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mojave-pete · 4 years

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Expect Democrats To Move At Breakneck Speed Following The Blueprints Of The Soviet Union, Venezuela And Other Tyrannical Regimes Of The Past To Complete Their Crackdown Upon America

By US Navy Veteran John C. Velisek for All News Pipeline

The country is under a once distant threat that is bullying its way through our culture. Big Government, Big Tech, academia, and entertainment are the four pillars that are destroying our countries foundations. Hell-bent on the destruction of our basic liberties, the progressive socialists, are following the blueprints of the one-time Soviet Union, Venezuela, and other regimes of the past.

Part of this blueprint is the canceling of our fundamental liberties. The Chinese virus is but the start of this tyranny. Following the rigged election of China Joe Biden, we are now hearing for the leftists a call for revenge. In academia, professors of public policy at Duke Bill Adair, also the founder of the far-leftist Politifact, and Philip Napoli have argued that there is a need for the government to decide what speech will be permitted. In their ivory tower, the poor snowflakes can not accept that there may be someone with ideas different from what they believe. They can' handle disagreement but opt for the censorship of those they feel are below the.

In their world, the citizens cannot decide because they have believed all the lies fed to them by the opposition. They do not understand that facts matter and millions of people have decided to stop drinking the progressive socialist Kool-Aid and have started to think for themselves. Lied to by the leftist political officials within our midst and talking heads of television, the American people have seen the truth and will resist the temptation to allow our government officials to continue their run to the control of every aspect of our lives.

Big Tech and media's crushing censorship will not change the facts and will not distort the truth. The American people will see through the lies and misinformation. The next step, which is just beginning, is the cancel culture of destroying the livelihoods and families of those who disagree. Big government is taking a more active role in the misinformation campaign and the politics of personal destruction. Moving at breakneck speed to further totalitarianism, the leftists call for a government-run by leftists and anarchists to further dictate what is or is not allowable speech.

Coupled with the liberal programs to revise our culture and history is persecution directed at the American liberty loving patriots. They are attempting to coerce the American patriots into bowing down and declaring our great country's history is evil. Tearing down our monuments and revising our history have taken hold because we have let our educational system flounder on the shoals of progressive socialism that had its start under FDR and Woodrow Wilson.

We are being told that if you believe in individual rights as enshrined in our Constitution and Bill of Rights, you must be a racist. The anarchists in the streets' sole purpose are the creative chaos and attempt to cause the patriots within our country, the majority. The progressive socialists hope that the disorder will cause behavioral changes in the psyche of the American patriots causing patriots to bend in their beliefs to the point where they give up and submit to the globalists' demands.

And make no mistake, the globalists, along with the factions within such as teachers unions and community activist groups that work to cause racial disharmony. Those in our government will never understand that the individual citizen is who built this country. Personal responsibility and rugged individualism are what this country was built on. Without personal responsibility, the anarchists and the enablers behind them cannot be held accountable. And without rugged individualism, how can the people stand up to the sorts of things we see today in the circus of politics that threatens to bring this country down.

It may take some time, but the American people will stand up to the intimidation and force used by Marxist forces such as BLM and the Democrat Party. Andrew Cuomo, New York Governor and nursing home murdered, even stated on air that nowhere does it say that protests should be peaceful. But Cuomo can't explain how riots, looting, and burning a citizen's business taking away their livelihood can lead to a fearful police department that runs over someone in a mob surrounding the police car. Even our fake vice-president Kamala Harris has said that riots should continue; she even helped the few arrested to make bail. But she can’t explain that the riots will find everyone, including those in the Capitol who rules the supposed little people from on high. Where the progressive socialists have gained a foothold, threats, violence, censorship, and chaos follow. What will these socialists say when the populace has had enough and start fighting back. They have nothing they can do but declare it an "insurrection.” It will be civil disobedience and the American people's triumph over the authoritarianism they, the progressive socialists, are trying to force upon us.

Leading with the devices at their command in social engineering, political repression, and destroying the best economy before the pandemic will lead to the ultimate collapse that is part of the plan the progressive socialism. By the end of the Biden/Harris regime, our constitutional separation of power and fealty to freedom and fundamental equality will begone. The replacement of the necessary foundation of our country will be tribalism and identity politics. The truth will be supplanted by the ideology of socialism, including mass censorship. Socialism will maintain the status quo of corporate oligarchies. It has been shown that even during the past socialist takeovers of democratic countries, the movement has been nothing more than a funded operation for the benefits of the elites in positions of power.

The mainstream media and the leftists are doing their best to make the "insurrection" a pivot point in the nation's psyche because of a national election that will not admit it was stolen. The mountains of evidence were not investigated or ruled on by ANY court. The challenges that did make it to the courts were dismissed on technicalities and procedural issues. The evidence has never been examined, and in the few cases that made it courts, was dismissed out of hand without any investigation. The MSM and leftists won't tell you this and refuse to allow anyone to question the election results. Why would they not let the citizens of a supposedly free country see the evidence and will enable us to decide for ourselves?

Is it because in the world of journalism of today, there can be actions to question or investigate any information that is not committed to "the Cause." The globalist elites who have decided that the peasants need to be led without their consent and forced to agree to limits on their liberty. They claim this suppression is a constitutional norm and that the lower class must comply. The globalists see themselves as figureheads meant to make declarations that the peasants will bow down to and follow unquestioningly. They have badly misinterpreted the American people's pulse and are ill-prepared to tamp down the citizen interaction.

The Biden administration is a coup, an open attack on our country to usurp our republic and culture.

In the word of George Washington:

“The time is now near at hand which must properly determine whether Americans are to be freemen or slaves: whether they are to have any property they can call their own; whether their houses and farms are to pillaged and destroyed; and themselves consigned to a state of wretchedness.”

What more can be done to the middle class? Caught between the globalists and the progressive socialists in our Congress and the radicalized mobs such as Antifa and BLM below them, what is left open to the middle class? And it appears that the mobs destroying our cities and attempting to intimidate our citizens do not understand that what they are doing is becoming an ally to the socialist left. It doesn’t matter that socialism has never worked; these thugs don't understand socialism. They have been brainwashed since earl yon through the leftists that indoctrinate them in our schools. Being told that in socialism, "the people" run everything and share equally, it will be a rude awakening when these mobs discover that the Insider elites in total control of consolidating and controlling the wealth.

Add to this the censorship, and cancel culture taken from the likes of the Soviet Union and understand that the anti-America cabal has plans to separate and chase the middle class hard working patriots from the forum of American politics.

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tvmoviechristmas · 4 years

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Holly & Ivy (Hallmark Movies & Mysteries, 2020)

We could be broke together. Living our dreams.

Starring: Janel Parrish, Marisol Nichols, Jeremy Jordan, Sadie Coleman

Plot Synopsis: A contractor helps a woman renovate a house so she can adopt a sick neighbor's two children. (x)

In My Humble Opinion: Early on in the movie, the female lead goes around to a bunch of libraries hoping to interview for a children’s librarian position. She’s not able to get it because a bunch of the libraries are gong under hiring freezes. One librarian notes that with her Masters in Library Sciences she should be able to get a data management job. And I was like, “Oh! I know about that! My friend, Rachel, who is a real children’s librarian told me about how she learned about that kind of stuff when she offered to help me fix my archive!”

So like any intrepid made-for-TV Christmas movie blogger, I decided to ask my friend, Rachel, a real librarian about Holly & Ivy to see if it handled this fake librarian content well. Thankfully, my real librarian friend had also watched the movie too which made this “interview” possible (I say this very loosely, it was mainly a freewheeling text conversation that I edited for clarity). Questions are italicized. Answers are not.

How many books are in your car?

I don’t have a car.

If you had a car, how many books would be in it?

Going by how many books I have in my apartment that currently do not fit on my bookshelf: 13. No wait, 14.

Hiring freezes are a problem for children’s librarians?

All librarians, since the majority of a library’s budget is through government funding.

Have you made 3-D snowflakes as a librarian?

I make 3-D snowflakes with the kids at the library every year. Seeing that made me feel like a big huge Hallmark stereotype. Also making 3D snowflakes is fun and easy and I recommend it if anyone has scrap paper or construction paper for crafts.

Are the Trixie Belden books really discontinued? I remember reading them as a kid.

According to Wikipedia, they were out of print for a number of years, which does happen to many books even ones which were once considered popular, but the publisher did release some new editions in the early 2000s, but not all of them. So I guess so. [The library I work at] has e-book copies.

Can you quote children’s authors off the top of your head?

I can’t quote children’s authors on command and do not ask me to.

As a librarian, would you date Jeremy Jordan’s character?

Yeah he’s cute, and I got a good dude vibe. He seemed very self-aware.

How do you feel about home improvement projects?

I once lived in a house where the previous owner had done a lot of home DIY themselves which led to a light switch like six feet up because that was where he ran out of wire. I recommend you do it only if you know what you are doing and have the right supplies. I admire those who can.

Overall, did you like the movie?

It was fine but too sad and that ending was very sudden. I knew it couldn’t wrap up before we knew if she was deemed capable of taking care of the kids but to time jump and kind of gloss over the mom’s death was like a choice. The romance was solid but boring.

Any other commentary on the library content?

Libraries are important! Please highlight how they need funding so that qualified passionate people who genuinely care about library services aren’t unemployed because of budget reasons. Defund the police and fund schools and libraries and community programs! That’s what you should take away from this Hallmark Christmas movie.

Thank you for your expertise.

So there you have it. A real librarian’s thoughts on this Hallmark Movies & Mysteries original movie. Because I know that’s what everyone’s top concern is when watching a Hallmark Movies & Mysteries original movie.... the authenticity of the librarian content. You’re welcome. Support your local library!

Watch If: You have elves in your home, if your tree trimming requires choreography or if you have been interested in gingerbread houses since you were six.

Skip If: You don’t have an overwhelming passion for building furniture, if you have no problem borrowing things from strangers or if have burned water.

Final Rating: ★ ★ (★) ☆ ☆

If you like this blog, please consider donating to my Kofi page! You can also donate money to [email protected] through either Venmo or CashApp. Thank you!

#holly and ivy #hallmark movies and mysteries #review #2.5 stars

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punkpoemprose · 5 years

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December 5th- Secret Santa

Universe: Modern AU

Rating: G (General Audiences, fluff to the max)

Length: 5627 Words

A/N: It’s worth noting that I would probably get more pieces done if I kept my word count lower, but here we are. This lovely bit about volunteerism and falling in love proves, I think, that I have fully mastered the Hallmark Christmas movie formula. Thanks for being patient with me as I play catch up! Hopefully I’ll finish the rest of the fics I’ve started that were already supposed to be posted. Whoops!

The Bjorgman family was a large one, and it was no secret to anyone that their matriarch was always looking for “just one baby more” to join their ranks. It was how Kristoff had been adopted into the fold many years before, how his younger sisters and brothers, all adopted themselves, had come to be called as such. It was why every holiday was spent split between their family home and the small orphanage from which they all had been “found” by Bulda and Cliff.

The aged couple couldn’t really bring themselves to bring any new kids into the fold, but that didn’t stop them from finding ways to bring children into their family, and why Kristoff found himself lifting crates of apples off the back of his pickup truck, in the snow, to bring to the orphanage’s kitchens. Since his parents first realized they couldn’t have children themselves, since the day they found him eight years old with no family to call his own, they’d become the unofficial, official sunshine club for the children's home. They were forever coordinating donations, finding ways to organize events and trips for the kids, and Kristoff had grown up with the work being a part of him and a part of his life. Despite having been out from under his parent’s roof for three years, he never hesitated to find a way to help his family in their work to help the kids who weren’t so lucky as him and his younger siblings.

“Kristoff honey!” his mother yelled from one of the adjoining rooms as he dropped the final apple crate on the kitchen counter with the others. There were three more there, plenty enough for the amount of apple pies his mother planned to bake for their annual “desserts and dreams” program.

It was really just a party where the kids at the orphanage filled out their Christmas letters. It was a simple enough process, there was sugar and kids nervously writing usually very small requests on a piece of paper that they’d then hang on trees in local businesses and churches. Even people who couldn’t adopt a child could adopt their wishes for the holidays, and it was, generally something that they’d had great success with in the past.

Before his mother had stepped up, when he was still in the orphanage himself, there had been little celebration for the holidays. He still remembered the disappointment of no tree, no decorations but what he and the other children made themselves, and certainly the fact that there were no presents. But he remembered his first Christmas after being adopted clearer than that, he remembered how the whole house had seemed to glow with lights and tinsel and how he cried into his parent’s arms when he was given a present. It had been a lot to handle, and over the years he’d watched his younger siblings go through similar Christmas 180’s.

His parents hadn’t allowed another holiday without celebrating since for the kids in the orphanage. As they’d quickly learned their first year organizing the party, the year he’d turned 12, the community really did want to help give kids Christmas, they just didn’t know how. It had taken his mother and her fighting spirit to show them the way, and they hadn’t stopped since.

“Yeah Ma?” he shouted back, walking to the kitchen door to close it. It was flurrying out, and the last thing he needed was to hear about the puddles he’d caused by leaving the door open for a moment more than necessary.

“There’s a few new volunteers that need instruction. They just walked in, the rest of us are busy. Once you get the apples handled would you mind getting them on decorating?”

He huffed out a sigh, walking back through the kitchen, down the hallway and towards the room he assumed his mother was in. He wouldn’t tell her no. He couldn’t. Both because he really was unable to deny his mother any of her wishes, and because Bulda was not the type of woman who ever took “no” for an answer. Once she got something into her head, she was a woman on a mission until it got done. His father, Cliff, said that it was the whole reason they’d gotten married in the first place.

“She walked up to me in the middle of a football game and said ‘you’re gonna be my man’ and the rest is history”, was what he used to say. It was, truthfully, almost identical to the story of how he came to be their son. He still recalled her walking up to him, touching his cheek and saying “cutie, I’m gonna keep you”.

He was decidedly not his mother’s son. He knew the irony of that well enough, but it was true. Bulda was outgoing as the day was long, and he was not. Working with people was not necessarily his strong suit, but he would admit to it, and he considered that something. Kids he was alright with, but other adults he preferred to avoid. It was also why when he wasn’t helping his mother, he did carpentry work. Of course he had to talk to people in order to determine what they needed done, but they rarely wanted to hold much of a conversation and that was good enough for him.

“Ah Ma,” he said as he walked into to room, seeing his mother toiling rather heroically over a desk piled high with envelopes and legers, “why don’t you let me handle the math for a little while, you know I’m not good with…”

“Pish posh!” his mother said, waving him off with a smile, “You know I have to run the numbers six times myself before I’m willing to let anyone else double check me, and that’s your father’s job. Go on, it’s just a couple regulars and a new girl, you’ll be fine.”

He gave serious thought to telling his mother that her definition of “fine” and his must be very different, but when he heard one of his younger sister’s calling out for help he thought better of it. They, as they always did, had their hands plenty full without his hemming and hawing about a simple task.

“Yeah, but tell me if you need more heavy lifting done, if I hear you and Dad lifted anything over three pounds I’m going to skip Christmas dinner.”

Bulda, for her part, feigned shock as he walked away. They both knew he wouldn’t dare.

***

“I’m umm…” the girl before him, Anna, was already the most difficult volunteer he’d ever worked with. Not that he thought that she was trying to be difficult, but it was clear to him that whatever she did, it was not usually volunteering at an orphanage’s pre-Christmas party. He had to admit though, that besides his family and the handful of recurring volunteers they’d trusted over the years, there probably weren’t many people that could say they volunteered at an orphanage’s pre-Christmas party.

“I’m pretty good at making paper snowflakes?” she offered.

It had been a simple enough question, he thought. He’d just told her that she was supposed to help make or hang decorations for the party, and had asked what she was good at. He hadn’t thought it was a difficult question, or an involved one. He’d really just meant to ask her whether she wanted to decorate or whether she wanted to make the decorations, but it hadn’t come out that way, and so he had a rather nervous, but very pretty redhead looking at him like she was on foreign soil.

“Okay,” he said, deciding that even if he wasn’t good with people, he could be polite at least for his mother’s sake. “There’s… uh, paper and scissors over at the table, I’m sure you can figure something out. Thanks.”

He did his best to kind of gesture to the table in question and back out of the room slowly to go find somewhere else to be, but she caught onto his sweater sleeve.

“You’re not going to…”

He wasn’t sure whether she meant “stay” or “help” or both. Under any normal circumstance he would say no and walk away, to go do something else helpful that wasn’t arts and crafts with a stranger, but this situation was far from normal to begin with, and she looked panicked. He really wasn’t certain as to why she was even there. She looked a little too old to be the usual college or high school kids they got for community service hours, and she looked too young to be one of the rich types from the nearby city who came for the photo-op. There was something in her eyes though, a determination mixed with her nervousness, and that’s why he sighed and, without giving her an answer, walked over to the table.

***

She was good at making snowflakes. Or at least she was much better at it than he was. Hers were delicate things that looked like they had fallen straight from the sky themselves, he had made sort of squarish abominations with chunks missing that looked more chewed out than cut. She was giving him an A for effort, but had a feeling that not even his mother could truthfully come up with a compliment for what he'd created. But Anna did.

"You're getting better everytime!" She said holding up his latest attempt, "It looks a lot more circular than the last couple!"

Despite the fact that she'd shown him three times how to cut the paper to end up with a snowflake instead of a snow brick, he was still managing to come up with a mess. He appreciated her patience though and despite his earlier reservations, he was finding her easy and even enjoyable to talk to.

"So what do you do for a living Anna?"

It seemed, again, a simple enough question, but when he saw her face go flush he thought that maybe he'd managed to offend her.

"I uh... I'm unemployed at the moment. I just finished my degree in early childhood education though, so the goal is to teach."

He watched as she nervously ran her fingers over her braid, and tried to give her a reassuring smile. He had no idea how to talk to women, and while it seemed as if things had been going fine before he asked, he wasn't sure what he could do to make her more comfortable.

"That's great!" He said, trying to really show her that he meant it, "Volunteering with kids while you apply seems like a smart plan. My parents could write you a reference letter if you want."

She smiled shyly, "That would be nice, thank you. I'm just happy to help. I just really needed to do something that felt..."

She shrugged and looked to him for the word she was lacking.

"Meaningful?" He offered. It was the word he'd use to describe what he and his family did there. Rewarding and positive also came to mind, but at the end of the day, making something out of nothing for kids who barely had anything was one of the most important things he could think to do with his time.

She nodded and gave him a look of appreciation that he hadn't expected. She picked her scissors back up and went to work cutting another perfectly folded page.

"So do you work here?"

Kristoff shook his head. It felt like it most days really, especially during the holiday season when his mother and father seemingly had daily plans for the children housed there. Whether it was parties, organizing donations, crunching the budget to swing presents for children who hadn't received donations or taking nice photos of the children for various agencies to show perspective parents he almost always spent his evenings there. Oftentimes he showed up just to do a couple things and force his mother to go home. Some days she'd try to stay late into the night to get things done, and while he respected her greatly for it, she sometimes needed someone else to step in and make her rest. She often needed to be reminded that she couldn't save the world singlehandedly.

"No, I'm a carpenter. I used to live here though, before..." he didn't know why he was telling her. Normally most of the volunteers knew him. He was "Cliff and Bukda's boy" to everyone in the community and they all knew that he was adopted. He certainly didn't look at all like his parents. But Anna wasn't from the area as far as he could surmise and she was perhaps one of the first people he'd ever needed to tell.

"Oh... I'm so..."

He waved her off before she could continue.

"Oh don't be, please. It's not a sore subject or anything. I was adopted when I was eight, and we've been coming back ever since to volunteer and help out the other kids. It's also how I acquired several siblings."

Her concern was sweet, but entirely unnecessary. As he glanced over to the opposite side of the room where his younger siblings were working with other volunteers to cover tables, put up decorations, and prepare papers and pens for letter writing Kristoff knew for a fact that he was one of the luckiest men alive. That he was talking to Anna and that they both seemed to be enjoying the he conversation despite it's awkward "getting to know you" was an unexpected addition to his luck.

She smiled at that and pulled apart her folding to reveal another perfectly cut snowflake. "That's really sweet you know. My family doesn't really..." She shook her head and he decided not to pry, "I'm glad you do this, and that I have the opportunity to help. It means a lot."

Kristoff grinned, "Well for the kids it means even more than you know. Thank you for coming to help out."

The soft way she reached over to touch his hand after setting down the snowflake was wholly unexpected, and it caused his heart to race in an unfamiliar way. He could feel his face warming.

“No, I mean… I’m sure it does, but I was trying to say, being able to do this means a lot for me. If that makes sense? Does that sound selfish? I’m not really…”

She trailed off and lifted her hand from his. He wasn’t really sure why he flipped his palm and caught her hand in his as she was drawing away. It was instinct, he just didn’t want her to think he thought she was selfish for feeling good about what they were doing. He thought that she was the type of person who should feel good about doing good things, he wanted her to feel good, and that was foreign.

“It does make sense,” he said looking her in the eye, secretly glad to see that he wasn’t the only one blushing. “I mean… this feels good, right?”

He was confused when he saw her eyes go wide and when she gave him a shy grin.

“It really does.”

***

Kristoff still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up catching an early dinner with her. They’d been talking, and then his mom had pulled him aside with the good news that someone had sponsored all the kids, plus some. An anonymous contribution marked “from Santa” which meant that every child would receive not just one gift, but a few. It was generous to say the least, and they hadn’t expected it.

When he’d returned to her, smiling, and feeling very good about the world, she’d mentioned needing to grab dinner before the party started and he’d said that they could go together. He had to ask himself whether it was a date. He hadn’t been on a date since high school, and that really didn’t count because it had just been once and then he’d never really seen the girl again other than in lunch. That had been all he needed to know that he was abysmally bad at dating, but now sitting across from Anna as she mowed through a burger, he really considered the idea that trying again might be worth it.

“So you’re not from around here?” he asked, knowing the answer. It was a small town, everyone knew everyone. She was new and other than the fact that he’d heard through the grapevine, AKA his mother, that she had moved into the old Arendelle place, a large empty manor house that had been in town for years, but uninhabited since before he’d been adopted.

“Well not really,” she said before poking a fry in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully, “My parents grew up here, and my sister and I lived here when I was a baby, but I don’t remember it. I was raised in the city.”

He nodded, “Must be a lot different there, I’ve only ever just driven through.”

She sighed, “Too different. Everything is so fast there…” she took another bite of her burger and with her mouth only slightly full, continued, “My sister likes it, but there’s things about the lifestyle there I’d rather… move away from? If that makes sense.”

It didn’t really make sense. He didn’t know enough about what she could be talking about for it to be making sense, but it didn’t really matter. He’d never been so interested in hearing someone speak, save for his family, and sometimes he didn’t even have an interest so much as he had a love for them that made it worthwhile.

“I can’t say I get it,” he said with a shrug, “but it is a lot slower out here, if you want to get away from something, this is the place to do it.”

She smiled, “I’m just excited to get a fresh start, you know? It’s nice to meet someone who’s so different from…” she trailed off, “Well my ex, I hope you don’t mind my brining it up, it’s just a big part of why I’m here now. I want to be a better person than who I was.”

He didn’t mind. He didn’t think there was anything she could say to him that he would mind hearing.

“I don’t think you can do that,” he said and nearly choked on his coke when he realized what he’d said versus what he’d meant.

“I mean!” he sputtered, “I don’t think you can be better because you already seem really great.”

She laughed. It was a beautiful sound, even when she snorted and covered her face with her hand.

“Well,” she said still laughing, “That’s sweet of you, but I’m afraid you don’t know me very well.”

“I’d like to.”

She grinned broadly, “I’d like that too.”

***

His sister, ten years younger than him and not even a quarter of his size, was pulling him down the hallway of the orphanage their parents had adopted them both from.

“Kris!” she said once they were far enough away from the main room where the kids were eating apple pie and writing their Christmas lists with the help of the volunteers, Anna included, and had his sister not stolen him away, the pair of them as well.

“What is it Jemma, we’re supposed to be helping the kids,” he gave what he hoped was a disapproving look, not that it ever affected any of his younger siblings. He might be the eldest, but he had no power over them. He tried to play tough, but at the end of the day they walked all over him like a doormat and he loved them too much to fight it.

“That girl you’ve been with all day, I know who she is.”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, we all do. Her name is Anna, she just moved here, she’s going to start teaching preschool in town once Mrs. Hollis goes off on maternity leave.”

His sister looked at him like he was stupid, throwing in an eyeroll for good measure.

“No Kris, I mean I’ve seen her before, in a magazine.”

He snorted. “That gossip rag you like that Mom keeps threatening to toss out?”

She treated him with another eyeroll, and he wondered if he was half the sass she was when he was thirteen. Somehow, he seriously doubted it, but in his experience, all teens were difficult until they hit sixteen or seventeen and realized just how much they didn’t know yet. With a few exceptions, amongst which he liked to consider himself at that age, even if his mother and father might disagree.

“It’s not a…”

He shot her a look and she trailed off. Even she couldn’t deny that it was, in fact, a gossip rag.

“Fine. But shut up for a minute and listen to me. She’s an heiress. Her name is Anna Arendelle, her parents owned Arendelle industries and when they died it all went to her and her sister. No one knew much about them, but then she started dating this guy Hans Westergaard who comes from like a massive family of Hollywood agents and it became kind of a big deal because he was spotted out at parties and stuff cheating on her with other women but they were engaged and...”

He stopped her with a shake of his head, “Look Jem, I don’t know if you’ve got the right girl or not here, and even if you do, I don’t need to know her backstory, she’s just nice and she’s…”

She jumped in then, “No, you do need to know because she’s not ‘just nice’, she’s volunteers at an orphanage in the middle of nowhere and pay $100 per kid for Christmas presents nice. Also, she’s single.”

Kristoff did not like the thing that his sister was doing with her eyebrows, he also didn’t like that she was implying that he should have an interest in her that was financially motivated, but he supposed that at thirteen thinking that way was more normal.

He did his best to emulate her eyeroll and wrapped an arm around her, dragging her back down the hallway and into the fantastically decorated dining space where the party was in full swing. “Go help some kids write their letters Jem you little troublemaker and I won’t tell Mom that you snuck and found out the identity of an anonymous donor.” There was no malice in his tone, and they both knew he would do no such thing.

From across the room, Anna’s eyes met his and he couldn’t help but hold her gaze and smile.

He didn’t care that she was an heiress. He didn’t care that she had just gone through some kind of highly publicized breakup. It didn’t matter to him.

What mattered was that she was one of the only people he’d ever enjoyed talking to. What mattered was the smile she gave him from across the room and how much she’d enjoyed dinner with him, though his newfound knowledge did explain why after fighting over the check they’d gone Dutch. He didn’t care about what she had in a bank account. He cared about how the little boy sitting with her was giggling, and how when she looked at the boy and he told her something in return, he could hear her laughing too.

He crossed the room and was not particularly subtle about moving to help a child who was just a few seats from where Anna sat.

***

A couple weeks had passed, and another party was well on the horizon. This time, his mother had insisted that he and Anna finish wrapping the massive pile of toys and gifts that they’d been able to purchase with the “anonymous” donation they’d been grateful for.

Kristoff was fairly certain that only he and Jemma were really aware of who Santa was, but at the same time, he knew for a fact that his mother had set up her party plans to keep him and Anna together through the process.

So he’d helped her move some boxes into her house. So they’d gone out to dinner a couple more times since they met. He didn’t see what the big deal was given that he was just trying to be friendly. That he’d helped her fix a squeaky cupboard and thought he’d felt her eyes on his rear, and that he’d blushed furiously because he’d thought he’d felt her eyes on his rear meant nothing.

He suspected Jemma had said something to their mother about how good they looked together or something because his younger sister and mother had shoved them in a room, together, alone, for what was going to be a couple hours of work.

Anna, smiling as she wrapped, seemed to be unaware of their scheming at least.

“So I was thinking, one of the other volunteers told me that there’s a Christmas craft market in the next town over tomorrow, and you know there’s only a week until the big day and I have to find something unique for my sister and trust me, she’s the woman who has everything…”

Something he’d learned about Anna was that she was an over-explainer. When she had something to say, but was worried about how it would be received, she ran on about it for a while, trying to justify what she was saying, even if she only needed to justify it to herself.

“I’d like to go with you if that’s what you’re asking,” he replied, trying desperately to try to fix some of his crumpled wrapping to make it look even slightly attractive next to her flawless work. He thought that maybe he should only be tasked with things that could go in bags and perfect squares. Any other shapes and types of gifts were his holiday kryptonite.

She clapped her hands together and cheered, making him smile.

She plucked the gift from his hands, and he relinquished it gladly, relaxing as she masterfully straightened and primped the paper until the object resembled a gift instead of a wad of paper and tape.

“Good because I was hoping to get some things for the other volunteers and for your family and you know everyone better than I do.”

He laughed, “I think you give my social skills too much credit.”

It was sweet of her to think about getting everyone gifts. He was happy that she was starting, through their little menagerie of family and church ladies and local likeminded folk, to build some friendships in town. She was a nice girl, she deserved to have nice people around her. He still wasn’t sure if that really included him or not, but even if as she met people she was interested in him less and less, he was happy to have been one of the first people to welcome her into town.

“No, I don’t think I do,” she said with a grin, “People like you. Even if you don’t talk to them much, they really like you. The other volunteers have so many nice things to say.”

He shrugged. Most people had good things to say about his whole family. Cliff and Bulda were good people and they did their best to raise their children well. He supposed it made sense that he’d be included amongst someone’s praises of his family.

“But yeah, thank you for agreeing to come. I’ve been really enjoying spending time with you.”

He laughed at that, “That’s a new one.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, “I’m serious, you’re fun to be around. You’re no strings attached and that’s nice. It’s…”

She waved her hand in the air as she searched for a word, finally landing on “refreshing.”

“Not so many blunt people in the city then?”

“No,” she said thoughtfully as she handed him a football, something neither of them were going to attempt to put in anything other than a bag. “They were blunt, but everyone always wanted something from you. They’d be blunt and rude and whatever else they thought they could get away with, but there was always an ulterior motive. They always just talked to me to get to my sister or I was a walking net worth. I wasn’t a person they wanted to get to know. I was a means to an end.”

He frowned when he heard the emotion in her voice. He was not good with crying girls, not even his sisters, so when he looked up at her and saw tears in her eyes he set the football down and scooted across the space on the floor between them and did his best to give her a comforting pat.

It just made her tears fall faster.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as she leaned into him. They’d only known each other a short while, but already he was desperately connected to her. He’d thought that if she left his life as quickly as she’d come that he would be fine, but it was a lie, and he knew it. He was already falling for her, and that in and of itself was completely new territory.

He wrapped his arm around her as she leaned, his hand tentatively falling on her back in a comforting gesture. They were surrounded on all sides by gifts and wrapping paper and sundry and it struck him as a strange place to cry, but he didn’t think that telling her as much would help, so he just held on to her tightly.

“You shouldn’t be sorry,” she said, “You should be proud. You’re so nice to me and you don’t even get anything out of it.”

He smiled then, “I think you’re selling yourself short now. I get plenty out of being nice to you. Like you being nice to me. I don’t really have people lining up to be my friend you know, just Sven, and he’s a dog so he has to like me.”

She laughed at that, a little snort that accompanied her tears.

“But still,” she said, “I’m used to people wanting money from me… do you even know that I’m…”

“Rich?” he asked, then quickly added, “Jemma’s into gossip rags, but I don’t really care what they have to say about you. I don’t want money from you or anything like that, I just think you’re a good person Anna. Though, I will admit when we figured out you were Santa it did make me smile. What you did was very generous.”

She grinned then, still with some tears on her cheeks. “Ho, ho, ho?”

He laughed at that and pulled her in to his side a little tighter.

When she leaned up, looking determined, and asked him a question, he was surprised.

“What if I want something from you?”

He gave her a curious look. Her eyes were still a little wet, she was flushed and looked a bit nervous.

He responded quickly, because he knew the answer, “If it was something, I could give you, I would. Honestly I’ve been trying to figure out what to get you for the holidays since y—”

He didn’t get to finish what he was saying because she was shifting around and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. A quick one, but one that made it obvious enough what she was getting at.

He came to the sudden and sweeping realization that all the times he had asked himself whether going out with her and doing something was a date, she must have been asking herself the same.

“I don’t want to be that girl who leaves a relationship and hops right into another, but I really like you a lot Kristoff,” she said, nervously overexplaining herself again in a way he thought was beginning to find endearing, “I just think that maybe this is worth giving a shot? I think that you like me too, and if not that’s okay I think we’re good friends, and I know we’re still getting to know each other and everything but I just really want to take a chance because—”

He took a chance then too, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her lips. When her arms wrapped around him and she leaned into the kiss, he knew he had made the right choice.

Her lips were soft against his and when their noses bumped together the soft laugh she treated him to, caused him to melt. She was perfect, and he counted himself the luckiest man on Earth that his Ma had forced him to be social a couple weeks before.

When the kiss broke, his forehead rested gently against hers and one of her hands moved from his back to card through his hair gently.

“Did you do that because you wanted to? Or because of the mistletoe?”

Though she asked the question, her voice was so full of mirth that he knew she was teasing. However, when he looked up and saw that there was, indeed, mistletoe hanging above them, he knew he had his mother and sister to thank.

When Anna started laughing though, he knew he couldn’t be mad about their interference.

“I noticed it when we walked in. I picked the spot on purpose,” she said, continuing to giggle as she spoke, her fingers leaving his hair to press against her lips as she blushed, “I was hoping you’d do that.”

He grinned in return. “I’d happily do so again… if you want me to, that is.”

She didn’t waste anytime closing the gap between them, presents at their sides forgotten for later. He’d never been so glad for a new volunteer in his entire life.

#kristanna advent 2019 #kristanna #fluff #this is a kissing book #this is basically a Hallmark Christmas Movie in condensed form #I'm not responsible for any tooth rotting as a consequence of consumption you have been warned this is some saccharine meet cute

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nerdy-bookworm-1998 · 5 years

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Operation: Deck the Halls

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: Day 3 of my 25 Days of Christmas Celebration Calendar. The reader is on a mission; to decorate the Avengers Tower living spaces before the team wakes. Will she succeed or will she fall asleep before the task is complete? Words: 750 Warnings: Fluff A/N: If you liked this, please leave feedback/reblogs and consider donating to my Ko-Fi and/or Patreon, links are in my bio. If you would like to be tagged in future works, please send me an ask. Merry Christmas! 😘🎄🎅🤶

It's exactly midnight on the first of December when y/n's alarm starts blaring Deck the Halls. She quickly shuts it off then flings the covers from her body. She is already fully dressed in a red sweater with 'Santa's Favorite Elf' in white cursive, candy cane striped leggings and green socks printed with candy canes. She slips on her reindeer slippers then opens the large box that she had placed next to her bed before she went to sleep a few hours before.

First things first, she stripped off her black sheets with the orange pumpkin lanterns and replaced them with deep red sheets, a soft white duvet with light blue snowflakes and a red flannel blanket with many festive throw pillows. The next things to go up are her Santa fairy lights, mini figurines, posters, and snowglobe collection. Once she was satisfied with how everything looked, she picked up the boxes by the door and made her way into the rest of the tower.

Thankfully Bucky had been sent on a mission with Steve, Sam, and Nat so he wasn't there to scold her for being up so early. She sneaked around the communal floor, delivering boxes full of decorations to each area. Once all the boxes had been placed in the right rooms she went back to the kitchen.

She swapped all of the fall decorations with Christmas ones, the pumpkin spice coffee pods with gingerbread, snickerdoodle, peppermint and other festive flavors, the Halloween mugs, bowls and other crockery with Christmas themed ones instead, and pulled out a batch of cinnamon roll dough to warm up to room temperature to be baked for later.

While waiting for her cocochino to finish brewing so that she could continue with her mission to decorate the living quarters before the other inhabitants of the tower woke up, she took the chance to hack into Friday and program her to play Christmas carols throughout the building. Once she had her drink in her to-go tumbler she bounced off to the dining room.

As the first rays of morning sun lit up the common room the welcoming scent of freshly-baked cinnamon buns and coffee pulled the still sleepy avengers from their rooms, only pausing for a moment to admire how the communal living spaces had been transformed overnight into a spectacular winter wonderland with the backdrop of fresh snowflakes slowly falling outside the large floor-to-ceiling windows.

Almost everyone had just settled down at the dining table with dinner-plate sized rolls and large mugs of their preferred beverages when the elevator dinged open and a very tired-looking Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Natasha stepped out. "Morning everyone, I hope there's coffee," Steve managed to yawn out as he fell into an open chair.

Wanda floated over four plates and mugs for the late-comers but Bucky was only interested in one thing. "Where's y/n/n? She's usually up by now," he questioned, looking around as if she would suddenly jump out from a hiding place and shout 'surprise!'. But she didn't.

Instead, it was Friday who answered, "Miss y/l/n is in the living room, Sergeant Barnes," in her usual Irish lilt.

"Thank you, Friday," Bucky called before making his way to the room in question. What he saw made his heart melt into a puddle of goo in his chest. There was his girl, looking so soft and warm in a red flannel blanket, half-eaten cinnamon bun and mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table next to her. Her face twitched, her cute nose scrunching up in her sleep like a little bunny.

Bucky gently scooped her up into his arms, careful not to wake her, and carried her to their room. He pulled back the covers on the bed and lay her down before tucking her in. He grabbed some clean clothes and went to the bathroom to get all the sweat and grime off of him. After having a hot shower and dressing in soft black sweatpants and a dark blue henley, he slid in under the covers and pulled his best girl into his arms.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open and she smiled sleepily. "Hey, you're home..." she rasped out before her eyes closed again.

"I'm home, Doll," he whispered back. Before he could say anything else, her soft snores filled the air, drawing a fond grin to his lips as he thought about the ring box in the back of his closet while settling deeper under the covers and let sleep take him.

Tags:

@mcdesij @spiderrrling @arrow-guy @interestedbystanderwrites @murdocksmartinis @gwendelerynan @here2have-fun @bookscoffeeandracoons @bambamwolf87 @loricameback @rockrchick51 @love-nakamura @baebeepeach @timelordy-fangirl2 @jewelofwinter @caramell0w @jewels2876 @ladysergeantbarnes @notawritergettingtherethough @patzammit @fanfictionjunkie1112 @lumar014 @kirstie-evans-writes @robertdowneyhiddleston @lil-lex1 @dragonrosegardens @bookgirlunicorn @farfromshawn @shadymidge @kaithezaftig

#marvel #avengers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #25 days of christmas celebration calendar #fluff #christmas #christmas fun #christmas baking

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amandaearl · 5 years

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How I Get Thru Ottawa Winters

1. Expect a 6-month experience.

It is not uncommon for Ottawa to have snow and cold between November and April. This way my hopes are not dashed when the weather gets colder again after the January thaw.

2. Dress according to the weather. Pay no attention to the calendar.

Spring fever is a term that I use to describe the hope I feel when the number of daylight hours increases. It’s wonderful, but no matter how great the temptation is to start wearing fewer clothes as spring fever hits, I resist. I look at the actual temperature and dress accordingly. I try to take glory in the bundling. I wear a lot of red in winter because red makes me feel happy, intense and fiery.

3. Notice what makes winter beautiful.

The other day when we had the big storm with the massive snowflakes, I was at home and cozy. It was so quiet. I felt safe and comfortable. It was windy otherwise I would have gone out and bundled up, enjoying the silence and the feeling of being wrapped up and alone in the quiet.

The angle of the light changes from the harsh white of early winter to the soft yellow of the oncoming spring. I live on the 19th floor with a southern exposure so the change in colour, intensity and angle of the sun really affects me. On January mornings, I have to close the curtains to avoid having the sun in my eyes.

I love the way frost paints flowers on the windows and ice hangs from trees and rooftops like jewels in the sun.

4. Do not compare Ottawa winters to winters elsewhere. I love the photos of flowers I see on BC folks’ social media accounts, but it is easy to be envious, to experience a bitter disappointment that our magnolias will not start to bloom until May and if we’re lucky we might have a paltry crocus or daffodil in April. This just makes those croci and daffis ever sweeter to me when they come. Our blooms are defiant af. Be like the blooms. Be a feisty tulip.

5. Give money to the folks on the street. At this time of year, I give extra. I chat with homeless people and I bring whatever toonies and loonies (sometimes $5) as I can with me, putting the money in a change purse in my winter coat so I can easily give. I also usually donate to Cornerstone Housing for Women, a charity that provides emergency housing to women in need in the downtown core. There’s also the Ottawa Foodbank or other charities for donations of money and items that help. I have found that the more I give to others, the better I feel, the less lonely and blue I feel.

6. Get Moving

This year I joined a fitness program at Carleton University for 55+ folk (Senior Ravens), and it’s made a great difference. I am outside at least three times a week, whereas in the past I had a tendency to cocoon too much, which not only makes my body sore, but also makes me blue.

One of the classes is aquafit. It is great fun to dance around in the pool with fellow aquafit participants to the music.

I am writing a manuscript with the working title of “Motion and Light” about the Senior Raven experience.

7. Get Social

This one is harder for me. My instinct in winter is hibernation and isolation. The gym has helped. Three days a week I interact with fellow fitness participants. After my Monday class I hang out with a few of the regulars. We have coffee and chat. It’s lovely.

I am not a night person at all and these days I am exhausted in the evenings. I used to attend a lot of literary events but it’s harder for me to do so these days because of this exhaustion. Literary events have always been my go to for society. I still seek out my literary pals but more on social media these days.

8. Make Plans for Spring

I have verified that Carleton’s Senior Ravens program will continue in the spring, and I plan to continue taking the fitness classes.

Once the spring arrives, I plan to walk from Carleton to the Fletcher Wildlife Garden, a 20-minute walk from Carleton U.

I imagine myself walking outside with headphones and a fanny pack. I have even purchased the fanny pack. It is peony petal pink. (not the fuchsia, but a pale shade).

9. Glory in the Cocoonery

I bake cookies, read good books, watch films, take long naps buried under the covers (or outside of them during a hot flash). I make playlists of music to help me through. Songs like Could Be So Happy by the Heartless Bastards bring me great joy (“gonna keep on going, I don’t want to stand still. … oh I’m longing to be…out in the sweet unknown”) The xmas holidaze often result in a slow down and a quieting. I take advantage of the slowness to reflect, to write, to create and to rest.

10. Remember that winter ends.

Sending love and solidarity to those for whom winter is hard on the body and the psyche. I know it feels like fucking forever, but winter will end…eventually.

#winter #Ottawa #getting through

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bethagain · 5 years

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The Good Omens advent fic challenge continues! Tonight, it’s Newt and Anathema, and the prompt was sleigh bells.

Be warned, much sweetness here. I made myself tear up with this one. Also on AO3.

-------------

Best House on the Block

If Newton Pulsifer had his way, the Device-Pulsifer house would have had the fanciest Christmas decorations on their street.

There would have been thousands of twinkling fairy lights, pulsing on and off to the music of Christmas carols, playing on weatherproof Bluetooth speakers just loud enough to hear when you stopped by the house to admire.

Santa and his reindeer would look like they’d landed on the lawn, with Rudolf’s nose twinkling, Santa waving, and the other reindeer scraping the grass with their hooves, eager to be off again. The lawn itself would be bright with laser-light snowflakes, in changing patterns that would make it look like the snow was sticking, like it would be time to build a snowman soon.

But Newton Pulsifer didn’t get his way.

Pulsing lights with bluetooth speakers required a computer program to make them work. Santa and those reindeer were controlled by a little black box with a switch on it, and inside that box was a microchip.

All Newt had to do was go near them and the musical lights would fizzle. The speakers would fail to static and silence. The most movement Newt could get out of the Santa diorama was the shower of sparks when he tried to turn the thing on. He’d been hopeful about the laser-light snowflakes. But they knew perfectly well that they were products of technology and steadfastly refused to work when Newton pressed the button.

He’d tried all of these things and more, new ones every season. And every season, he’d given the latest experiment away to the neighbors.

That wasn’t a bad thing entirely. Newt and Anathema’s neighborhood was a destination for its Christmas lights. People drove from miles around, cars backing up as they snaked around the neighborhood. The neighbors all got together and put a donation box on a fencepost at the end of the street, money to buy food and warm coats for families in need, and every night the box was full.

But among all this holiday cheer, for years the Device-Pulsifer house remained the plain one. Newt would get a little blue around the holidays, looking at their plain old white fairy lights that barely even twinkled.

So Anathema started buying him presents. She haunted the local antique stores. She searched online.

The first present was a clockwork drummer boy with a key on his back. Wind him up and he’d march the length of the mantle, tap-tapping on his drum. Newt was fascinated. So fascinated that, one night while Anathema was out, he took it apart to see what made it tick.

She came home to find the drummer boy tap-tapping his way across the floor and Newt sitting there watching it with a huge grin on his face.

He’d taken it apart. And then he’d put it back together. And it worked.

The next present was a mechanical bank. A cast-iron Santa stood on a roof, his bag of presents over his shoulder and the other hand held out. Put a coin in that hand and Santa would drop it right down the chimney, to be saved up for presents or whatever else you wanted to buy.

Newt took the bank apart, too.

And put it back together.

And it worked.

Anathema bought him a little tin roller-coaster that worked on just the force of gravity. It needed a little push after every time it went round, to keep it going. Newt took that apart, bent some of the pieces, and put it back together--and now it went round three times at least before you had to start it going again.

Pretty soon, Newt was ducking shyly into the local ironmonger’s, looking for better tools. Half of Anathema’s sewing room was sacrificed to become Newt’s workshop. He stopped trying--and failing--to upgrade her old laptop and started learning to use metal shears, a hand-cranked drill, and an antique rivet press. His work table was littered with different size gears. Anathema learned to tread carefully, to avoid stepping on wayward springs.

If you drive through the neighborhood now, you’ll see plenty of houses with electric reindeer on front lawns, computer-controlled trains circling upper floors, laser lights telling whole stories in pictures across the house-fronts.

And then you’ll get to the Device-Pulsifer house, where the lights are dancing because they’re real gas flames. Where a life-size Santa doesn’t move until you take the candy-cane from his hand, and then he shakes with mechanical laughter before reaching into his bag, pulling out another candy cane, and winding down to wait again. Where reindeer with wheels for hooves pull a bright red sleigh around a roller-coaster track, round and round a dozen times for every push from a child.

Where the music comes from a clockwork drummer boy and his pet clockwork dog, jingling real sleigh bells on his collar.

The Device-Pulsifer house doesn’t have the fanciest decorations on the block, not by a long shot. But it’s known, far and wide, for having the best ones.

#good omens #fanfic #anathema/newt #31 days of ineffables #christmas #anathema device #newton pulsifer

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dbhilluminate · 5 years

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DBHI: Equilibrium, ch. 13 - “Periapsis” (pt. 1)

Characters: Noah / “Erwin Yvonne”, Gabriel / “Vincent Sharp”, Special Agent Gavin Reed, Director Thomas Falken Word Count: 2,842

Noah crashes an undercover FBI operation to say hello to a friend he hasn't seen or spoken to in a couple of months, but the mood is spoiled when the Zionist Inquisition shows up to deliver an ultimatum to Vincent Sharp, and issue a threat to anyone who would dare support the installation of an android suburb in Washington, DC.

***For a glossary of world-building terms relating to this series and chapter, click here.

(Chapter Art by ozaya, Co-authored by @grayorca15)

• Chapter Index • Characters • Glossary •

——

December 23rd, 2041 - 9:45 PM

From the outside, the looming auditorium locally known as The Mellon was unchanged. Whatever techno-aesthetics the Capitol had adopted in the last two decades, Washington, DC’s architecture was still mostly the same neoclassical Roman-inspired drivel the Founding Fathers probably thought the height of grandeur that any respectable city could model itself after. This particular building was very much a product of its time- a perfect encapsulation of the stiff right angles, thick brooding columns, and bleak texture-less walls, suggested nothing of what might actually be happening beyond the foyer. The red-green cutout projections of trees and reindeer and ornaments dancing across the Columbia pediment sculpted across its tented promenade and the delicate string instruments currently honoring an orchestral cover of one of a hundred classic Christmas songs was a hint though.

Noah stepped out of the Jaguar to be accosted by a shower of holographic white and blue snowflakes, mixed with the real-life equivalent wafting about that cold winter’s night. They swarmed like his very own plague of too-friendly gnats. Whatever property-wide projection program the event had been accentuated with, the programmer had evidently spent too much time re-watching Frozen as a child. He pulled his sunglasses down just far enough to peer over the lenses as a few flakes fluttered in, close enough for him to see their individual fractals, and gave an irritated huff through his nose. “Still bitter over the demise of Disney, I see.” A few seconds later, the shy valet swept around the roadster’s red taillights and apologized profusely for a near-nonexistent delay in offering to take the car to be parked. Noah felt nothing but amusement at their blathering, patted him on the shoulder and held the door open. “Quit fussing. It’s early yet, and you’ve a lot more rides to tuck in before the night’s over. Treat this one like the queen she is and there’ll be an extra fifty in it for you… Fredrick.”

The kitschy light-show and dear hapless Fred weren’t as bothersome as the front ranks of guards posted at the velvet rope-fenced entrance. The nearest man put up a hand and stopped him in his tracks at the top of the stairs. “I’m sorry, sir, but this is a charity function for contributors only. Have you made a donation?” It seemed only pre-approved guests were being permitted inside- a slight oversight on his part, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from his goal. He had a conversation to close out.

Noah popped his brows and donned a charming smile as he presented the falsified credentials, nestled in a flip-fold ID bearing the name Erwin L. Yvonne, complete with the most abhorrent manipulation of his likeness ever produced. “Not to worry, gents. I’m intimately acquainted with the curator, Mr. Sharp, and I’m here to deliver my contribution in the flesh.” Everything about the little white lie he’d spun on a whim was unnatural to him, but convincing to the two confused humans -poor, overworked and underpaid minions as they probably were- relaying questions into their headsets. After a few moments of conferring with whoever was heading security (most likely the Special Agents in charge of the sting this event was a front for), they motioned him through for a pat-down just beyond the rope. Noah didn’t bother feeling offended at them for only doing as they were instructed, but he did have a little fun making them as uncomfortable as possible as they searched his person for weapons. If his disguise, an old favorite thrown together on such short notice, held up to that much, then the rest would be a cakewalk- not that he had ever harbored a desire to actually go skipping through a fully-stocked dessert table. As fun as it sounded, he had enough messes splashed all over his real name without adding another to the list.

To his relief, the reach of the holographic snowflakes stopped at the door and vanished as he crossed the threshold of the foyer. The marble floor of the lobby had been buffed and waxed to a soft shine, and was still holding up to the foot traffic four hours after the meet’s commencement. Noah only paid enough mind to the guests still loitering about in groups no larger than six people to disinterestedly scan their faces at a glance and assign his background processes the menial task of matching names and dossiers to them. At the moment, he was far too focused on finding the one disguised face among them who was of any real importance to care about much else.

Mr. Vincent Sharp. Or should he say, Gabriel Reed.

The main hall was a wide, cavernous space, with rows of columns standing off to either side. Gold leaf sconced wall lamps provided an accentuating glow compared to the three giant chandeliers of brass and aluminum that bathed the room in ambient light. The dazzling light-show playing outdoors was only outdone by the splendor of one thirty-foot tall balsam fir erected in the center of the floor, adorned with no less than one hundred feet of multicolored string lights, dozens of strands of tinsel, swaths of garland, and a few hundred bauble ornaments. The topper, a white tinsel angel with glittery wings, faced the entrance with its hands pressed together and head bowed as if to thank all who arrived. A few outlying rings of cocktail tables surrounded the roped-off centerpiece. Those guests who weren’t conversing had taken seats to sip champagne or nibble on appetizers while they caught up on their gossip. Each cloth-covered table possessed its own small topper of a larger holographic projection of snowflakes hanging stationary in midair, which constantly shifted from one pattern to the next, spinning like a globe on a stand whenever a curious hand reached out to ‘tap’ them.

A small stage nestled in an alcove against the back of the ballroom hosted a classical band (ruled by one full-size concert piano) who looked as superfluous as the snowflakes that had greeted him outside. They wound through the last chorus of Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire as he descended the staircase, before starting back up with Jingle Bell Rock. Between the cello and violins, Noah’s hypersensitive ear detected at least three strings in need of tightening before he shunted that note aside to take a backseat with the rest of his anxieties. He hadn’t spent two hours biting his knuckles over ever approaching the Andrew W. Mellon Auditorium just to show up and critique its acoustic entertainment.

It wasn’t until a few curious eyes had turned his way, nodded and bid him good evening, that Noah realized how entirely inappropriate it was to be wearing sunglasses indoors, much less an event so high-class. The rest of his ensemble was tame enough- a dark navy blue suit bearing pointed lapels and a Zion sigil pin, complimented by a black dress shirt and loafers. The mild dose of glitter effect (same as could be found on the snow outside) projected into his black hair, accented with blue highlights, wasn’t as much of an affront as the pair of Ray Bans. Before anyone could make much of a fuss about it, he pulled them off and stashed the specs in his jacket’s breast pocket; in this kind of crowd, acting appropriate was of the utmost priority. Except when it wasn’t. Off to the left was a fully stocked pop-up bar- heads of the handful of people standing near it were turned away, giving off all manner of unapproachable vibes, including the only familiar silhouette in the room. Noah fought back a smirk when he spotted one particular set of ears before the facial recognition software even kicked in. As much as he would have loved to surprise him with his presence, he knew better than to sneak up on the owner of said ears. The last time he’d done so, Noah had wound up laid out over the fragments of his former coffee table, and he wasn’t eager to experience the cocktail hour equivalent of that encounter.

A half-hearted sweep of the room offered a few other suggestions of anything amiss, and that conclusion was about as dull as dishwater. Noah wasn’t really feeling making a scene with another guest (this event was far too classy for such delinquency), nor was he feeling at all confident enough to steal the mic off its stand and serenade the entire room. But that Christmas tree… it was giving off far too many signals to only be rigged with illumination accents. On his optical spectrum, a cloud of static encircled the poor displaced flora from top to bottom, a few of which were emitting from little lens-capped nodes disguised as burnt-out bulbs along the string. He drifted over casually and leaned in as if to admire his reflection in one of the gold metallic baubles, then carefully reached past the rope to twist and unplug one of the planted camera bulbs like plucking a petal off a flower. The fir gave only a whisper-quiet tink at this attack. The light strand continued to blink and cycle away, regardless of the missing piece. Noah held it up to eye level with a triumphant, yet mischievous grin. He knew exactly who was on the other side of the monitor observing the footage.

And having the most important discussion of the holiday season. On the other end of the feed, tucked away in the off-limits green rooms of the hall, Special Agent Reed was too busy engaging in one of his favorite pastimes of discussing classic action flicks with the unbaptized to notice that one of their cameras was moving. “I’m tellin’ you, man, Die Hard is THE Christmas movie, and if you don’t agree you’re just wrong .” “No way,” a second agent argued, “Bruce Willis himself denied that shit more than twenty years ago…” Reed let out a laugh that bordered on mocking, shook his head, and gestured to the man with one scolding finger lifted off his coffee cup. “John McClane would disagree-“ “Hey! Dumbasses! Stay focused!” Director Thomas Falken -who had insisted on overseeing the sting himself, in the event that something went horribly wrong - barked at the yapping men with a threatening leer that snapped Gavin’s head around and back into focus. On the feed of one of the bulb-cameras, an unrecognizable man rolled the glass node between his fingertips like a gem, and smirked as he held it up to the light. Reed’s brow furrowed in distress as he mumbled “What the fuck…?”, then swiped the walkie off the counter to relay the information. “Gabe.” “What is it, Reed?”

All done up in the swankest cocktail suit anyone would ever see him in, ‘Vincent Sharp’ turned, then leaned with his back against the bar and nursed a drink as he scanned the room through half-framed, squared-off, horn-rimmed glasses. One idle hand reached to throw back the hem of the tweed charcoal gray blazer, exposed the light brown waistcoat hugging his waist and hips, and slipped into the pocket of a pair of perfectly tailored, black slim-legged slacks. “We may have trouble, one of our spycams has been compromised.” Gabe tipped back his head and emptied the glass in his hand to smother the outward reaction of surprise, then set it down on the counter and gestured to the bartender for another. Rather than reach for any of the bottles displayed on the back counter, she went for a decanter on the shelf below the bar and refilled the glass with a burgundy brown liquid- thirium, distilled and dyed to mimic the appearance of Scotch. "Just one?” he asked in a curious tone as he searched the crowd around the tree. From his vantage point, he couldn’t clearly see anyone acting suspiciously. “Yeah, it’s the weirdest thing… little shit’s just holdin’ it up and grinnin’ like he knows we’re here…” And that he did. The harsh whisper to emanate over the commandeered camera’s mic said as much:

Good evening, Special Agent Reed. Fancy seeing you here.

From the other side of the room, Gabriel’s head turned a tic at the sound of crashing equipment and a few muttered ‘shit Shit, SHIT’s coming from the other end of the frequency he was currently tuned to. Like a bull in a china shop.

“How does he know you’re here… !?” Falken -known in his social circles as Tomahawk, for good reason- boomed from across the room as he rose from the couch and stormed over to the monitors. He shoved Reed’s chair aside, and scrutinized the face of the man making a mockery of their carefully planted monitoring equipment. Gavin’s heels scraped against the hardwood as he backpedaled and held his hands up in surrender. “I- I- I don’t… I don’t know, I didn’t tell anyone, I swear-” “Then who is THAT?” Falken punctuated with a slam of his palm against the monitor that made everyone in the room jump. “That’s… that’s, uh-...” He could explain that, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. No matter how he looked at it, he was to blame for his presence that evening. His negligence had compromised months of careful planning.

“...Gavin?” His target rose from a table toward the front of the ballroom and directed his attention toward the bar, leering with the clear intent of starting a conversation. What impeccably bad timing for this to go down. “Reed! Talk to me!”

Gabriel’s intrusion provided him with the convenient excuse he needed to disengage for a moment. One visibly-shaking hand swiped the walkie off the desk and Gavin turned to break away from the glower of Falken’s death-glare long enough to respond to his partner in the field. The other hand ran through his hair with a nervous twitch in his fingers and he glanced over his shoulder as he cleared his throat and swallowed, then mumbled, “It’s-... it’s Noah,” under his breath just loud enough for him to hear.

Gabe’s thought processes came to a screeching halt as his personal life collided with his alias for just a moment. To hear that Noah was in Washington, DC, much less at the Zion Founders Fundraiser, was the last thing he’d expected to hear that evening. As Reed continued to drop curses in the background, Gabe turned to face the bar and flashed a polite, but forced smile at the bartender as she eyed him with nervous sweeps. He didn’t reach for the glass right away as it was set in front of him on a small black napkin. “Please, tell me I didn’t just hear what I think I did…” he muttered internally as a dozen different possibilities for how the night would turn out flashed thumb-nailed pre-constructions across his HUD. But Reed’s uncomfortable sputtering confirmed what he was hoping was just a joke.

“No, you heard me right.” One hand swiped over his face in a downward motion and scratched in frustration at the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave in almost a week and desperately avoided Falken’s infuriated ‘what the fuck’ gestures in the background. “The bastard’s actually here, arrived in DC last night with Hannah and President-Elect Kamski. H-he stopped by the house lookin’ for you, but I told him you were undercover an’couldn’t make an appointment. I told him t’keep his nose outta our shit, but he-” Reed paused and squinted over Falken’s shoulder as Noah slipped the tiny camera into his pocket with a ‘Can you hear me alright in there?’ “Oh, son of a….” “What the hell is he doing…?”

The camera-bulb didn’t act as a walkie. And to their credit, all the personnel Noah could plainly see -now that his recognition software had sorted fact from fiction- didn’t stir, much less blow their cover. He knew without being told what this sting was about, and who it was the FBI were really here to keep tabs on. Perhaps him showing up was akin to being a ‘fly in the ointment’, but as yet he hadn’t done anything other than offend their Christmas tree. He gave the indifferent lens one more wordless glance as he rolled the bulb between his fingers. For a brief moment he considered winking at it, but decided at the last moment to pocket the device instead. Perhaps it’d come in handy elsewhere- for someone who hadn’t been properly equipped for this operation, it was the best he could do on such short notice. Failing that, he could always speak very loudly and deliberately at Gabriel’s collar mic, if he’d let him get close enough. The owner of the ear he recognized from before still hadn’t turned around. Outwardly he didn’t look very distressed. Only the new hunch in his shoulders, invisible to the human eye as it was, said it all. Far be it from him to keep ‘Vincent’ in suspense.

#rk900 #rk1800 #dbhilluminate #noriel #dbhiequilibrium #noah #gabriel

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everlarkchristmasgifts · 6 years

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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.”

#everlarkchristmasgifts #day five: christmas tree #by dandeliononfire #part 4 #fan fic #2018 #submission

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greenlightbklyn · 6 years

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2018: A Year in Review of Giving Back

2019 is in full swing and we’re so happy to celebrate another spin around the sun with our amazing staff, dedicated customers, and gracious community partners! Since it’s the time of the season, we at Greenlight have been reflecting on 2018 and the ways in which we’ve been able to support our community through giving. We couldn’t have done it without the help and commitment of you—our customers, fans, and friends! Big thanks and props to all of you!

In partnership with nonprofit organizations, city agencies, the book publishing community, and our customers, we’ve been able to give back this year in significant and meaningful ways. Some donations are financial, supporting schools, nonprofits, and causes, and others are gifts of our expertise and resources to get books into the hands of those who need them most.

“An independent bookstore is a unique kind of community space: welcoming, inspiring, and humanizing,” says Greenlight co-founder and events director Jessica Stockton Bagnulo. “Along with our colleagues in bookstores around the country, we at Greenlight are looking now for new ways to use our space and other resources to address the issues that affect our community. We have always been a place for conversations, stories and ideas; we hope to become a place where neighbors can make connections and find tools to help one another when we need it most.”

In 2018, Greenlight donated $23,704.07 and 4,306 books in total!

Read on for a (non-exhaustive) closer look at what Greenlight gave in the past year.

Secret Snowflake Book Drive:

Greenlight partners with NYC Service, a division of the Mayor's office, on an annual Secret Snowflake book drive to provide new books to kids in the shelter and foster care systems in New York City. We curate a list of great titles for kids and we discount book drive titles 30% to customers when purchased for donation. We also donate additional books and take on all delivery costs of the books to NYC Service.

This holiday season, we donated 1,007 books to NYC kids! Much gratitude to all of you for your generous book donations that made this drive such a success.

“We are constantly inspired by the generosity of Greenlight customers, as well as Rebecca and Jessica’s commitment to supporting youth in our city.” –Meg Cook, NYC Service

Gift an Author Visit Program:

Greenlight created the “Gift an Author Visit” program, inviting customers to purchase books in support of authors visiting local school PS 375: if the store could collect purchased books to donate to an entire grade, the author would visit the school and present their book to students.

This year, we collected Happy in Our Skin by Fran Manushkin for the entire Kindergarten and 1st grade, and Sea Creatures from the Sky by Ricardo Cortés for the entire Pre-Kindergarten grade!

Ricardo Cortés visited PS 375 in December and Fran Manushkin will visit in the Spring.

“Our pupils are starstruck when meeting real life children's book authors and the students treasure receiving their very own signed books. Kids succeed when schools and businesses join together.” –Marie Spinney, teacher

Books Through Bars Wish List:

NYC Books Through Bars is a nonprofit collective that sends free books to incarcerated people across the country. Greenlight hosts an ongoing wish list on our website with books that are always in demand for BTB’s clients; customers purchase books for donation, which are collected at the bookstore and delivered to Books Through Bars. In 2018, with your support, we donated 3,076 books to BTB!

“It's a win for everyone involved: people are able to buy books for individuals in prison from an independent bookstore, we have our shelves stocked with the most frequently requested books, and the incarcerated people who write us get the titles they want.” –NYC Books Through Bars collective

#IndiesGiveBack Book Donation Project:

Through the “Indie Bookstores Give Back on Small Business Saturday” campaign (#IndiesGiveBack), the American Booksellers Association and American Express are working together with Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing to make available 20,000 special edition copies of Ghost by Jason Reynolds, the 2018 Indies First spokesperson.

We joined bookstores nationwide in purchasing books at cost for donation and were able to give the entire 6th grade class of Launch Expeditionary Learning School in Crown Heights their own copies of Ghost.

School Book Fair Fundraisers:

Greenlight works closely with teachers and administrators to curate book fairs so students can have access to books on campus, and we donate 20-25% of all book fair sales back to the school.

In 2018, we put on 29 book fairs and raised over $16,000 for 26 educational institutions!

Civic Engagement Series:

In 2017, we launched the Civic Engagement Series, which hosts nonprofit groups working in social justice, community organizing, and the arts for hour-long, interactive events with the goal of providing tools for involvement, creativity, and action. 20% of sales on the day of each event are donated to the featured organization to support their important work.

In 2018, we hosted Prospect Lefferts Gardens Neighborhood Association (PLGNA) for a panel on educational equity; Atlas: DIY for testimonials and tutorials by youth clients on immigration justice and advocacy; and teachers and students from Generation Citizen for a demonstration of action civics education in high schools.

“It was a powerful opportunity for young immigrant leaders at Atlas:DIY to share their personal experiences, the ways they are taking a stand about the issues and policies that affect them, and to share resources and information about immigrant rights with Brooklyn community members.” –Jason Yoon, Atlas: DIY Executive Director

Other Charitable Donations:

Greenlight responds to requests from schools, literary nonprofits, and neighborhood organizations for donations to support their causes. We donate gift cards for raffles and drawings, ad space in programs, or other forms of support for the orgs that make Brooklyn the best it can be. In 2018, we donated over $4,000 in other charitable donations!

Thank you so much for helping us with these accomplishments to benefit our communities. It really would not be possible without you. Every time you shop with us a portion of your support goes toward projects like these. Together, let’s see what we can all do in 2019!

#givingback #2018

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shelleyseale · 6 years

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12 Days of Giving: The Gift of Nature Through the Japanese Art of Forest Bathing

This is the first in our special "12 Days of Giving" series running for the holiday season. It's a little different from what you might think of as traditional presents or giving. We aren't really talking about stuff you buy or a gift list. Rather, on these 12 days, we will be talking about different gifts that you can give to yourself, or others — gifts that have a deeper meaning, that can help you live with intention, be happier, be healthier. Soul gifts, you might even call them. Join us on the journey. The Gift of Nature: Connecting with the Natural World Through the Japanese Art of Forest Bathing

It's that moment when you step away from the man-made world and into the natural one, that your senses seem to heighten, your body's stress levels lower, and your mind's always-churning to-do list begins to quiet. Whether it's a five-minute walk through your local park or sit in your own backyard, a miles-long hike in a forest, or a multi-day or week camping trip: there's always that sense of peace. Relaxation. Of coming home. This, my friends, is what we were born into — the natural world. This is where we originated from, and where we are meant to be. Our ancestors had no skyscrapers, cars, shopping malls, computers. They were fully engaged with nature for everything: their food, medicine, homes, livelihood and very existence. But for most of us living in today's busy, modern society, that world seems all too far away most of the time. And so we become more and more disconnected. More harried and stressed. More tied to technology, until we're unsure if we own our devices or if they own us. There's always something else to do, to think about, somewhere else to go, another mission to accomplish. But sometimes, we need to just slow down. Don't get me wrong here — I'm no hard-core outdoors type of person. Don't think I'm coming to you as one of those bad-asses who runs marathons or wild camps in the remote wilderness. My idea of camping firmly includes hot, running water, a comfortable sleeping spot, and wine. At the same time, I connect with nature at a primal level, and on a regular basis. We all do. But if you're anything like me, it's not nearly enough. You may sometimes wonder, like I do, how we can more easily disconnect for an hour, even, and let the healing, calming force of nature root us down again.

Welcome to shinrin-yoku, a Japanese tradition that is loosely defined as "forest bathing." I was introduced to this concept a couple of weeks ago — I had never heard the term before. What is this forest bathing, I wondered. Is it some kind of weird ritual where I have to go in the woods and jump in a river or unclothe and roll around in the grass or something? It sounded a little hippy-dippy, to be honest — but I'm kind of a granola, hippy-dippy kinda girl and always interested to learn something new. So, I was intrigued. Shinrin-yoku, forest bathing, as it turns out is simply this: a full sensory immersion in the beauty and wonder of nature.

It's experiencing nature with all your senses — not just seeing it, or touching it as you walk through it, but hearing it, smelling it, even tasting it. A raindrop on your tongue. The way a stream sounds as it gurgles over the rocks beside you. That hint of pine in the air as you enter a stand of conifer trees. It's letting nature wash over you. Rooted in the ancient Japanese reverence for nature, the practice of shinrin-yoku was started in Japan in the early 1980s, as a program to try and get the overworked citizens of Tokyo and other large cities to leave the urban areas for short periods of time, to spend some quiet, healing time in a nearby forest. Today, there are many designated shinrin-yoku forest and trails throughout Japan, and hundreds of thousands of people immerse themselves in them each year — taking advantage of the way nature restores mental equilibrium and physical health.

Melanie Choukas-Bradley I learned all of this from Melanie Choukas-Bradley, a Certified Nature and Forest Therapy Guide. Based out of Washington, D.C., Melanie has traveled throughout Japan participating in forest bathing walks led by shinrin-yoku guides; and she's the author of The Joy of Forest Bathing: Reconnect With Wild Places & Rejuvenate Your Life. I was invited on a forest bathing walk led by her, taking place at YMCA's Camp Moody in Buda, Texas, just south of where I live in Austin. I arrived at Camp Moody that morning with an eagerness to learn more about this practice, connect with nature and explore something new. Melanie, who had what she calls a "free-range childhood," writes in her book that most of us have very early, strong memories of experiences with nature. For her, it was the first time she saw a perfect snowflake. I was walking home from school on a path through the woods when a single snow crystal landed on a flat, dark rock in front of me. I knelt down and watched more snowflakes fall from the sky and land on the rock, each one perfect, each one unique, but perhaps none as perfect as the first. The dream-like quality of the snowflake memory is much like my other childhood memories of nature enchantment: finding the first woodland wildflowers just after snow melt in the spring; lying on a bed of moss and looking up into the leafy branches of a white birch tree; diving into a cold ocean wave and then burying myself in the warm sand. Childhood nature memories can easily be called up by a specific fragrance, a sound, a sight, or a general feeling of well-being. Melanie was there to greet our small group of about eight at the main pavilion of the camp, which is pretty much undeveloped land right now — seeming to make it a perfect location for forest bathing. Camp Moody is an 85-acre multi-use site for day and overnight camps, group events, retreats and outdoor education. Nestled along Onion Creek and scenic limestone bluffs, the YMCA has big plans for some really cool development of the property that was donated by George Yonge in 1999, which includes cabins, dining and recreational facilities to fit in with the natural world around it.

Photo courtesy of YMCA Camp Moody Megan Arnold with the YMCA said that the goal of Camp Moody is to connect families to nature. "With kids being connected to technology about seven-and-a-half hours per day, we're raising a generation that isn't connected to nature," she said. "They might not care about preservation, our national parks, etc. We want to change that." In keeping with the Y mission, they are also making sure Camp Moody is accessible to all, financially, geographically and physical ability-wise.

Before we began the walk, Melanie set our expectations. "This isn't going to be a vigorous, aerobic 'hike,'" she said. "It isn't goal-oriented; the point is to go slow, to take it all in, to be aware of the surroundings and discover the nature around us." What she was saying reminded me of what John Muir said about hiking: "I don't like either the word or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains - not hike! Do you know the origin of that word 'saunter?' It's a beautiful word. Away back in the Middle Ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going, they would reply, 'A la sainte terre — To the Holy Land.' And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers, or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not 'hike' through them." ~John Muir And so we set out on our "saunter" — or rather, our forest bathing, a notion that I suspect that John Muir would have liked a great deal. Melanie invited us to walk in silence, to just enjoy the peace of nature and use all our sense to take it in as we moved through it. After a few minutes we reached the banks of a gurgling creek and paused for the first of her invitations. As we moved along our walk through nature, Melanie would issue an invitation for us to choose to take or leave. Listen to what you hear; notice what is moving around you; choose something that speaks to you. Every so often we would stop, and each person could share with the group if they so chose. At one spot down by a small running stream, we took a longer pause to find our own little spot and spend silent time immersing ourselves in the forest. The water running over the rocks was so soothing, and already — after less than half an hour in nature — I was feeling gloriously, refreshingly disconnected from the outside world. It would all still be waiting for me when I got back to it. so there was no need to do anything except be fully present in this moment. To enjoy the feeling of being once again primally connected to the earth and where we came from, and away from the hustle-and-bustle of modern life. I listened to the water, breathed in the clear air deeply, and became intrigued with a fuzzy caterpillar making its way over leaf by leaf in the little stream. Melanie had told us a little about the mountains of research that has shown what a real, measurable positive effect time spent in nature has on us. It's been proven to lower our blood pressure, pulse rates and cortisol levels; increase heart rate variability (this is a good thing!); and improve mood. As her book on forest bathing says, plants generate compounds called phytoncides to protect themselves from pathogens, and when we are in nature, these same airborne phytoncides that we breath in may even help protect our human bodies in ways that could increase our immunity to things like cancer and other diseases. The physical, mental and emotional health benefits of time spent in nature have been corroborated by researchers in North America, the U.K., Europe, China and South Korea. I believed it. I felt it. As our walk came to an end, we gathered in a clearing to enjoy a tea ceremony, and one of our group read the very appropriate poem, Wild Geese, by Mary Oliver. You can start your own forest bathing practice in your own adopted “wild home,” encompassed in three steps: 1. Disengagement from your daily routine 2. Deep breathing and nature connection through a series of quiet activities or “invitations” 3. Transitioning back to your daily life This restorative activity can be enjoyed by people of all ages and abilities: children, teenagers, and even senior citizens with limited mobility and people recovering from illness and surgery. And you don’t need to travel to the Japanese alps to experience the benefits of forest bathing. All you need is a small patch of untouched (or lightly touched) nature to adopt as your “wild home.”

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#forest #forestbathing #health #hiking #nature #nurture #shinrin-yoku #walking #wellness

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thecosydragon · 3 years

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My latest blog post from the cosy dragon: Interview with Lillian Brummet

An Interview with Lillian and Dave Brummet, authors of One Small Garden

Lillian and her husband Dave are the team behind Brummet Media Group, high-fiving cheerfully as they pass each other on the way from checking off one item or other from their long to-do list. After moving to their dream location (in the Kootenay Region of BC, Canada), they have been methodically converting the abused lot over to the little park it has become – and in doing so have gained certification with bee, pollinator and wildlife organizations. Their home, too, has become energy efficient via the many upgrades they have done. Their business includes Dave’s music studio and percussion accessory products and graphic design work as well as numerous award-winning non-fiction books and popular blogs. Today we help them celebrate their latest book release – From One Small Garden, with over 300 delicious, nutritious recipes!

How many books or short stories have you written?

L: I’ve only written a couple non-fiction short stories, numerous non-fiction articles, bn oth product and book reviews, and a total of 7 published books, if you count an e-book (Jump Start For Writers) that no longer exists. Currently we have a 2-book series on green living (Trash Talk), 2 books of poetry (Towards Understanding; Rhythm & Rhyme) and there’s marketing advice for writers (Purple Snowflake Marketing). Our most recent release is a cookbook: From One Small Garden that, as you might derive from the name, focuses on recipes that help people take advantage of garden harvests and reduce food waste.

Where did you find all the sources for your research?

D: I do most of my learning online, for instance when it comes to understanding a new program for vector graphics I will comb YouTube for tutorial videos. Somewhere online there is a video explaining everything you need – and more usually. I would never have attempted repairs to household appliances or automobiles if I didn’t have access to tutorial videos. Learning how to do things yourself can save you a bunch of money as an entrepreneur too. However it also means that you have to be able to learn, have the patience and then actually apply that new skill. Not as easy as it sounds, believe me.

What do you do when you are not writing?

D: I play drums in a rock band when ever possible. I also teach both drum kit and hand drum lessons. I have an active repair shop in which I build, fix and tune djembe drums (among others) and manufacture a few percussion accessories as well. I enjoy doing the graphic design work for all our marketing and that is a never-ending learning journey in itself, but certainly an enjoyable one.

Who, or what, inspired you to pursue a career in writing?

L: The first writer I ever knew was my mother, who dabbled at the craft for a short time. Later, teachers would comment about my writing, truly moved by what I wrote. These were the earliest influences, slowly pointing me in this direction. Some of my poetry was published, then I won some writing awards… later I took some career evaluation tests and writing kept coming up as a career option. Dave’s emotional support and strategic skills have been of great value; having that strength, someone to mull over challenges with, split the work with, and just share the experience in general.

What have you learned about while working with your spouse?

We do some of our best creative work when we are just discussing stuff together over a cup of coffee during a break. And, we always have a note pad to jot down the ideas that come bursting out because, sure enough, the best ideas are the ones that slip your memory if you don’t.

Describe a typical writing day.

L: There is no real typical day for us; 2-3 days per month are dedicated to managing the blogs, about 16 hours are spent networking, advertising, sending out queries to media and following up on marketing opportunities every week, a few hours per week are spent managing social media. Any one day can also involve cleaning the office, workshop, studio… assisting Dave where I can. However, I’ll share an example of a ‘behind the scenes’ look at one day: upon waking, we have breakfast and coffee and deal with the fur kids, get some house duties done, check emails/messenger/text messages for any important communications, and after a brief discussion about what each other’s goals are for that day, split off in our different directions. I’m in the office responding to interview questions while Dave is in his office working on images and ad creations for our cookbook (From One Small Garden). After this interview, I plan to complete a few touchups to some articles we wrote last week. We always take a break to make lunch and clean up after. Depending on what Dave might need from me, I may take on the task of going through the emails etc. one more time, responding and dealing with what I can… or I might start some seeds for the garden and do some laundry. Perhaps I’ll be dealing with garden harvests or taking an online course during the afternoon hours.

How do you manage social media, what social media have you used, which do you like to use the most and why?

D: I personally use Facebook for networking with specific groups and for general announcements, YouTube for posting video content and blogging for building a presence and sharing information with followers. Lillian is the one that handles the blogs and a majority of the social media and I am happy for that as she is very good at it and knows the ins and outs. She has a lot of relevant connections already from over 20 years experience of promoting our business and books.

How do you go about choosing a book title?

D: For me the title almost always comes near or at the end of the writing process. If ever I have had an idea of the title first it was usually changed by the time the book was done. A title for me has to explain the book’s purpose or intent in some way. I like it to be catchy and not too wordy. Like a good melody that you can easily whistle, a good title should be memorable, appropriate and roll off the tongue easily.

What is your contribution to society?

D: As a drum teacher I hope to help the next generation of drummers by passing on the knowledge of drums and percussion I have accumulated in my career. I run a program called Drum it Forward that I was inspired to create years ago. I go to the schools and offer my services as a drum doctor armed with all the spare parts I have amassed along the way and fix their gear. The schools don’t have the budget to pay for this and the poor teachers don’t necessarily have the time or knowledge, so I do it as a donation. All I ask is that if they have any spare parts or pieces laying around that they consider donating it to the cause to perpetuate the program.

Tell us the process of creating the cover for your book.

D: From One Small Garden’s cover was a process that evolved over the years. By the time the final title was decided on the concept of what we wanted to portray was clear – How to cook with fresh produce. If you look at the front cover closely, in the background is an image of our actual garden ghosted out with dishes of prepared food in the foreground – from the garden to plate in a sense. The back cover concept is similar but with images of our freshly harvested produce in place of the food dishes. All from one small garden – is what we have lived for the past 30+ years as a life style and a health choice and we know it saves a bunch of money while having you eat like royalty.

Are you looking about more information about these authors? Here’s some social links for you to check out!

Website

Amazon Author Page

FaceBook

from https://ift.tt/2WWURQn

#book bookreviews authorinterviews lovereading bookworm

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wineanddinosaur · 3 years

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From Mixologist to Master Taster, Old Forester’s Jackie Zykan Is Officially a Major Name in Bourbon

Old Forester master taster Jackie Zykan became a household name earlier this year — albeit in a literal sense.

When the brand released the first expression of its highly coveted 117 Series “High Angels’ Share” in March 2021, Zykan etched her name in history by having her signature on the label. The unique packaging design also meant Zykan’s name would soon populate whiskey collections up and down the country — or at least, those of enthusiasts who were lucky enough to get their hands on the limited-edition run.

Any exploration of Zykan’s career cannot ignore that she is among the small number of women to hold a high-profile role in bourbon, an industry that has has a long legacy of male founders, owners, and master distillers. In fact, hers is the first name to adorn an Old Forester label that doesn’t belong to a man. But focusing on the historic nature of her signature on the 117 Series bottle risks distracting from the whiskey inside, and from her growing force within bourbon as a whole.

While the 117 Series is the first Old Forester release to be solely directed by Zykan, it is not the first expression she has had a hand in that had an impact on the bourbon world. Last year, she worked alongside master distiller Chris Morris to comprise three separate blends from 150 barrels for the Old Forester 150th Anniversary Bourbon. Released with a suggested retail price of $150, bottles quickly became collectors’ items and now command four or five times as much in retail channels (and even more in illegal online marketplaces). During the pandemic, Zykan also spearheaded Old Forester’s Master Tasters selection, a popular program that saw single-barrel releases sold for curbside pickup, with a portion of proceeds donated to charities in Louisville.

In a recent virtual sit-down with VinePair, Zykan discussed the singular nature of her role as a master taster; how her previous professional endeavours have led to more “resistance” in the whiskey industry than her gender; and what exactly the release of the 117 Series means to her.

[Editor’s note: This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.]

1. Your official title at Old Forester is “Master Taster.” Can you explain what that role entails and how it differs from a master distiller or a master blender?

As it stands right now, my job focuses more on the post-maturation side of things than the pre-maturation side. I take what’s already been laid down and then decide what to do with it from that point forward. There is no clear-cut, industry-standard definition for master taster. My role, in particular, is half production and half global marketing.

New product development also comes through me. I’m transitioning more into the master blender side, but the main difference between my role and a master blender is the authority to make decisions on certain things. Right now, I’m still working very much hand-in-hand with Chris Morris on a lot of our projects, especially things that he started before I was with the brand. I do lead our single-barrel inventory, though, and programs like the 117 Series and President’s Choice. Every day, I’m getting more involved in projects and taking over Old Forester — whether they want me to or not, I’m doing it.

2. You studied biology and chemistry, then later worked in mixology. How do those different fields inform and help your day-to-day work?

The science education background has been crucial not just to my own understanding of our processes, but also to be able to communicate with a variety of audiences. We’re never just talking to whiskey nerds or bartenders, or the random consumer that only drinks vodka and wants to switch over. The audiences are very diverse. When it comes to new product development, the science background also helps to understand what’s going on from a molecular standpoint, and how to curate different whiskey flavor profiles.

The mixology part is interesting because, while I can’t speak for our competitors, I think I’m the only master taster [Old Forester parent company] Brown-Forman has ever had that has actual experience in the bar industry. Knowing what we can and should be doing with cocktails adds another layer of being able to connect with potential consumers.

3. What trends do you see leading bourbon right now, whether from a “purist” standpoint or the broader market in general?

Different perspectives will give you different answers on this. I think we’re still in the midst of the high-proof movement, and we definitely see that translate into what moves in our portfolio. I wouldn’t say that’s a new thing, and I think there’s a lot behind the high-proof whiskey surge. People get acclimated to the category and realize, “Oh, I actually am not afraid of the taste of this brown spirit.” Then, it’s not enough to just be able to drink bourbon, you have to drink the biggest bourbon and the most expensive bourbon. For somebody that has access to barrel-strength liquid and chooses to not drink it on a regular basis, the race to see who can consume the highest percentage of alcohol is fascinating. Back in the day, nobody was searching for Bacardi 151. Now people wait in line for it.

[Another trend is] single barrels. They’re all very unique, and they’re not replicable; I think the snowflake appeal is a huge part of it. I’ve gotten a lot of feedback from retailers that I’ve done tastings with in recent weeks that want to come to the distillery for single-barrel selection. They don’t want to grab the core stuff anymore.

[We’re also seeing] people play around with mash bills — and you’re always going to see that until people realize that novelty is not sustainable. It’s nice to have fun every now and then, but making sure that you are transparent about your process and doing things from a quality standpoint is timeless.

4. We are around two decades into a “bourbon boom,” the likes of which we have probably never seen before. What can producers such as Old Forester do to ensure that bourbon never goes the way of vodka, which still enjoys incredible sales but doesn’t quite have the cachet that it once did?

There’s a lot of interesting things to unpack here but I [should first say] we are very grateful for the boom. People such as myself have amazing jobs with great brands because of it.

I was once told that alcohol trends go through 30-year cycles, so if we really are in the second decade of this, that would mean that we would start to see the decline soon. The thing is, in the U.S. especially, we’re so much closer to the trend, so the boom seems much bigger to us than it is on a global level. It is creeping into global markets now, and we are seeing a lot more movement out there, but I think that there’s still a lot of opportunity for growth until we get to a point of saturation and exhaustion.

[When] other markets further from home (and maybe less regulated) start catching wind, that’s when we risk compromises to the category. I think we are in for a fight that most people probably haven’t anticipated, trying to [enforce] more rigid regulations, especially in more global markets.

We definitely don’t see [the boom] fizzling out any time soon and, fingers crossed, we hope it doesn’t. It’s not like the vodka industry where you can just pluck a flavor off a tree and you have a new product. We’re sitting on inventory and hoping for the best.

5. What is the most exciting time of the year for you in your role, and what do you look forward to most on the bourbon calendar throughout the year?

It used to be that you had the “busy” seasons: September is always busy because of [the annual release of] Birthday Bourbon, and it’s Bourbon Heritage Month. And when the weather starts cooling down in general, you start to see more interest in aged spirits. That is just not the case anymore. It’s a year-round season that does not slow down. From my perspective, Derby season is always equally as chaotic as it is enjoyable; very media-heavy and very taxing. It‘s full-throttle but these are great problems to have.

6. Can you describe how having your signature on the 117 Series felt for yourself, and what it might mean for other women wishing to follow in your footsteps in the bourbon industry?

It’s still surreal, to be honest, and I forget that my name is on the thing. It wasn’t my idea; it was brought up when we were doing label design for the series and [Old Forester president and managing director] Campbell Brown said, “It’s time to give credit where credit is due.”

I think it’s a big deal as far as normalizing [women in] an industry that was, and still is, very male-dominated. I never set out to do that; I didn’t grow up to one day to show them that girls like whiskey, too. More often than not, though, I feel resistance in the whiskey category not from being a woman, but from having a background behind the bar. You get categorized as “once a bartender, always a bartender.” Not a lot of people in roles like mine have that background, as I mentioned earlier. A lot of them either have family members that got them into the business or they have marketing degrees, which I do not. I feel more “black sheep-ish” — if I can use that term — from that sense, rather than from being a woman.

While it is surreal, I will say that when that product came out, it was very nerve-racking. It set the stage for what I’m going to do from this point forward in my career. If I didn’t get it right, it would be a constant fight against the current, trying to prove myself. If I came out of the gate with something solid that people embraced, it would be more smooth-sailing. I’m very happy that the series was well received because that gives me a lot less stress for the next expressions. I know they won’t be all home runs — and that’s OK. It started with a really good one that’s near and dear to my heart.

7. I’ve read that your preferred pour for the 117 Series is over ice to enjoy it over time. That seems to speak to your background in mixology versus pure distillation, especially as some “purists” might raise their eyebrows at that?

I’ve definitely gotten mixed feedback on that since we released the series. I could have bottled it at a higher or lower proof and I would still say, add water to it. The idea remains that when you have barrels that have such concentrated flavor to them, it’s an experience. It’s not taking a sip and then going on with your day. It’s a sit-down, share-it, and talk-about-it whiskey. The moment of whiskey is just as important as the actual liquid itself. It’s a ritual. I didn’t want to shortchange that by going ahead and skipping to the good parts. Letting people explore with it was really part of the intention.

The article From Mixologist to Master Taster, Old Forester’s Jackie Zykan Is Officially a Major Name in Bourbon appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/jackie-zykan-old-forester-bourbon/

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johnboothus · 3 years

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From Mixologist to Master Taster Old Foresters Jackie Zykan Is Officially a Major Name in Bourbon