#the main ones with the church and with the glory of his house

[mickandmusings]

i. true blue

part one of the 'hangman & honey' series!

summary: The summer he turned nine, Jake was convinced he'd spend it like any other summer: riding his bike down dirt roads with all the other kids, lending a helping hand on the family farm, and brushing up on his backyard football. His life hits a tailspin when a new family moves into the house just down the road, leading him to a friendship and feelings he never saw coming.

word count: 4.5k

warnings: cute childhood friends to lovers, small sections of angst, tragic backstories and southern traditions. primarily self indulgent. this is written by someone from the most southern small town imaginable, so it's written with love as an ode to my own hometown, enjoy. <3

-

In the great state of Texas, just a few hours south of Austin, sits a small town called Haven. It was a fitting name for a town so picturesque-miles and miles of endless farmland, stunning sunsets and sunrises, and the beauty of the state's flora and fauna. However, in all it's Southern small-town glory, it was home to little else. There was the hub of activity 'downtown'-the one school system, a family-owned restaurant, a convenience store, the First Baptist Church of Haven, and a hair salon. On the outskirts of Haven sat a large patch of barbed-wire fenced farmland, one that spanned most of the remaining parts of the small town, more than the eye could see. It was large enough to have its own unpaved road-Seresin Farm Road-and was home to only one house, the Seresin family house.

The Seresin family had owned the land long before the turn of the century, and had been passed down from generation to generation ever since. The Seresin's owned much of Haven to begin with, their farmland excluded. Most of the businesses rented their buildings from Jacob Seresin Sr., with the exception of the school system and the church. Despite their seemingly looming hand of ownership, you'd never know they held power at all. Mrs. Janet Seresin-first lady of the Seresin estate-was known as the town egg lady, always more than happy to pass out dozens of Styrofoam cartons free of charge. She held the unofficial prize of having the best homemade ice cream in all of Haven, and anyone in the small town would attest. Jacob Seresin Sr.-head of the Seresin farm and Janet's husband-was regarded in the same warm fashion. You could find him driving up and down the main street in his trusty red farm truck, often loaded with feed or some kind of good necessary to keep his place up and running. He'd stop and talk to anyone and everyone, literally everyone, he knew. He had been the one to help nearly everyone in his community rebuild after natural disasters, always willing to help someone in need, never asking for anything in return. The Seresin's were Haven's unofficial first family, leaders of sorts, in the small town.

Their son, Jacob Seresin Jr., was elusive and a topic nearly everyone knew to avoid. He had been raised on the family farm, attended the local school, lived and breathed the same life as everyone else, but found himself itching for more. He quickly fell into trouble with the local law, and with a last name like Seresin, he got away with mostly everything, which, perhaps, was his greatest downfall. He had gotten his high school girlfriend-a sweet local girl named Georgia Joann Smith-pregnant their senior year. When she broke the news, he'd taken off in his truck to Kentucky, where it was rumored he still was, looking for something he could never find. Nine months later, Jacob Thomas Seresin III, or 'Jake' as he preferred, was born, healthy, all ten fingers and toes. Just hours after birth, his mother fell gravely ill, and made her own swift exit in death. She left behind only one thing-her son. Jacob Sr. and Janet took him in with no questions asked, raising him as any grandparent would. Jake, luckily, seemed to inherit more of his mother than his father. His blonde hair gleamed in the Texas sun, turning almost gold in the heat-filled summers. His green eyes held his kindness-a sharp contrast to his father's dark brown eyes that seemed to only hold his anger. Jake bore Georgia's gentle soul, her wide smile and her witty personality, she lived on in Jake entirely. So when the new family moved into the empty house at the end of Seresin Farm Road, Janet had zero hesitations in sending Jake down to welcome their new neighbors to Haven. She'd spent the entire morning making homemade bread, having to occasionally swat away Jake's hands from the counter or tell him to completely get out of the kitchen while the loaves cooled. After lunch, she handed him a well-wrapped loaf and gave him instructions to take it to the newcomers, which Jake did without complaint. He'd placed the bread into the metal basket attached to his royal blue bike, trekking down their long and winding driveway. When he'd arrived nearly ten minutes later, he had parked his bike on the edge of the lawn, against a towering oak tree. He made a point to kick the dirt off his shoes, not wanting to track it onto the seemingly freshly painted, white wrap-around porch. He lifts his first to wrap against the door, one with a glass cut-out, much different than the screen door on his farmhouse. He fixed his windswept hair in the reflection of the window, remembering Granny's words of always looking well put together when meeting new people. The door's lock clicked, and when Jake looked up to see the man or lady of the house, he instead had to look down, finding a girl who couldn't be much younger than him. Her eyes were wide as they stared up at him, hair pushed out of her face with colorful butterfly shaped clips. Her eyes were captivating, and all of Jake's intended Southern charm had flown out the window. She smiles shyly at Jake, wondering why this stranger was on her porch.

"Uh, this is for you-or,uh-your parents," his arm extends the bread as he stammered. "My Granny made it, we live at the farm on the end of the road, we-uh, she-wanted to invite you to the neighborhood. I'm Jake."

Jake stuck out a clammy hand for her to shake, and winced internally. His Pawpaw would be reprimanding him if he saw this-it wasn't polite to make a lady shake your hand. Shaking hands was for business deals, and Jake had just shook her hand like she'd bought his show heifer. Jake's mind was clouded for a reason he couldn't explain, and he wasn't thinking straight. The girl blushed and smiled slightly.

"I'm Honey," her voice was quiet but pronounced. "That's not actually my name, but everyone calls me Honey, so, you can call me Honey. Um, is your house the one with the big magnolia tree in the front?"

Jake nodded quickly. Her eyes widened, shimmering with something Jake couldn't make out. Quietness settled over them before Honey spoke again.

"Is that your bike?" Honey points at his bike leaning against the tree.

"Yeah! Most kids ride their bikes everywhere here."

"C-Could I ride with you, maybe?" Her voice was suddenly shy, no longer meeting Jake's eyes. "It's just summer and I-I don't know anyone yet and-"

"Yes!" Jake cut her off, and mentally scolded himself, but as Honey flashed him a wide smile he couldn't find himself caring. She tossed the bread on the table just inside the door, slid on her purple jelly sandals and shut the door behind her. She led Jake to the empty garage, only full of empty moving boxes and a bright yellow bike. As she led them out of the garage and towards the edge of the yard, Jake's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her.

"Shouldn't you let your momma know you left, leave her a note or somethin'?"

Honey's eyes cut to her feet, her smile fading.

"She won't care, I'll be back before she will. S-She's a nurse, works the night shift at the old folks home in the next town over."

Jake nodded but said nothing, pedaling off on his own bike to lead her back down to his farm.

From that moment on, Jake and Honey were practically inseparable. The entire summer was spent with a blue bike parked next to a yellow one, swimming in the creek behind Jake's house, and running around the farm with nothing but their imagination and makeshift stick swords. Jake's Border Collie, John Wayne, became a frightening dragon of their imagination, and Honey taught Jake how to make flower crowns from the wildflowers in the fields. Janet had grown fond of looking out her front window to see Honey sitting next to Jake under her magnolia tree, reading her Boxcar Children book as much as she could with Jake chattering next to her. Even when Jake was busy with his farm chores, Honey would sit placidly under the tree, enjoying the occasional breeze as she read her book of the week. After the long summer, Jacob Sr. had started referring to it as "Honey's tree," and he'd laugh to himself every time he saw the girl sitting quietly under it. Both Janet and Jacob Sr. loved having the sweet but shy girl around, especially when they found out that she spent most of her time alone in that house down the road. On the last night before summer ended, Jake and Honey sat under the tree, swatting at mosquitoes as the Texas sun set. Jake looked over at Honey, who had finally put her book down, and asked:

"Why do you like this tree so much?"

She smiled a smile that Jake knew to be half-hearted and brought her knees to her chest, her chin resting on her kneecaps.

"It reminds me of home."

Honey had moved from her tiny town in Mississippi that summer, and she often talked of her home there, the friends and family she'd left behind, how her mother had left when her grandmother died, looking for a fresh start.

"My Gram had a tree like this in her yard, and she'd babysit me when Mom worked," Honey's eyes rested on the ground, where she was picking grass from the ground around her bare feet. "She'd read to me a lot, and it was my favorite place in the world. Sometimes when I read here it sort of feels like I never left."

Jake simply nodded, thinking of the mother he'd only met in pictures, and the grandparents he wouldn't trade for the world's richest man. Neither of them spoke a word about the statement she made, but they understood what it meant to both of them. Even at age nine, Jake was in love with the girl next door, even if he didn't know it yet. From the first year they met and every year after, Jake and Honey found themselves under the magnolia blossoms. Well, almost every year...

As the budding teens entered into their freshman year at Haven High School, the differences between their personalities became more apparent than ever. Jake was the ideal all-American southern boy: athletic, outgoing, someone who guys high-fived in the hallway, and one that girls would be late to class just to get a glimpse of. Jake was never one to let the attention get to his head, at least not too much. Sure, he enjoyed the feeling of being liked, and, sure, he could be cocky at times, but he was never the one to bully those completely different from him. Someone like Honey. Honey had always been quiet, shy by nature, and the very definition of an advanced student. She was beloved by her teachers, but not as well received by her classmates. With a town as small as Haven, it was either incredibly easy or incredibly hard to make friends, and for Honey, it seemed to be the latter. It wasn't as if Honey was perpetually odd-she wasn't homely or weird, just quiet. Jake was the only one who knew about her boisterous laugh that could be prompted with his corny jokes, or her wild streak, like sneaking into his bedroom window after she and her mother got into yet another fight.

At the beginning of the school year, she spent her breaks talking to Jake, and she sat next to him at lunch. He'd let her ramble about her current read, and he'd talk about yesterday's football practice. She'd leave with the promise to come around for dinner, Mrs. Janet was making her favorite. However, when football season started, and Jake had made an infamous saving play at one of the first few games, he had peaked in popularity. Honey found herself on the outside of his swarm of new friends, listening to him talk to his football buddies while the girls that followed shot her sympathetic or lethal glances. She'd ignored it at first, simply enjoying her paperback until Jake could spare himself a minute to talk to her. Eventually, the bell would sound before she even got the chance to say 'hello' to him, and, with her heart suddenly heavy, she'd make her way to class. The routine lasted for weeks and she'd find herself waiting by the phone, figuring Jake would call her after football practice, but she'd only be greeted with silence through the night. After the second week of no contact, she decided to leave Jake and his new friends to their own devices, opting to sit in the library for breaks, taking her lunch in the empty courtyard. It was like Jake hadn't noticed her absence at all, at least in her mind, but Jacob Sr. and Janet noticed immediately. They had missed her bright aura that lit up their farmhouse, watching as she greeted the dogs as she parked her now lilac bike in the driveway. Janet missed her companionship as Honey would watch her sew patches onto Jacob Sr. and Jake's clothes, and her husband missed catching up with her over dinner. The only time they'd see her anymore would be on Friday nights, at Jake's games. She'd sit in the bleachers with them, decked out in her navy blue and gold, watching intently as the boys in jerseys made their way up and down the field. At the end of the game, she'd say her goodbyes before Jake would find his grandparents and they wouldn't see her until the following Friday. In typical grandparent fashion, Janet had assumed Jake had done something. Her grandson was kind, gentlemanly, but he also had a sharp tongue and a big head, which he sometimes used in malice. So, over dinner one Thursday, Janet finally dipped her toes into the water.

"Maybe you should talk to Honey after the game tomorrow, she always seems to slip away before you two get to catch up."

Jake's eyebrows furrowed as he wiped his mouth, looking up at his grandmother.

"Honey? At a football game? Granny, I don't really think that's her scene. She hates when we have a pep rally at school, I don't think she's going to a football game voluntarily."

Jacob Sr. and Janet give each other a knowing look across the table.

"How blind are ya, son?" Jacob Sr.'s voice is accusatory.

Jake looks up from his plate, looking over at his grandfather with a confused look.

"She's been at every game this season, Jake," his grandmother's voice speaks, much softer than her husbands. "She sits next to us in the stands. When was the last time you two talked? Just the two of you?"

Jake scoffs at his grandmother's accusation, his head shaking as he tried to wrack his brain for the last time he'd talked to his best friend.

"Maybe a week or so ago, I-I can't remember."

"That's a damn shame," Jacob Sr.'s voice grumbled. "She's a sweet girl, smart too. I know she doesn't run the same circles as you and your new buddies, but she's a good friend Jake, and you're treatin' her as if she doesn't exist. She still comes to all of those games. I'm not tellin' you what to do, but maybe give her a call, and pray to the Lord above that she wants to talk to your dumb ass."

Jake's heart sank as he carried out his nightly farm chores that night, thinking of how he had treated Honey. He knew what the other girls in the group said about her, how she was 'quiet' and 'weird,' often making comments that were completely false or disrespectful. Jake always shut the comments down, but found himself not bothering to talk to the one person who had always been there for him. Was it his fear of his new friends thinking he was weird? Did he think he wouldn't be surrounded by his football buddies if they saw him talking to someone like Honey? As Jake shut the barn door, he sighed, deciding he didn't care about either. Honey had been his friend for years, long before high school or popularity, or stupid teenage rules. She'd never changed, she was still the girl he fell in love with all those years ago. That night, as he sat by the phone thinking of what to say, he'd heard the faintest knock on his door. He figured it was his Granny coming to tell him goodnight, so he made quick work of making his way to the door and flinging it open. Instead of his grandmother, Honey stood in front of him. She held an algebra textbook in her arms, her eyes never meeting his, her arms crossed protectively. Her eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks staining her cheeks. She'd been crying, and Jake knew Honey all too well, her tears had nothing to do with the algebra assignment. Something had happened to her.

"Uh, hey, I-I know it's late, and I didn't want to bother you, but I've been workin' on this stupid algebra assignment for three hours, and i-it's not making a lick of sense. You-You're the only person I know who could help me, so if you could just show me how to do one, I'll be out of your hair. I know you have a game tomorrow, and you should really sleep-"

Honey was rambling, picking the skin around her fingernails, she was nervous. It shattered his heart in his chest, he could never remember a time when she was nervous around him.

"No, no, you're fine, Honey. C'mere."

He opened the door wide for her to come in. She nodded in thanks, hovering awkwardly in the space between his bed and his desk. Any other time she'd plop herself down on his plaid comforter, all but curling into the sheets and falling asleep. Now, she didn't know what to do. She hadn't spoken to him in weeks, and he was different now. He wasn't just Jake, her Jake, he was Jake Seresin, up and coming star of their hometown football team, someone that a person like her should avoid in the hallway, someone that shouldn't even be talking to her.

He pushed the chair of his desk out for her, figuring she'd feel more comfortable there. She laid her textbook and notebook out flat, opening the book to the dozens of equations she couldn't make out. Honey was incredibly smart, but as her math classes advanced, she found herself staring at her own notes in utter confusion.

"Um, so, this is on polynomials," she started. "But I couldn't even tell you what a fuckin' polynomial is and I'm starting to lose my mind."

Jake quickly noted the physical manifestation of her worry-her hair messy with the way she had been running her hands through it, the chipped nail polish on her nails, and her chewing on her bottom lip. His heart ached, how had he not noticed her struggling? They were in the same class, she sat two chairs in front of him.

"Honey, I'm sorry."

She didn't even spare him a look.

"It's not your fault I'm stupid, Jake."

Jake took her arm in a light hold, turning her to look at him.

"I'm not talkin' about algebra, and you're not stupid, first of all. You're one of the smartest people I know. I'm talkin' about the way I've been actin'. It's not fair to you, I've been an ass. I've been ignoring you at school, treatin' you as if you aren't even there. You've come to all my games and I didn't even know. Thanks for that, by the way, but, I mean it, Honey. I'm sorry."

Honey shrugs, her face sprouting a faint pink blush.

"'S fine, people grow up, move on. You don't have to apologize for leaving me for people more like-minded. I get it, I don't necessarily fit the mold of your new friend group. It's okay. They seem to really like you though, and you seem happy. Plus Sam is...she's pretty. I get why you wouldn't want me hanging around."

"Sam?" Jake's voice was confused. Sam was a cheerleader, and she was friends with the girlfriends of his teammates. They had a passing conversation from time to time, but they weren't dating. "What're you talkin' about?"

Honey's brow furrowed, tapping her pencil's eraser against her book.

"Sam Vance told me like the third or fourth week of school that you were together, around the same time we stopped talking. I just assumed that was why you didn't want to talk anymore. It's sort of the reason I've kept my distance."

Jake's blood boiled, he was not dating Sam Vance. She was heinously mean, even to her own 'friends.'

"Honey," Jake started, his eyes full of sympathy, his flash of anger flickering. "I'm not dating her, not by a long shot. I don't know why she lied to you, I've never said more than a few sentences to one another, she's...mean. She's vicious, I'm sorry."

Honey's head only shook in a nonchalant manner. She was good at this, pushing people away, Jake had noticed it over the years. After years of practically raising herself, those she loved either abandoning her or leaving her in death, she expected everyone to leave. Honey herself knew that someday Jake would leave her, just like everyone else, so when he pulled away, she didn't bother trying to stop it, no matter how it hurt.

"Stop that. I know what I did was shitty, and it seemed like I didn't want you there, but this isn't me dumping you off, Honey. I swear. And I know something's wrong, you're not crying because of a homework assignment. If it's because of what happened between us, I'll do anythin' to make it up to you-"

Honey's bottom lip trembles, her eyes lining with tears as she shakes her head. She looks up at Jake, pain clouding her usually kind eyes.

"You don't have to worry about me, Jake."

"No I don't," he stated honestly. "I want to, Honey. You're my best friend, and you're hurtin'. You may not need me, but I want to help you. I know I haven't been a good friend, the worst actually, but talk to me, please."

Honey looks at her lap, bringing her knees to her chest in an action of protection Jake was familiar with-every time she has to get vulnerable, it's her defensive action, as if curling up in a ball would save her from hurt.

"For what it's worth," Honey started, her voice small and quiet. "I really don't understand polynomials, like, at all. But you're right, it's more than that." She pauses and takes a deep breath, Jake's heart shattering. Her inability to speak freely, the bags under her eyes, her nervous habit at the forefront-he'd never seen her so tired, so heavy.

"About a week ago, I came home and all of my mom's stuff was gone. I mean, all of it, her bedroom was completely empty. She left a note on the kitchen table." Her eyes focus on the Cowboys poster on the back of Jake's door, her eyes dulling. "She decided to move in with her boyfriend, and he-he doesn't even know she has a child, so she left the house for me. Which is fine, we never got along anyway, it's just been...lonely. She pays the bills and leaves money, so it's not like I'm fending for myself, but, it just really sucks she doesn't really care about me. I guess it shouldn't, but-" She pauses, eyes dazed out, silent tears running down her cheeks. "Sorry for the soapbox, I just, it all is piling up, and now I'm crying over polynomials." She laughs dryly. "Just, God I've missed you, Jake. I sort of pushed myself away from you because I thought you'd found people you'd rather spend your time with. I'm nothing like you interest wise, and-"

"Stop putting yourself down, I won't stand for it." Jake looks at her as she laughs in a quiet manner, hands wiping away her silent tears. Jake moves directly in front of her, making eye contact. "I mean it. You're ten times cooler than any of them. Most of the guys on the team, pretty laid back, cool, but all they ever want to talk about is football and how hot so-and-so is, and their girlfriends? Worse, by a thousand, at least most of them. I'd like to think I'm not that shallow, right?"

Jake Seresin was a lot of things, but shallow was not one of them.

"Please hang out with me tomorrow? I'll have Granny pick you up for school. You and I are going to talk until the bell rings, you've got to catch me up on that Scarlett girl in that book you were reading last time we talked. I'm sitting with you at lunch because Granny made me promise to bring you lunch, and you gotta catch me up on last week's Dawson's Creek episode. Then I'll see you at the game, and we can swing by The Burger Basket, you, me, burgers, fries, a strawberry shake for you and a chocolate one for me."

Honey laughed, nodding her head, her heart warming as she heard Jake ask for the things she thought he found annoying-her ranting about the books she was reading, or the TV shows she was watching. She wiped her tears, standing and hugging the blonde boy who knew her better than herself sometimes. Her chest felt lighter, it felt good to be known so incredibly well. He squeezed her tight before she let go. (Jake never, ever, let go first.) She sits back in the desk chair, sliding in next to Jake, her head falling on his shoulder.

"So," she spoke after a moment of silence. "Polynomials?"

Jake chuckles.

"Let's make a deal, Hon. I explain to you how to solve these equations, and you explain to me what the hell Shakespeare is talking about in those English assignments for Mrs. Elmer's class?"

Honey laughs, she and Jake were both good students, but in two very different subjects.

"You've got yourself a deal, J."

Jake smirks, taking the pencil that sat in the crevice of the book, his scratchy handwriting across her paper as he attempted to explain. In a matter of minutes, Honey began to understand, a smile forming as she grasped the concepts. Jake's green eyes met hers in the light of his desk lamp, glimmering, and the breath in his chest catches, his heart hammering. His palms sweat around the pencil and he can't look away from her.

"You alright, Seresin?" Honey's voice is laced with humor, and it snaps him out of his trance.

"Y-Yeah."

Jake had lied, he had just realized, for the first time since Jake had known Honey, he was beginning to see her as something more than just his best friend. When he looked at Honey, he noticed something he'd never noticed before, she was beautiful.

-

[labuenosairesfrancaise]

Halton House

Hace un instante

Hi guys!!

I'm sharing Halton House. This is the 15th building for my English Collection and the second Rothchild house I recreated.

I decorated some interiors for reference, but I could not find the real distribution of the house, so I just worked with pictures I found.

You might be familiar to the central hall and stairs, as they are the ones used for Bridgerton House in the series.

I chose to build the version with the conservatory, as I think this was a glory lost to time.

History of the house: Halton House is a country house in the Chiltern Hills above the village of Halton in Buckinghamshire, England. It was built for Alfred Freiherr de Rothschild between 1880 and 1883. It is used as the main officers' mess for RAF Halton and is listed Grade II* on the National Heritage List for England.

There has been a manor house at Halton since the Norman Conquest, when it belonged to the Archbishop of Canterbury. Thomas Cranmer sold the manor to Henry Bradshaw, Solicitor-General in the mid-16th century. After remaining in the Bradshaw family for some considerable time, it was sold to Sir Francis Dashwood in 1720 and was then held in the Dashwood family for almost 150 years.

The site of the old Halton House, or Manor, was west of the church in Halton village. It had a large park, which was later bisected by the Grand Union Canal. In June 1849 Sir George Dashwood auctioned the contents and, in 1853, the estate was sold to Lionel Freiherr de Rothschild.

Lionel then left the estate to his son Alfred Freiherr de Rothschild in 1879. At this time the estate covered an approximately 1,500-acre (610-hectare) triangle between Wendover, Aston Clinton, and Weston Turville.

It is thought the architect was William R. Rodriguez (also known as Rogers), who worked in the design team of William Cubitt and Company, the firm commissioned to build and oversee the project in 1880. Just three years later the house was finished.

The house was widely criticised by members of the establishment. The architect Eustace Balfour, a nephew of the Marquess of Salisbury, described it as a "combination of French Chateau and gambling house", and one of Gladstone's private secretaries called it an "exaggerated nightmare".

At Halton all were entertained by Alfred Freiherr de Rothschild. However, Halton's glittering life lasted less than thirty years, with the last party being in 1914 at the outbreak of World War I. Devastated by the carnage of the war, Freiherr de Rothschild's health began to fail and he died in 1918. Alfred had no legitimate children, so the house was bequeathed to his nephew Lionel Nathan de Rothschild. He detested the place and sold the contents at auction in 1918. The house and by now diminished estate were purchased for the Royal Air Force by the Air Ministry for what was even then a low price of £115,000 (equivalent to £7.08 million in 2023 pounds).

Architecture

For the style of the house Alfred was probably influenced by that of plans for the nearly completed Waddesdon Manor, the home of Baron Ferdinand de Rothschild, his brother-in law. While not so large there is a resemblance, but other continental influences appear to have crept in: classical pediments jut from mansard roofs, spires and gables jostle for attention, and the whole is surmounted by a cupola. The front of the house features a porte-cochère. A Rothschild cousin described it as: "looking like a giant wedding cake".

If the outside was extravagant, the interior was no anti-climax. The central hall (not unlike the galleried two-storey hall at Mentmore Towers) was furnished as the "grand salon". Two further drawing rooms (the east and west) continued the luxurious theme. The dining and billiards rooms too were furnished with 18th-century panelling and boiseries. The theme continued up the grand, plaster panelled staircase to the bedrooms. The whole was furnished in what became known as "Le Style Rothschild", that is, 18th-century French furniture, boulle, ebony, and ormolu, complemented by Old Masters and fine porcelain.

A huge domed conservatory known as the winter garden was attached to the house.

For more info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halton_House

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This house fits a 64x64  lot (You can fit the main building to the 50x50 or 50x40 lot if you lose the garden and conservatory)

I furnished just the principal rooms, so you get an idea. The rest is unfurnished so you create the interiors to your taste!

Hope you like it.

You will need the usual CC I use:

all Felixandre cc

all The Jim

SYB

Anachrosims

Regal Sims

King Falcon railing

The Golden Sanctuary

Cliffou

Dndr recolors

Harrie cc

Tuds

Lili's palace cc

Please enjoy, comment if you like it and share pictures with me if you use my creations!

Early access: 08/18/2024

DOWNLOAD: https://www.patreon.com/user?u=75230453

[19burstraat]

anyone want to hear my six of crows x jane austen's emma au. yes of course you do don't be silly. the only person allowed to be silly is me as I descend into madness in the course of trying to cast this. (if you think 'I've heard this before' yes I've posted abt it before tho I think it was on my main)

kaz is emma, a bored, overintelligent rich bitch stuck in a country house with a bunch of shit idiot neighbours and almost no one to entertain or match him. fucking useless dad per haskell / mr woodhouse is a weaksauce hypochrondriac, and jordie / isabella has gone and got married and ditched kaz, the bastard. the only consolation is their neighbour inej / mr knightley, who is rich, sensible, popular, and elegible as hell... glory be, an intellectual equal for kaz!

in order to be less bored, kaz takes on a protege, mysterious randomer and natural son wylan / harriet smith, who kaz decides to mould in his own image and make a good match for. wylan is in love with gentleman farmer jesper / robert martin, but kaz is a snob and tries to push him towards local vicar kuwei / mr elton (I KNOW. I'M SORRY KUWEI), but that all goes tits up bc turns out kaz is a fucking terrible matchmaker, who'd've known.

meanwhile, unassuming and a little cold, but locally well-liked matthias / jane fairfax has arrived back in the village, and kaz busily commences hating on him because he's another accomplished young man and he makes him feel inadequate. hot on his heels comes the mysterious nina / frank churchill (NINA I'M SO SORRY I FUCKING HATE FRANK BUT THIS IS WHAT WORKS FOR THE COUPLES YOU CAN BE A NICE FRANK CHURCHILL ): ), who kaz is kind of fascinated by and enjoys sparring with, and hence kind of misses the really obvious signs that nina and matthias are secretly engaged, even though inej, ever thief of secrets, has lowkey noticed something's up, like matthias getting mysterious gifts from someone. kaz ends up being convinced that possibly it's inej that's pursuing matthias, which nina encourages because it helps her cover, and kaz kinda panics.

everyone has petty village drama which culiminates when kaz sneers at pekka rollins / miss bates (LISTEN. LI actually you don't need to listen bc I laughed out loud when I thought of this comparison but hear me out, if you just think of it as the equivalent of the church of barter scene except instead of 'I buried him' it's 'when have you ever stopped at three?' it kind of works. sorry to miss bates tho who is still kinda my fave austen character) at box hill, which culminates in inej going BOY WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM and kaz is like wow she kind of has a point should I be a better person :/

uhh what else even happens. there's a ball after nina massively encourages one, inej saves wylan from being partnerless and later dances with kaz (think of the gloveless dance scene from the 2020 adaptation? yeah? yeahh??). the regency gender conventions here are getting so messed up lmao, never mind. in emma harriet fancies herself in love with mr knightley and emma is forced to realise that she likes him, so let's say that wylan pretends to be after inej, in order to strong arm kaz into realising that he's wanted to marry inej this entire time. wylan's dad turns out to be minted (I'm stretching the book here to make it work w SOC but never mind) but that's after kaz has admitted he fucked up and sent wylan off to marry gentleman farmer jesper, yaaay. nina's relatives who are stopping her from marrying matthias die and hence there's a massive revelation with 'oh they were engaged this whole time lol', kaz is PISSED bc he didn't clock it. uh. everyone gets married and now kaz can escape the shit village and actually go places. the end.

[ashtarels-archives]

Cathedral of Eternal Night: Lost Sanctum of the Sisterhood of Elune

Cathedral of Eternal Night, perhaps called "Azshal'adora" in Darnassian.

These were the uppermost chambers of the Temple of Elune, now known as the Tomb of Sargeras. The corrupting emerald fires of fel magic slowly creep through the entrance of these once hallowed halls, but remnants of the Sisterhood's former glory still endure further into the Cathedral.

Hall of the Moon:

When traversing the dungeon, there are rooms to the side of the main path that may be opened and fully explored. These circular spaces contain what could be old moonwells, outlined with pillows and embraced by floating flowers overhead. These were likely places of meditation or communion with Elune, but I could also imagine these pools being used for healing, cleansing, scrying, stargazing, etc.

Perhaps a coincidence, but when inspected closer, these flowers have eight main petals; similar to how there are eight notable phases of the moon. (I wonder if eight is considered a lucky or holy number in Kaldorei society?)

Windows of stained glass adorn the walls and the ceilings here, filigree and diamond-shaped motifs (like the Tears of Elune) being repeated in the lower levels of the temple as well. Despite this being an indoor place of worship, it's clear that keeping moonlight visible/sensed was important in the Cathedral. In some rooms, it appears that the moonlight from outside shines directly into the pools, perhaps imbuing them with lunar blessings. This could have also just been a way for priests of Elune to feel closer to Her even when inside.

Countless scrolls and bookshelves can be found in all rooms, many of them housing a plethora of desks. Eerily, some still have an open scroll or book laying atop their surface with bookmarks in place, untouched by the sands of time.

I'm curious as to what texts are hidden here, but I suppose there's a few obvious things that come to mind. They could be prayers the Sisters were trying to commit to memory, songs of the Elunarian faith, stories/legends about the Well of Eternity, sacred texts of the Goddess, students' notes/textbooks, and more; as this could have also been a place of learning for newer inductions into the Sisterhood as well.

Perhaps the writings in this repository could make for interesting RP adventures in retrieving old texts, relics, lore about ancient Kalimdor, or attempts at discerning old Elunarian spellwork, prayers, stories, etc!

The small tabletop game on the right also caught my eye. Pieces of arcane crystal float above the board, maybe an old version of Kaldorei/Highborne chess.

Another detail in some of these areas are the looms resting to the side of the moon-pools: this could have been a place where mooncloth or holy vestments were created or blessed, as evidenced by one of the sub-zones here being called "Sacristy of Elune." A sacristy is a place where "a priest prepares for a service, and where vestments and other things of worship are kept."

Chapel of Tranquil Song:

An easily missed side-room leading up the first set of stairs is the Chapel of Tranquil Song. It is a small church with two sets of pews, and a fallen crescent-harp. This room further reinforces the idea that music and song have been a prominent aspect of Elune worship, and I think this could be an interesting take on healing in RP as well. Calming singing and instruments like the harp could possibly help heal wounds alongside the lunar magic of the Goddess, akin to an Elunarian bard.

The Twilight Grove:

The next level of the Cathedral is called "Twilight Grove," a large platform housing ethereal flowers that glow like stars with a font of moonlight (almost like a silver lake) pouring in through the ceiling. Agronox's dungeon journal entry describes these as the "Hanging Gardens," which he once tended to before his fall to corruption. I find it interesting that these plants seem to flourish hanging upside down, rather than growing on the ground level. Some petals and leaves also seem to be translucent, reminiscent of a spirit or the like.

I am unsure what these herbs are exactly, but perhaps they are specifically nourished by moonlight. Maybe priests of Elune utilize celestial herbs of some kind that bolster the magic granted by the Goddess, grant visions/spiritual boons, or emanate a calming aura in places of worship. It could also be that mundane herbs may be grown near a moonwell or a font like this one, and with time are imbued by Elune's blessings.

Chapel of the Sentinels:

This chapel is yet another Legion reference to a group called the Sentinels existing before the War of the Ancients. The others mentioned are in Tel'anor (resting place of WotA heroes) upon the plaques of the Windstrikers and Latara Feathersong.

Windstrikers: "Marksmen without peer, their skill with a bow was an inspiration to generations of archers. Their family developed the gauntlets the Sentinels wear, carefully articulated mail links that empower our archers to this day."

Latara: "Here lies Latara Feathersong. A huntress of the Sentinels, she led the vanguard in many campaigns. Her bravery and compassion were endless."

Maybe this order existed before the Sundering, with special places reserved for them like this chapel, and was simply revived in name by Tyrande Whisperwind a few centuries later.

The Emerald Archives:

A grand library containing innumerable books of all categories, it seems that these archives contained Highborne enchantments as well. Before the Sundering, there may have been an emphasis on Priestesses being educated/learned in many different areas of study, including knowledge of the arcane. These are the books we see from Thrashbite's dungeon journal entry:

Satirical Animated Book: an animated tome overflowing with stifingly satirical writing. As the tomes open, all sound is magically absorbed into the ancient pages, silencing all players for 5 seconds.

Fictional Animated Book: An ancient work of fiction springs to life, the magical runes leaping from the page to fetter would-be readers. Slows all players.

Biographical Animated Book: Account of a long-forgotten sorcerer's life can prove to be dangerously beguiling. Entrancing narrative charms a random player, but breaks if their health goes below 30%.

All of these fire arcane bolts at the party. Books as weapons in mage RP is something I'd never thought about, but makes so much sense!

There is an achievement for this boss fight called "Steamy Romance Saga," implying that even erotica could have also been kept in the library.

A mural to the left of the Emerald Archives depicts a Kaldorei woman bearing a shield (likely the Aegis of Aggramar that was kept here prior to the Sundering) and a spherical protection spell against green flames from what appears to be a dragon.

The way leading to the next area is called "Path of Illumination."

Chapel of Tears:

Another side-room on the way up the winding staircase is named the Chapel of Tears. This could have been a place of safekeeping for the Pillar of Creation: Tears of Elune, or a chapel of mourning. Somehow, a fel-infused Fal'dorei (nightborne spider) has made a nest here.

Other references to Elune's tears:

Tearstone of Elune

The Sisters' Tear

Mu'sha's Tears

Tears of the Goddess

Elune's Tear

Tears of the Moon

In any case, references to tears of Elune crop up all over Azeroth, most of which possess some kind of restorative/cleansing/life-giving powers. I believe that while the tears could certainly represent sadness of the Goddess, they could also represent tears of happiness, as the Pillar of Creation is described to "embody the dream of what Azeroth could be," and maybe the strong healing magic imparted by them is rooted in hope. I feel that Elune's connection to water could also be another avenue for RP, perhaps harnessing rejuvenating aquatic magic alongside the lunar blessings of Elune.

Sacristy of Elune:

The pinnacle of the Cathedral is known as the Sacristy of Elune, with areas of now-empty shelves and pillaged chests. The stained glass has been turned a fel-green, broken open and shattered onto the floor. The name suggests that this was once a place where sacred items were kept, such as vestments, furnishings, sacred vessels, and Elunarian records.

Given the ancient origin of the Cathedral, this could have been a prominent place that mooncloth was created: "Tailors tell that the first recipe for mooncloth was scribed by Elune herself." It is unknown if a tailor must use felcloth and purify it in a moonwell to eventually create mooncloth, or if any cloth can be used with the proper rituals/spells/blessings.

Hope you found this interesting, thanks for reading!

"Andu’lun-adala-ande’nar." (May the moon light your way.)

[orthodoxydaily]

SAINTS&READING: THURSDAY , NOVEMBER 7, 2024

october 25_november 7

MARTYRS MARCIAN AND MARTYRIUS THE NOTARIES OF CONSTANTINOPLE (355)

The Martyrs Marcian and Martyrius, Notaries of Constantinople, served in a Constantinople cathedral. Marcian was a reader and Martyrius a subdeacon. They both performed as notaries, i.e. secretaries, for Patriarch Paul the Confessor (November 6).

Arian heretics expelled and secretly executed the righteous Patriarch Paul. His throne was given to the heretic Macedonius. The heretics attempted to entice Saints Marcian and Martyrius over to their side by flattery. They offered them gold and promised to consecrate them as archbishops, but all the efforts of the Arians were in vain.

Then, the impious threatened to slander them before the emperor and sought to intimidate them with torture and death. But the saints steadfastly confessed Orthodoxy, as handed down by the Fathers of the Church. Marcian and Martyrius were sentenced to death. Before death, the martyrs prayed, “Lord God, Who has invisibly created our hearts, and directed all our deeds, accept with peace the souls of Your servants, since we perish for You and are considered as sheep for the slaughter (Ps 32/33:15; 43/44:22). We rejoice that by such a death we shall depart this life for Your Name. Grant us to be partakers of life eternal with You, the Source of life.” After their prayer, the martyrs, with quiet rejoicing, bent their necks beneath the sword of the impious (+ ca. 335).

Orthodox Christians reverently buried their holy bodies. Later, by decree of Saint John Chrysostom, the relics of the holy martyrs were transferred to a church built in their honor. Believers here were healed of many infirmities through the prayers of the saints, to the glory of the One Life-Creating Trinity.

St TABHITA RTHE WIDOW RAISED FROM THE DEAD BY THE APOSTLE PETER ( 1st.c.)

The Virtuous and merciful woman from the Christian community of Joppa, Righteous Tabitha, sewed clothing and earned her own bread with her handiwork. She also did “almsdeeds”: sewed clothing for poor orphans and widows. This is all we know about the saint’s life. These subtle details of Tabitha’s historical life seemed intentionally left to us by the hand of God’s Providence. These are just a few lines from the Acts of the Apostles (9:36-42), but these were enough for the Church to glorify the saint as a “true disciple [of Christ] and a spotless lamb.”1 It is enough to know that when she died, the wails of grieving widows compelled the apostle Peter to enter her house and, through the power of God, bring her back to life, saying, “Tabitha, arise” (Acts 9:40).

But the saint was silent. She did not dare to take upon herself the load of teaching or apostolic works; she only did her almsdeeds in deep humility, known only to those close to her. She served as she knew how, in the way that God gave her to serve. She was not burdened by the company of people, was not sad about her lowly job, but was simply thankful. And this is the most astonishing thing in the life of any saint—the amazing ability to be silent in the face of the most unpleasant circumstances, the most inconvenient chance situations. The humble acceptance of what happens as being how it should, and gratefulness for everything God sends is the answer of the mighty, but other-worldly. Here the main strength is not judging, not trying to decide for God what is best for our lives, where we can bring the most benefit. When it comes down to it, this silence gives meaning to all the righteous woman’s works and labors. And so we see that the heights of apostolic preaching, the courage of the martyrs, the strength of the desert ascetics—are all absolutely accessible to every Christian by the force of patience and silence, by the force of accepting God as the Master of our lives.

Here we find an amazing pattern in spiritual life. Apparently, at the end of time some will speak assuredly of their grand deeds performed in the “name of Christ,” asking the Creator, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name? and in thy name have cast out devils? and in thy name done many wonderful works? But they will hear the reply: I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity (Mt. 7:22-23). Others, to the contrary, will stand ashamed of their insignificant lives, silently waiting for the Creator’s sentence. And God’s reply to their silence will be astounding: Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world (Mt. 25:34).

In the life of Righteous Tabitha, the grandeur of the podvig (ascetic labor, feat) of Christian life for God manifests itself with particular clarity. “Rejoice O Tabitha, vessel filled with grace!” we say as we honor her memory. By this is the most essential law of life affirmed again and again—the law that with God, there is nothing bad, nothing goes unnoticed, nothing is useless, but everything received from Him with simplicity of heart and humility is worthy of the highest calling: the calling to become a participant in eternity, to be a son of the Most High! On the other hand, no matter how seemingly good and virtuous a deed might be, no matter how society might glorify one or another heroic act or authority, without God, it is all worth absolutely nothing because for eternity—it is futile!

Source: OrthodoxChristianity

Philippians 3:1-8

1 Finally, my brethren, rejoice in the Lord. For me to write the same things to you is not tedious, but for you it is safe. 2 Beware of dogs, beware of evil workers, beware of the mutilation! 3 For we are the circumcision, who worship God in the Spirit, rejoice in Christ Jesus, and have no confidence in the flesh, 4 though I also might have confidence in the flesh. If anyone else thinks he may have confidence in the flesh, I more so: 5 circumcised the eighth day, of the stock of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of the Hebrews; concerning the law, a Pharisee; 6 concerning zeal, persecuting the church; concerning the righteousness which is in the law, blameless. 7 But what things were gained to me? These are things I have counted as losses for Christ. 8 Yet indeed I also count all things loss for the excellence of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them as rubbish, that I may gain Christ.

Luke 11:14-23

14 And He was casting out a demon, and it was mute. So it was, when the demon had gone out, that the mute spoke, and the multitudes marveled. 15 But some said, "He casts out demons by Beelzebub, the ruler of the demons." 16 Others, testing Him, sought from Him a sign from heaven. 17 But He, knowing their thoughts, said to them: "Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation, and a house divided against a house falls. 18 If Satan also is divided against himself, how will his kingdom stand? Because you say I cast out demons by Beelzebub. 19 And if I cast out demons by Beelzebub, by whom do your sons cast them out? Therefore they will be your judges. 20 But if I cast out demons with the finger of God, surely the kingdom of God has come upon you. 21 When a strong man, fully armed, guards his own palace, his goods are in peace. 22 But when a stronger than he comes upon him and overcomes him, he takes from him all his armor in which he trusted, and divides his spoils. 23 He who is not with Me is against Me, and he who does not gather with Me scatters.

[galerymod]

Villa Balbianello in Lenno

Villa Balbianello stands on the tip of the Lavedo peninsula in the area of Lenno, in one of the most fascinating spots on Lake Como. The villa was built by Cardinal Angelo Maria Durini in 1787 on the remains of an old Franciscan monastery. It consists of two residential buildings, a church and a portico on the small harbour, from where a steep flight of steps leads directly to the villa. After the death of the cardinal in 1797, the villa became the property of Giuseppe Sepolina; in 1800, Luigi Porro from Milan bought the villa and in 1819, in addition to numerous famous visitors, also accommodated Silvio Pellico there. The next owner was the Marquis Giuseppe Arconati Visconti, and during this time writers such as Giovanni Berchet, Alessandro Manzoni and Giuseppe Giusti stayed at Villa Balbianello, as well as politicians and artists such as the painter Arnold Böcklin.

After various changes of ownership, the villa and its impressive gardens were bought by Guido Monzino in 1975, who bequeathed it to the Fondo per l'Ambiente Italiano (FAI) on his death in 1988, together with a donation of two billion lire for future maintenance work. The Villa Balbianello library contains over four thousand works collected by Guido Monzino, including one of the most valuable collections dedicated to Alpine and polar expeditions. The main building houses English and French furnishings from the 17th and 18th centuries, Flemish tapestries, Chinese terracotta and a collection of stained glass as well as a collection of seascapes.

Laurel and boxwood hedges grow in the garden of Villa Balbianello. In fact, the rocky nature of the peninsula on which the villa stands prevented the creation of a typical Italian garden, so the terraced garden features holm oaks, camphor, magnolias and cypresses as well as azalea and rhododendron bushes.

Count Guido Monzino, an Italian explorer and mountaineer of the 20th century, first climbed the Cervino (the Italian name for the Matterhorn) in the 1950s and thus discovered his passion for adventure. Many years later, he led the country's first Everest expedition and was the first person to climb Torres del Paine. By the end of his career, he had completed 21 extraordinary journeys from the North Pole to sub-Saharan Africa.

Monzino became an Italian national treasure and received numerous honours, including the title of Grand'Ufficiale dei Cavalieri Crociati ( Grand Officer of the Crusaders ). His personal pride and glory, however, was the renovation and ownership of the northern Italian estate: Villa Del Balbianello.

Tribute to explorer Guido Monzino on the 50th anniversary of reaching the North Pole by land on 19 May 1971. On the initiative of the Fondo Ambiente Italiano of Lombardy, Villa del Balbianello on Lake Como - the former residence of the explorer and now the Museum of Expeditions - hosted some of the protagonists of the time to pay tribute to one of the greatest Italian undertakings of the post-war period.

It's impressive when a person can follow their dreams thanks to their financial independence. Only his weakness of heart prevented him from climbing Mount Everest, otherwise he probably wouldn't have been able to reach any limits.

When you visit the villa you get an impression of how he drank whisky in his favourite room in the evening with his friends who had come by boat before. A secret door from the guest room to the bedroom gives you a better idea. He was never married and was a caring son.

We were definitely thrilled to be able to look back on such a life in such a self-created setting of culture, lifestyle and adventure.

mod

Villa Balbianello, Lake Como, Italy,

Photo by Nonnarena1

[princeofgod-2021]

LIGHT OF LIFE 576

John 1:4

DIVINE ORDER 141: WORKING ORDER 36

Joh 15:26 And when the Comforter has come, whom I will send to you from the Father, THE SPIRIT OF TRUTH WHO PROCEEDS FROM THE FATHER, HE SHALL TESTIFY OF ME. MKJV

THE HOLY GHOST IS WORKING 26 - HIS POWER TO RAISE THE DEAD 5

As presented in the last lesson, the resurrection of our Lord Jesus became the epic and FIRST main resurrection that declares the full promise of God for Men.

All other humans raised back to life before Jesus, even by Jesus Himself, had no experience close to this.

Col 1:18 And he is the head of the body, the church: who is the beginning, THE FIRSTBORN FROM THE DEAD; THAT IN ALL THINGS HE MIGHT HAVE THE PREEMINENCE. KJV

Everyone who was [Divinely] raised back to life, was REVIVED or RESURRECTED, but with the same OLD BODY, though a few things may be renewed by God.

THE FIRST BORN FROM THE DEAD means Jesus was the first to be raised with such a [New & Unusual] Body, which will no more be subject to the Curse Of Death passed on all natural-born Men.

Rom 5:12 Sin came into the world because of what one man did. AND WITH SIN CAME DEATH. SO THIS IS WHY ALL PEOPLE MUST DIE—because all people have sinned. ERV

This is why Lazarus, though raised after 4 days of death, was still subject to that CURSE and eventually died again.

The Power of the Holy Ghost was there to raise Men back to the Natural life but had no “Liberty” to deal with the “Curse of Death”.

This was only because of God’s set Spiritual Divine Principle, not that it was really impossible.

Someone [sinless] had to die for Men.

Heb 2:9 but we see Jesus, who was made lower than the angels for a little while, now crowned with glory and honor because he suffered death, SO THAT BY GOD’S GRACE HE WOULD EXPERIENCE DEATH ON BEHALF OF EVERYONE. NET

Every Christian, who is mature enough, should thence know the utmost goal to passionately seek; the goal to willingly even die for, which supersedes all other passions imaginable.

2Co 5:1-2 For we are conscious that if this our tent of flesh is taken down, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal, in heaven. FOR IN THIS WE ARE CRYING IN WEARINESS, GREATLY DESIRING TO BE CLOTHED WITH OUR HOUSE FROM HEAVEN: BBE

But how could we perceive the experience of Jesus having a New Body when He Rose, was “seen” by many, including His Apostles, and even ate [Natural] food before their eyes?

Luk 24:41-43 The disciples were so glad and amazed that they could not believe it. Jesus then asked them, "Do you have something to eat?" They gave him a piece of baked fish. HE TOOK IT AND ATE IT AS THEY WATCHED. CEV

Jesus is God, and is Spirit, so when He was coming to the world, God gave Him a Body.

Heb 10:5 For this reason, WHEN CHRIST CAME INTO THE WORLD, he said, "'You did not want sacrifices and offerings, but YOU PREPARED A BODY FOR ME. GW

As soon as He resurrected though, He could ascend to heaven without wing (Acts 1:9-11) and pass through walls, translate or “Teleport” from one location to another.

Luk 24:36-37 While they were still discussing all of this, JESUS SUDDENLY MANIFESTED RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEIR EYES! Startled and terrified, THE DISCIPLES WERE CONVINCED THEY WERE SEEING A GHOST. Standing there among them he said, “Be at peace. I AM THE LIVING GOD. DON’T BE AFRAID. TPT

Now, these are all things that Angels - being spirits - could do without sweat, but remember that Jesus came in a Human Body. So, this Body became “upgraded” to a “Spiritual status” but could do more than a purely angelic spirit.

It can eat and live on earth and at the same time, dwell in heaven and relate with the father, even seeing His face.

Joh 20:17 Jesus said to her, Do not touch Me, for I have not yet ascended to My Father. But go to My brothers and say to them, I ASCEND TO MY FATHER AND YOUR FATHER, AND TO MY GOD AND YOUR GOD. MKJV

Jesus said it that way (your father & Mine…) to Mary because He was pointing out that the same experience will be ours eventually. We shall [all] eventually see His face and Live.

Rev 22:3-4 God's curse will no longer be on the people of that city. He and the Lamb will be seated there on their thrones, and ITS PEOPLE WILL WORSHIP GOD AND WILL SEE HIM FACE TO FACE. GOD'S NAME WILL BE WRITTEN ON THE FOREHEADS OF THE PEOPLE. CEV

This is all so excitingly inexhaustible and so, we have to continue next time.

By God’s Merciful Grace, you will not miss that Glorious Resurrection, IN JESUS NAME.

See you on Friday, as we proceed with this interesting Subtopic.

Brother Prince

Wednesday, October 16, 2024

08055125517; 08023904307

[yhwhrulz]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening" Devotional: October 8th

Morning

“If ye love Me, keep My commandments.”

John 14:15-31

We were obliged to pause in the middle of that delightful chapter, the fourteenth of John; let us now read the concluding portion of it: John 14:15-31.

John 14:15

It becomes us to take note of this short text. True love to Jesus always shows itself by obedience, all other love is only a thing of the lips, and betrays a hypocritical heart. Are we daily giving proof of our love to Jesus by doing as he has bidden us?

John 14:18

comfortless or orphans

John 14:22

The Holy Spirit is careful to preserve the name of the gracious Jude from being confused with that of the traitor. Our characters are safe in his keeping. Jude asked a very proper question. How is it that the Lord reveals himself to us and not to others? Often when overwhelmed with a sense of the Lord’s love to us, we have been ready to ask the same question, and say “Why me, Lord? why me?”

John 14:23

Here is the reason for special manifestation, namely, special and mutual love. The Father and the Son love to abide where they are welcomed by humble and affectionate hearts, for these are habitations which they have themselves prepared for their own indwelling.

John 14:25 , John 14:26

Value the Holy Spirit therefore, and give ear to his teaching at all times.

John 14:27

He was close upon his own sufferings, yet his main anxiety was to cheer the hearts of the dear ones he was about to leave; he had not one selfish thought.

John 14:31

With unfaltering footsteps he advanced to his agony: he did not wait to be seized, he was a willing victim and went forward to take up his cross.

Jesus is gone up on high;

But his promise still is here,

“I will all your wants supply;

I will send the Comforter.”

Let us now his promise plead,

Let us to his throne draw nigh;

Jesus knows his people’s need,

Jesus hears his people’s cry.

Send us, Lord, the Comforter,

Pledge and witness of thy love;

Dwelling with thy people here,

Leading them to joys above.

Evening

“He shall give you another Comforter.”

John 16:1-15

Our reading is taken from our Lord’s parting discourse, which is full of every precious thing, a mine of wealth, a treasure-house of gems.

John 16:3

Fully has this warning been verified: the blood of martyrs has flowed in rivers, yet the Church has not been offended with her Lord. He is so glorious that she follows him even to prison and to death.

John 16:4

And therefore they were safe at his side; now he was about to leave them and they would need to be doubly on their guard.

John 16:6

They were too bowed down with grief at what he had told them to be able to make any more enquiries. It is an evil connected with excessive sorrow that it often closes the eyes to facts which are full of consolation.

John 16:7

If Jesus were here in one place we could not all reach him, and for this reason the presence of the Holy Spirit is more valuable than the bodily presence of the Redeemer would be. The Comforter can be in all the assemblies of the saints at the same time, and can teach at one moment all the disciples of the Lord; he can prompt prayers and inspire praises in myriads of souls at once, and apply the word with power to millions of hearts at the same instant. The glory of the church is the abiding power of the Holy Ghost, comforting the church and convincing the world.

John 16:8 , John 16:9

The most heinous of all sins, for it reveals the deep enmity of the heart to God. Men are enemies to God indeed, since they will sooner perish than be saved in God’s way.

John 16:10

By God’s raising him from the dead and receiving him into glory the perfection and acceptance of the righteousness of Jesus were proved.

John 16:11

The life, death, and teachings of Jesus pronounce the clearest judgment upon the powers of evil and their unfruitful works.

John 16:12

Ye are not yet baptized with the Spirit, and are not able to grasp the higher mysteries.

John 16:15

May the Holy Spirit reveal to us the person, work, and love of Jesus. He can teach the dullest scholar. His teachings all tend to glorify Jesus; they are no novelties, but the doctrines of Jesus laid home to the heart. Most blessed Spirit, teach thou each one of us!

The Holy Ghost is here,

Where saints in prayer agree,

As Jesu’s parting gift he’s near

Each pleading company.

He dwells within our soul,

An ever welcome Guest;

He reigns with absolute control,

As Monarch in the breast.

Our bodies are his shrine,

And he th’ indwelling Lord;

All hail, thou Comforter divine!

Be evermore adored!

Copyright Statement This resource was produced before 1923 and therefore is considered in the "Public Domain".

[mi4014thesandukandevidanalage]

I designed three Heterotopia

Main World: A game of an isolated island. A crashed plane was used by people to construct a habitable home from the debris on board. Heterotopia: But there were disagreements among them, and a group of people were unwilling to sit idly by and wanted to build their own ships to save themselves. And on that side are the remains of the ship

Main World: The Hornet Empire, a world sacred to hexagons. The great empress of the empire created materials that span centuries, allowing them to transcend the constraints of gravity and light, and freely traverse the vast galaxy. Their great empire is composed of basic units of hexagons, some of which are block houses, some are nest houses, and none of these can take away the brilliance of the Empire State Building. They shuttle through the air in bee like vehicles, and conquer one planet after another with wasp like fighter jets. Heterotopia: But since the death of the queen, there has been no successor to the overthrow of power in the empire. Those powerful officials and generals who are eyeing the center of power have erupted in irreconcilable disputes. The queen's nephew has been supported to the top of power by the imperial marshal, which is the only way to prevent the empire from splitting. But those alien factions who disagreed with the new king and marshal drove out of the empire with new Hornet fighter jets and established several nests called barbarians outside the empire's power.

A monarch sacrificed everything of his own, extinguished his personality, and gained the loyalty of a false god. The false god taught him supreme wisdom, giving him the same wisdom as a false god. He rotated the huge gears of war, and he appeared from the sky. What he saw and went was conquest. But this great emperor did not accept the invitation of the false gods. He did not approve of the sacrifice of living people, nor could he understand the sacrifice of the wise, nor could he exchange the sacrifice of a false god as a close friend for eternal life. The supreme god hanging from heaven pleased him with such behavior, and he could not understand or accept it. He would rather let his life take away his body than let his desires sell his soul. The false god greatly admired his personality, but after he refused eternal life, tears of the false god shed scars on his face. But what is more sad is that the son of the emperor sacrificed the emperor, who is hard to find in the world, and also sacrificed all the brothers and sisters who fought against him. The false god shed countless tears with the sky on that day. Heterotopia: After that day, only the emperor's faction remained in power in the empire, with the support of the marshal and the approval of the prime minister. Everyone involved in this matter gained a lifespan far beyond their physical bodies, and a group of monks became the main participants behind this inhumane sacrificial activity. The empire fell from glory to darkness overnight. Those who were dissatisfied with the empire's concealment of the truth crossed the desert to reach the oasis, where they pursued the truth in the simplest way possible and no longer believed in the false gods who lived in the empty high hall. But the so-called oasis is actually some sleeping giant beasts, who are preparing to reach the center of the empire one day and be surpassed there. Interjection: Since the emperor was killed, the false god no longer believed in humans. He used an easily accessible energy source to lure people to move their homes to the center of the water, where they lived near the water church specially built by the emperor before his death. Under the temptation of energy, people kept going there. But in reality, this planet is a prison, with satellites serving as guardians who monitor life on the planet and are referred to as the Supreme God by the false gods. They will exterminate the ecological environment at a fixed location every three thousand years, but if the creatures in the area are the highest form of life, becoming the highest form of life in a huge or intelligent way, such as pseudo gods and giant beasts, they can be liberated and leave this prison. Three thousand years ago, before the birth of the emperor, there was an extinction event. There are now giant symbols standing there, covered in the bones of giant beasts, in a desert,

[firstumcschenectady]

“The Tower” based on Psalm 148 and John 20:1-28

You know that saying about how people need to hear things seven times before it sinks in? This is a sermon that I've preached before – kinda. I've preached the main idea of it, but it is a BIG HUGE IDEA, and it turns out that one time through it didn't manage to get it to sink in – not even for the nerdiest among you. Truthfully, I'm still working on letting it sink in for ME. So, I'm going to go over the idea of “Mary the Tower” again. It fits: our scripture, the We Cry Justice Reading today, our values as a church, the needs we have to see hope in the world, and the need for changes within the church at large.

Recent scholarship reveals that there is an textual error in John 11 and 12. John 11 is the story of the rising of Lazarus, which we have known in in our Bibles as the story of the sisters Mary and Martha and their grief over their brother Lazarus. The scholarship shows that there is not, in fact, a Martha. Someone changed the text.1

The relevant parts are now known to read:

Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and HIS sister MARY. Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill. So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, ‘Lord, he whom you love is ill.’ But when Jesus heard it, he said, ‘This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.’ Accordingly, though Jesus loved MARY and Lazarus, after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was.

… then Jesus debates with his disciples and finally shows up...

When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, and many of the Jews had come to MARY console HER about HER brother. When MARY heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him. MARY said to Jesus, ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Your brother will rise again.’ MARY said to him, ‘I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.’ Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?�� She said to him, ‘Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.’

… Jesus raises Lazarus, and the plot to kill Jesus strengthens...

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. MARY served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?’ (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, ‘Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.’

Great, now you've heard the story as it is believed to have been written. All Mary. One sister of Lazarus, who is the one who claims Jesus as Messiah. She is the first one to say so in John. And then she prepares him for his burial.

Now, it is NOT clear for sure if Mary of John 11 and 12 is Mary Magdalene of John 20, but it has long been assumed to be, especially now that scholarship has figured out something about the name Mary Magdalene. Namely, it isn't that Mary is from Magdala, because such a place doesn't exist. Instead, Magdalene is a title. Magdala means “tower” in Araemic. So, kinda like Peter becomes “the rock” after he says Jesus is the Messiah in the other gospels, Mary gets a title change after she says he is the Messiah in John. She becomes Mary the Tower. Mary Magdalene. Mary the Tower.

So then, Mary the TOWER is back again in John 20. Now you may remember that the Gospel of John is associated with the disciple John, who is throughout the book of John called “the beloved disciple.” And in John there is some tension between John and Peter that sounds a whole lot like later communities of faith arguing over who was better. This culminates in the Easter morning footrace between them, the one John wins but shows that Peter is braver? Yes, that ridiculous footrace.

But, the funny thing is, that given the rest of this information it seems like John and Peter were racing for second. Mary already say that Jesus was the Messiah. She saw him as he was. Mary already saw the stone had been removed. She saw. And the first appearance of the post-resurrection Christ was to Mary. She saw. She who came to know his resurrection because she heard her name on his lips. She who then was the first to tell the disciples, “I have seen the Lord.” She saw.

ONE person. The one who saw him raise Lazarus and saw him raised. The witness to the power of God over even death itself.

And, friends, a WOMAN.

We are not simply the recipients of tradition built on the power of men, even if this information has been obscured since 200 CE. Peter and Mary. Mary and Peter. The tower and the rock.

The stories of women, which are the stories of Easter, are certainly worth hearing. They are the stories we struggle to make sense of because there is too much hope and goodness in them. We're tempted to turn away.

But, Mary the Tower keeps us both grounded and able to see beyond the walls that hold us in. The church founded by Jesus is a radical one where the least, the last, and the lost – the orphans, the widows, and the children have always been center stage. We know because it was the women who are rarely believed – the women who are often DENIGRATED AND DISMISSED (Mary Magdalene prostitution rumors anyone?) who are the ones to tell us the key stories.

Mary the Tower sent us, and she said there is hope, there is life, there is a God who cares. We, too, can see. Thanks be to God. Amen

1The story of how this was found is AMAZING, came to my attention via Diana Bulter Bass's Wilde Goose Festival Sermon which can be downloaded by clicking here: https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&opi=89978449&url=https://dianabutlerbass.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/Mary-the-Tower.pdf&ved=2ahUKEwjGjMXKv7qFAxU6EFkFHcQdDb8QFnoECBUQAQ&usg=AOvVaw2qAIrS7kX87OxdrYJ1EDJB or watched here: https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&opi=89978449&url=https://dianabutlerbass.substack.com/p/all-the-marys&ved=2ahUKEwjGjMXKv7qFAxU6EFkFHcQdDb8QFnoECAcQAQ&usg=AOvVaw24F4hwzT5F53i7I96ru9gi

April 14, 2024

Rev. Sara E. Baron  First United Methodist Church of Schenectady  603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305  Pronouns: she/her/hers  http://fumcschenectady.org/  https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

[johnonyekachi]

Ministers of the gospel please take care of yourself.

There's no overemphasizing the fact that as an adult you have the exclusive responsibility of taking proper care of your body.

Don't forget that your body provides the system which earns you the legitimacy to function or participate in this world. You need to be human before you can legitimately do dealings here.

The moment a person dies, his spirit (soul) departs the body and subsequently, his right to do business here on earth ends.

You are the caretaker of your body. And you are no use to the world and to God if you are dead.

I'm especially reaching out to fellow ministers of the gospel (especially those who are still single with no form of restraint to their sacrifice for the ministry). While you labour passionately to win the lost world to Jesus and advance God's plans and purposes around the world, please also give the same diligence and passion to caring for yourself.

I've often heard Pastor Chris Oyakhilome advice ministers to ensure by all means that they stay alive for the sake of the gospel and the plan of God for their ministries and the world.

God will look for someone else to continue your work if you die. So, as much as it lies within your abilities, ensure you are alive and healthy.

I've heard and read several stories of dear ministers of the gospel who died while carrying out their ministry duties. I've also heard about those who collapsed and died while preaching. I didn't just imagine how that could happen to me.

In my mind, I have a much smaller ministry with less busy schedule than these people. However, I failed to realize that the passion for ministry that drives every genuine minister of the gospel is the same every where.

Maybe this is the main reason some denominations insist that a minister must be married before he/she can be ordained into ministry. This is to ensure that the minister is effectively taken care of while he/she takes care of God's work.

So, last week, I had crusades back to back. From Monday, 18th to Wednesday, 20th, then another one from 20th to 22nd. These were all out door night programs.

Because of the harmattan, it is usually very cold at night, and this is the condition under which I ministered throughout this crusade. The worst part of it all was that I was not properly clothed for the occasion and I usually come home very late (once I got to my house by 3am).

Then came Friday, I started having the first symptom of health breakdown, but I ignored it and dragged myself to the crusade ground. I had to be there for my friend.

Saturday, I couldn't get up from the bed, and I live alone. I was so hungry, but I couldn't get up to prepare anything. Finally, I dragged myself to my friend's house, ate and had a good sleep before coming home.

Then, Sunday morning (24th), I pulled myself to Church trusting the Holy Spirit to help preach.

Everything was going fine because I was seated most of the time. But few minutes after I stood up to preach, the unusual happened.

I had never experienced anything like that before. But suddenly, my whole body began trembling and I felt no strength in my bones to carry me. I was going to collapse right in the middle of the sermon.

Immediately, I had to do the only reasonable thing I knew to do: get a seat up the platform and preach while sitting.

Our brethren had the greatest shock of their lives, nevertheless, I preached my heart out, even while seated.

After service, I came home, prepared something to eat, but had no appetite for the food. I took some drugs last night and thank God it subsided last night and I was able to sleep.

Today is Christmas, I'll be going to Church in a few minutes time, but I'm still on the bed feeling cold and my head seriously aching.

Now I understand the true meaning of the nursery rhymes we used to sing:

Some have food but cannot eat

Some can eat but have no food

We have food and we can eat

Glory be to God. Amen.

People of God, I have food but I'm just looking at the food and there's no appetite to eat it.

My health issue is not Satan's work. This is entirely my error. If I'd done the right thing to protect myself, this wouldn't have happened.

I've learned my lesson and I hope you have too.

Please, by all means, take care of your body. You are the custodian of your body. If you die, your ministry ends with you and someone else will have to pick up from where you left off.

Today is Christmas, while we celebrate the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ, be reminded that Jesus died for us individually as well as collectively.

Take yourself out.

Treat yourself to a nice meal

Do something nice for yourself.

John Onyekachi

Communicating God's love

[mikeo56]

MECHANIC FALLS, Maine – I am sitting in Eric Heimel’s barbershop in the center of Mechanic Falls. Russ Day, who was the owner for 52 years before he sold it to Eric, cut my hair as a boy. The shop looks the same. The mounted trout on the walls. The worn linoleum floor. The 1956 Emil J. Paidar barber chair. The two American flags on the wall flanking the oval mirror. The plaque that reads: “If a Man is Alone In the Woods, With No Woman to Hear Him, Is He Still Wrong?” Another plaque that reads: “Men have 3 hairstyles parted…unparted…and DEPARTED!” I can almost see my grandfather, with his thick gold masonic ring on his pinky finger smoking an unfiltered Camel cigarette, waiting for Russ to finish.

Eric charges $15 per cut. He wanted to be a welder, but the welding classes were full.

“Hair. Welding. Same fuckin’ thing,” he says, wearing a black T-shirt that reads “Toad Suck” and has a picture of a toad riding a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. On Eric’s hat is a homemade deer hair fly, known as a mouse, he uses for fly fishing. 

“Big bait. Big fish,” he says.

“There are 17,000 cars and trucks a day that go through that light,” he says, looking at the traffic light outside his shop. “I only need 10 or 20 of them a day to stop for a cut.”

The pandemic hit his barbershop hard. Clients, for months, disappeared. Eric did not get the Covid vaccine. He doesn’t trust pharmaceutical companies and is not convinced by government assurances that it is safe and effective. Then, on top of Covid, there was an issue of the sign over the shop that read: “Russ Day’s Barbershop.”

Russ wanted it back.

“When I bought the shop I bought the sign,” Eric says.

One night the sign was stolen.

“It wasn’t Russ,” he says. “He’s in his eighties. It must have been his son-in-law.”

“Did you call the police?” I ask.

“How are you going to win in court against an 82-year-old guy?” he answers. “Besides, I’ve never called the police on anyone.”

Russ informed Eric he wanted his mounted trout.

“I already gave him his salmon,” Eric says. “It’s not Russ’s trout anymore. It’s Eric’s trout.”

We discuss local news, including the man who last fall put his credit card in the Citgo gas pump, poured gas over his head and lit himself on fire. He died. An intoxicated man in May fired several shots at another man on True Street. He missed. There was also a stabbing when two neighbors got in a fight. But serious crime is a rarity, although many people have small arsenals in their homes.

The former mill town of 3,107 people, like rural towns all across America, struggles to survive. There isn’t much work since the Marcal Paper Company mill — which operated three shifts a day and was located on the banks of the Little Androscoggin River that runs through the center of Mechanic Falls — closed in 1981. My aunt worked in the accounting department. By then the town’s glory days were long gone. The Evans Rifle Manufacturing Company, which made repeating rifles and, the brick and canned goods factories, shoe shops, the steam engine plant, W. Penney and Sons, one of the largest machine shops in the state, were already distant memories.   

The weed-choked foundations of the old factories lie on the outskirts of town, forgotten and neglected. The old paper mill was destroyed by fire in 2018. There are empty storefronts downtown and the ubiquitous problem with food insecurity — the regional high school has a year-round free breakfast and lunch program — and opiates and alcoholism. Within a small radius, are three or four marijuana dispensaries. The house where my grandparents lived, two blocks from the center of town, burned down. So did the church across the street. Its charred remains have never been razed. On Sunday mornings I could hear the congregation singing hymns. The bank in the center of town closed. It is now a photographer’s studio and a hair salon. There is a casino in the town of Oxford which, like lottery tickets, functions as a stealth tax on the poor. The day I visit, a fundraiser is being held at an ice cream shop for an eight-year-old boy who needs a kidney transplant.

The town is 97 percent white. The average age is 40. The median household income is $34,864. Trump won Androscoggin County, where Mechanic Falls is located, with 49.9 percent of the vote in the last election. Biden received 47 percent. Republicans like Trump never had much appeal in the past. Franklin D. Roosevelt carried the county in the 1932 election. In 1972 the county voted for George McGovern. Jimmy Carter won the county in his two presidential elections. But, as in tens of thousands of rural enclaves across the country, once the jobs left and Democrats abandoned working men and women, people became desperate. Ronald Reagan and George H. W. Bush, after the mill closed with the loss of over 200 jobs, won the county, as they did the state. But things have not improved.

Across the street from the barbershop is Bamboo Garden, a restaurant run by the only Chinese family in town. Eric says the owners won it from another Chinese couple in a poker game. What was their experience like? How did their daughter cope with being the only Chinese girl in the school? Were they accepted and integrated into the community? I talk to the owner, Layla Wang. I ask her if she experiences racism. “Very nice people,” she says. I ask if her daughter — who is now 26 and lives in Boston — had a hard time in school. “Very nice people.” I ask about her neighbors. “Very nice people,” she says.

It must have been hell.

My grandfather had little use for Blacks, Jews, Catholics, homosexuals, communists, foreigners or anyone from Boston. If you weren't white, Protestant and from Mechanic Falls, you were far down on the racial and social ladder. I cannot imagine him inviting the Wangs over for dinner.

Outside of town is Top Gun of Maine which sells firearms and has a shooting range. There is a red flag with the stars and bars on the wall which reads: “Trump Nation.” The owner periodically puts messages on a board in front of the shop such as “Biden is Going to Take Your Guns” and “Let's Go Brandon.”

I meet Nancy Petersons, the town librarian, and her husband, Eriks, who runs the town historical society in the town library. The library is located in what was the old high school’s home economics room. My mother and aunt took home economics classes here. High school students now go to a magnet school in the neighboring town of  Poland. The building that used to house the town library when I was a boy was sold. 

On one of the walls on the first floor, where the town office is located, is a sepia photograph of Maine’s 103rd Infantry Regiment. My grandfather, a sergeant, is seated on the right at the end of the first row. My uncle Maurice is standing in the back row. My grandfather was sent to Texas during World War II to train recruits. Maurice went with the regiment to the South Pacific, fighting in Guadalcanal in the Solomon Islands, the Russell Islands, New Georgia Islands, New Guinea and Luzon in the Philippines. He was wounded. He returned to Mechanic Falls physically and psychologically broken. He worked in my uncle’s lumber mill, but often disappeared for days. He never spoke about the war. He lived in a trailer and drank himself to death.

With the mill gone, people had to find work out of town. Bath Iron Works, Maine’s largest military ship builder, used to send vans to pick up workers early in the morning and bring them back at night. It is a 90-minute drive to Bath.

Maine breeds eccentrics. Nancy and Eriks tell me about Mesannie Wilkins, buried in the town cemetery, who in 1955, five weeks before her 63rd birthday, was told she had two to four years to live. The bank was poised to foreclose on her home. She decided, if life was to be that short and she was homeless, to ride horseback from Maine to California. She left town with $ 32 in her pocket. She rode a horse named King. Depeche Toi, her dog, rode a rusty black horse named Tarzan. Mesannie, who made the seven-thousand-mile journey in 16 months dressed in a hunting cap with earflaps and lumberman’s felt boots, lived for another 25 years. Jackass Annie Road in Minot is named after her. And then there was Bill Dunlop, a Navy veteran and truck driver, who sailed across the Atlantic Ocean in a nine-foot fiberglass boat called Wind’s Will. He used a $16 sextant for navigation. He made it into The Guinness Book of World Records for the smallest vessel to cross the Atlantic. He then set out in his tiny craft to circumnavigate the globe, a trip expected to take two-and-a-half to three years. He passed through the Panama Canal and halfway across the Pacific Ocean but in 1984 disappeared between the vast expanse of water separating the Cook Islands and Australia.

It is late afternoon. I am at a table at The American Legion Post 150 on Elm Street with Rogene LaBelle, who was a waitress for fifty years and her friend Linda Record. It is burger night. Members can buy a burger and fries for $5.00. The hall is crowded. The bar is busy. There are American flags on the wall and a picture of the National World War II Memorial.

The women remember the town before the mill closed.

“Whole families worked there, husbands and wives,” Rogene says. “And when the mill went, local businesses went with it. Now most everyone works out of town.”

She lists numerous restaurants she waitressed at over the years that closed or burned down.

“This legion hall used to be a movie theater,” she says. “I walked down the movie aisle and right up on the stage when I was in 8th grade to get my diploma.”

Colleen Starbird, wearing a gray tank-top and jeans, sat with a friend, Richard Tibbets — who did two tours in the Marine Corps in Vietnam — on the porch. Colleen’s husband, Charles, did three tours as a Marine Corp gunner on Huey helicopters in Vietnam. He died 17 years ago of lung and bone cancer, which Colleen believes was caused by Agent Orange. The couple owned the old paper mill, which they were turning into apartments, when it burned down. They did not have insurance.

“He saw bad stuff,” she says. “They would interrogate Vietcong and throw them alive out of the helicopters. He had flashbacks. He would re-enact events. One night he forced me to crawl under the jeep yelling ‘They’re here! They’re here!’ He really believed in this country. He didn’t want to know he went to war for nothing.”

Colleen has pink toenails, long amber sparkle dip nails and heavily tattooed arms. The tattoo she got when she was married reads: “I have found the one my soul belongs to.” She got another when her husband died. It reads: “Forever in My Heart.”

We cannot dismiss and demonize rural white Americans. The class war waged by corporations and the ruling oligarchs has devastated their lives and communities. They have been betrayed. They have every right to be angry. That anger can sometimes be expressed in inappropriate ways, but they are not the enemy. They too are victims. In my case, they are family. I come from here. Our fight for economic justice must include them. We will wrest back control of our nation together or not at all.

[edublogsworld]

Dubrovnik Delights: Rich History and Vibrant Culture

There are a myriad of places to visit for people interested in culture and history. A highlight is the Homeland War Museum at Fort Imperial that has an extensive exhibit that includes crucial maps and guns. The rozata is a must try dessert. It's similar to caramel flan and brulee. The rose liqueur imparts it with a a delicate taste that guests enjoy. The Rector's Palace The palace is located in the heart of the Old Town, Rector's Palace was the residence of the rector elected to rule Dubrovnik. The palace also contained public halls and offices of the state, the armory and a city prison. It is now home to the Cultural History Museum, which is being restored in a way that evokes the glory of its past. The rooms are adorned with modern furniture, coats of arms of noble families, paintings of masters from the past, coins created by the Republic, and original keys for the city's gates.

The atrium's interior features a Baroque staircase. The statue of Miho Pracat is located in its middle. Miho Pracat was a 16th century shipowner. His generosity and bravery were greatly admired. He was the only commoner to be awarded this distinction from the Republic. In most of Europe it was standard for mothers in their teens who were struggling to make ends meet to give up their unwanted children. However in Dubrovnik the situation was dealt with differently. The mother would leave the baby with a blanket, so she could take it back if the situation improved. The Franciscan Monastery Dubrovnik’s Old Town, a UNESCO World Heritage Site is a maze that is made up of lovely plazas, historic palaces and churches. Go for a walk and take in the attractions on your own, or join an organized tour to discover more about Dubrovnik's rich history and cultural. The Franciscan Monastery, which was constructed within the city's walls in 1317, is an amazing sanctuary. It features Renaissance Cloisters which are set around the garden in a stunning setting, and the monastery houses an library and museum with rare manuscripts. The monastery's church is a must-see attraction as it has some of the most impressive organs in Europe. It's also a great place to attend a service or visit the cathedral's gift shop for some religious souvenirs. You can also enjoy a meal at the renowned restaurant Nautika, which offers an exquisite dining experience with beautiful views of the Adriatic Sea and Dubrovnik's old town. The menu includes lobster, octopus carpaccio and Adriatic fish filet dishes. The Fortress of St. Lawrence Dubrovnik is popularly referred to as the Pearl of the Adriatic for its extensive history and vibrant cultural. Explore the city's magnificent medieval walls, cruise towards the Elaphite Islands, and enjoy an exquisite dinner cruise while admiring the stunning sights of this city in this 8-day trip. Visit the Pile Gate, located at the top Stradun (the main street of Old Town). Then, make your way to Lovrijenac Fort, which is often compared with Elsinore (the famous location for Shakespeare's Hamlet). It is full of stunning Baroque architecture. The fortress was the government's seat during the Republic of Ragusa, and there are still some impressive treasures within. This fortress is a must-visit whenever you visit Dubrovnik. The Cathedral of St. Blaise The Church of St. Blaise (Crkva Sv. Vlaho ) is one Dubrovnik's most significant religious monuments. It was constructed in honor of Saint Blaise as the patron saint of Dubrovnik. The Baroque style of this church is stunning. Saint Blaise was a doctor and bishop who was able to perform numerous miracles. He was believed to be the patron saint of throat ailments and a protector for travelers during the Middle Ages. The cult was derived from the pagan religion of Volos or Veles. While in Dubrovnik on our Croatia and Slovenia small-group tour you can go to the cathedral and observe how people of Dubrovnik are celebrating their patron saint's day. This celebration is a mix of singing, drinking and eating. The locals take great pride in this celebration and it's a unique moment for them to come together to celebrate their community. They sing about the amazing feats and heroic acts of St. Blaise during this celebration. Video from YouTube

[kaibasupremacy]

I think the only novel mention I missed was in these passages:

“There were two other rooms to the cabin, one for the husband and wife, and the other for the three girls, who slept in one bed. Attached to the back of the house was a shed with two bunks against the wall, the top one occupied by Eli, and the other vacant, a reminder of the sheep that had strayed.”

“Meelie, likewise, was delighted to bake for the men, but that was not her only interest in them. The coming of oil to the Watkins tract had meant vast changes in Meelie’s life, she was no longer to be recognized as a goat-herd, but had blossomed out, acquiring sophistication and conversation, and a bright colored ribbon in her hair and a necklace of yellow beads about her neck. Meelie had been to town the evening before, and it had been so exciting! Eli was a full-fledged preacher now, with a church of his own, and was holding services every evening for the glory of the Lord, and great numbers of the strikers had come, and grace had been abounding; and in between the pentecostal manifestations, Meelie had picked up news of the strike—there had been a fight on Main Street because a drunken guard had been rude to Mamie Parsons; and Paul had been one of a committee to see the sheriff and demand that he take either the liquor or the guns away from his deputies; and tomorrow Meelie was going to church again—there would be three services all through the day; and it was said that on Monday the operators were going to bring in strike-breakers, and start the wells flowing on Excelsior Pete; and the men were getting ready to stop that if they could—it would be terrible!”

“I’ve often wondered about you and such things. You used to think the way Eli talks, when we first met.”

Also I’d like to add this bit on the origins of the family even if it does not directly mention him:

“Mrs. Groarty in turn told him about the Watkins family, and how they had moved from Arkansas, traveling in the old fashion, by wagon, when Mrs. Groarty was a girl; before that, she had been driven, as a baby in arms, from the mountains of Tennessee. Their place at Paradise, in the San Elido country, was a goat-ranch, with a spring in a little rocky valley; there was only a couple of acres you could cultivate, and for part of that you had to pump irrigating water by hand. It was a desert country, and she didn’t see how they could possibly get along without Paul’s work; she would send them a little of her oil money, but she didn’t know whether Abel—that was her brother, Paul’s father—would take anything from her, he was so crazy with his religion. Bunny asked whether he had always been a “roller”; and the other answered no, it was a notion he had taken up, just a few years ago.”

All the Eli bits in Oil! by Upton Sinclair

So lately I’ve been obsessing over There Will Be Blood (2007) and the novel it’s loosely based on. I think Oil! is a great book and I encourage you to read it in full, but I made a pdf with all the bits in which Eli Watkins appears or is mentioned if you want to incorporate book characterization to your depictions of Eli Sunday or if you are just curious.

He is my favorite character in the novel and I wish more ppl knew of him.

If I missed any line please tell me

[redeyedroid]

I've never met God, but I like His house. It's a feature of my Presbyterian, Church of Scotland upbringing melded with my interest in history. The mashup of spiritual and temporal power displayed in a cathedral holds endless interest for me - A king or a duke or a conquistador saying "Yes, I built this to the glory of God, but bear in mind that my culture and belief system is supreme and look how fucking rich I am."

There's a church in France I visited last month in a small village called Ranville. I went to Bayeux Cathedral, consecrated by William the Conqueror (an undeniable upgrade on his previous sobriquet of Bastard) and to Poitiers Cathedral, it's construction begun by Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine, who had married in the city. But Ranville, the smallest and plainest of the three is in some ways the most interesting. It's old, very old. Originally Norman, I believe, and architecturally curious. The bell tower is separate from the main building of the church, something I've never seen before. That oddity wasn't why I went there, though.

I was in France visiting friends I hadn't seen since 2018. The Before Times, as it were. They live in Aquitaine, but my friend Jon suggested we take a trip to Normandy for a couple of days to see some Second World War sites while his wife worked at home. Wasn't even my idea. I didn't have to twist his arm at all.

On my birthday we went to the Musee des Blindes in Saumur on the Loire - the French tank museum - where I, happy as a pig in shit, explained some of the positives and negatives of such marvels as the Tiger, T-34, Comet and Sherman, and then we drove to Bayeux. The next day we visited some of the most famous sites associated with D-Day: Juno Beach, where the Canadians came ashore; Pegasus Bridge, seized by glider-borne infantry before 15 minutes had passed that day; and the Merville Battery where 150 men of the 6th Airborne Division destroyed the guns in an attack originally planned for a full battalion of 650 paratroops.

And we went to Ranville.

A landmark as distinctive as the church made an obvious RV point for paratroopers scattered across the French countryside. The first British soldier killed on D-Day is buried in Ranville's churchyard. Shot through the neck storming Pegasus Bridge, he lies 10 yards away from where a Para had a lucky escape when a German shot at him with a burst from a submachine gun, narrowly missing his head. You can still see the bullet holes in the wall of the church.

Another 45 soldiers lie in the churchyard and 2,560 in the sombrely beautiful graveyard beside it, 322 of them German, the rest Allied, mostly British. Most are known, their names inscribed along with their ages, date of death, regiment and regimental insignia in headstones made of marble or sometimes concrete. They often have epitaphs, one 19-year-old's grave having a message from his parents saying that they gave their son so that the sons of others could live. Stones lie on top of some, a Jewish tradition Jon told me, showing that someone had visited the grave and remembered. A number of graves have double headstones, a reminder that sometimes, multiple men are killed simultaneously, leaving not enough of either victim's body to identify or separate them. And so two or more men are buried in a single grave.

We went to Ranville because when reading and talking about war, it's easy to get carried away with events like the assault on Pegasus Bridge or the daring attack at Merville, and it's very easy to get caught up in objectively cool things like Tiger tanks.

You have to remember the truth of war. Soldiers - often far younger than the actors who play them in movies - lying side-by-side in cemeteries because their commanders decided the land they were on was important enough to fight and kill and die for. In this case I know the price was worth it, because I stood in another church a few days later, this time in Oradur-Sur-Glane, whose desecrated, burnt out walls stand in permanent memorial to hundreds of civilians murdered there by men of the 2nd SS Panzer Division Das Reich on the 10th of June 1944. But most often, the cost of war is vastly overpaid.

As we were leaving Ranville, Jon remarked that war cemeteries are always beautifully kept, and he's right. The Commonwealth War Graves Commission do wonderful work, keeping grass mown and bushes symmetrically pruned. But it's because we've given them too much practice.

[ducavalentinos]

[...]The reconsolidation of the States of the Church, the recovery of her full temporal power, which his predecessors had so grievously dissipated, had ever been Alexander's aim; Louis XII afforded him, at last, his opportunity, since with French aid the thing now might be attempted. His son Cesare was the Hercules to whom was to be given the labour of cleaning out the Augean stable of the Romagna. That Alexander may have been single-minded in his purpose has never been supposed. It might, indeed, be to suppose too much; the general assumption that, from the outset, [Rodrigo Borgia] chief aim was to found a powerful State for his son may be accepted. But let us at least remember that such had been the aims of several Popes before him. Sixtus IV and Innocent VIII had similarly aimed at founding dynasties in Romagna for their families, but, lacking the talents and political acuteness of Alexander and a son of the mettle and capacity of Cesare Borgia, the feeble trail of their ambition is apt to escape attention. It is also to be remembered that, whatever Alexander's ulterior motive, the immediate results of the campaign with which he inspired his son were to reunite to the Church the States which had fallen away from her, and to re-establish her temporal sway in the full plenitude of its dominion. However much he may have been imbued with the desire to exalt and aggrandize his children politically, he did nothing that did not at the same time make for the greater power and glory of the Church.

- Rafael Sabatini, The Life of Cesare Borgia: Chapter II. The Knell of the Tyrants.