how come Aunt Jennifer can't carry her own?"

"She could, but we carry it for her because it's polite to always help a lady if you can. We do nice things for people to show them that we care. Just like you did such a good job picking out those books for your friends because you care about them." Jennifer watched him struggle manfully with her heavy bag, but when she would have intervened to help him, Jonathan held up a hand to stop her.

"Let him try." He told her quietly. "He'll ask for help if he needs it."

"But, the stairs, they're so steep. What if he falls?"

"He knows how to be careful, Darling. Besides, Max is there." He kissed her thoroughly then grabbed his own suitcase and Charlie's much smaller one and followed the boy down the stairs.

Her 'menfolk' were already in the Bentley when Jennifer exited the jet. Once again, Charlie was in the front seat and Jonathan in the back. Max let her into the back with Jonathan then sat down behind the wheel. Jennifer leaned forward and tapped Charlie on the shoulder.

"Put your seatbelt on, sweetie."

"Yes, ma'am" Once they made it to the northbound 405 Jennifer quietly asked Jonathan about her suitcase.

"He carried it all the way to the car and even insisted on putting it in the trunk by himself. He may not be very strong yet but he is tough and that's even better. A man can become strong but tough is something you are either born with or you're not."

 Predictably Charlie loved Freeway and Freeway loved Charlie. They had to play fetch and run around for an hour before they were both worn out enough that Jennifer could show Charlie his room and where to put his things. She put the new books they had gotten him on the nightstand and helped him put his clothes in the dresser. He was excited about reading the next Harry Potter book and asked if he could start right away.

"Of course you can. You know, there's a really comfortable reading chair downstairs, next to the fireplace. Why don't you check it out and I'll call you when lunch is ready. And think about what you would like to do tomorrow."

"Do you think we could go fishing? I've seen it on TV and I've always wanted to try it."

"I think that sounds like a great idea." Jennifer left him to explore the magical world of Hogwarts and she went to seek out Jonathan.

"We can go to Calabasas Lake or Echo Park." He suggested.

"Oh Darling, let's go to Calabasas. Echo Park always gets so crowded. After lunch, we can take Charlie to the sporting goods store and pick him up a fishing rod and waders."

"You know what, I have an even better idea. We haven't taken the Romance out in a while. Why don't we make a night of it? We can sail out to Catalina Island tomorrow, do some fishing, and spend the night on the boat. We'll sail back on Sunday. You think Charlie will like boats as much as he likes planes?"

"I think Charlie will like anything you show him. He seems to have taken a real shine to you." Jennifer smiled. She could already picture them out on the Romance, Jonathan patiently teaching Charlie how to sail. "We had better pick up some deck shoes for him too. His sneakers won't do once they get wet. I wouldn't want him to slip."

"You figure out whatever he needs, Darling. I'll fill Max in on our plans and then I'll call Sal at the marina to get the boat ready."

"Oh Jonathan, this is going to be so much fun. What a wonderful idea you had."

"Well, what can I say? When I'm inspired, I'm inspired."

"Don't I know it." Jennifer quipped with a smile.

  The day was perfect, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The sun was blazing hot but there was a fresh breeze blowing over the water that kept the temperature comfortable. Charlie was entranced by everything, and he soaked up Jonathan's instructions like a sponge. In the six hours it took to sail to the island he learned to tie a Bowline and a Sheet Bend almost better than Jennifer. And he didn't mix up his 'ports' and his 'starboards' the way she did either.

Max had packed them a picnic hamper with enough food to last two weeks, not two days. They dropped anchor in Big Fisherman's Cove and Jennifer taught him to fish for yellowfin tuna.

"Yellowfin can grow to be as much as 400 pounds." She explained to Charlie. "But the biggest I ever caught was 86 pounds."

"86 pounds! That's heavier than me!" The boy enthused, looking particularly cute in his bright yellow life jacket.

"The next time you come we will have to go snorkeling," Jennifer told him.

"Really? You'd let me come back again?" The combined look hope and fear on his face broke her heart.

"Of course we would. How else would we be able to go snorkeling?" She tried to keep her tone light even though everything in her wanted to grab him and never let go. It was an odd feeling for Jennifer. She had never expected to want a child. But then Jonathan Jr. had come into their lives for an all too brief period. His mother had claimed he was Jonathan's son and for a few weeks, he had stayed with them even though Jonathan knew the boy wasn't his child.

They had even talked about taking him in permanently, but his mother had admitted the truth and he had gone home with her. But something about the way he had hugged her goodnight. Or thrust his hand into hers before crossing the street, like it was the most natural thing in the world, had set off all these new feelings in her. She thought maybe if she ignored it, it would pass eventually. But now she knew, it hadn't passed at all, only gone dormant for a time.

She suspected it was much the same for Jonathan. She recognized that far-off look in his eyes when they visited with friends who had children. It was probably harder for him, she reasoned. He had known for years that he couldn't have children. At least she got to make the choice. And now she thought, maybe it had worked out for the best. Maybe Jonathan Jr. was never meant to be theirs, only to pave the way for Charlie. After all, Jonathan Jr. had a mother who loved him very much. Charlie had no one.

Suddenly her line twitched and the rod bent sharply.

"Come here," she said to him now. "Help me land this one." He obediently took his place in front of her and she showed him how to let the line play out a ways and then reel it back in until the fish got tired. She kept her hands on the rod to make sure the fish didn't pull him overboard but otherwise let him reel it in to where Jonathan was waiting with the net.

That night they dined on fresh tuna steaks that Jonathan grilled on the little hibachi grill and some fresh zucchini that he and Charlie sliced from Max's picnic hamper. With a little more digging, Jennifer unearthed a bag of marshmallows and chocolate bars. Max's care package was looking more and more like Mary Poppins' magic bag. They sat up on deck making s'mores and looking at the stars until Charlie was falling asleep against the railing.

In the morning they docked in the marina to do a little sightseeing on the island and had lunch at the Harbor Reef restaurant before sailing for home. Charlie was so excited, telling Max all about reeling in the tuna and roasting marshmallows and his first time tasting crab at lunch. He fell asleep soon after a late supper, and Max and the Harts held a quiet meeting in the kitchen after he was put to bed.

"If you're not ready to make a decision that's fine, but I wanted to see where we all stand on the subject. Jennifer?"

"I vote yes, but you knew that already. Max? You are the one who hasn't had a chance to spend much time with him."

"Well it doesn't take much does it? He seems like a great kid. I say yes. Mr. H?"

"I guess that makes three yesses. I'll talk to the Mother Superior when we fly him back tomorrow."

"Oh Jonathan, do we really have to take him back there? He feels like part of the family already. I don't want to give him up." Her eyes were suspiciously bright all of a sudden, he could see how hard she was trying not to cry.

"I'm sorry, Darling. I'll miss him too. But that was the agreement. We have to follow the rules." He came around the table and stooped to wrap his arms around her. "We will talk to the Mother Superior tomorrow and find out what we need to do next. Come to bed, Darling. Everything will happen the way it needs to." Max got up and began closing up the house as Jonathan took her hand and they walked up the stairs together.

Charlie was sound asleep when they looked in on him. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban open on his chest. Jonathan slipped the bookmarker in and laid the book aside on the night table while Jennifer bent down and kissed the boy's sun-browned cheek. She was starting to understand what people meant when they said that a child was a choice to have your heart go walking around outside your body.

It was inconceivable that a boy she hadn't even met a week ago could have become such a huge part of her life. She waited in the doorway as Jonathan bent and kissed the boy's cheek as well and clicked off the bedside lamp, casting the room in shadow. They left the door open a crack so a tiny bit of light from the hall spilled in just in case he woke in the night.

In her dressing room, Jonathan handed her a large, pale pink gift box that she immediately recognized as being from the seamstress who made all of her lingerie.

"I was saving this for our anniversary but I think you need it more tonight." Jonathan always knew how and when to cheer her up. She lifted the lid off the box and folded back the tissue to find a negligee of the sheerest silk she had ever seen, in a delicate rose gold color that shimmered softly as the light played over the fabric.

Bias cut, it draped into a soft vee between her breasts when she dropped it over her head. It was so sheer that he could have counted her freckles through it if it wasn't also backless all the way down to her dimples. It was in the simple column style of a 1930's evening gown with a slit up one thigh. It was at once incredibly elegant and sexy as hell. She spent an extra moment primping in front of her mirror, putting on a fresh swipe of copper lipstick and adding a spritz of Jonathan's favorite perfume in her hair. The extra effort was worth it when she saw the look on his face.

"I knew it would be beautiful on you, but Wow." She performed a small pirouette for him, the back view rendered him incapable of further speech. She somehow looked even more nude than if she had actually been naked.

"Dance with me," He said.

"There's no music." She countered. He held up the little remote control to the stereo and the soft strains of Ed Sheeran's Perfect began. They danced so often that now they looked effortless moving together. But after the first chorus, the song shifted. The new voice was deeper, richer somehow. And singing in Italian.

"Bocelli?" She asked

"Is there any other?"

"Spero che un giorno, l'amore che ci ha accompagnato. Diventi casa la mi famiglia, diventi noi." She sang quietly to him.

"You are so beautiful." This was one of a thousand reasons why she loved him. He told her constantly how beautiful she was, but somehow he always sounded like it was the first time he was seeing her. His heart was pounding when she laid her head on his chest and the scent of her perfume filled his nostrils. He breathed deeply. That sweet, slightly spicy scent never failed to affect him.

To him she was beautiful. Not beautiful like those vapid, empty faces in magazines. She was beautiful for the fire in her eyes and the kindness of her heart. She was beautiful for the way she made people smile, even though no one was allowed to see her cry. She was beautiful beyond the transience of her physical attractiveness. That was what he saw when he looked at her.

"You look so lovely that it's almost a shame not to take you out somewhere, but in this outfit, you would start a riot."

"Just take me to bed, Darling. You are all I ever need," He did as she asked and they made love to the music of Jennifer's favorite Italian tenor.

  The Harts tried to maintain a cheerful atmosphere on the Gulfstream the next morning. They didn't want to distress the rest of his holiday with their dismay at having to give him up. The flight north was made even shorter by a tailwind coming up from Baja, an early precursor to the coming Santa Anas. Fortunately, this time Charlie spent much of the trip with his nose in his book.

"I'm trying to finish before we land." He told Jennifer earnestly. "I've got to see how it ends."

"Charlie, are you under the impression that you have to give your books back?" She asked him. "Those are yours, we got them for you. Plus, there's a complete set in the new library as well."

"Really? I can keep them? That's so neat. Thank you."

"I wish I could satisfy you that cheaply." Jonathan teased her quietly when Charlie had returned to his pages. "That whole stack of books cost less than one of your handbags."

"I don't know, I think you satisfied me pretty well last night. Several times." She whispered back with a smile. Once they were back at Mission Street, Charlie was excitedly telling the other kids about his adventures. When he told them about flying the plane and sailing to Catalina some of them didn't believe him until Jennifer handed him the thick envelope of photos she had taken, thankful she had the foresight to order an extra set.

The shot of him sitting in the co-pilot's seat, wearing the enormous headset and backed by fluffy clouds through the canopy drew envious comments from several children and a very admiring look from one little girl. Jonathan noticed her staring and nudged Jennifer.

"Looks like Charlie has got himself a girlfriend."

"Whether he wants one or not." She responded just as Sister Domenica came in with the Mother Superior.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hart, would you step into the office, please? I don't need to ask if young Mr. Grant had a good time. What about you two? Did you enjoy your visit with him?" The Reverend Mother asked them.

"We hated to see it end. Charlie is a wonderful boy. We have already discussed it and we would like to know what our next steps need to be in order to adopt him permanently." Jonathan took Jennifer's hand as he spoke.

"I know that Sister Domenica told you a little bit about our vetting procedures and policies. This is rather a special case given your history with our agency. That, combined with the lack of any remaining Grant family members does simplify things considerably. So the question I need to ask you now is, How soon would you be looking to take custody of him permanently?"

"Today!" Jennifer interjected quickly. "We would like nothing more than to take him back home with us."

"Is that your feeling as well, Jonathan?"

"It is, Reverend Mother."

"If you both are certain this is how you want to proceed then we can move forward immediately. There will be the necessary follow-ups and interviews before it will be finalized. It takes a minimum of one year because we are required to conduct interviews at six and twelve months before the judge will sign the adoption decree but we can transfer Charlie's custody to you as 'pending' adoption."

"We would appreciate that very much, if Charlie is willing to have us."

"I don't think that will be a problem. Sister Domenica, would you fetch Mr. Grant for us please?"

"Of course Reverend Mother." It only took a few seconds since the kids were all still clustered in the lobby passing around Charlie's photos.

"Mr. Grant, I take it you enjoyed your time with the Harts?"

"Yes, Reverend Mother. It was loads of fun! And they have this dog named Freeway, he knows how to play fetch."

"That sounds lovely. The Harts have expressed an interest in having you visit again, maybe permanently. Do you think you would like that?"

"Oh yes, Reverend Mother. That would be neato. I mean ... I would like that very much, ma'am." Charlie corrected himself. He had moved closer to Jennifer as the conversation progressed and now he was standing right beside her chair.

"Reverend Mother, if I might say something." Jonathan waited for her nod before continuing. "Charlie, I'm sure you would like time to say goodbye to your friends and pack your things. And Jennifer and I have a couple of errands to run. How about if we come back at, let's say four o'clock. We can have supper together here and leave after that. Does that sound good? And would that be all right with you Reverend Mother?" She nodded once more, but Charlie pressed even closer to Jennifer, his eyes glistening. Jennifer took both of his hands in her and looked straight into his eyes.

"Charlie, I promise you we will come back. We are not going to leave you. We will not leave you. You can go get your things packed and we will come back in a few hours and we'll have a little going away party for you and your friends. Okay?" He nodded and hugged her tightly before he turned and left the room.

"Mrs. Hart, that was lovely, you handled him just right. You are an excellent mother." Now it was Jennifer's eyes that watered at the older nun's praise.

"Reverend Mother, we would like to bring some food and treats for all of the children tonight. Would that be all right?" Jonathan spoke for both of them.

"That sounds lovely. I'm sure the children will enjoy it."

They said their goodbyes and left the orphanage. It wasn't until they were pulling out of the driveway that Jennifer turned to him and asked the question that had been on her mind for the last 20 minutes.

"What errands do we need to run? I hated to leave Charlie there."

"Darling, he will be fine. He needs a chance to say goodbye to his friends and that wouldn't happen if we were there hovering over him. Besides, I thought we should do something special to mark the occasion. Charlie isn't a puppy we are picking up from the pound. He deserves a special memory of the day."

"You're right, of course, I hadn't thought about it that way. I am just so happy to be taking him home with us."

 When the Harts returned to Mission Street at four p.m. it was clear that all of the children were excited at the prospect of a party. Hastily colored construction paper signs had been taped up on the cafeteria walls saying 'GOOD LUCK CHARLIE' and 'WE'LL MISS YOU'. Jennifer brought in a cake and Jonathan carried a large stack of pizzas for everyone.

After the leftover pizza had been cleared and the last slice of cake eaten, Jonathan selected several of the oldest kids to help him bring in 'a few more things'.

"Since this is kind of like a birthday but not exactly, we thought there should be birthday presents but not exactly. So today we are giving the presents to you instead of the other way around." Jennifer announced as the first armload of gaily wrapped packages was brought in. Silently she blessed the extremely organized nuns who had provided them with a list of all the children's names and ages along with a brief description of their interests and hobbies.

It had been a hectic few hours at a large warehouse store purchasing everything, and then they still needed to have time for the additional stop Jonathan wanted to make. But they had managed. There was one little high school girl at the warehouse store who heard what they were doing and called her whole squad of cheerleaders to come and gift wrap all of the presents in record time.

Once all of the gifts had been handed out and opened, the Reverend Mother called for silence and asked Charlie and the Harts to come to the front of the room.

"Charlie, when Jennifer and I were married we gave each other rings as a symbol of our commitment to each other. Today we are committing to you. So we want to ask you 'officially' if you would accept us as your parents?" As Jonathan finished speaking Jennifer slipped the little box from her purse and opened it. It was a simple gold band very similar to Jonathan's wedding band, sized down to fit a child's finger. The jeweler had managed to rush the inscription, winding around the outside of the ring because the inside was too small were all three of their initials, as well as their signature double heart symbol. But now that double heart had a plus symbol next to it and a third heart.

Charlie couldn't speak but he nodded his head fiercely as Jennifer slid the small band onto his ring finger. Sister Domenica was especially moved by the little ceremony. She had cared for many children during her years at Mission Street and had been especially attached to a few, but only Jonathan had given her a sort of roller coaster and lightning feeling in her stomach. That was until Charlie Grant had come to the orphanage. She had only hoped to convince Jonathan to mentor the boy, but apparently, God had bigger plans in mind. She had no doubt that Charlie would go on to make as big an impact on the world as his new father had.

[everlarkchristmasgifts]

Rated T for mild language

A/N: Part Four to the Christmas Drabbles followup of Pasty White Raisin for @everlarkchristmasgifts

Nine Days to Christmas - Christmas Tree

The tree for the inside of the brewery’s restaurant had gone up promptly the Friday after Thanksgiving. It was a beautiful, if fake, eight-foot thing with white fairy lights, paper-craft snowflakes, and garlands made of kettle corn that mysteriously lost kernels whenever patrons had to wait for seating. The rustic look was all Annie’s doing.

The real presents under the tree, were Katniss’.

Peeta routinely donated unsold baked goods to the local Salvation Army and youth center. Back in the summer, when they’d still been together, Katniss had often tagged along on his post-closing deliveries to them, and gotten to know some of the staff and regular patrons.  With Annie’s blessing, she’d offered up the Tribute Brewery’s tree to double as a charity tree come Christmastime. And so, along with the other decoration, gift-wish tags from kids hung on the branches, and fulfilled requests were already starting to pile up under the tree.

It set the atmosphere, made the already cozy grill feel more like a place for family.

Sung its own carol of home.

Katniss felt a deep pang as she walked past it, pushing through the doors to the outside.

There, at least for the moment, others were feeling their own Christmas tree pain as well: The big spruce outside was only half done.

“I’m not Gumby, for crying out loud! Get me closer!”

The box at the top of the man-lift swayed precariously, jerking Finnick around like Raggedy Andy while Thresh operated the controls from the ground.

“Sorry,” Thresh called up, not sounding sorry.

“Next year, it’s you up here,” Finnick shot back. “And this year I actually mean it!”

“Nah uh, you like the thrill too much!”

On cue, the box jerked again, making Finnick grip the railing to keep from getting bucked out.

The owners of the brewery had been using the machine to decorate the tree for Christmas since long before any of them had come to work at Tribute. And every year was discussion and theorizing about how old the rickety thing was. Based on the peeling paint, rust, and tendency to produce grinding noises, general consensus among staff was was that it was probably at least as old as Christopher Reeves’ stint as Superman. The controls up in the box had long-since stopped working, and for the last several years, what should have been a two-man job, had required at least six staff:

One to operate the box from the controls at the unit’s base (Thresh), one to fetch whatever forgotten items needed fetching in terms of decoration (Katniss), one to risk life and limb going up high (Finnick), at least three to watch with oohs, ahhs, and wisecracks, and make bets about whether Finnick “really might die this time” (Johanna, plus two), and one to direct the placement of the decorations (Annie).

It was supposed to have been decorated for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving, like the tree inside, but between staff sick calls, a super busy season, and Finnick having seemed mysteriously distracted, it’d been put off.

“No, further to the right,” Finnick shouted down.

The box, with Finnick in it, jolted again, wobbling excessively.

“I swear, Finnick’s actually going to fall out of that thing one of these times,” Katniss said as she handed Annie a box of outdoor decorations she’d been sent for from one of the storerooms.

“He’s got a thick skull; he’d survive,” Annie smirked, right before a look of sudden horror crossed her face. “No, Finn baby, loop it on the next branch over! Yeah… No… Yeah, that one right there. Perfect!”

“Of course I am,” he called down.

Katniss snorted, then left them to it.

__

“What the hell is that?”

Haymitch muted the t.v. then tilted the neck of his beer bottle to the thing Katniss was dragging in with her through the front door. She wrestled it inside far enough to kick the door shut.

“It’s called— wait for it— ‘a Christmas tree.’”

“And what exactly do you do with one,” he smartassed back.

“You erect it and decorate it.”

“What,  sort of like a—”

“STOP!” Katniss glared at him as severely as she could, anticipating the joke, and growling when she almost tripped while dragging her haul towards the living room. “Come on, just help me.”

“Just help me,” he aped back in a little girl’s voice. Nevertheless, he dutifully set his beer on the coffee table and helped her pull it over next to the t.v. It wasn’t a large tree, but it was still larger than her, and she had to body hug it to keep it upright. “I don’t have the stand anymore, you know,” he said.

“Under my arm,” Katniss butted him with her elbow as best she could, to signal where.

She and the tree almost went over for it.

“Stay,” he said to both, once he’d helped them back to satisfactorily vertical. He ferreted the base free and knelt down to work on setting the tree in it. “Scraggly damn thing,” he complained, once it was up and the netting cut away. He felt bad enough for it he actually tried to help the branches spread apart a little. “Where the hell’d you get it, Boyscout clearance aisle?”

“The youth center sells them.”

He eyed her.

“How come you didn’t just stop by the hardware store and get one of those fake ones that don’t shed damn pine needles all over my floor?”

“Our floor,” she grumbled, stripping herself out of her jacket like she’d been having a fight with it all day. “I live here, too, remember? And anyway, it’s a fir, not a pine.”

“Whatever.” He snatched his beer bottle back up dramatically, but instead of drinking, he eyed her again. “The center’s way outside your normal route home. That was a you and the boy place. Why’d you do that to yourself?”

“I had to go see  them about a Christmas Eve thing. The brewery’s working along with their gift tree program this year.”

“Is it now.” Haymitch looked at her like he suspected she wasn’t telling the whole truth, but he didn’t press. Instead, he took a sip of his beer. “You do remember I don’t have ornaments, right? I got rid of all that stuff after you and Prim left.”

Katniss rolled her eyes, went to her room and came back with a small stack of boxes, putting them on the coffee table, opening each to reveal ornaments, lights, and other decorating fare.

“I’m the one who took them when I moved out, remember? Exactly because I knew you’d never set up a tree.”

“I had a tree last year.”

“It was ten inches tall and its lights were powered by a USB cord. Not exactly big enough to put presents under.”

“Which is another draw back to having a real tree: Now I have to populate it with presents. This coming back home thing of yours is getting expensive.”

“Uh uh. Like I haven’t already seen the top shelf in your bedroom closet.”

“And why exactly were you in my bedroom closet?”

“It’s where you always keep the presents.”

“When you were a kid.”

“I was never a kid,” she came back, and then kissed him on the cheek. “But you loved me anyway.”

“Yeah,” he said, after flashing her a look of faked irritation. “I guess you kinda grew on me. A bit like a weed. But, anyway, that’s a pretty ballsy assumption. Who’s to say those presents are for you?”

“I’m pretty sure the thing wrapped up to look exactly like a compound bow isn’t a regifted ugly sweater for that lady friend of yours.”

Haymitch humphed.

“Yeah well, haven’t decided whether to give it to you yet.”

“Because I might shoot you with it.”

“Exactly.”

Katniss started picking through the boxes, and pulled out a glass pickle ornament. It was one Prim had begged Haymitch into buying the first Christmas after their parents had died.

Haymitch noticed Katniss drawing her fingers over it.

“Did you call her back yet?”

Katniss tucked her braid back behind her ear with a quiet, “No.”

“You should take her up on the offer. You haven’t seen her in almost a year.”

“What, and spend Christmas as an  outsider with my sister’s boyfriend’s family?” She shook her head. “Not my idea of fun.”

“It’s a hell of a lot better than hanging out here with your Uncle Grinch while pretending you’re not hurt about the boy. It might distract you. Throw on a bikini and you might even meet one of those muscled surfer types, too.”

She frowned at his attempt to cheer her up.

“I have plans here.”

“Come on, a little California would do you some good. Watching streaming video with your uncle over beer isn’t exactly Christmas, sweetheart.”

A thought made her snort. “It is if we watch the Hallmark Channel.”

“Like hell!”

She grinned. “Yeah, agreed.”

Haymitch took the pickle and placed it front and center on the tree, despite her complaints about it needing to go on last. Then, he unmuted the television and they decorated to the background noise of Storage Wars until Katniss caught a glimpse of her watch twenty minutes later.

“Here,” she handed him a strand of tinsel and got up.

“I hate tinsel.”

“Then wrap it in the loving arms of our tree creature.”

She disappeared to her room, then reemerged carrying a wrapped present. She slipped into her sneakers and jacket.

“And where are you going?”

“To deliver a present.”

“To who?”

“Don’t forget to water the tree,” she said as she left.

“Another reason to have a fake tree,” he grumbled once he was alone. He shook the dregs from his beer into the base, then gave the tree his best stink eye, “You start dripping resin onto my carpet, son, and it’s to the fireplace with you.”

[name-me-regret]

Saving Grace - Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Squished Sandwiches Summary: James Barnes meets the anomaly that is Peter Parker... Prompt 8: Candy bars; pennies; books Read it on AO3.

- - - -

”Sometimes I have these thoughts What happened to kicking back the dawn? And I've started fighting wars with myself But what's so fun about a party of one?

I stand tall When they want me to fall I don't care what my peers say I'm gonna do this my way.

My way...”

-Stand Tall - Social Repose

- - - -

James's hair had grown out in the time that he had been on the street. It was well past his shoulders, and he would be the first one to admit that it wasn't regulation length at all. Then he would shake his head and remember that he wasn't a soldier anymore. His time spent as Sergeant James Barnes was over, and he couldn't even be certain if he was Bucky either, Steve Rogers's Army buddy.

He had never really referred to himself as that, since it was a nickname he'd acquired as a child, and everyone had just called him that. He could say with certainty that he wouldn't miss the nickname, since it sounded like the nickname of a douchebag.

He might have been biased, but it wasn't too bad living on the streets, especially when it came to begging for money. As morbid as it sounded, not having one arm caused people to be a bit extra generous to him; for they pitied him.

On good days he even got enough to buy at least five hotdogs at the street vendor. And on bad days, he could barely afford one. It was a good thing that the specific vendor he bought from accepted even the pennies that he sometimes came with. The people usually tossed coins into his old beat-up, red leather suitcase he had found in the dumpster once when he'd been dumpster diving. It reminded him of those old suitcases from the 30s or forties, and he had liked it so had taken it and after fixing the latch with some difficulty due to have one arm, it had worked perfectly. It was beat up and cracked on the surface, but it was still a good suitcase and served him for carrying his meager belongings.

He was able to tear open the lining on the inside of it, and that’s where he kept the small amount of money he’d saved up for emergencies. It was stabled discreetly closed, and while he only had $22, it was something at least. James had had $17, but had found a crumpled five dollar bill. There was no one that appeared looking for it, so he’d kept it.

There was one he had actually gotten a $20. It wasn’t found on the street, since his luck wasn’t that good, in his opinion. During a particular bad day, the winter months were fast approaching and it had been drizzling freezing rain, but James had refused to move from his spot until he could at least buy a hotdog. It had been at least two days since any real bit of food, just a nibble of leftovers here and there, and the hunger seemed to claw at his stomach that he was nauseous with it.

James was sure no one would stop to give a beggar anything when it was so miserable out, and he was prepared to go find some shelter somewhere and curl up, ignoring the hunger as best as he could. Then a shadow had fallen over him as the rain stopped falling on his head. He’d looked up from his position on the sidewalk, his spine and ass hurting something fierce from having been sitting on the concrete for so long.

She had short curly hair blue-green hair and was slightly over-weight, but her face was pretty and she was smiling as she handed him a scrap of paper. “God Bless you,” she murmured, a rainbow umbrella in her hand keeping the rain off of them both. She handed him her floppy straw hat she was wearing, which went well with her white and beige strapless dress and black leather jacket over that. “It’ll keep the rain off you a bit,” she explained.

Then she turned and walked off with nothing more than a wave, James watching her as she went, her black rain boots coming up just past her calves as they splashed through the puddles on the side walk. He turned back to the scrap of paper she’d given him, using the straw hat to keep the rain off it. It was a note written in messy handwriting. ‘I’ve been there before. It will get better.’ There was the acronym F.E.A.S.T., and an address in Chinatown. ’A descent shelter.’

There had also been $20 folded up with the note.

James had thanked the young woman, even if she was long gone, used the money to get him a cheap meal, and pocketed the rest of the $15.46. Then he had gone looking for this FEAST place, and it was more than descent. That night, James slept in the first bed since he’d run away from the hospital.

He’d managed to stay there for two and a half weeks. Then his PTSD had acted up when someone had shaken him awake, shoving the other person to the floor. It could have been worse and the man hadn’t been injured besides a scrape to the hand, but he had grabbed his stuff and moved on before he hurt anyone else.

That first winter was the worse, having little experience on how to survive on the streets with little to no shelter most nights. James was sure he would die some nights as he lay shivering in a cardboard box that had likely held a refrigerator at one point and now served to keep the wind off him. His breath rattled in his throat and it was just after New Years that he stumbled into a free clinic, hoping they’d help him instead of turning him away.

They did help him, giving him a strong cocktail of medicines that would fight off the infection in his lungs. When he woke, he’d realized someone had even trimmed his facial hair and washed his hair. He also saw that they’d figured out his name somehow, likely from what he had had on him.

James had found his possessions in the drawers and his clothes in the cabinets, looking like someone had made a valiant effort to wash them. He’d put them on after unhooking himself from the mostly empty saline bag, and snuck out before Steve found him.

He was very sure that Steve was looking for him, having heard a rumor of a blonde man looking for someone in the shelters, asking questions. The people on the streets always looked suspiciously on anyone asking questions, since that usually meant cop. James had heard the description and knew immediately that it was childhood friend, and that the punk was looking for him.

James thought he should go back to his own life and leave him lost. After all, he was much too damaged to be of any good to anyone.

It was late Spring when things changed, having been months on the street by that point. The nights still got cold, so he was grateful for his large jacket, which he’d gotten from the Salvation Army. It had been missing two buttons and had a hole in one of the front pockets that was visible on the front side of it, and likely the reason it had been donated.

It was very warm, and was grateful for it during those cold winter days. However, it was starting to get warm during the daytime, and besides not having bathed in over two weeks, he was starting to add to his stench by sweating out of his coat. That’s how he wound up in the ATM kiosk on 21st street in Queens, since it was air conditioned. It was starting to get dark so there was hardly people on the street, but the sandwich place across the street looked to be open.

His stomach grumbled in hunger, not having ate at all that day, and he’d been run off by the employees of a fast food place. He’d just wanted to use the bathroom to try and wash up. The manager had stopped him and told him the bathrooms were for paying customers. When he’d gotten out his bag of pennies and other coins, intending to buy something off the dollar menu at least, since he was hungry, they’d refused him service due to his unkempt state of dress.

So, with a sigh, he’d stuffed his coins away and shuffled out of the building, some entering customers giving him a wide berth. He tried not to let their looks of disgust hurt, but he was only human. It started drizzling the moment he stepped out of the restaurant, but only lifted his face so it could soak into his scruffy beard and the little bit of his face not covered in hair.

It was late spring, practically summer already, so the water hitting the hot asphalt evaporated almost immediately, creating a bit of mist that swirled around his legs as he walked. He passed by the sandwich shop, but hurried past as the smell of meat and fresh bread cooking made him almost sick with how hungry he was.

As he wedged himself between an ATM machine and the glass wall of the bank kiosk, he took a moment to take stock of his state. His hair was longer than when he’d been at the free clinic, and his facial hair had grown all out of control again. He looked a mess, and couldn’t really blame them for having run him off. He knew he probably didn’t smell that great either.

“Hey, what’re ya doing in here, bum?” a man entering the kiosk sneered at him. The man’s face was twisted into an ugly expression that James knew very well having lived on the streets these last few months. It spoke of cruelty and enjoyment at another’s pain and suffering. So, James decided to leave.

When he tried, the man blocked his way. “People like you are a stain on society. Too lazy to work,” he growled, shoving him against the wall of the kiosk. He was shorter but stockier than James, but the veteran was use to slouching to make himself look as small as possible. Also, James was weak from no food and little sleep to fight him off. There was also his lack of an arm.

“You probably have money in there,” he said as he made a grab for his suitcase. James snarled and yanked it back, pushing at his chest with his shoulder to dislodge him but he was sturdy.

“Help!” someone yelled, and both men turned to look across the street. There were hardly any cars at the hour, rush hour having been almost two hours ago, so they saw a scrawny kid that was waving around the corner. “Over here, Officer! Someone needs help!” Now he was pointing toward them.

James’s attacker swore, shoved the one armed man once more before he left, pushing through the door and sprinting away as soon as he was outside. As for James, he slid down with a sigh of relief, but then realized that he also had to get out of here before the cop showed up and he was arrested for vagrancy.

The door opened and he tensed, thinking it was the cop, but relaxed only slightly when he saw it was the kid. He grit his teeth as he hurried over toward him, body stiffening defensively. “Oh my gosh! Are you okay?” he asked breathlessly, brown eyes wide behind his large, black framed glasses.

James was sure the kid was close enough to smell his stench, but he didn’t make a face and only looked at him with a worried expression. He was also close enough for James to see that he couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen at the most.

Instead of answering, he started to get up before that cop caught up with him. “Hey, hey, take it easy buddy,” he squeaked, much too bold for someone so tiny. James finally managed to stand up straight. “Whoa, you’re big!”

“Get lost, kid,” he grunted gruffly, wincing at how rough his voice sounded. James didn’t remember the last time he’d spoken, much less had a real conversation with someone. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken with someone without worrying that they found him disgusting, or perhaps mentally wishing he’d go away. “Before the cop shows up.”

The boy blinked in confusion before he seemed to realize what he meant. “Oh, there’s no cop,” he said with a grin on his face. “I just yelled that to get that guy to leave you alone, and it worked!” he crowed proudly, bouncing a bit in excitement. He obviously thought it was a great accomplishment.

“Thanks,” James could only mutter, moving past him. He left the cool temperature of the ATM kiosk and moved across the street, any traffic having all but vanished, and walked past the sandwich shop. James sighed as he heard the scrape of sneakers behind him and turned with a scowl, finding the stupid kid following him. “What d’you want?”

The kid had stopped as soon as James had turned to look at him, and now he shifted nervously. “So, uh... are you okay? I mean, do you need help?” James could see the concern in his bambi brown eyes, that and worry. “Oh, I know!” he suddenly exclaimed, turning and rushing off. He stopped, hurried back. “Just wait, okay? I’ll be right back,” he told him, hands lifting as if he could make James stay right there until he returned. Then he ran off again back the way they’d just come.

James rolled his eyes at the dumb kid’s request and turned to leave, but then stopped. He growled at himself as he hesitated walking away, since he didn’t know this kid. It was just... it’d been so long since anyone had willingly spoken to him without making a face of disgust, and there hadn’t even been a single indication of malicious intent in this kid’s face. Even so, he was frustrated with himself for not leaving just because he didn’t want the teenager to be disappointed to find James gone when he came back, and something told him that he would return.

So, he ducked into the alleyway next to him, plopping down on an empty crate that groaned under his weight but held fast. He leaned against the filthy wall, not at all worried about dirtying up his coat, since it was already pretty dirty. He hugged himself with his one arm and closed his eyes, his chin against his chest.

He didn’t even remember dozing off. “Mister, are you dead?” James was jerked awake by the voice, lifted his hands to ward off an attack, forgetting that he only had one arm so he probably looked crazed. Then he realized the voice was slightly familiar and he blinked a few times before turning, seeing the teen about two feet away from him, clutching two items wrapped in white paper of some kind. He was watching him with those wide doe eyes.

James was hungry enough to smell that the wrapped packages were food of some kind and his stomach growled from intense hunger, making the kid jump. “Oh, good! I thought you’d died or something,” he said with a shaky laugh, his hold tight where he was clutching the food. James was a bit baffled at how this kid could be worried someone he didn’t know had died in his sleep, which James had unfortunately seen more than once this past winter.

“You’re squishing your food, kid,” he pointed out.

He seemed confused by his words as he looked at the wrapped packages. “No, they’re already smooshed. That’s how I like my sub, and with extra pickles.” He held out what he now knew to be a squished sub to James with an earnest smile. “Here, you’re going to love it,” he chirped. His enthusiasm faded a bit as James looked up at him suspiciously instead of taking the sub.

“What d’ya want? I ain’t got anything to exchange for the food.” He’d never gotten anything for free, and didn’t trust when someone tried to give him something. It always came with strings attached and conditions of some kind. The kid’s clothes were not new or expensive, and were well worn. The jacket tied around his waist was frayed at the edges, and the sneakers looked to have seen better days. He was small for his age and thin, and looked younger due to the glasses that were too big for his face. James was well acquainted with poverty, having grown up in the poor part of Brooklyn, and he could tell this kid wasn’t exactly swimming in cash.

The kid’s head tilted in confusion. “What? I don’t want anything.” He offered the sub to him again, and it was the hunger and the close proximity of the food that made him finally take it. The boy, for whatever reason, was being earnest, so for now he would give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Listen, I gotta get home, but will you be here again tomorrow?” He’d put the second sub, wrapped in a bag, into his backpack.

James had already started to eat his, uncaring about proper manners as he tore into the sandwich. He was going for his next bite when he spoke, eyeing the other suspiciously. “Why? You gonna bring more food?” It wasn’t what he should be asking, since he should ask if he was planning on calling the cops on him. But he wanted to ask about the food because he was hungry, and if this kid was providing it, then who was he to refuse?

“Sure, if you want?” he muttered. Then he looked at his phone and panicked. “Shit, I gotta go! See you later, mister!” The teenager ran out of the alleyway, leaving James wondering what had just happened. Also, he realized that he had forgotten to ask his name.

“Weird kid,” he mumbled, biting into the surprisingly tasty smooshed sub.

- - - -

True to his word, the teen had returned with another sub, or at least, half of one. It seemed he bought one large sub (his usual order, and geez how much did this kid eat?) and had the sandwich maker cut it in half and wrap it individually. The second time he’d came with two packets of gummy words and two colas, both of which he offered to James. As for James, he had grunted a thanks and took them without hesitation, and any other time he’d have been too proud to take it. Well, hunger certainly changed his perspective on certain things, such as pride.

It had been a week now, and James hadn’t gone far from this general area since the promise of food was a strong one, even if it were once a day. Also, when it got dark, he could sneak into the bank kiosk and there were few people that entered during the night, so he had a cool place to sleep during most nights. If anyone came in, there was a light out in the furthest corner of the room, and thus most people didn’t see him. He was glad he hadn’t been seen and then have them call the cops on him, since that meant he wouldn’t be able to come back and that meant most likely not seeing the kid anymore.

He didn’t know when James had stopped minding the kids presence, who, he was not so surprised, liked to talk. The kid could go on and on most days while James listened. Thus far he’d learned that he went to a nerd school in Queens and that he would be a freshman in high school this fall. He was fourteen but already he was designing a medical webbing, and that it had landed him a summer internship at Stark Industries. It would start as soon as the school year finished, which was in a week’s time.

He’d told James that it was just him and his aunt. He’d gone strangely quiet after that statement, and James had caught him staring at the ground morosely and had decided not to ask about it. In fact, James didn’t talk much and left the talking to Peter, which he had discovered was his name; Peter Parker who lived with his aunt, May Parker.

“So, I’m not really sure if this thing-“

“Why do you keep coming here,” James cut into what he was talking about. Peter had shut up as soon as he had spoken, since it was rare for James to speak that he tended to listen more attentively when he did speak.

Peter pursed his lips as he looked down with that same look he had when he had mentioned it only being him and his aunt. The sandwich was forgotten in his hand, half eaten compared to James’s finished one, but he had been alternating a bite of it in between every few sentences. Peter shrugged at last before he spoke.

“I mean, I have Ned.. you remember I told you about Ned?” James grunted an affirmative, since with how much the kid babbled, of course he knew about Peter’s best friend. Ned was Peter’s only friend, actually. James was sure he knew more of their friendship and LEGO projects than anyone else besides the kid’s aunt. They planned on joining the Decathlon and robotics club next fall, and he had a bit of a crush on a girl named Liz.

“Well, he’s going to go on trip with his family the day after summer vacation starts, so he rushes home. Even if I’ve never left New York, I’m not jealous or anything, and I’m excited for him. He’s going to get to see the Grand Canyon and he promised to bring me some rocks from the very bottom.” He paused as he bit his bottom lip, adjusting his glasses in what Bucky had come to identify as a nervous tick. “It’s just that, my aunt’s at work and with Ned so busy, I’m mostly by myself... I don’t like being by myself, you know?”

James could certainly understand what he meant, since he hated being by himself, but it was better at times to be by himself. That way he wouldn’t hurt anyone if he had an episode, and there was less of a worry that he would be stabbed in his sleep for his things. James had learned to become a light sleeper since he’d started to live on the streets.

“That’s a lot of words just to say you’re lonely,” he pointed out, amused as Peter turned red. He crumpled his wrapper and tossed it toward the dumpster, but it was too far away and the wrapper didn’t make it in. “I’m not the best company for a kid to have. I’m a bum that could have robbed you, or worse.”

Peter squinted at him. “Bold of you to assume I have money,” he told him.

James huffed, trying not to smile in amusement. “You forgot the ‘or worse’ part.” He would never harm the kid, had even become fond of him, but he didn’t want him to go trying to befriend someone else. The next person might not be as nice as James. He’d hate to see the boy get hurt.

The teen shrugged. “I wouldn’t care either way.” His hand went immediately to his mouth, leading James to believe that he hadn’t meant to say that.

James’s eyes narrowed on him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Peter jumped up. “I gotta go! Bye!” He rushed off before James could stop him, not stopping even as the one armed man called him back. Although James snorted in amausement when Peter stopped to pick up the crumpled wrapper before tossing it in the trash and then hurrying off again.

“Little shit,” he grumbled. Then he looked where he’d been sitting and noticed that he had re-wrapped his half finished sub and left it on the crate he’d been sitting on. James shook his head but took it anyways, having no qualms about eating the boy’s leftovers. He couldn’t afford to be picky these days.

- - - -

James frowned when he lifted his gaze to see the sun disappearing behind the buildings, pulling out a battered wristwatch from his pocket. It was missing one of it’s leather straps but still worked even if the face was cracked. The time read 7:45pm, and he was sure the sun would set soon. However, he hadn’t seen a single sign of the kid and he usually got there around 4pm, since he had his internship in the mornings now that summer had started, and damnit if James wasn’t worried at his absence. He had been worried since yesterday after the statement he’d made, having felt a chill at the words.

He hoped the kid wasn’t suicidal or anything, since he couldn’t even care for himself, never mind worrying for a strange kid that brought him food every day. It wasn’t even a sub every single day, since at times he came with four wrapped hotdogs from the hot dog stand that James liked. The kid had good taste.

It wasn’t even about the food by this point, since he generally enjoyed listening to Peter speak to him like he was a normal human being and not some dirty, homeless man. So, he was feeling restless the more time went by without any sign of Peter. He was contemplating going and searching for him when he heard flapping wings and the shrieking of some birds.

Peter hurried into the alleyway then, carrying a birdcage of all things. “Hey!” Peter gasped as he stopped and set the cage on the crate, doubling over to catch his breath.

“What is that?” James asked, mouth twisted in a frown. He knew what it was, since it appeared to be a bird cage with three parakeets inside. One was green, the second was a light blue that was almost white, and the third was blue.

Peter grinned, pushing back the glasses up his nose. “Oh! I found them!” He peered inside the cage as he watched the birds sort of fly from one perch to the other a bit before the green and light blue one started to groom one another. “They were sitting next to a dumpster! Can you believe it? Who’d throw birds away?”

James did believe it, since when people moved and they weren’t allowed pets, they found it easier to toss them aside instead of finding a home for them. He’d seen many dogs be left by a car, or a cat, and one time a gerbil. The poor thing had been eaten quickly by a pack of alley cats before he could even think of trying to save it. It never stood a chance.

“What’re you going to do with them?” James asked, having a bad feeling as he saw Peter give him a look. “No... there’s no way.” Peter’s lips puckered into a pout. “Hell no.”

- - - -

James grumbled as the chirping birds wouldn’t let him sleep, laying underneath his usual cardboard box. The blanket he usually used to cover himself was used as a makeshift mattress, it was a warm night and with his coat on it was almost unbearable. Although, what was unbearable right now was the chirping of the birds and how they wouldn’t let him sleep, and he was seconds away from reaching inside and killing the damn things.

Only, he knew he couldn’t do that, because Peter had seemed so excited over the birds, even if he couldn’t keep them at his apartment because they weren’t allowed. So, that’s why they were here with James, and not with Peter. He should have refused, however, but the kid had a secret weapon, the sweetest puppy dog eyes that made James melt faster than an ice cream on a hot summer day.

So, when the sky lightened, he hadn’t gotten much sleep. Peter showed up earlier than most days, since he had his internship in the mornings. Then he remembered that it was Saturday and he had the whole day free. “I got this book from the public library,” he said with a grin as he took out a book.

The cover had a color picture of a green parakeet and the title read ‘Budgies: A Guide to Caring for Your Parakeet’ and it was by a woman named Angela Davids. He sat down on his usual crate, flipping through the book which had colorful pictures of birds. “Wow, I never knew birds could be so pretty,” he said as he turned to book so he could see the page he was looking at. It was page twelve and it was a picture of five parakeets of varying colors resting on a branch, but it was hard to tell whether it was birds in the wild, or an artificial enclosure.

“Did you know they’re in the parrot family?” Peter asked, shaking his head. “I didn’t know that.” He flipped to the page that detailed their eating habits. “Let’s see, it says here they feed on ripe and ripening seeds. Well, duh. I wanna make sure nothing is poisonous to them.”

James was sure he was talking more to the book than him, but he didn’t mind as he looked at the birds to see them roosting, and his mouth twisted in distaste. He reached over and tapped the cage, startling the sleeping birds as they flapped their wings to fly up to the small swing on top of the cage.

“Stop it,” Peter laughed, “leave them alone.”

James snorted. “These little beasts didn’t let me sleep last night, and payback is a bitch,” he said as he hit the cage once more. He froze as Peter smacked him with the paperback, all his muscles tensing as if in anticipation of stopping himself from a reaction. After a moment, he realized that he was fine, and was surprised when he didn’t feel the need to lash out. As for the teen, he didn’t seem to notice as he kept flipping through the book without really reading it.

“This doesn’t say if there’s anything that’s poisonous to them,” he sighed, closing the book with a snap.

James cleared his throat when Peter looked at him curiously. “You didn’t even read it all the way through. I thought you were supposed to be smart or something, yet you can’t even read through a book properly.”

Peter made a face. “I like books... its just that I prefer science and physics books.” He flapped the book in his hand toward him. “This is boring to me.”

James rolled his eyes and snatched the book out of his hand. “Fine, I’ll read it, but you have to make sure to research what’s poisonous and bring it it’s food. I’m not exactly swimming in money here.”

The teenager grinned and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll get it and... oh, they’re probably thirsty!” He pulled off his backpack and from it he pulled a water bottle. “They have a water dish inside their cage,” he explained as he uncapped it and leaned forward, opening the small opening next to the water bowl and filling it up.

“So, have you thought of names for them?”

Peter shook his head, watching attentively as they flew down and started to drink the water. “Nah, but I’ll think of something.”

James rapped on the cage where the green one was. “You could name this one Jade,” he suggested.

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Nah, that’s too generic. There’s probably hundreds of green parakeets named Jade.”

“What about Blu for the dark blue one?”

Peter laughed. “Like the movie?” When James nodded, he shook his head. “No way, that’s too boring and unimaginative. I’ll think of something cool. Maybe research bird legends or something,” he murmured, pulling out his phone and starting the search.

As he did that, James amused himself by making them fly back and forth in the cage. They’d likely eventually trust him, but for now they seemed frightened of him. Then he realized that he assumed he’d be around the birds long enough for them to get use to him and sighed. Damn it.

After almost half and hour of silence between the two humans, the parakeets not so quiet as they chirped their song, Peter lifted his head. “I got it!” He turned his phone, the screen impossibly cracked, so James could see it.

“Avalerion is a term for a heraldic bird.” James snorted. “It says here that they were also eagles. This is no eagle, it’s a parakeet.”

Peter shrugged. “Tomato, potato... same difference.”

“It’s really not.”

“Anyways!” Peter interrupted him. “I think the green one will be Avalerion, or Ava for short. And the white—“

“Light blue,” James corrected.

“It’s practically white!” Peter defended. “It reminds me of snow, so I’m gonna name it... er...” He peered into the cage to look at the bird. “I’m gonna name her Pamolai, which is a legendary bird spirit that appears in...” he squinted at his phone screen, “Abenaki mythology. This spirit causes cold weather. Or Pam for short.”

James shook his head. “And the dark blue one?”

Oh, that’s easy,” he said with a grin. “She’ll be Linnaeus, or Linn for short.”

James frowned. “I’ve heard that before...” He took up the book and flipped through it until he found the name. “Ah yeah, Carolus Linnaeus, founder of modern systematic botany and zoology.” He tapped the book against Peter’s head after closing it. “You just can’t have simple names, can you?”

Peter shrugged. “Simple is boring,” he argued.

“I think if you became a superhero or something, you’re name would be a complicated one.”

“Well yeah, I mean, I wouldn’t have a simple name. That’d be stupid.”

James grinned, knowing the boy was afraid of spiders. “How about Spider-Man?”

Peter shuddered. “Hell no, and Spider-Man?! Who’d name themselves that?”

[writeyourownlifestory]

Could my request be a flipped version where Clara does not take to being a big sister well at all. She wants nothing to do with Ben’s belly or baby shopping or preparing his room. She becomes extra clingy specifically towards Ben, sensing the change that’s coming as they get closer to d-day. And then when the baby does arrive and she meets him in the hospital, she clings to Joe, cries when they put her near the baby and it’s an absolute shit show when they first bring him home?

Okay! First, let it be known that this is not at all how Clara is. She loves each of her siblings so much! Also, I apologize if this isn’t exactly what you requested, however, my own sister tried to sell me at a yard sale when I was little and your request made me think of that. Also, what Ben and Joe tell Clara is exactly what I told my nephew to make him excited about having a baby sister. We hope you enjoy! 

Joe sighed heavily as he dropped the final box, kicking it over into the corner so the pile was nice and neat. He and Ben had been talking about cleaning out the apartment for a while now, getting rid of some things they no longer wanted or needed and finding space for the things they did want to keep. 

It had taken all afternoon, but they were pleased with the space they had made up, which was ideal in a place that, while spacious, was taken up by two grown men, a toddler, and an infant and all the things they had collected over the past four years. 

Ben approached from behind him, dropping down one of the boxes he had put together. It had been three months since JJ was born, though you could hardly tell with the way he looked and acted. Ben was a superman in his own way and while sometimes it ticked Joe off with how much his husband overdid, it amazed him all the same. 

“So. Did we decided on Good Will, Big Brothers Big Sisters, or that Church down the road?” Joe asked curiously.

“Salvation Army is a no-go right?” 

“From what Google said they’re pretty homophobic, so they don’t deserve our junk.” 

“Ah yes, and we must always trust Google.” 

Joe rolled his eyes at Ben’s cheeky remark, looking over their two corners. They had a long talk over what they did, in fact, want to keep. It seemed silly to have all the clothes from when Clara was a baby, especially since their second child was born a male and far larger than their first born. They kept a few things for sentimental reasons but agreed to donate anything that wasn’t stained beyond repair. 

Ben had given up a few things from his own closet though Joe had to fight the urge to get up on Poshmark and sell that shit outright. The fucker was giving away prime Calvin Klein merch; at this point, it was better to give it to an auction than to just some donation place. 

Joe didn’t have much to keep since he was more apt to throw away anything he didn’t have sentimental value towards. Anything he really treasured, like set pieces he had kept over the years, were kept at his mother's house anyway. 

“How about that thrift shop down the lane? They seem to get a fun crowd.” 

“I think your definition of fun is a tad bit different than mine,” Joe laughed, both men turning when they heard the gentle sounds of dramatic groaning. Behind them, Clara was struggling to drag their three-month-old son across the hardwood floor. 

JJ was laid out on a blanket, wide-eyed and unaware of the wild ride his sister was taking him on. 

“Clara, love. What are you doing with JJ?” Ben asked cautiously. 

“He go . . . bye-bye pile!” Clara muttered as she pulled her baby brother into the pile of things they’d be getting rid of. 

Both men exchanged a harsh look. It had been an ongoing thing with their oldest child. From the moment they told Clara she was going to be a big sister, she had been against it. She refused to speak to Ben’s stomach and even once shove him away when he got too close. She hated that her Papa was being taken over by another baby and even got strangely possessive of Joe in the past few weeks. 

She refused to look at JJ when they went to the hospital to greet him and wouldn’t help with feedings or anything of the sort. Ben was worried, especially since he was the exact opposite when his sister was born, but Joe knew it would be fine. 

He had acted the same when his siblings were born. The childish jealousy that you experience is rough, but he grew out of it and so will Clara. 

Walking over, Ben scooped the infant up from the blanket, receiving a high pitched screech from their daughter. “NO! Papa put baby down! Baby go bye-bye!” 

“Your brother isn’t going anywhere, Clara,” Ben told her sternly. 

“You said what we don’t want goes in bye-bye pile! I don’t want baby so baby goes in pile!” She answered him, her little accent making the sentence far more adorable than it should be. 

“We said toys and clothes, Clara. Not your brother.” 

The small girl, who looked as pretty as a picture in her summer dress and auburn ringlets, stomped onto the ground, giving Ben the dirtiest of looks. Joe came forward then, taking the girl into his arms and setting her down onto his lap on the couch. 

“All right, kid. Let’s have a chat, okay?” Joe suggested gently. “We know having the baby around is a big adjustment, but you’re not a baby anymore, remember? You’re a big girl? You don’t need floaties anymore, right? And you can push the buttons in the elevator all by yourself? JJ can’t do any of that because he’s just a baby.” 

“Hate babies!” Clara grumbled, curling into her father’s chest.

“You don’t mean that,” Joe insisted, kissing her head. “Look, you have a lot of responsibilities now. And remember all those things Papa and I promised you? Like that shiny new bike, you saw in the store? How can we buy you a big girl bike if you’re not acting like a big girl?”

“Sell baby. Make lots of moneys.” Clara muttered to herself. 

“Clara Josephine,” Joe replied back, using his own stern tone this time around. 

“Fine! Make lots of pounds.” 

“Stop teaching her currency!” Joe snapped to his husband, who was standing in the corner, rocking their infant. “Clara we’re not selling JJ or getting rid of him. I’m sorry, but he’s here to stay.” 

“Think of all the fun you’ll have together!” Ben suggested joyfully. “When he gets older, you’ll be able to teach him so many things! Like how to get the cookie jar down off the counter. Or how to pick up after Frankie.” 

“You’ll have someone to go trick-or-treating with. A buddy to dress up with.” 

“And look at it this way -- he won’t be able to eat candy for at least three more years. Who will eat all that leftover goodness?” 

“Daddy?” Clara suggested with a pout. 

“No, silly!”

“Papa!”

“Papa doesn’t like candy, sweetie.”

“Uncle Rami?” 

“You, Clara,” Joe replied. “You get to eat all his candy until he gets big enough to have it.” 

Clara thought for a long moment; her small mind working out the invisible numbers in her head. “All the candy?” 

Joe and Ben bobbed their heads. It wasn’t an ideal offering but it was good enough if it meant her not throwing to throw her baby brother out. 

Clara let out a heavy sigh, giving up on her dark intentions. “Fine. He can stay.” She mumbled. “But he can’t have Frankie!” She jumped up then, spotting the dog walking past. She wrapped her arms around his middle, groaning as she tried to lift him up. 

“Clar...Clara, stop. Just let Frankie walk to your room.” Joe muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as the sound of the toddler and dog feet running off to the next room. “I need a drink.” He admitted in defeat. 

“I know, buddy. What a strange family we have,” Ben replied, getting a gummy smile from the small boy, who didn’t know a single thing. “Certainly will be a funny story to tell when they get older.”

“Oh shut up!” 

[lowincomeassistance]

Single mothers free Christmas assistance online

Christmas is coming up and single mothers are in need of help. If you're a single mother who wants to spend Christmas with your children, the Salvation Army has a great program for you! You can sign up online or call 1-800-823-5678. The Salvation Army will provide you with food, clothes, and transportation to get your kids to their families.

How to Get started in the Christmas season.

Christmas is a Jewish holiday celebrated on December 25th. It is the shortest day of the year and celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ. The holiday is often celebrated by eating Christmas cookies, listening to Christmas music, and spending time with family and friends.

How do You Get Help With Christmas

There are many ways to get help with Christmas. Some people may want to go to a church or synagogue for assistance, while others may prefer to call a free hotline or online service like charity amp; relief (C&R). To find out how you can get help, check out websites like Charity Navigator or Give Well to see how well different organizations are doing in regards to helping people during the holiday season.

How to Get Free Christmas Assistance

One way to get help with Christmas is by calling a hotline or online service that offers free or discounted services like C&R. This can be an easy way to connect with someone who can offer help with your holiday budget issues. Additionally, many churches and synagogues have volunteer programs that offer free counseling, holiday baking contests, and other festive activities. So whether you’re looking for helpful advice or just some company during this special time, checking out these options should give you a good start!

How to get help with Christmas.

There are many places to get help with Christmas. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, it’s best to seek out a friend or family member for assistance. This will allow you to focus on making the holiday season as enjoyable and stress-free as possible for yourself and your loved ones.

Ask a Friend to Help You

If you don’t have a friend or family member who can help you with Christmas, there are plenty of online resources available to help single mothers out. Some great options include The Single Mom's Guide to CHRISTMAS (www.singlemomsmagazine.com), which provides helpful tips and advice for single mothers living on a tight budget; and Charity: Water (www.charitywaterusa.org), which offers free water donations throughout the holiday season.

Get help from a Charity

Another option is to reach out to a charity in your area for help. Many charities offer free or discounted services for single mothers, such as food pantries or homeless shelters. And if you’re looking for more personalized assistance, some organizations also offer volunteer opportunities that range from helping with stocking shelves at local stores to registering families for adoption events!

Tips for helping others during the Christmas season.

One way to help others during the Christmas season is to make a gift. Consider giving a gift that matters, like holiday clothes or a new toy. You can also give money, in the form of cash or gifts of stock, to charity. Finally, if you’re feeling generous, consider helping others by volunteering. This can be an easy and rewarding way to make a difference in someone else’s life – and it could go a long way in making everyone’s Christmas season more joyous.

Give a Gift thatMatters

Another great way to help others during the Christmas season is by giving them something they will use and appreciate. If you know someone who is struggling with money, consider donating holiday money to them instead of just giving it away. You can also choose to give directly to charities or provide holiday donations at local businesses and stores. Lastly, always remember: time spent helping others makes time spent with loved ones all the sweeter!

Donate Christmas Money

Donating holiday money can be one of the most fun things you do this year! It’s especially fun if you know somebody who needs it (like a family member who is struggling). You can either send cash or stocks directly to organizations like The Salvation Army or direct donations through online donation platforms like GiveDirectly or Kiva . And for added fun (or practicality), consider leaving someChristmas decorated items out on your door step for those special people who care about spending quality time with you this winter.

Help Others by Volunteering

One of the best ways to help others during the Christmas season is by volunteering. Whether you’re a first-time volunteer or an experienced one, there are many opportunities to make a difference in somebody else’s life. You can start your own personal holiday volunteering project or sign up for a national voluntarism network like Volunteers Overseas orunteer.org . Finally, always remember that time spent helping others makes time spent with loved ones all the sweeter!

Conclusion

Christmas is a time to help others and make holiday gifts. If you're looking for ways to help, there are many options available. You can make a Christmas gift, donate money to charity, or volunteer in some way. By following these tips, you can make the holiday season a happy one for everyone involved.

[eekohfriendly]

fuck in a truck am i glad i dont volunteer for them anymore.

i used to volunteer at my local salvation army soup kitchen. i went once or twice a week for about a year, usually for an hour and a half to two hours every day. i only really stopped because i got a lot of really creepy and/or predatory comments when i was dishing(i was like 13) and i had a lot of homework. i still don’t know a lot about the behind-the-scenes work, but we used almost entirely donated food. if the stuff wasn’t donated, it was at low cost because it was gonna go bad soon anyway. i wouldn’t be surprised if they were making a shit ton of money without some of us knowing. 

i served a lot of really nice people when i was there. there were a lot of veterans, disabled people, and LGBTQ+ people, some of them really young. once there was a whole family that came in. i remember one of the little girls being the sweetest kid. she loved mac and cheese. that was why i volunteered. i loved helping these people. i loved helping everyone that came in.

one thing that stuck out to me though was that no one was allowed to take food out of the building. not even their leftovers, for some reason, even though it just got thrown out anyway. it took this one guy like 10 minutes in order to convince them to give him a second meal to bring to his pregnant wife. some days we ran out of food over 30 minutes before closing time.

this isn’t nearly as horrific as most of the other stuff they’ve done, but it’s from the same god damn people. 

“let’s pray for them,” they said. “let’s pray that god shows mercy on them.” especially the ones that were less polite, and the ones who didn’t say “god bless you” when we gave them food. 

i never talked about how i was queer and trans when i was there, because i worried that they would tell me not to come back.

DO NOT GIVE TO THE SALVATION ARMY.

my experiences are probably as good as it gets, but were still twisted and wrong.

DO NOT SUPPORT SALVATION ARMY 

[astral-orphan]

Most Commercialized Time of the Year

It is time, when the dark creeps. The darker months, when friends and family gather round the fire, to seek protection from the encroaching dark and cold. What once was Yule, a pagan tradition, has since been bastardized and commercialized as “Christmas”. Thanks to Christians and their endless crusade to convert over pagans to their (at the time) new religion. Personally, I don’t care for any Abrahamic religion. I grew up Catholic, had it shoved down my throat all my young life. That aside though, I do still enjoy the holidays. 

It’s the childhood nostalgia for me. It gives you warm, fuzzy feelings inside when you think back to that early childhood when you didn’t have to worry about bills, taxes, a job and had no responsibilities. When we were still so full of hopes and dreams and our little hearts were so fresh and unknowing of the harsh reality of the world. So we as a people cling to long standing, family traditions in a vain attempt to recapture that pure, innocent feeling of Christmases long long ago. 

So bring in that pagan pine tree and decorate it’s corpse and prop it up in the living room! Right up in front of the bay windows so the neighbors can see how well off we are! Drink your merry drinks and celebrate the not historically accurate time of baby Jesus’ “birth”. Bring on the corporate greed! Max out those credit cards! Spend spend all your money and more! Personally, as I’ve grown older, I have come to realize, material goods come and go, but memories never tarnish. Spending time with loved ones, making new memories, laughing at old ones is what’s important. 

It’s very sad that my memory has deteriorated to such a degree thanks to long term depression/mental illness. It’s so bizzare, it feels like amnesia to be honest. I always see amnesia used as a plot convenience here and there and it’s relateable. Obviously I know who I am, where I work, the basics. However memories from childhood are few and far between. Even from a few years ago, it all almost blends together now. We cling to what memories we do remember, even if they are seen through rose-tinted glasses. 

We have a few little/kid alters, of varying ages. Aela, Shyanne and Isura. We have made sure to buy them some toys and wrapped them up “from Santa” for them. Why should we crush their dreams, we feel we should nurture them, not to pressure them to “grow up”. Their innocence and youth is a gift and helps us see the world through a child’s eyes at times. Because of them, and as I said, nostalgia, we participate in the annual holiday buying bonanza. Oh yeah, annual reminder to never donate to the Salvation Army. They refuse to help LGBT people in need and are incredibly biased. I will end it here as I don’t want to rant anymore than I already have. Have a safe holiday for those that do participate. Happy Yule!